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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9619-8.txt b/9619-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c15af88 --- /dev/null +++ b/9619-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12757 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia?, by +Nicholas Nekrassov + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? + +Author: Nicholas Nekrassov + +Posting Date: November 12, 2011 [EBook #9619] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 13, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +WHO CAN BE HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? + +BY + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV + + +Translated by Juliet M. Soskice + +With an Introduction by Dr. David Soskice + + +1917 + + + +[Illustration: Nicholas Nekrassov] + + + +NICHOLAS ALEXEIEVITCH NEKRASSOV + +Born, near the town Vinitza, province of Podolia, November 22, 1821 + +Died, St. Petersburg, December 27, 1877. + + +_'Who can be Happy and Free in Russia?' was first published in Russia +in 1879. In 'The World's Classics' this translation was first published +in 1917._ + + + + +CONTENTS: + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + +PROLOGUE + +PART I. + + CHAP. + + I. THE POPE + II. THE VILLAGE FAIR + III. THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + IV. THE HAPPY ONES + V. THE POMYÉSHCHICK + +PART II.--THE LAST POMYÉSHCHICK + + PROLOGUE + I. THE DIE-HARD + II. KLIM, THE ELDER + +PART III.--THE PEASANT WOMAN + + PROLOGUE + I. THE WEDDING + II. A SONG + III. SAVYÉLI + IV. DJÓMUSHKA + V. THE SHE-WOLF + VI. AN UNLUCKY YEAR + VII. THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + VIII. THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + +PART IV.--A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + PROLOGUE + I. BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + II. PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + III. OLD AND NEW + +EPILOGUE + + + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + + +Western Europe has only lately begun to explore the rich domain of +Russian literature, and is not yet acquainted with all even of its +greatest figures. Treasures of untold beauty and priceless value, which +for many decades have been enlarging and elevating the Russian mind, +still await discovery here. Who in England, for instance, has heard the +names of Saltykov, Uspensky, or Nekrassov? Yet Saltykov is the greatest +of Russian satirists; Uspensky the greatest story-writer of the lives of +the Russian toiling masses; while Nekrassov, "the poet of the people's +sorrow," whose muse "of grief and vengeance" has supremely dominated the +minds of the Russian educated classes for the last half century, is the +sole and rightful heir of his two great predecessors, Pushkin and +Lermontov. + +Russia is a country still largely mysterious to the denizen +of Western Europe, and the Russian peasant, the _moujik_, an +impenetrable riddle to him. Of all the great Russian writers not one has +contributed more to the interpretation of the enigmatical soul of the +_moujik_ than Russia's great poet, Nekrassov, in his life-work the +national epic, _Who can be Happy in Russia?_ + +There are few literate persons in Russia who do not know whole pages of +this poem by heart. It will live as long as Russian literature exists; +and its artistic value as an instrument for the depiction of Russian +nature and the soul of the Russian people can be compared only with that +of the great epics of Homer with regard to the legendary life of +ancient Greece. + +Nekrassov seemed destined to dwell from his birth amid such surroundings +as are necessary for the creation of a great national poet. + +Nicholas Alexeievitch Nekrassov was the descendant of a noble family, +which in former years had been very wealthy, but subsequently had lost +the greater part of its estates. His father was an officer in the army, +and in the course of his peregrinations from one end of the country to +the other in the fulfilment of his military duties he became acquainted +with a young Polish girl, the daughter of a wealthy Polish aristocrat. +She was seventeen, a type of rare Polish beauty, and the handsome, +dashing Russian officer at once fell madly in love with her. The parents +of the girl, however, were horrified at the notion of marrying their +daughter to a "Muscovite savage," and her father threatened her with his +curse if ever again she held communication with her lover. So the matter +was secretly arranged between the two, and during a ball which the young +Polish beauty was attending she suddenly disappeared. Outside the house +the lover waited with his sledge. They sped away, and were married at +the first church they reached. + +The bride, with her father's curse upon her, passed straight from her +sheltered existence in her luxurious home to all the unsparing rigours +of Russian camp-life. Bred in an atmosphere of maternal tenderness and +Polish refinement she had now to share the life of her rough, uncultured +Russian husband, to content herself with the shallow society of the +wives of the camp officers, and soon to be crushed by the knowledge that +the man for whom she had sacrificed everything was not even faithful +to her. + +During their travels, in 1821, Nicholas Nekrassov the future poet was +born, and three years later his father left military service and settled +in his estate in the Yaroslav Province, on the banks of the great river +Volga, and close to the Vladimirsky highway, famous in Russian history +as the road along which, for centuries, chained convicts had been driven +from European Russia to the mines in Siberia. The old park of the manor, +with its seven rippling brooklets and mysterious shadowy linden avenues +more than a century old, filled with a dreamy murmur at the slightest +stir of the breeze, stretched down to the mighty Volga, along the banks +of which, during the long summer days, were heard the piteous, panting +songs of the _burlaki_, the barge-towers, who drag the heavy, loaded +barges up and down the river. + +The rattling of the convicts' chains as they passed; the songs of the +_burlaki_; the pale, sorrowful face of his mother as she walked alone in +the linden avenues of the garden, often shedding tears over a letter she +read, which was headed by a coronet and written in a fine, delicate +hand; the spreading green fields, the broad mighty river, the deep blue +skies of Russia,--such were the reminiscences which Nekrassov retained +from his earliest childhood. He loved his sad young mother with a +childish passion, and in after years he was wont to relate how jealous +he had been of that letter[1] she read so often, which always seemed to +fill her with a sorrow he could not understand, making her at moments +even forget that he was near her. + +The sight and knowledge of deep human suffering, framed in the soft +voluptuous beauty of nature in central Russia, could not fail to sow the +seed of future poetical powers in the soul of an emotional child. His +mother, who had been bred on Shakespeare, Milton, and the other great +poets and writers of the West, devoted her solitary life to the +development of higher intellectual tendencies in her gifted little son. +And from an early age he made attempts at verse. His mother has +preserved for the world his first little poem, which he presented to her +when he was seven years of age, with a little heading, roughly to the +following effect: + + My darling Mother, look at this, + I did the best I could in it, + Please read it through and tell me if + You think there's any good in it. + +The early life of the little Nekrassov was passed amid a series of +contrasting pictures. His father, when he had abandoned his military +calling and settled upon his estate, became the Chief of the district +police. He would take his son Nicholas with him in his trap as he drove +from village to village in the fulfilment of his new duties. The +continual change of scenery during their frequent journeys along country +roads, through forests and valleys, past meadows and rivers, the various +types of people they met with, broadened and developed the mind of +little Nekrassov, just as the mind of the child Ruskin was formed and +expanded during his journeys with his father. But Ruskin's education +lacked features with which young Nekrassov on his journeys soon became +familiar. While acquiring knowledge of life and accumulating impressions +of the beauties of nature, Nekrassov listened, perforce, to the brutal, +blustering speeches addressed by his father to the helpless, trembling +peasants, and witnessed the cruel, degrading corporal punishments he +inflicted upon them, while his eyes were speedily opened to his father's +addiction to drinking, gambling, and debauchery. These experiences would +most certainly have demoralised and depraved his childish mind had it +not been for the powerful influence the refined and cultured mother had +from the first exercised upon her son. The contrast between his parents +was so startling that it could not fail to awaken the better side of the +child's nature, and to imbue him with pure and healthy notions of the +truer and higher ideals of humanity. In his poetical works of later +years Nekrassov repeatedly returns to and dwells upon the memory of the +sorrowful, sweet image of his mother. The gentle, beautiful lady, with +her wealth of golden hair, with an expression of divine tenderness in +her blue eyes and of infinite suffering upon her sensitive lips, +remained for ever her son's ideal of womanhood. Later on, during years +of manhood, in moments of the deepest moral suffering and despondency, +it was always of her that he thought, her tenderness and spiritual +consolation he recalled and for which he craved. + +When Nekrassov was eleven years of age his father one day drove him to +the town nearest their estate and placed him in the local +grammar-school. Here he remained for six years, gradually, though +without distinction, passing upwards from one class to another, devoting +a moderate amount of time to school studies and much energy to the +writing of poetry, mostly of a satirical nature, in which his teachers +figured with unfortunate conspicuity. + +One day a copy-book containing the most biting of these productions fell +into the hands of the headmaster, and young Nekrassov was summarily +ejected from the school. + +His angry father, deciding in his own mind that the boy was good for +nothing, despatched him to St. Petersburg to embark upon a military +career. The seventeen-year-old boy arrived in the capital with a +copy-book of his poems and a few roubles in his pocket, and with a +letter of introduction to an influential general. He was filled with +good intentions and fully prepared to obey his father's orders, but +before he had taken the final step of entering the nobleman's regiment +he met a young student, a former school-mate, who captivated his +imagination by glowing descriptions of the marvellous sciences to be +studied in the university, and the surpassing interest of student life. +The impressionable boy decided to abandon the idea of his military +career, and to prepare for his matriculation in the university. He wrote +to his father to this effect, and received the stern and laconic reply: + +"If you disobey me, not another farthing shall you receive from me." + +The youth had made his mind up, however, and entered the university as +an unmatriculated student. And that was the beginning of his long +acquaintance with the hardships of poverty. + +"For three years," said Nekrassov in after life, "I was hungry all day, +and every day. It was not only that I ate bad food and not enough of +that, but some days I did not eat at all. I often went to a certain +restaurant in the Morskaya, where one is allowed to read the paper +without ordering food. You can hold the paper in front of you and nibble +at a piece of bread behind it...." + +While sunk in this state of poverty, however, Nekrassov got into touch +with some of the richest and most aristocratic families in St. +Petersburg; for at that time there existed a complete comradeship and +equality among the students, whether their budget consisted of a few +farthings or unlimited wealth. Thus here again Nekrassov was given the +opportunity of studying the contrasts of life. + +For several years after his arrival in St. Petersburg the true gifts of +the poet were denied expression. The young man was confronted with a +terrible uphill fight to conquer the means of bare subsistence. He had +no time to devote to the working out of his poems, and it would not have +"paid" him. He was obliged to accept any literary job that was offered +him, and to execute it with a promptitude necessitated by the +requirements of his daily bill of fare. During the first years of his +literary career he wrote an amazing number of prose reviews, essays, +short stories, novels, comedies and tragedies, alphabets and children's +stories, which, put together, would fill thirty or forty volumes. He +also issued a volume of his early poems, but he was so ashamed of them +that he would not put his name upon the fly-leaf. Soon, however, his +poems, "On the Road" and "My Motherland," attracted the attention of +Byelinsky, when the young poet brought some of his work to show the +great critic. With tears in his eyes Byelinsky embraced Nekrassov and +said to him: + +"Do you know that you are a poet, a true poet?" + +This decree of Byelinsky brought fame to Nekrassov, for Byelinsky's word +was law in Russia then, and his judgement was never known to fail. His +approval gave Nekrassov the confidence he lacked, and he began to devote +most of his time to poetry. + +The epoch in which Nekrassov began his literary career in St. +Petersburg, the early forties of last century, was one of a great +revival of idealism in Russia. The iron reaction of the then Emperor +Nicholas I. made independent political activity an impossibility. But +the horrible and degrading conditions of serfdom which existed at that +time, and which cast a blight upon the energy and dignity of the Russian +nation, nourished feelings of grief and indignation in the noblest minds +of the educated classes, and, unable to struggle for their principles in +the field of practical politics, they strove towards abstract idealism. +They devoted their energies to philosophy, literature, and art. It was +then that Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Dostoyevsky embarked upon their +phenomenal careers in fiction. It was then that the impetuous essayist, +Byelinsky, with his fiery and eloquent pen, taught the true meaning and +objects of literature. Nekrassov soon joined the circles of literary +people dominated by the spirit of Byelinsky, and he too drank at the +fountain of idealism and imbibed the gospel of altruistic toil for his +country and its people, that gospel of perfect citizenship expounded by +Byelinsky, Granovsky, and their friends. It was at this period that his +poetry became impregnated with the sadness which, later on, was embodied +in the lines: + +My verses! Living witnesses of tears Shed for the world, and born In +moments of the soul's dire agony, Unheeded and forlorn, Like waves that +beat against the rocks, You plead to hearts that scorn. + +Nekrassov's material conditions meanwhile began to improve, and he +actually developed business capacities, and soon the greatest writers of +the time were contributing to the monthly review _Sovremenik_ (the +Contemporary) which Nekrassov bought in 1847. Turgenieff, Herzen, +Byelinsky, Dostoyevsky gladly sent their works to him, and Nekrassov +soon became the intellectual leader of his time. His influence became +enormous, but he had to cope with all the rigours of the censorship +which had become almost insupportable in Russia, as the effect of the +Tsar's fears aroused by the events of the French Revolution of 1848. + +Byelinsky died in that year from consumption in the very presence of the +gendarmes who had come to arrest him for some literary offence. +Dostoyevsky was seized, condemned to death, and when already on the +scaffold, with the rope around his neck, reprieved and sent for life to +the Siberian mines. The rigours still increased during the Crimean War, +and it was only after the death of Nicholas I., the termination of the +war, and the accession of the liberal Tsar, Alexander II., that +Nekrassov and Russian literature in general began to breathe more +freely. The decade which followed upon 1855 was one of the bright +periods of Russian history. Serfdom was abolished and many great reforms +were passed. It was then that Nekrassov's activity was at its height. +His review _Sovremenik_ was a stupendous success, and brought him great +fame and wealth. During that year some of his finest poems appeared in +it: "The Peasant Children," "Orina, the Mother of a Soldier," "The +Gossips," "The Pedlars," "The Rail-way," and many others. + +Nekrassov became the idol of Russia. The literary evenings at which he +used to read his poems aloud were besieged by fervent devotees, and the +most brilliant orations were addressed to him on all possible occasions. +His greatest work, however, the national epic, _Who can be Happy in +Russia?_ was written towards the latter end of his life, between +1873 and 1877. + +Here he suffered from the censor more cruelly than ever. Long extracts +from the poem were altogether forbidden, and only after his death it was +allowed, in 1879, to appear in print more or less in its entirety. + +When gripped in the throes of his last painful illness, and practically +on his deathbed, he would still have found consolation in work, in the +dictation of his poems. But even then his sufferings were aggravated by +the harassing coercions of the censor. His last great poem was written +on his deathbed, and the censor peremptorily forbade its publication. +Nekrassov one day greeted his doctor with the following remark: + +"Now you see what our profession, literature, means. When I wrote my +first lines they were hacked to pieces by the censor's scissors--that +was thirty-seven years ago; and now, when I am dying, and have written +my last lines, I am again confronted by the scissors." + +For many months he lay in appalling suffering. His disease was the +outcome, he declared, of the privations he had suffered in his youth. +The whole of Russia seemed to be standing at his bedside, watching with +anguish his terrible struggle with death. Hundreds of letters and +telegrams arrived daily from every corner of the immense empire, and the +dying poet, profoundly touched by these tokens of love and sympathy, +said to the literary friends who visited him: + +"You see! We wonder all our lives what our readers think of us, whether +they love us and are our friends. We learn in moments like this...." + +It was a bright, frosty December day when Nekrassov's coffin was carried +to the grave on the shoulders of friends who had loved and admired him. +The orations delivered above it were full of passionate emotion called +forth by the knowledge that the speakers were expressing not only their +own sentiments, but those of a whole nation. + +Nekrassov is dead. But all over Russia young and old repeat and love his +poetry, so full of tenderness and grief and pity for the Russian people +and their endless woe. Quotations from the works of Nekrassov are as +abundant and widely known in Russia as those from Shakespeare in +England, and no work of his is so familiar and so widely quoted as the +national epic, now presented to the English public, _Who can be Happy +in Russia?_ + +DAVID SOSKICE. + + + + +PROLOGUE + +The year doesn't matter, + The land's not important, +But seven good peasants + Once met on a high-road. +From Province "Hard-Battered," + From District "Most Wretched," +From "Destitute" Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets-- +"Patched," "Barefoot," and "Shabby," + "Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," +From "Harvestless" also, 11 + They met and disputed +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luká said, "The pope," [2] + And Román, "The Pomyéshchick," [3] +Demyán, "The official," + "The round-bellied merchant," + Said both brothers Goóbin, +Mitródor and Ívan. 20 + Pakhóm, who'd been lost +In profoundest reflection, + Exclaimed, looking down +At the earth, "'Tis his Lordship, + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser," + And Prov said, "The Tsar." + +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it 30 + Although you should beat them +With stout wooden cudgels: + They stick to their folly, +And nothing can move them. + They raised such a clamour +That those who were passing + Thought, "Surely the fellows +Have found a great treasure + And share it amongst them!" + +They all had set out 40 + On particular errands: +The one to the blacksmith's, + Another in haste +To fetch Father Prokóffy + To christen his baby. +Pakhóm had some honey + To sell in the market; +The two brothers Goóbin + Were seeking a horse +Which had strayed from their herd. 50 + +Long since should the peasants + Have turned their steps homewards, +But still in a row + They are hurrying onwards +As quickly as though + The grey wolf were behind them. +Still further, still faster + They hasten, contending. +Each shouts, nothing hearing, + And time does not wait. 60 +In quarrel they mark not +The fiery-red sunset + Which blazes in Heaven +As evening is falling, + And all through the night +They would surely have wandered + If not for the woman, +The pox-pitted "Blank-wits," + Who met them and cried: + +"Heh, God-fearing peasants, 70 + Pray, what is your mission? +What seek ye abroad + In the blackness of midnight?" + +So shrilled the hag, mocking, + And shrieking with laughter +She slashed at her horses + And galloped away. + +The peasants are startled, + Stand still, in confusion, +Since long night has fallen, 80 + The numberless stars +Cluster bright in the heavens, +The moon gliding onwards. + Black shadows are spread +On the road stretched before + The impetuous walkers. +Oh, shadows, black shadows, + Say, who can outrun you, +Or who can escape you? + Yet no one can catch you, 90 +Entice, or embrace you! + +Pakhóm, the old fellow, + Gazed long at the wood, +At the sky, at the roadway, + Gazed, silently searching +His brain for some counsel, + And then spake in this wise: +"Well, well, the wood-devil + Has finely bewitched us! +We've wandered at least 100 + Thirty versts from our homes. +We all are too weary + To think of returning +To-night; we must wait + Till the sun rise to-morrow." + +Thus, blaming the devil, + The peasants make ready +To sleep by the roadside. + They light a large fire, +And collecting some farthings 110 + Send two of their number +To buy them some vodka, + The rest cutting cups +From the bark of a birch-tree. +The vodka's provided, + Black bread, too, besides, +And they all begin feasting: + Each munches some bread +And drinks three cups of vodka-- + But then comes the question 120 +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luká cries, "The pope!" + And Román, "The Pomyéshchick!" +And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" +And Demyán, "The official!" + "The round-bellied merchant!" +Bawl both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan. +Pakhóm shrieks, "His Lordship, 130 + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser!" + +The obstinate peasants + Grow more and more heated, +Cry louder and louder, + Swear hard at each other; +I really believe + They'll attack one another! +Look! now they are fighting! + Román and Pakhom close, 140 +Demyán clouts Luká, + While the two brothers Goóbin +Are drubbing fat Prov, + And they all shout together. +Then wakes the clear echo, + Runs hither and thither, +Runs calling and mocking +As if to encourage + The wrath of the peasants. +The trees of the forest 150 + Throw furious words back: + +"The Tsar!" "The Pomyéshchick!" + "The pope!" "The official!" +Until the whole coppice + Awakes in confusion; +The birds and the insects, + The swift-footed beasts +And the low crawling reptiles + Are chattering and buzzing +And stirring all round. 160 + The timid grey hare +Springing out of the bushes + Speeds startled away; +The hoarse little jackdaw + Flies off to the top +Of a birch-tree, and raises + A harsh, grating shriek, +A most horrible clamour. + A weak little peewit +Falls headlong in terror 170 +From out of its nest, + And the mother comes flying +In search of her fledgeling. + She twitters in anguish. +Alas! she can't find it. + The crusty old cuckoo +Awakes and bethinks him + To call to a neighbour: +Ten times he commences + And gets out of tune, 180 +But he won't give it up.... + +Call, call, little cuckoo, + For all the young cornfields +Will shoot into ear soon, + And then it will choke you-- +The ripe golden grain, + And your day will be ended![4] + +From out the dark forest + Fly seven brown owls, +And on seven tall pine-trees 190 + They settle themselves +To enjoy the disturbance. + They laugh--birds of night-- +And their huge yellow eyes gleam + Like fourteen wax candles. +The raven--the wise one-- + Sits perched on a tree +In the light of the fire, + Praying hard to the devil +That one of the wranglers, 200 + At least, should be beaten +To death in the tumult. + A cow with a bell +Which had strayed from its fellows + The evening before, +Upon hearing men's voices + Comes out of the forest +And into the firelight, + And fixing its eyes, +Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 + Stands listening in silence +Some time to their raving, + And then begins mooing, +Most heartily moos. +The silly cow moos, + The jackdaw is screeching, +The turbulent peasants + Still shout, and the echo +Maliciously mocks them-- + The impudent echo 220 +Who cares but for mocking + And teasing good people, +For scaring old women + And innocent children: +Though no man has seen it + We've all of us heard it; +It lives--without body; + It speaks--without tongue. + + The pretty white owl +Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 + Comes plunging about +In the midst of the peasants, +Now circling above them, + Now striking the bushes +And earth with her body. +And even the fox, too, + The cunning old creature, +With woman's determined + And deep curiosity, +Creeps to the firelight 240 + And stealthily listens; +At last, quite bewildered, + She goes; she is thinking, +"The devil himself + Would be puzzled, I know!" + +And really the wranglers + Themselves have forgotten +The cause of the strife. + +But after awhile + Having pummelled each other 250 +Sufficiently soundly, + They come to their senses; +They drink from a rain-pool + And wash themselves also, +And then they feel sleepy. +And, meanwhile, the peewit, + The poor little fledgeling, +With short hops and flights + Had come fluttering towards them. +Pakhóm took it up 260 + In his palm, held it gently +Stretched out to the firelight, + And looked at it, saying, +"You are but a mite, + Yet how sharp is your claw; +If I breathed on you once + You'd be blown to a distance, +And if I should sneeze + You would straightway be wafted +Right into the flames. 270 + One flick from my finger +Would kill you entirely. + Yet you are more powerful, +More free than the peasant: + Your wings will grow stronger, +And then, little birdie, + You'll fly where it please you. +Come, give us your wings, now, + You frail little creature, +And we will go flying 280 + All over the Empire, +To seek and inquire, + To search and discover +The man who in Russia-- + Is happy and free." + +"No wings would be needful + If we could be certain +Of bread every day; + For then we could travel +On foot at our leisure," 290 + Said Prov, of a sudden +Grown weary and sad. + +"But not without vodka, + A bucket each morning," +Cried both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan, +Who dearly loved vodka. + +"Salt cucumbers, also, + Each morning a dozen!" +The peasants cry, jesting. 300 + +"Sour qwass,[5] too, a jug + To refresh us at mid-day!" + +"A can of hot tea + Every night!" they say, laughing. + +But while they were talking + The little bird's mother +Was flying and wheeling + In circles above them; +She listened to all, + And descending just near them 310 +She chirruped, and making + A brisk little movement +She said to Pakhóm + In a voice clear and human: +"Release my poor child, + I will pay a great ransom." + +"And what is your offer?" + +"A loaf each a day + And a bucket of vodka, +Salt cucumbers also, 320 + Each morning a dozen. +At mid-day sour qwass + And hot tea in the evening." + +"And where, little bird," + Asked the two brothers Goóbin, +"And where will you find + Food and drink for all seven?" + +"Yourselves you will find it, + But I will direct you +To where you will find it." 330 + "Well, speak. We will listen." + +"Go straight down the road, + Count the poles until thirty: +Then enter the forest +And walk for a verst. + By then you'll have come +To a smooth little lawn + With two pine-trees upon it. +Beneath these two pine-trees + Lies buried a casket 340 +Which you must discover. + The casket is magic, +And in it there lies + An enchanted white napkin. +Whenever you wish it + This napkin will serve you +With food and with vodka: + You need but say softly, +'O napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!' 350 +At once, at your bidding, + Through my intercession +The napkin will serve you. + And now, free my child." + +"But wait. We are poor, + And we're thinking of making +A very long journey," + Pakhóm said. "I notice +That you are a bird + Of remarkable talent. 360 +So charm our old clothing + To keep it upon us." + +"Our coats, that they fall not + In tatters," Román said. + +"Our laputs,[6] that they too + May last the whole journey," +Demyan next demanded. + +"Our shirts, that the fleas + May not breed and annoy us," +Luká added lastly. 370 + +The little bird answered, + "The magic white napkin +Will mend, wash, and dry for you. + Now free my child." + +Pakhóm then spread open + His palm, wide and spacious, +Releasing the fledgeling, + Which fluttered away +To a hole in a pine-tree. + The mother who followed it 380 +Added, departing: + "But one thing remember: +Food, summon at pleasure + As much as you fancy, +But vodka, no more + Than a bucket a day. +If once, even twice + You neglect my injunction +Your wish shall be granted; + The third time, take warning: 390 +Misfortune will follow." + +The peasants set off + In a file, down the road, +Count the poles until thirty + And enter the forest, +And, silently counting +Each footstep, they measure + A verst as directed. +They find the smooth lawn + With the pine-trees upon it, 400 +They dig all together + And soon reach the casket; +They open it--there lies + The magic white napkin! +They cry in a chorus, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" + +Look, look! It's unfolding! + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where; 410 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + +"The cucumbers, tea, + And sour qwass--where are they then?" +At once they appear! + +The peasants unloosen + Their waistbelts, and gather +Around the white napkin 420 + To hold a great banquet. +In joy, they embrace + One another, and promise +That never again + Will they beat one another +Without sound reflection, + But settle their quarrels +In reason and honour + As God has commanded; +That nought shall persuade them 430 +To turn their steps homewards + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until they have settled +For once and forever + The subject of discord: +Until they've discovered + The man who, in Russia, +Is happy and free. + +They swear to each other 440 + To keep this, their promise, +And daybreak beholds them + Embosomed in slumber +As deep and as dreamless + As that of the dead. + + + + + +PART I. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE POPE[7] + +The broad sandy high-road + With borders of birch-trees +Winds sadly and drearily + Into the distance; +On either hand running + Low hills and young cornfields, +Green pastures, and often-- + More often than any-- +Lands sterile and barren. +And near to the rivers 10 + And ponds are the hamlets +And villages standing-- + The old and the new ones. +The forests and meadows + And rivers of Russia + Are lovely in springtime, +But O you spring cornfields, + Your growth thin and scanty +Is painful to see. + + "'Twas not without meaning 20 +That daily the snow fell + Throughout the long winter," +Said one to another + The journeying peasants:-- +"The spring has now come + And the snow tells its story: +At first it is silent-- + 'Tis silent in falling, +Lies silently sleeping, + But when it is dying 30 +Its voice is uplifted: + The fields are all covered +With loud, rushing waters, + No roads can be traversed +For bringing manure + To the aid of the cornfields; +The season is late + For the sweet month of May +Is already approaching." + The peasant is saddened 40 +At sight of the dirty + And squalid old village; +But sadder the new ones: + The new huts are pretty, +But they are the token + Of heartbreaking ruin.[8] + +As morning sets in + They begin to meet people, +But mostly small people: + Their brethren, the peasants, 50 +And soldiers and waggoners, + Workmen and beggars. +The soldiers and beggars + They pass without speaking. +Not asking if happy + Or grievous their lot: +The soldier, we know, + Shaves his beard with a gimlet, +Has nothing but smoke + In the winter to warm him,-- 60 +What joy can be his? + +As evening is falling + Appears on the high-road +A pope in his cart. + The peasants uncover +Their heads, and draw up + In a line on the roadway, +Thus barring the passage + In front of the gelding. + The pope raised his head, 70 +Looked inquiringly at them. + "Fear not, we won't harm you," +Luká said in answer. + (Luká was thick-bearded, +Was heavy and stolid, + Was obstinate, stupid, +And talkative too; + He was like to the windmill +Which differs in one thing + Alone from an eagle: 80 +No matter how boldly + It waves its broad pinions +It rises no higher.) + + "We, orthodox peasants, +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From Province 'Hard Battered,' +From 'Destitute' Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets, +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 +From 'Harvestless' also, + Are striving to settle +A thing of importance; +A trouble torments us, + It draws us away +From our wives and our children, + Away from our work, +Kills our appetites too. + Pray, give us your promise +To answer us truly, 100 + Consulting your conscience +And searching your knowledge, +Not feigning nor mocking + The question we put you. +If not, we will go + Further on." + + "I will promise +If you will but put me + A serious question +To answer it gravely, 110 + With truth and with reason, +Not feigning nor mocking, + Amen!" + + "We are grateful, +And this is our story: + We all had set out +On particular errands, + And met in the roadway. +Then one asked another: +Who is he,--the man 120 + Free and happy in Russia? +And I said, 'The pope,' + And Román, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' + And Demyán, 'The official'; +'The round-bellied merchant,' + Said both brothers Goóbin, +Mitródor and Ívan; + Pakhóm said, 'His Lordship, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly + And nothing can move them. +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, 140 + Till at last we decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homeward +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Until we've discovered + For once and forever +The man who, in Russia, 150 + Is happy and free. +Then say, in God's truth, + Is the pope's life a sweet one? +Would you, honoured father, + Proclaim yourself happy?" + +The pope in his cart + Cast his eyes on the roadway, +Fell thoughtful and answered: + + "Then, Christians, come, hear me: +I will not complain 160 + Of the cross that I carry, +But bear it in silence. + I'll tell you my story, +And you try to follow + As well as you can." + +"Begin." + + "But first tell me +The gifts you consider + As true earthly welfare; +Peace, honour, and riches,-- 170 + Is that so, my children?" + +They answer, "It is so." + + "And now let us see, friends, +What peace does the pope get? + In truth, then, I ought +To begin from my childhood, + For how does the son +Of the pope gain his learning, + And what is the price +That he pays for the priesthood? 180 + 'Tis best to be silent." [9] + + * * * * * + + "Our roadways are poor +And our parishes large, + And the sick and the dying, +The new-born that call us, + Do not choose their season: +In harvest and hay-time, + In dark nights of autumn, +Through frosts in the winter, +Through floods in the springtime, 190 + Go--where they may call you. +You go without murmur, + If only the body +Need suffer alone! + But no,--every moment +The heart's deepest feelings + Are strained and tormented. +Believe me, my children, + Some things on this earth +One can never get used to: 200 + No heart there exists +That can bear without anguish + The rattle of death, +The lament for the lost one, + The sorrow of orphans, +Amen! Now you see, friends, + The peace that the pope gets." + +Not long did the peasants + Stand thinking. They waited +To let the pope rest, 210 + Then enquired with a bow: +"And what more will you tell us?" + "Well, now let us see +If the pope is much honoured; + And that, O my friends, +Is a delicate question-- + I fear to offend you.... +But answer me, Christians, + Whom call you, 'The cursed +Stallion breed?' Can you tell me?" + + The peasants stand silent 221 +In painful confusion; + The pope, too, is silent. + +"Who is it you tremble + To meet in the roadway[10] +For fear of misfortune?" + + The peasants stand shuffling +Their feet in confusion. + + "Of whom do you make +Little scandalous stories? 230 + Of whom do you sing +Rhymes and songs most indecent? + The pope's honoured wife, +And his innocent daughters, + Come, how do you treat them? +At whom do you shout + Ho, ho, ho, in derision +When once you are past him?" + +The peasants cast downwards + Their eyes and keep silent. 240 +The pope too is silent. + The peasants stand musing; +The pope fans his face + With his hat, high and broad-rimmed, +And looks at the heavens.... + + The cloudlets in springtime +Play round the great sun + Like small grandchildren frisking +Around a hale grandsire, + And now, on his right side 250 +A bright little cloud + Has grown suddenly dismal, +Begins to shed tears. + The grey thread is hanging +In rows to the earth, + While the red sun is laughing +And beaming upon it + Through torn fleecy clouds, +Like a merry young girl + Peeping out from the corn. 260 +The cloud has moved nearer, + The rain begins here, +And the pope puts his hat on. + But on the sun's right side +The joy and the brightness +Again are established. + The rain is now ceasing.... +It stops altogether, + And God's wondrous miracle, +Long golden sunbeams, 270 + Are streaming from Heaven +In radiant splendour. + + * * * * * + + "It isn't our own fault; +It comes from our parents," + Say, after long silence, +The two brothers Goóbin. + The others approve him: +"It isn't our own fault, + It comes from our parents." + +The pope said, "So be it! 280 + But pardon me, Christians, +It is not my meaning + To censure my neighbours; +I spoke but desiring + To tell you the truth. +You see how the pope + Is revered by the peasants; +The gentry--" + "Pass over them, +Father--we know them." 290 + "Then let us consider +From whence the pope's riches. + In times not far distant +The great Russian Empire + Was filled with estates +Of wealthy Pomyéshchicks.[11] + They lived and increased, +And they let us live too. + What weddings were feasted! +What numbers and numbers 300 + Of children were born +In each rich, merry life-time! + Although they were haughty +And often oppressive, + What liberal masters! +They never deserted + The parish, they married, +Were baptized within it, + To us they confessed, +And by us they were buried. 310 + And if a Pomyéshchick +Should chance for some reason + To live in a city, +He cherished one longing, + To die in his birthplace; +But did the Lord will it + That he should die suddenly +Far from the village, + An order was found +In his papers, most surely, 320 + That he should be buried +At home with his fathers. + Then see--the black car +With the six mourning horses,-- + The heirs are conveying +The dead to the graveyard; + And think--what a lift +For the pope, and what feasting + All over the village! +But now that is ended, 330 + Pomyéshchicks are scattered +Like Jews over Russia + And all foreign countries. + They seek not the honour +Of lying with fathers + And mothers together. +How many estates + Have passed into the pockets +Of rich speculators! + O you, bones so pampered 340 +Of great Russian gentry, + Where are you not buried, +What far foreign graveyard + Do you not repose in? + + "Myself from dissenters[12] +(A source of pope's income) + I never take money, +I've never transgressed, + For I never had need to; +Because in my parish 350 + Two-thirds of the people +Are Orthodox churchmen. + But districts there are +Where the whole population + Consists of dissenters-- +Then how can the pope live? + + "But all in this world +Is subjected to changes: + The laws which in old days +Applied to dissenters 360 + Have now become milder; +And that in itself + Is a check to pope's income. +I've said the Pomyéshchicks +Are gone, and no longer + They seek to return +To the home of their childhood; + And then of their ladies +(Rich, pious old women), + How many have left us 370 +To live near the convents! + And nobody now + Gives the pope a new cassock +Or church-work embroidered. + He lives on the peasants, +Collects their brass farthings, + Their cakes on the feast-days, + At Easter their eggs. +The peasants are needy + Or they would give freely-- 380 +Themselves they have nothing; + And who can take gladly +The peasant's last farthing? + + "Their lands are so poor, +They are sand, moss, or boggy, + Their cattle half-famished, +Their crops yield but twofold; + And should Mother Earth +Chance at times to be kinder, +That too is misfortune: 390 + The market is crowded, + They sell for a trifle +To pay off the taxes. + Again comes a bad crop--- +Then pay for your bread + Three times higher than ever, +And sell all your cattle! + Now, pray to God, Christians, +For this year again + A great misery threatens: 400 +We ought to have sown + For a long time already; +But look you--the fields + Are all deluged and useless.... +O God, have Thou pity + And send a round[13] rainbow +To shine in Thy heavens!" + + Then taking his hat off +He crossed himself thrice, + And the peasants did likewise. + +"Our village is poor 411 + And the people are sickly, +The women are sad + And are scantily nourished, +But pious and laborious; + God give them courage! +Like slaves do they toil; + 'Tis hard to lay hands +On the fruits of such labour. + + "At times you are sent for 420 +To pray by the dying, + But Death is not really +The awful thing present, + But rather the living-- +The family losing + Their only support. +You pray by the dead. + Words of comfort you utter, +To calm the bereaved ones; + And then the old mother 430 +Comes tottering towards you, + And stretching her bony +And toil-blistered hand out; + You feel your heart sicken, +For there in the palm + Lie the precious brass farthings! +Of course it is only + The price of your praying. +You take it, because + It is what you must live on; 440 +Your words of condolence + Are frozen, and blindly, +Like one deep insulted, + You make your way homeward. +Amen...." + + * * * * * + + The pope finished +His speech, and touched lightly + The back of the gelding. +The peasants make way, + And they bow to him deeply. 450 + The cart moves on slowly, +Then six of the comrades + As though by agreement +Attack poor Luká + With indignant reproaches. + +"Now, what have you got?-- + You great obstinate blockhead, +You log of the village! + You too must needs argue; +Pray what did you tell us? 460 + 'The popes live like princes, +The lords of the belfry, + Their palaces rising +As high as the heavens, + Their bells set a-chiming +All over God's world. + + "'Three years,' you declared, +'Did I work as pope's servant. + It wasn't a life-- +'Twas a strawberry, brethren; 470 + Pope's kasha[14] is made +And served up with fresh butter. + Pope's stchee[14] made with fish, +And pope's pie stuffed to bursting; + The pope's wife is fat too, + And white the pope's daughter, +His horse like a barrel, + His bees are all swollen +And booming like church bells.' + + "Well, there's your pope's life,-- 480 +There's your 'strawberry,' boaster! + For that you've been shouting +And making us quarrel, + You limb of the Devil! +Pray is it because + Of your beard like a shovel +You think you're so clever? + If so, let me tell you +The goat walked in Eden + With just such another 490 +Before Father Adam, + And yet down to our time +The goat is considered + The greatest of duffers!" + +The culprit was silent, + Afraid of a beating; +And he would have got it + Had not the pope's face, +Turning sadly upon them, + Looked over a hedge 500 +At a rise in the road. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE VILLAGE FAIR + + No wonder the peasants +Dislike a wet spring-tide: + The peasant needs greatly +A spring warm and early. + This year, though he howl +Like a wolf, I'm afraid + That the sun will not gladden +The earth with his brightness. + The clouds wander heavily, +Dropping the rain down 10 + Like cows with full udders. +The snow has departed, + Yet no blade of grass, +Not a tiny green leaflet, + Is seen in the meadows. +The earth has not ventured + To don its new mantle + Of brightest green velvet, +But lies sad and bare + Like a corpse without grave-clothes +Beneath the dull heavens. 21 + One pities the peasant; +Still more, though, his cattle: + For when they have eaten +The scanty reserves + Which remain from the winter, +Their master will drive them + To graze in the meadows, +And what will they find there + But bare, inky blackness? 30 +Nor settled the weather + Until it was nearing +The feast of St. Nichol, + And then the poor cattle +Enjoyed the green pastures. + + The day is a hot one, +The peasants are strolling + Along 'neath the birch-trees. +They say to each other, + "We passed through one village, 40 +We passed through another, + And both were quite empty; +To-day is a feast-day, + But where are the people?" + + They reach a large village; +The street is deserted + Except for small children, +And inside the houses + Sit only the oldest +Of all the old women. 50 + The wickets are fastened +Securely with padlocks; + The padlock's a loyal +And vigilant watch-dog; + It barks not, it bites not, +But no one can pass it. + + They walk through the village +And see a clear mirror + Beset with green framework-- +A pond full of water; 60 + And over its surface +Are hovering swallows + And all kinds of insects; +The gnats quick and meagre + Skip over the water +As though on dry land; + And in the laburnums +Which grow on the banksides + The landrails are squeaking. + +A raft made of tree-trunks 70 + Floats near, and upon it +The pope's heavy daughter + Is wielding her beetle, +She looks like a hay-stack, + Unsound and dishevelled, +Her skirts gathered round her. + Upon the raft, near her, +A duck and some ducklings + Are sleeping together. + + And hark! from the water 80 +The neigh of a horse comes; + The peasants are startled, + They turn all together: +Two heads they see, moving + Along through the water-- +The one is a peasant's, + A black head and curly, +In one ear an ear-ring + Which gleams in the sunlight; +A horse's the other, 90 + To which there is fastened +A rope of some yards length, + Held tight in the teeth +Of the peasant beside it. + The man swims, the horse swims; +The horse neighs, the man neighs; + They make a fine uproar! +The raft with the woman + And ducklings upon it +Is tossing and heaving. 100 + + The horse with the peasant +Astride has come panting + From out of the water, +The man with white body + And throat black with sunburn; +The water is streaming + From horse and from rider. + +"Say, why is your village + So empty of people? +Are all dead and buried?" 110 + + "They've gone to Kousminsky; +A fair's being held there + Because it's a saint's day." + +"How far is Kousminsky?" + "Three versts, I should fancy." +"We'll go to Kousminsky," + The peasants decided, +And each to himself thought, + "Perhaps we shall find there +The happy, the free one." 120 + + The village Kousminsky +Is rich and commercial + And terribly dirty. +It's built on a hill-side, + And slopes down the valley, +Then climbs again upwards,-- + So how could one ask of it +Not to be dirty?[15] + It boasts of two churches. +The one is "dissenting," 130 + The other "Established." +The house with inscription, + "The School-House," is empty, +In ruins and deserted; + And near stands the barber's, +A hut with one window, + From which hangs the sign-board +Of "Barber and Bleeder." + A dirty inn also +There is, with its sign-board 140 + Adorned by a picture: +A great nosy tea-pot + With plump little tea-cups +Held out by a waiter, + Suggesting a fat goose +Surrounded by goslings. + A row of small shops, too, +There is in the village. + + The peasants go straight +To the market-place, find there 150 + A large crowd of people +And goods in profusion. + How strange!--notwithstanding +There's no church procession + The men have no hats on, +Are standing bare-headed, + As though in the presence +Of some holy Image: + Look, how they're being swallowed-- +The hoods of the peasants.[16] 160 + +The beer-shop and tavern + Are both overflowing; +All round are erected + Large tents by the roadside +For selling of vodka. + And though in each tent +There are five agile waiters, + All young and most active, +They find it quite hopeless + To try to get change right. 170 +Just look how the peasants + Are stretching their hands out, +With hoods, shirts, and waistcoats! + +Oh, you, thirst of Russia, + Unquenchable, endless +You are! But the peasant, + When once he is sated, +Will soon get a new hood + At close of the fair.... + +The spring sun is playing 180 + On heads hot and drunken, +On boisterous revels, + On bright mixing colours; +The men wear wide breeches + Of corduroy velvet, + With gaudy striped waistcoats +And shirts of all colours; + The women wear scarlet; +The girls' plaited tresses + Are decked with bright ribbons; 190 +They glide about proudly, + Like swans on the water. +Some beauties are even + Attired in the fashion +Of Petersburg ladies; + Their dresses spread stiffly +On wide hoops around them; + But tread on their skirts-- +They will turn and attack you, + Will gobble like turkeys! 200 + +Blame rather the fashion + Which fastens upon you +Great fishermen's baskets! + + A woman dissenter +Looks darkly upon them, + And whispers with malice: +"A famine, a famine + Most surely will blight us. +The young growths are sodden, + The floods unabated; 210 +Since women have taken + To red cotton dresses +The forests have withered, + And wheat--but no wonder!" + + "But why, little Mother, +Are red cotton dresses + To blame for the trouble? +I don't understand you." + "The cotton is _French_, +And it's reddened in dog's blood! 220 + D'you understand now?" + +The peasants still linger + Some time in the market, +Then go further upward, + To where on the hill-side +Are piled ploughs and harrows, + With rakes, spades, and hatchets, +And all kinds of iron-ware, + And pliable wood +To make rims for the cart-wheels. 230 + And, oh, what a hubbub +Of bargaining, swearing, + Of jesting and laughter! +And who could help laughing? + + A limp little peasant +Is bending and testing + The wood for the wheel-rims. +One piece does not please him; + He takes up another +And bends it with effort; 240 + It suddenly straightens, +And whack!--strikes his forehead. + The man begins roaring, +Abusing the bully, + The duffer, the block-head. +Another comes driving + A cart full of wood-ware, +As tipsy as can be; + He turns it all over! +The axle is broken, 250 + And, trying to mend it, +He smashes the hatchet. + + He gazes upon it, +Abusing, reproaching: + "A villain, a villain, +You are--not a hatchet. + You see, you can't do me +The least little service. + The whole of your life +You spend bowing before me, 260 + And yet you insult me!" + + Our peasants determine +To see the shop windows, + The handkerchiefs, ribbons, +And stuffs of bright colour; + And near to the boot-shop +Is fresh cause for laughter; + For here an old peasant +Most eagerly bargains + For small boots of goat-skin 270 +To give to his grandchild. + He asks the price five times; + Again and again +He has turned them all over; + He finds they are faultless. + + "Well, Uncle, pay up now, +Or else be off quickly," + The seller says sharply. +But wait! The old fellow + Still gazes, and fondles 280 +The tiny boots softly, + And then speaks in this wise: + + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild. + She clung to my neck, +And she said, 'Little Grandfather, 290 + Buy me a present.' +Her soft little ringlets + Were tickling my cheek, +And she kissed the old Grand-dad. + You wait, little bare-foot, +Wee spinning-top, wait then, + Some boots I will buy you, +Some boots made of goat-skin." + And then must old Vavil +Begin to boast grandly, 300 + To promise a present +To old and to young. + But now his last farthing +Is swallowed in vodka, + And how can he dare +Show his eyes in the village? + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. 310 + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild." + + And then he commences +The story again +Of the poor little grandchild. + He's very dejected. +A crowd listens round him, + Not laughing, but troubled +At sight of his sorrow. + +If they could have helped him 320 +With bread or by labour + They soon would have done so, +But money is money, + And who has got tenpence +To spare? Then came forward + Pavlóosha Varénko, +The "gentleman" nicknamed. + (His origin, past life, +Or calling they knew not, + But called him the 'Barin'.) 330 +He listened with pleasure + To talk and to jesting; +His blouse, coat, and top-boots + Were those of a peasant; +He sang Russian folk-songs, + Liked others to sing them, +And often was met with + At taverns and inns. +He now rescued Vavil, + And bought him the boots 340 +To take home to his grandchild. + +The old man fled blindly, + But clasping them tightly, +Forgetting to thank him, + Bewildered with joy. +The crowd was as pleased, too, + As if had been given +To each one a rouble. + +The peasants next visit + The picture and book stall; 350 +The pedlars are buying + Their stock of small pictures, +And books for their baskets + To sell on the road. + + "'Tis generals, _you_ want!" +The merchant is saying. + + "Well, give us some generals; +But look--on your conscience-- + Now let them be real ones, +Be fat and ferocious." 360 + +"Your notions are funny," + The merchant says, smiling; +"It isn't a question + Of looks...." + + "Well, of what, then? +You want to deceive us, + To palm off your rubbish, +You swindling impostor! + D'you think that the peasants +Know one from another? 370 + A shabby one--he wants +An expert to sell him, + But trust me to part with +The fat and the fierce." + +"You don't want officials?" + +"To Hell with officials!" + +However they took one + Because he was cheap: +A minister, striking + In view of his stomach 380 +As round as a barrel, + And seventeen medals. + +The merchant is serving + With greatest politeness, +Displaying and praising, + With patience unyielding,-- +A thief of the first-class + He is, come from Moscow. +Of Blücher he sells them + A hundred small pictures, 390 +As many of Fótyi[17] + The archimandrite, +And of Sipko[17] the brigand; + A book of the sayings +Of droll Balakireff[17] + The "English Milord," too. +The books were put into + The packs of the pedlars; +The pictures will travel + All over great Russia, 400 +Until they find rest + On the wall of some peasant-- +The devil knows why! + +Oh, may it come quickly + The time when the peasant +Will make some distinction + Between book and book, +Between picture and picture; + Will bring from the market, +Not picture of Blücher, 410 + Not stupid "Milord," +But Belinsky and Gógol! +Oh, say, Russian people, + These names--have you heard them? +They're great. They were borne + By your champions, who loved you, +Who strove in your cause, + 'Tis _their_ little portraits +Should hang in your houses! + + "I'd walk into Heaven 420 +But can't find the doorway!" + Is suddenly shouted +By some merry blade. + "What door do you want, man?" +"The puppet-show, brothers!" + "I'll show you the way!" + +The puppet-show tempted + The journeying peasants; +They go to inspect it. + A farce is being acted, 430 +A goat for the drummer; + Real music is playing-- +No common accordion. + The play is not too deep, +But not stupid, either. + A bullet shot deftly +Right into the eye + Of the hated policeman. +The tent is quite crowded, + The audience cracking 440 +Their nuts, and exchanging + Remarks with each other. +And look--there's the vodka! + They're drinking and looking, +And looking and drinking, + Enjoying it highly, +With jubilant faces, + From time to time throwing +A right witty word + Into Peterkin's speeches, 450 +Which _you'd_ never hit on, + Although you should swallow +Your pen and your pad!... + + Some folk there are always +Who crowd on the platform + (The comedy ended), +To greet the performers, + To gossip and chat. + +"How now, my fine fellows, + And where do you come from?" 460 + +"As serfs we used only + To play for the masters,[18] +But now we are free, + And the man who will treat us +Alone is our Master!" + "Well spoken, my brothers; + Enough time you've wasted +Amusing the nobles; + Now play for the peasants! +Here, waiter, bring vodka, 470 + Sweet wine, tea, and syrup, +And see you make haste!" + + The sweet sparkling river +Comes rolling to meet them; + They'll treat the musicians +More handsomely, far, + Than their masters of old. + +It is not the rushing + Of furious whirlwinds, +Not Mother Earth shaking-- 480 + 'Tis shouting and singing +And swearing and fighting +And falling and kissing-- + The people's carouse! +It seems to the peasants + That all in the village +Was reeling around them! + That even the church +With the very tall, steeple + Had swayed once or twice! 490 + +When things are in this state, + A man who is sober +Feels nearly as awkward + As one who is naked.... + +The peasants recrossing + The market-place, quitted +The turbulent village + At evening's approach. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + +This village did not end, +As many in Russia, + In windmill or tavern, +In corn-loft or barn, + But in a large building +Of wood, with iron gratings + In small narrow windows. +The broad, sandy high-road, + With borders of birch-trees, +Spread out straight behind it-- 10 + The grim étape--prison.[19] +On week-days deserted + It is, dull and silent, +But now it is not so. + All over the high-road, +In neighbouring pathways, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are lying and crawling, + Are driving and climbing, +The numberless drunkards; 20 + Their shout fills the skies. + + The cart-wheels are screeching, +And like slaughtered calves' heads + Are nodding and wagging +The pates limp and helpless + Of peasants asleep. + + They're dropping on all sides, +As if from some ambush + An enemy firing +Is shooting them wholesale. 30 + The quiet night is falling, +The moon is in Heaven, + And God is commencing +To write His great letter + Of gold on blue velvet; +Mysterious message, + Which neither the wise man +Nor foolish can read. + +The high-road is humming + Just like a great bee-hive; 40 +The people's loud clamour + Is swelling and falling +Like waves in the ocean. + + "We paid him a rouble-- +The clerk, and he gave us + A written petition +To send to the Governor." + + "Hi, you with the waggon, +Look after your corn!" + + "But where are you off to, 50 +Olyénushka? Wait now-- + I've still got some cakes. +You're like a black flea, girl, + You eat all you want to +And hop away quickly + Before one can stroke you!" + + "It's all very fine talk, +This Tsar's precious Charter, + It's not writ for us!" + + "Give way there, you people!" 60 +The exciseman dashes + Amongst them, his brass plate +Attached to his coat-front, + And bells all a-jangle. + +"God save us, Parasha, + Don't go to St. Petersburg! +_I_ know the gentry: + By day you're a maid, +And by night you're a mistress. + You spit at it, love...." 70 + +"Now, where are you running?" + The pope bellows loudly +To busy Pavloósha, + The village policeman. + +"An accident's happened + Down here, and a man's killed." + +"God pardon our sins!" + +"How thin you've got, Dashka!" + +"The spinning-wheel fattens + By turning forever; 80 +I work just as hard, + But I never get fatter." + +"Heh, you, silly fellow, + Come hither and love me! +The dirty, dishevelled, + And tipsy old woman. +The f--i--ilthy o--l--d woman!" + + Our peasants, observing, +Are still walking onwards. + They see just before them 90 +A meek little fellow + Most busily digging +A hole in the road. + + "Now, what are you doing?" +"A grave I am digging + To bury my mother!" + + "You fool!--Where's your mother? +Your new coat you've buried! + Roll into the ditch, +Dip your snout in the water. 100 + 'Twill cool you, perhaps." + + "Let's see who'll pull hardest!" +Two peasants are squatting, + And, feet to feet pressing, +Are straining and groaning, + And tugging away +At a stick held between them. + This soon fails to please them: +"Let's try with our beards!" + And each man then clutches 110 +The jaw of the other, + And tugs at his beard! +Red, panting, and writhing, + And gasping and yelping, +But pulling and pulling! + "Enough there, you madmen!"... +Cold water won't part them! + + And in the ditch near them +Two women are squabbling; + One cries, "To go home now 120 +Were worse than to prison!" + The other, "You braggart! +In my house, I tell you, + It's worse than in yours. +One son-in-law punched me + And left a rib broken; +The second made off + With my big ball of cotton; +The cotton don't matter, + But in it was hidden 130 +My rouble in silver. + The youngest--he always +Is up with his knife out. + He'll kill me for sure!" + +"Enough, enough, darling! +Now don't you be angry!" + Is heard not far distant +From over a hillock-- + "Come on, I'm all right!" + + A mischievous night, this; 140 +On right hand, on left hand, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are sauntering couples. + The wood seems to please them; +They all stroll towards it, + The wood--which is thrilling +With nightingales' voices. + And later, the high-road +Gets more and more ugly, + And more and more often 150 +The people are falling, + Are staggering, crawling, +Or lying like corpses. + As always it happens +On feast days in Russia-- + No word can be uttered +Without a great oath. + And near to the tavern +Is quite a commotion; + Some wheels get entangled 160 +And terrified horses + Rush off without drivers. +Here children are crying, + And sad wives and mothers +Are anxiously waiting; + And is the task easy +Of getting the peasant + Away from his drink? + + Just near to the sign-post +A voice that's familiar 170 + Is heard by the peasants; +They see there the Barin + (The same that helped Vavil, +And bought him the boots + To take home to his grandchild). +He chats with the men. + The peasants all open +Their hearts to the Barin; + If some song should please him +They'll sing it through five times; 180 + "Just write the song down, sir!" +If some saying strike him; + "Take note of the words!" +And when he has written + Enough, he says quietly, +"The peasants are clever, +But one thing is bad: + They drink till they're helpless +And lie about tipsy, + It's painful to see." 190 + +They listen in silence. + The Barin commences +To write something down + In the little black note-book +When, all of a sudden, + A small, tipsy peasant, +Who up to that moment + Has lain on his stomach +And gazed at the speaker, + Springs up straight before him 200 +And snatches his pencil + Right out of his hand: +"Wait, wait!" cries the fellow, + "Stop writing your stories, +Dishonest and heartless, + About the poor peasant. +Say, what's your complaint? + That sometimes the heart +Of the peasant rejoices? + At times we drink hard, 210 +But we work ten times harder; + Among us are drunkards, +But many more sober. + Go, take through a village + A pailful of vodka; +Go into the huts-- + In one, in another, +They'll swallow it gladly. + But go to a third +And you'll find they won't touch it! + One family drinks, 221 +While another drinks nothing, + Drinks nothing--and suffers +As much as the drunkards: + They, wisely or foolishly, +Follow their conscience; + And see how misfortune, +The peasants' misfortune, + Will swallow that household +Hard-working and sober! 230 + Pray, have you seen ever +The time of the harvest + In some Russian village? +Well, where were the people? + At work in the tavern? +Our fields may be broad, + But they don't give too freely. +Who robes them in spring-time, + And strips them in autumn? +You've met with a peasant 240 + At nightfall, perchance, + When the work has been finished? +He's piled up great mountains + Of corn in the meadows, +He'll sup off a pea! + Hey, you mighty monster! +You builder of mountains, + I'll knock you flat down +With the stroke of a feather! + + "Sweet food is the peasant's! 250 +But stomachs aren't mirrors, + And so we don't whimper +To see what we've eaten. + + "We work single-handed, +But when we have finished + Three partners[20] are waiting +To share in the profits; + A fourth[21] one there is, too, +Who eats like a Tartar-- +Leaves nothing behind. 260 + The other day, only, +A mean little fellow + Like you, came from Moscow +And clung to our backs. + 'Oh, please sing him folk-songs' +And 'tell him some proverbs,' + 'Some riddles and rhymes.' +And then came another + To put us his questions: +How much do we work for? 270 + How much and how little +We stuff in our bellies? + To count all the people +That live in the village + Upon his five fingers. +He did not _ask how much + The fire feeds the wind with +Of peasants' hard work_. + Our drunkenness, maybe, +Can never be measured, 280 + But look at our labour-- +Can that then be measured? + Our cares or our woes? + +"The vodka prostrates us; + But does not our labour, +Our trouble, prostrate us? + The peasant won't grumble +At each of his burdens, + He'll set out to meet it, +And struggle to bear it; 290 + The peasant does not flinch +At life-wasting labour, + And tremble for fear +That his health may be injured. + Then why should he number +Each cupful of vodka + For fear that an odd one +May topple him over? + You say that it's painful +To see him lie tipsy?-- 300 + Then go to the bog; +You'll see how the peasant + Is squeezing the corn out, +Is wading and crawling + Where no horse or rider, +No man, though unloaded, + Would venture to tread. +You'll see how the army + Of profligate peasants +Is toiling in danger, 310 + Is springing from one clod +Of earth to another, + Is pushing through bog-slime + With backs nearly breaking! +The sun's beating down + On the peasants' bare heads, +They are sweating and covered + With mud to the eyebrows, +Their limbs torn and bleeding + By sharp, prickly bog-grass! 320 + + "Does this picture please you? +You say that you suffer; + At least suffer wisely. +Don't use for a peasant + A gentleman's judgement; +We are not white-handed + And tender-skinned creatures, +But men rough and lusty + In work and in play. + + "The heart of each peasant 330 +Is black as a storm-cloud, + Its thunder should peal +And its blood rain in torrents; + But all ends in drink-- +For after one cupful + The soul of the peasant +Is kindly and smiling; + But don't let that hurt you! +Look round and be joyful! + Hey, fellows! Hey, maidens! 340 + You know how to foot it! +Their bones may be aching, + Their limbs have grown weary, +But youth's joy and daring + Is not quite extinguished, +It lives in them yet!" + + The peasant is standing +On top of a hillock, + And stamping his feet, +And after being silent 350 + A moment, and gazing +With glee at the masses + Of holiday people, +He roars to them hoarsely. + + "Hey you, peasant kingdom! +You, hatless and drunken! + More racket! More noise!" +"Come, what's your name, uncle?" + "To write in the note-book? +Why not? Write it down: 360 + 'In Barefoot the village +Lives old Jacob Naked, + He'll work till he's taken, +He drinks till he's crazed.'" + The peasants are laughing, +And telling the Barin + The old fellow's story: +How shabby old Jacob + Had lived once in Peter,[22] +And got into prison 370 + Because he bethought him +To get him to law + With a very rich merchant; +How after the prison + He'd come back amongst them +All stripped, like a linden, + And taken to ploughing. +For thirty years since + On his narrow allotment +He'd worked in all weathers, 380 + The harrow his shelter +From sunshine and storm. + He lived with the sokha,[23] +And when God would take him + He'd drop from beneath it +Just like a black clod. + + An accident happened +One year to old Jacob: + He bought some small pictures +To hang in the cottage 390 + For his little son; +The old man himself, too, + Was fond of the pictures. +God's curse had then fallen; + The village was burnt, +And the old fellow's money, + The fruit of a life-time +(Some thirty-five roubles),[24] + Was lost in the flames. +He ought to have saved it, 400 + But, to his misfortune, +He thought of the pictures + And seized them instead. +His wife in the meantime + Was saving the icons.[25] +And so, when the cottage + Fell in, all the roubles +Were melted together + In one lump of silver. +Old Jacob was offered 410 + Eleven such roubles +For that silver lump. + + "O old brother Jacob, +You paid for them dearly, + The little chap's pictures! +I warrant you've hung them + Again in the new hut." + +"I've hung them--and more," +He replied, and was silent. + + The Barin was looking, 420 +Examining Jacob, + The toiler, the earth-worm, +His chest thin and meagre, + His stomach as shrunk +As though something had crushed it, + His eyes and mouth circled +By numberless wrinkles, + Like drought-shrivelled earth. +And he altogether + Resembled the earth, 430 +Thought the Barin, while noting + His throat, like a dry lump +Of clay, brown and hardened; + His brick-coloured face; +His hands--black and horny, + Like bark on the tree-trunk; +His hair--stiff and sandy.... + + The peasants, remarking +That old Jacob's speech + Had not angered the Barin, 440 +Themselves took his words up: + "Yes, yes, he speaks truly, +We must drink, it saves us, + It makes us feel strong. +Why, if we did not drink + Black gloom would engulf us. +If work does not kill us + Or trouble destroy us, +We shan't die from drink!" + + "That's so. Is it not, sir?" 450 + + "Yes, God will protect us!" + +"Come, drink with us, Barin!" + + They go to buy vodka +And drink it together. + To Jacob the Barin +Has offered two cups. + "Ah, Barin," says Jacob, +"I see you're not angry. + A wise little head, yours, +And how could a wise head 460 + Judge falsely of peasants? +Why, only the pig + Glues his nose to the garbage +And never sees Heaven!" + + Then suddenly singing +Is heard in a chorus + Harmonious and bold. +A row of young fellows, + Half drunk, but not falling, +Come staggering onwards, 470 + All lustily singing; +They sing of the Volga, + The daring of youths +And the beauty of maidens ... + A hush falls all over +The road, and it listens; + And only the singing +Is heard, broadly rolling + In waves, sweet and tuneful, +Like wind-ruffled corn. 480 + The hearts of the peasants +Are touched with wild anguish, + And one little woman +Grows pensive and mournful, + And then begins weeping +And sobs forth her grief: + "My life is like day-time +With no sun to warm it! + My life is like night +With no glimmer of moon! 490 + And I--the young woman-- + Am like the swift steed +On the curb, like the swallow + With wings crushed and broken; +My jealous old husband + Is drunken and snoring, +But even while snoring + He keeps one eye open, +And watches me always, + Me--poor little wife!" 500 + + And so she lamented, +The sad little woman; + Then all of a sudden +Springs down from the waggon! + "Where now?" cries her husband, +The jealous old man. + And just as one lifts +By the tail a plump radish, + He clutches her pig-tail, +And pulls her towards him. 510 + + O night wild and drunken, +Not bright--and yet star-lit, + Not hot--but fanned softly +By tender spring breezes, + You've not left our peasants + Untouched by your sweetness; +They're thinking and longing + For their little women. +And they are quite right too; + Still sweeter 'twould be 520 +With a nice little wife! + Cries Ívan, "I love you," +And Mariushka, "I you!" + Cries Ívan, "Press closer!" +And Mariushka, "Kiss me!" + Cries Ívan, "The night's cold," +And Mariushka, "Warm me!" + + They think of this song now, +And all make their minds up + To shorten the journey. 530 + + A birch-tree is growing +Alone by the roadside, + God knows why so lonely! +And under it spreading + The magic white napkin, +The peasants sit round it: + + "Hey! Napkin enchanted! +Give food to the peasants!" + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, 540 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread, + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + + The peasants feel strengthened, +And leaving Román there + On guard near the vodka, +They mix with the people, + To try to discover +The one who is happy. 550 + + They're all in a hurry +To turn towards home. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +THE HAPPY ONES + + In crowds gay and noisy +Our peasants are mixing, + Proclaiming their mission: +"Let any man here + Who esteems himself happy +Stand forth! If he prove it + A pailful of vodka +Is at his disposal; + As much as he wishes +So much he shall have!" 10 + + This fabulous promise +Sets sober folk smiling; + The tipsy and wise ones +Are ready to spit + In the beards of the pushing +Impertinent strangers! + But many are willing +To drink without payment, +And so when our peasants + Go back to the birch-tree 20 +A crowd presses round them. + The first to come forward, +A lean discharged deacon, + With legs like two matches, +Lets forth a great mouthful + Of indistinct maxims: +That happiness lies not + In broad lands, in jewels, +In gold, and in sables-- + + "In what, then?" 30 + + A peaceful +And undisturbed conscience. + That all the dominions +Of land-owners, nobles, + And Tsars are but earthly +And limited treasures; + But he who is godly +Has part in Christ's kingdom + Of boundless extent: +"When warm in the sun, 40 + With a cupful of vodka, + I'm perfectly happy, +I ask nothing more!" + + "And who'll give you vodka?" +"Why, you! You have promised." + + "Be off, you lean scamp!" + + A one-eyed old woman +Comes next, bent and pock-marked, + And bowing before them +She says she is happy; 50 + That in her allotment +A thousand fine turnips + Have grown, this last autumn. +"Such turnips, I tell you! + Such monsters! and tasty! +In such a small plot, too, + In length only one yard, +And three yards in width!" + + They laugh at the woman, +But give her no vodka; 60 + "Go, get you home, Mother! +You've vodka enough there + To flavour the turnips!" + + A soldier with medals, + Quite drunk but still thirsty, +Says firmly, "I'm happy!" + + "Then tell us, old fellow, +In what he is happy-- + The soldier? Take care, though, +To keep nothing back!" 70 + + "Well, firstly, I've been +Through at least twenty battles, + And yet I'm alive. +And, secondly, mark you + (It's far more important), +In times of peace, too, + Though I'm always half-famished, +Death never has conquered! + And, third, though they flogged me +For every offence, 80 + Great or small, I've survived it!" + + "Here, drink, little soldier! +With you one can't argue; + You're happy indeed!" + + Then comes a young mason, + A huge, weighty hammer +Swung over his shoulder: + "I live in content," +He declares, "with my wife + And beloved old mother; 90 +We've nought to complain of." + "In what are you happy?" +"In this!"--like a feather + He swings the great hammer. +"Beginning at sunrise + And setting my back straight +As midnight draws near, + I can shatter a mountain! +Before now, it's happened + That, working one day, 100 +I've piled enough stones up + To earn my five roubles!" + + Pakhóm tries to lift it-- +The "happiness." After + Prodigiously straining +And cracking all over, + He sets it down, gladly, +And pours out some vodka. + + "Well, weighty it is, man! +But will you be able 110 +To bear in old age + Such a 'happiness,' think you?" + +"Don't boast of your strength!" + Gasped a wheezing old peasant, +Half stifled with asthma. + (His nose pinched and shrivelled +Like that of a dead man, + His eyes bright and sunken, +His hands like a rake-- + Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120 +His legs long and narrow + Like spokes of a wheel, +A human mosquito.) + + "I was not a worse man +Than he, the young mason, + And boasted of _my_ strength. +God punished me for it! + The manager knew +I was simple--the villain! + He flattered and praised me. 130 +I was but a youngster, + And pleased at his notice +I laboured like four men. + One day I had mounted +Some bricks to my shoulder, + When, just then, the devil +Must bring him in sight. + + "'What's that!' he said laughing, +'Tis surely not Trifon + With such a light burden? 140 +Ho, does it not shame + Such a strapping young fellow?' +'Then put some more bricks on, + I'll carry them, master,' +Said I, sore offended. + For full half an hour +I stood while he piled them, + He piled them--the dog! +I felt my back breaking, + But would not give way, 150 +And that devilish burden + I carried right up +To the high second story! + He stood and looked on, +He himself was astounded, + And cried from beneath me: +'Well done, my brave fellow! + You don't know yourself, man, +What you have been doing! + It's forty stone, Trifon, 160 +You've carried up there!' + + "I _did_ know; my heart +Struck my breast like a hammer, + The blood stood in circles +Round both of my eyeballs; +My back felt disjointed, +My legs weak and trembling ... + 'Twas then that I withered. +Come, treat me, my friends!" + + "But why should we treat you? +In what are you happy? 171 + In what you have told us?" + + "No, listen--that's coming, +It's this: I have also, + Like each of us peasants, +Besought God to let me + Return to the village +To die. And when coming + From Petersburg, after +The illness I suffered 180 + Through what I have told you, +Exhausted and weakened, + Half-dazed, half-unconscious, +I got to the station. + And all in the carriage +Were workmen, as I was, + And ill of the fever; +And all yearned for one thing: + To reach their own homes +Before death overcame them. 190 + 'Twas then I was lucky; +The heat then was stifling, + And so many sick heads +Made Hell of the waggon. + Here one man was groaning, +There, rolling all over + The floor, like a lunatic, +Shouting and raving + Of wife or of mother. +And many such fellows 200 + Were put out and left +At the stations we came to. + I looked at them, thinking, +Shall I be left too? + I was burning and shaking, +The blood began starting + All over my eyeballs, +And I, in my fever, + Half-waking, was dreaming +Of cutting of cocks' throats 210 + (We once were cock-farmers, +And one year it happened + We fattened a thousand). +They came to my thoughts, now, + The damnable creatures, +I tried to start praying, + But no!--it was useless. +And, would you believe me? + I saw the whole party +In that hellish waggon 220 + Come quivering round me, +Their throats cut, and spurting +With blood, and still crowing, + And I, with the knife, shrieked: +'Enough of your noise!' + And yet, by God's mercy, +Made no sound at all. + I sat there and struggled +To keep myself silent. + At last the day ended, 230 +And with it the journey, + And God had had pity +Upon His poor orphan; + I crawled to the village. +And now, by His mercy, + I'm better again." + + "Is that what you boast of-- +Your happiness, peasant?" + Exclaims an old lackey +With legs weak and gouty. 240 + "Treat me, little brothers, +I'm happy, God sees it! + For I was the chief serf +Of Prince Pereméteff, + A rich prince, and mighty, +My wife, the most favoured + By him, of the women; +My daughter, together + With his, the young lady, +Was taught foreign languages, 250 + French and some others; +And she was permitted + To _sit_, and not stand, +In her mistress's presence. + Good Lord! How it bites!" +(He stoops down to rub it, + The gouty right knee-cap.) +The peasants laugh loudly! + "What laugh you at, stupids?" +He cries, getting angry, 260 + "I'm ill, I thank God, +And at waking and sleeping + I pray, 'Leave me ever +My honoured complaint, Lord! + For that makes me noble!' +I've none of your low things, + Your peasants' diseases, +My illness is lofty, + And only acquired +By the most elevated, 270 + The first in the Empire; +I suffer, you villains, + From gout, gout its name is! +It's only brought on + By the drinking of claret, +Of Burgundy, champagne, + Hungarian syrup, +By thirty years' drinking! + For forty years, peasants, +I've stood up behind it-- 280 + The chair of His Highness, +The Prince Pereméteff, + And swallowed the leavings +In plates and in glasses, + The finest French truffles, +The dregs of the liquors. + Come, treat me, you peasants!" + + "Excuse us, your Lordship, +Our wine is but simple, + The drink of the peasants! 290 +It wouldn't suit _you_!" + A bent, yellow-haired man +Steals up to the peasants, + A man from White Russia. +He yearns for the vodka. + "Oh, give me a taste!" +He implores, "I am happy!" + + "But wait! You must tell us +In what you are happy." + + "In bread I am happy; 300 +At home, in White Russia, + The bread is of barley, +All gritty and weedy. + At times, I can tell you, +I've howled out aloud, + Like a woman in labour, +With pains in my stomach! + But now, by God's mercy, +I work for Gubónine, + And there they give rye-bread, 310 +I'm happy in that." + + A dark-looking peasant, +With jaw turned and twisted, + Which makes him look sideways, +Says next, "I am happy. + A bear-hunter I am, +And six of my comrades + Were killed by old Mishka;[26] +On me God has mercy." + +"Look round to the left side." 320 + He tries to, but cannot, +For all his grimaces! + + "A bear knocked my jaw round, +A savage young female." + + "Go, look for another, +And give her the left cheek, + She'll soon put it straight!" + +They laugh, but, however, + They give him some vodka. +Some ragged old beggars 330 + Come up to the peasants, +Drawn near by the smell + Of the froth on the vodka; +They say they are happy. + + "Why, right on his threshold +The shopman will meet us! + We go to a house-door, +From there they conduct us + Right back to the gate! +When we begin singing 340 + The housewife runs quickly +And brings to the window + A loaf and a knife. +And then we sing loudly, + 'Oh, give us the whole loaf, +It cannot be cut + And it cannot be crumbled, +For you it is quicker, + For us it is better!'" + +The peasants observe 350 + That their vodka is wasted, +The pail's nearly empty. + They say to the people, +"Enough of your chatter, + You, shabby and ragged, +You, humpbacked and corny, + Go, get you all home!" + +"In your place, good strangers," + The peasant, Fedócy, +From "Swallow-Smoke" village, 360 + Said, sitting beside them, +"I'd ask Érmil Gírin. + If he will not suit you, +If he is not happy, + Then no one can help you." + + "But who is this Érmil, +A noble--a prince?" + + "No prince--not a noble, +But simply a peasant." + + "Well, tell us about him." 370 + + "I'll tell you; he rented +The mill of an orphan, + Until the Court settled +To sell it at auction. + Then Érmil, with others, +Went into the sale-room. + The small buyers quickly +Dropped out of the bidding; + Till Érmil alone, +With a merchant, Altérnikoff, 380 + Kept up the fight. +The merchant outbid him, + Each time by a farthing, +Till Érmil grew angry + And added five roubles; +The merchant a farthing + And Érmil a rouble. +The merchant gave in then, + When suddenly something +Unlooked for occurred: 390 + The sellers demanded +A third of the money + Paid down on the spot; +'Twas one thousand roubles, + And Érmil had not brought +So much money with him; + 'Twas either his error, +Or else they deceived him. + The merchant said gaily, +'The mill comes to me, then?' 400 + 'Not so,' replied Érmil; +He went to the sellers; + 'Good sirs, will you wait +Thirty minutes?' he asked. + + "'But how will that help you?' +'I'll bring you the money.' + + "'But where will you find it? +You're out of your senses! + It's thirty-five versts +To the mill; in an hour now 410 + The sales will be finished.' + + "'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?' +'An hour, if you wish.' + Then Érmil departed, +The sellers exchanging +Sly looks with the merchant, + And grinning--the foxes! +But Érmil went out + And made haste to the market-place +Crowded with people 420 + ('Twas market-day, then), +And he mounted a waggon, + And there he stood crossing +Himself, and low bowing + In all four directions. +He cried to the people, + 'Be silent a moment, +I've something to ask you!' + The place became still +And he told them the story: 430 + +"'Since long has the merchant + Been wooing the mill, +But I'm not such a dullard. + Five times have I been here +To ask if there _would_ be + A second day's bidding, +They answered, 'There will.' + You know that the peasant +Won't carry his money + All over the by-ways 440 + Without a good reason, +So I have none with me; +And look--now they tell me +There's no second bidding + And ask for the money! +The cunning ones tricked me + And laughed--the base heathens! +And said to me sneering: + 'But, what can you do +In an hour? Where find money?' 450 + + "'They're crafty and strong, +But the people are stronger! + The merchant is rich-- +But the people are richer! + Hey! What is _his_ worth +To _their_ treasury, think you? + Like fish in the ocean +The wealth of the people; + You'll draw it and draw it-- +But not see its end! 460 + Now, brother, God hears me, +Come, give me this money! + Next Friday I'll pay you +The very last farthing. + It's not that I care +For the mill--it's the insult! + Whoever knows Érmil, +Whoever believes him, + Will give what he can.' + + "A miracle happened; 470 +The coat of each peasant + Flew up on the left +As though blown by a wind! + The peasants are bringing +Their money to Érmil, + Each gives what he can. +Though Érmil's well lettered + He writes nothing down; +It's well he can count it + So great is his hurry. 480 +They gather his hat full + Of all kinds of money, +From farthings to bank-notes, + The notes of the peasant +All crumpled and torn. + He has the whole sum now, +But still the good people + Are bringing him more. + + "'Here, take this, too, Érmil, +You'll pay it back later!' 490 + + "He bows to the people +In all four directions, + Gets down from the waggon, +And pressing the hat + Full of money against him, +Runs back to the sale-room + As fast as he can. + + "The sellers are speechless +And stare in amazement, + The merchant turns green 500 +As the money is counted + And laid on the table. + + "The sellers come round him +All craftily praising + His excellent bargain. +But Érmil sees through them; + He gives not a farthing, +He speaks not a word. + + "The whole town assembles +At market next Friday, 510 + When Érmil is paying +His debt to the people. + How can he remember +To whom he must pay it? + No murmur arises, +No sound of discussion, + As each man tells quietly +The sum to be paid him. + + "And Érmil himself said, +That when it was finished 520 + A rouble was lying +With no one to claim it; + And though till the evening +He went, with purse open, + Demanding the owner, +It still was unclaimed. + The sun was just setting +When Érmil, the last one + To go from the market, +Assembled the beggars 530 + And gave them the rouble." ... + + "'Tis strange!" say the peasants, +"By what kind of magic + Can one single peasant +Gain such a dominion + All over the country?" + + "No magic he uses +Save truthfulness, brothers! + But say, have you ever +Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540 + Estate, Adovshina?" + + "We have. What about it?" + "The manager there +Was a Colonel, with stars, + Of the Corps of Gendarmes. +He had six or seven + Assistants beneath him, +And Érmil was chosen + As principal clerk. +He was but a boy, then, 550 + Of nineteen or twenty; +And though 'tis no fine post, + The clerk's--to the peasants +The clerk is a great man; + To him they will go +For advice and with questions. + Though Érmil had power to, +He asked nothing from them; + And if they should offer +He never accepted. 560 + (He bears a poor conscience, +The peasant who covets + The mite of his brother!) +Well, five years went by, + And they trusted in Érmil, +When all of a sudden + The master dismissed him +For sake of another. + And sadly they felt it. +The new clerk was grasping; 570 + He moved not a finger +Unless it was paid for; + A letter--three farthings! +A question--five farthings! + Well, he was a pope's son +And God placed him rightly! + But still, by God's mercy, +He did not stay long: + + "The old Prince soon died, +And the young Prince was master. 580 + He came and dismissed them-- +The manager-colonel, + The clerk and assistants, +And summoned the peasants + To choose them an Elder. +They weren't long about it! + And eight thousand voices +Cried out, 'Érmil Gírin!' + As though they were one. +Then Érmil was sent for 590 + To speak with the Barin, +And after some minutes + The Barin came out +On the balcony, standing + In face of the people; +He cried, 'Well, my brothers, + Your choice is elected +With my princely sanction! + But answer me this: +Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600 + + "'No, no, little Father! +He's young, but he's wise!' + + "So Érmil was Elder, +For seven years ruled + In the Prince's dominion. +Not once in that time + Did a coin of the peasants +Come under his nail, + Did the innocent suffer, +The guilty escape him, 610 + He followed his conscience." + +"But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely +A shrivelled grey pope, + Interrupting the speaker, +"The harrow went smoothly + Enough, till it happened +To strike on a stone, + Then it swerved of a sudden. +In telling a story + Don't leave an odd word out 620 + And alter the rhythm! +Now, if you knew Érmil + You knew his young brother, +Knew Mítyenka, did you?" + + The speaker considered, +Then said, "I'd forgotten, +I'll tell you about it: + It happened that once +Even Érmil the peasant + Did wrong: his young brother, 630 +Unjustly exempted + From serving his time, +On the day of recruiting; + And we were all silent, +And how could we argue + When even the Barin +Himself would not order + The Elder's own brother +To unwilling service? + And only one woman, 640 +Old Vlásevna, shedding + Wild tears for her son, +Went bewailing and screaming: + 'It wasn't our turn!' +Well, of course she'd be certain + To scream for a time, + Then leave off and be silent. +But what happened then? + The recruiting was finished, +But Érmil had changed; 650 + He was mournful and gloomy; +He ate not, he drank not, + Till one day his father +Went into the stable + And found him there holding +A rope in his hands. + Then at last he unbosomed +His heart to his father: + 'Since Vlásevna's son +Has been sent to the service, 660 + I'm weary of living, +I wish but to die!' + His brothers came also, +And they with the father + Besought him to hear them, +To listen to reason. + But he only answered: +'A villain I am, + And a criminal; bind me, +And bring me to justice!' 670 + And they, fearing worse things, +Obeyed him and bound him. + The commune assembled, +Exclaiming and shouting; + They'd never been summoned +To witness or judge + Such peculiar proceedings. + + "And Érmil's relations +Did not beg for mercy + And lenient treatment, 680 +But rather for firmness: + 'Bring Vlásevna's son back +Or Érmil will hang himself, + Nothing will save him!' +And then appeared Érmil + Himself, pale and bare-foot, +With ropes bound and handcuffed, + And bowing his head +He spoke low to the people: + 'The time was when I was 690 +Your judge; and I judged you, + In all things obeying +My conscience. But I now + Am guiltier far +Than were you. Be my judges!' + He bowed to our feet, +The demented one, sighing, + Then stood up and crossed himself, +Trembling all over; +It pained us to witness 700 + How he, of a sudden, +Fell down on his knees there + At Vlásevna's feet. +Well, all was put right soon, + The nobles have fingers +In every small corner, + The lad was brought back +And young Mítyenka started; + They say that his service +Did not weigh too heavy, 710 + The prince saw to that. +And we, as a penance, + Imposed upon Érmil +A fine, and to Vlásevna + One part was given, +To Mítya another, + The rest to the village +For vodka. However, + Not quickly did Érmil +Get over his sorrow: 720 + He went like a lost one +For full a year after, + And--though the whole district +Implored him to keep it-- + He left his position. +He rented the mill, then, + And more than of old +Was beloved by the people. + He took for his grinding +No more than was honest, 730 + His customers never +Kept waiting a moment, + And all men alike: +The rich landlord, the workman. + The master and servant, +The poorest of peasants + Were served as their turn came; +Strict order he kept. + Myself, I have not been +Since long in that district, 740 + But often the people +Have told me about him. + And never could praise him +Enough. So in your place + I'd go and ask Érmil." + +"Your time would be wasted," + The grey-headed pope, +Who'd before interrupted, + Remarked to the peasants, +"I knew Érmil Gírin, 750 + I chanced in that district +Some five years ago. + I have often been shifted, +Our bishop loved vastly + To keep us all moving, +So I was his neighbour. + Yes, he was a peasant +Unique, I bear witness, + And all things he owned +That can make a man happy: 760 + Peace, riches, and honour, +And that kind of honour + Most valued and precious, +Which cannot be purchased + By might or by money, +But only by righteousness, + Wisdom and kindness. +But still, I repeat it, + Your time will be wasted +In going to Érmil: 770 + In prison he lies." + + "How's that?" + + "God so willed it. +You've heard how the peasants +Of 'Log' the Pomyéshchick + Of Province 'Affrighted,' +Of District 'Scarce-Breathing,' + Of village 'Dumbfounded,' +Revolted 'for causes +Entirely unknown,' 780 + As they say in the papers. +(I once used to read them.) + And so, too, in this case, +The local Ispravnik,[27] + The Tsar's high officials, +And even the peasants, + 'Dumbfounded' themselves. +Never fathomed the reason + Of all the disturbance. +But things became bad, 790 + And the soldiers were sent for, +The Tsar packed a messenger + Off in a hurry +To speak to the people. + His epaulettes rose +To his ears as he coaxed them +And cursed them together. + But curses they're used to, +And coaxing was lost, + For they don't understand it: 800 + 'Brave orthodox peasants!' +'The Tsar--Little Father!' + 'Our dear Mother Russia!' +He bellowed and shouted + Until he was hoarse, +While the peasants stood round him + And listened in wonder. + + "But when he was tired +Of these peaceable measures + Of calming the riots, 810 +At length he decided + On giving the order +Of 'Fire' to the soldiers; + When all of a sudden +A bright thought occurred + To the clerk of the Volost:[28] +'The people trust Gírin, + The people will hear him!' + + "'Then let him be brought!'" [29] + + * * * * * + + A cry has arisen 820 +"Have mercy! Have mercy!" + A check to the story; +They hurry off quickly + To see what has happened; +And there on a bank + Of a ditch near the roadside, +Some peasants are birching + A drunken old lackey, +Just taken in thieving. + A court had been summoned, 830 +The judges deciding + To birch the offender, +That each of the jury + (About three and twenty) +Should give him a stroke + Turn in turn of the rod.... + + The lackey was up +And made off, in a twinkling, + He took to his heels +Without stopping to argue, 840 + On two scraggy legs. + + "How he trips it--the dandy!" +The peasants cry, laughing; + They've soon recognized him; +The boaster who prated + So much of his illness +From drinking strange liquors. + + "Ho! where has it gone to, +Your noble complaint? + Look how nimble he's getting!" 850 + + "Well, well, Little Father, +Now finish the story!" + + "It's time to go home now, +My children,--God willing, + We'll meet again some day +And finish it then...." + + The people disperse +As the dawn is approaching. + Our peasants begin +To bethink them of sleeping, 860 + When all of a sudden +A "troika" [30] comes flying + From no one sees where, +With its silver bells ringing. + Within it is sitting +A plump little Barin, + His little mouth smoking +A little cigar. + The peasants draw up +In a line on the roadway, 870 + Thus barring the passage +In front of the horses; + And, standing bareheaded, +Bow low to the Barin. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE POMYÉSHCHICK + + The "troika" is drawing +The local Pomyéshchick-- + Gavríl Afanásich + Obólt-Oboldoóeff. +A portly Pomyéshchick, + With long grey moustaches, +Some sixty years old. + His bearing is stately, +His cheeks very rosy, + He wears a short top-coat, 10 +Tight-fitting and braided, + Hungarian fashion; +And very wide trousers. + Gavríl Afanásich +Was probably startled + At seeing the peasants + Unflinchingly barring +The way to his horses; + He promptly produces +A loaded revolver 20 + As bulky and round +As himself; and directs it + Upon the intruders: + + "You brigands! You cut-throats! +Don't move, or I shoot!" + + "How can we be brigands?" +The peasants say, laughing, + "No knives and no pitchforks, +No hatchets have we!" + + "Who are you? And what 30 +Do you want?" said the Barin. + + "A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our wives, from our children, +Away from our work, + Kills our appetites too, +Do give us your promise + To answer us truly, +Consulting your conscience + And searching your knowledge, 40 +Not sneering, nor feigning + The question we put you, + And then we will tell you +The cause of our trouble." + + "I promise. I give you +The oath of a noble." + + "No, don't give us that-- +Not the oath of a noble! + We're better content +With the word of a Christian. 50 + The nobleman's oaths-- +They are given with curses, + With kicks and with blows! +We are better without them!" + + "Eh-heh, that's a new creed! +Well, let it be so, then. + And what is your trouble?" + + "But put up the pistol! +That's right! Now we'll tell you: + We are not assassins, 60 +But peaceable peasants, + From Government 'Hard-pressed,' +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From 'Destitute' Parish, +From neighbouring hamlets,-- + 'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,' +'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.' + From 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway, + And one asked another, 70 +Who is he--the man + Free and happy in Russia? +Luká said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +Demyán, 'The official.' + 'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan; +Pakhóm said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80 +And Prov said, 'The Tsar.' + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it, +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly, + And nothing can move them! +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, 90 +While quarrelling fought, + Till at last we decided +That never again +Would we turn our steps homeward + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until we have settled +The subject of discord; + Until we have found +The reply to our question-- 100 + Of who can, in Russia, +Be happy and free? + + "Now tell us, Pomyéshchick, +Is your life a sweet one? + And is the Pomyéshchick +Both happy and free?" + + Gavríl Afanásich +Springs out of the "troika" + And comes to the peasants. +He takes--like a doctor-- 110 + The hand of each one, +And carefully feeling + The pulse gazes searchingly +Into their faces, + Then clasps his plump sides +And stands shaking with laughter. + The clear, hearty laugh +Of the healthy Pomyéshchick + Peals out in the pleasant +Cool air of the morning: 120 + "Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" +Till he stops from exhaustion. + And then he addresses +The wondering peasants: + "Put on your hats, _gentlemen_, +Please to be seated!" + + (He speaks with a bitter[31] +And mocking politeness.) + + "But we are not gentry; +We'd rather stand up 130 + In your presence, your worship." + + "Sit down, worthy _citizens_, +Here on the bank." + + The peasants protest, +But, on seeing it useless, + Sit down on the bank. + + "May I sit beside you? +Hey, Proshka! Some sherry, + My rug and a cushion!" + He sits on the rug. 140 +Having finished the sherry, + Thus speaks the Pomyéshchick: + + "I gave you my promise +To answer your question.... + The task is not easy, +For though you are highly + Respectable people, +You're not very learned. + Well, firstly, I'll try +To explain you the meaning 150 + Of Lord, or Pomyéshchick. +Have you, by some chance, + Ever heard the expression + The 'Family Tree'? + Do you know what it means?" + + "The woods are not closed to us. +We have seen all kinds + Of trees," say the peasants. + "Your shot has miscarried! +I'll try to speak clearly; 160 + I come of an ancient, +Illustrious family; + One, Oboldoóeff, +My ancestor, is + Amongst those who were mentioned +In old Russian chronicles + Written for certain +Two hundred and fifty + Years back. It is written, + ''Twas given the Tartar, 170 +Obólt-Oboldoóeff, + A piece of cloth, value +Two roubles, for having + Amused the Tsaritsa +Upon the Tsar's birthday + By fights of wild beasts, +Wolves and foxes. He also + Permitted his own bear +To fight with a wild one, + Which mauled Oboldoóeff, 180 +And hurt him severely.' + And now, gentle peasants, +Did you understand?" + + "Why not? To this day +One can see them--the loafers + Who stroll about leading +A bear!" + + "Be it so, then! +But now, please be silent, + And hark to what follows: 190 +From this Oboldoóeff + My family sprang; +And this incident happened + Two hundred and fifty +Years back, as I told you, + But still, on my mother's side, + Even more ancient +The family is: + Says another old writing: +'Prince Schépin, and one 200 + Vaska Goóseff, attempted +To burn down the city + Of Moscow. They wanted +To plunder the Treasury. + They were beheaded.' +And this was, good peasants, + Full three hundred years back! +From these roots it was + That our Family Tree sprang." + +"And you are the ... as one 210 + Might say ... little apple +Which hangs on a branch + Of the tree," say the peasants. + +"Well, apple, then, call it, + So long as it please you. +At least you appear + To have got at my meaning. + And now, you yourselves +Understand--the more ancient + A family is 220 +The more noble its members. + Is that so, good peasants?" + +"That's so," say the peasants. + "The black bone and white bone +Are different, and they must + Be differently honoured." + +"Exactly. I see, friends, +You quite understand me." +The Barin continued: +"In past times we lived, 230 + As they say, 'in the bosom +Of Christ,' and we knew + What it meant to be honoured! +Not only the people + Obeyed and revered us, +But even the earth + And the waters of Russia.... +You knew what it was + To be One, in the centre +Of vast, spreading lands, 240 + Like the sun in the heavens: +The clustering villages + Yours, yours the meadows, +And yours the black depths + Of the great virgin forests! +You pass through a village; + The people will meet you, +Will fall at your feet; + Or you stroll in the forest; +The mighty old trees 250 + Bend their branches before you. +Through meadows you saunter; + The slim golden corn-stems +Rejoicing, will curtsey + With winning caresses, +Will hail you as Master. + The little fish sports +In the cool little river; + Get fat, little fish, +At the will of the Master! 260 + The little hare speeds +Through the green little meadow; + Speed, speed, little hare, +Till the coming of autumn, + The season of hunting, +The sport of the Master. + And all things exist +But to gladden the Master. + Each wee blade of grass +Whispers lovingly to him, 270 + 'I live but for thee....' + + "The joy and the beauty, +The pride of all Russia-- + The Lord's holy churches-- + Which brighten the hill-sides +And gleam like great jewels + On the slopes of the valleys, +Were rivalled by one thing + In glory, and that +Was the nobleman's manor. 280 + Adjoining the manor +Were glass-houses sparkling, + And bright Chinese arbours, +While parks spread around it. + On each of the buildings +Gay banners displaying + Their radiant colours, +And beckoning softly, + Invited the guest +To partake of the pleasures 290 + Of rich hospitality. +Never did Frenchmen + In dreams even picture +Such sumptuous revels + As we used to hold. +Not only for one-day, + Or two, did they last-- +But for whole months together! + We fattened great turkeys, + We brewed our own liquors, 300 +We kept our own actors, + And troupes of musicians, +And legions of servants! + Why, I kept five cooks, +Besides pastry-cooks, working, +Two blacksmiths, three carpenters, + Eighteen musicians, +And twenty-two huntsmen.... + My God!"... + + The afflicted 310 +Pomyéshchick broke down here, + And hastened to bury +His face in the cushion.... + "Hey, Proshka!" he cried, +And then quickly the lackey + Poured out and presented +A glassful of brandy. + The glass was soon empty, +And when the Pomyéshchick + Had rested awhile, 320 +He again began speaking: + "Ah, then, Mother Russia, +How gladly in autumn + Your forests awoke +To the horn of the huntsman! + Their dark, gloomy depths, +Which had saddened and faded, + Were pierced by the clear +Ringing blast, and they listened, + Revived and rejoiced, 330 +To the laugh of the echo. + The hounds and the huntsmen +Are gathered together, + And wait on the skirts +Of the forest; and with them + The Master; and farther +Within the deep forest + The dog-keepers, roaring +And shouting like madmen, + The hounds all a-bubble 340 +Like fast-boiling water. + Hark! There's the horn calling! +You hear the pack yelling? + They're crowding together! +And where's the red beast? +Hoo-loo-loo! Hoo-loo-loo! + And the sly fox is ready; +Fat, furry old Reynard + Is flying before us, +His bushy tail waving! 350 +The knowing hounds crouch, + And each lithe body quivers, +Suppressing the fire + That is blazing within it: +'Dear guests of our hearts, + _Do_ come nearer and greet us, +We're panting to meet you, + We, hale little fellows! +Come nearer to us + And away from the bushes!' 360 + +"They're off! Now, my horse, + Let your swiftness not fail me! +My hounds, you are staunch + And you will not betray me! +Hoo-loo! Faster, faster! + Now, _at him_, my children!"... +Gavríl Afanásich + Springs up, wildly shouting, +His arms waving madly, + He dances around them! 370 +He's certainly after + A fox in the forest! + +The peasants observe him + In silent enjoyment, +They smile in their beards.... + + "Eh ... you, mad, merry hunters! +Although he forgets + Many things--the Pomyéshchick-- +Those hunts in the autumn + Will not be forgotten. 380 +'Tis not for our own loss + We grieve, Mother Russia, +But you that we pity; + For you, with the hunting +Have lost the last traces + Of days bold and warlike +That made you majestic.... + + "At times, in the autumn, +A party of fifty + Would start on a hunting tour; 390 +Then each Pomyéshchick + Brought with him a hundred +Fine dogs, and twelve keepers, + And cooks in abundance. +And after the cooks + Came a long line of waggons +Containing provisions. + And as we went forward +With music and singing, + You might have mistaken 400 +Our band for a fine troop + Of cavalry, moving! + The time flew for us +Like a falcon." How lightly + The breast of the nobleman +Rose, while his spirit + Went back to the days +Of Old Russia, and greeted + The gallant Boyárin.[32] ... + +"No whim was denied us. 410 + To whom I desire +I show mercy and favour; + And whom I dislike +I strike dead on the spot. + The law is my wish, +And my fist is my hangman! + My blow makes the sparks crowd, +My blow smashes jaw-bones, + My blow scatters teeth!"... + + Like a string that is broken, 420 +The voice of the nobleman + Suddenly ceases; +He lowers his eyes + To the ground, darkly frowning ... +And then, in a low voice, + He says: + + "You yourselves know +That strictness is needful; + But I, with love, punished. +The chain has been broken, 430 + The links burst asunder; +And though we do not beat + The peasant, no longer +We look now upon him + With fatherly feelings. +Yes, I was severe too + At times, but more often +I turned hearts towards me + With patience and mildness. + +"Upon Easter Sunday 440 + I kissed all the peasants + Within my domain. +A great table, loaded + With 'Paska' and 'Koólich'[33] +And eggs of all colours, + Was spread in the manor. +My wife, my old mother, + My sons, too, and even +My daughters did not scorn + To kiss[34] the last peasant: 450 +'Now Christ has arisen!' + 'Indeed He has risen!' +The peasants broke fast then, + Drank vodka and wine. + Before each great holiday, +In my best staterooms + The All-Night Thanksgiving +Was held by the pope. + My serfs were invited +With every inducement: 460 + 'Pray hard now, my children, +Make use of the chance, + Though you crack all your foreheads!'[35] +The nose suffered somewhat, + But still at the finish +We brought all the women-folk + Out of a village +To scrub down the floors. + You see 'twas a cleansing +Of souls, and a strengthening 470 + Of spiritual union; +Now, isn't that so?" + + "That's so," say the peasants, +But each to himself thinks, + "They needed persuading +With sticks though, I warrant, + To get them to pray +In your Lordship's fine manor!" + + "I'll say, without boasting, +They loved me--my peasants. 480 + In my large Surminsky +Estate, where the peasants + Were mostly odd-jobbers, +Or very small tradesmen, + It happened that they +Would get weary of staying + At home, and would ask +My permission to travel, + To visit strange parts +At the coming of spring. 490 + They'd often be absent +Through summer and autumn. + My wife and the children +Would argue while guessing + The gifts that the peasants +Would bring on returning. + And really, besides +Lawful dues of the 'Barin' + In cloth, eggs, and live stock, +The peasants would gladly 500 + Bring gifts to the family: +Jam, say, from Kiev, + From Astrakhan fish, +And the richer among them + Some silk for the lady. +You see!--as he kisses + Her hand he presents her +A neat little packet! + And then for the children +Are sweetmeats and toys; 510 + For me, the old toper, +Is wine from St. Petersburg-- + Mark you, the rascal +Won't go to the Russian + For that! He knows better-- +He runs to the Frenchman! + And when we have finished +Admiring the presents + I go for a stroll +And a chat with the peasants; 520 + They talk with me freely. +My wife fills their glasses, +My little ones gather + Around us and listen, +While sucking their sweets, + To the tales of the peasants: +Of difficult trading, + Of places far distant, +Of Petersburg, Astrakhan, + Kazan, and Kiev.... 530 + On such terms it was +That I lived with my peasants. + Now, wasn't that nice?" + + "Yes," answer the peasants; +"Yes, well might one envy + The noble Pomyéshchick! +His life was so sweet + There was no need to leave it." + +"And now it is past.... + It has vanished for ever! 540 +Hark! There's the bell tolling!" + + They listen in silence: +In truth, through the stillness + Which settles around them, +The slow, solemn sound + On the breeze of the morning +Is borne from Kusminsky.... + +"Sweet peace to the peasant! +God greet him in Heaven!" + + The peasants say softly, 550 +And cross themselves thrice; + And the mournful Pomyéshchick +Uncovers his head, + As he piously crosses +Himself, and he answers: + "'Tis not for the peasant +The knell is now tolling, + It tolls the lost life +Of the stricken Pomyéshchick. + Farewell to the past, 560 +And farewell to thee, Russia, + The Russia who cradled +The happy Pomyéshchick, + Thy place has been stolen +And filled by another!... + Heh, Proshka!" (The brandy +Is given, and quickly + He empties the glass.) +"Oh, it isn't consoling +To witness the change 570 + In thy face, oh, my Motherland! +Truly one fancies + The whole race of nobles +Has suddenly vanished! + Wherever one goes, now, +One falls over peasants + Who lie about, tipsy, +One meets not a creature + But excise official, + Or stupid 'Posrédnik,'[36] 580 +Or Poles who've been banished. + One sees the troops passing, + And then one can guess +That a village has somewhere + Revolted, 'in thankful +And dutiful spirit....' + In old days, these roads +Were made gay by the passing + Of carriage, 'dormeuse,' +And of six-in-hand coaches, 590 + And pretty, light troikas; +And in them were sitting + The family troop +Of the jolly Pomyéshchick: + The stout, buxom mother, +The fine, roguish sons, + And the pretty young daughters; +One heard with enjoyment + The chiming of large bells, +The tinkling of small bells, 600 + Which hung from the harness. +And now?... What distraction + Has life? And what joy +Does it bring the Pomyéshchick? + At each step, you meet +Something new to revolt you; + And when in the air +You can smell a rank graveyard, + You know you are passing +A nobleman's manor! 610 + My Lord!... They have pillaged +The beautiful dwelling! + They've pulled it all down, +Brick by brick, and have fashioned + The bricks into hideously +Accurate columns! + The broad shady park +Of the outraged Pomyéshchick, + The fruit of a hundred years' +Careful attention, 620 + Is falling away +'Neath the axe of a peasant! + The peasant works gladly, +And greedily reckons + The number of logs +Which his labour will bring him. + His dark soul is closed +To refinement of feeling, + And what would it matter +To him, if you told him 630 + That this stately oak +Which his hatchet is felling + My grandfather's hand +Had once planted and tended; +That under this ash-tree + My dear little children, +My Vera and Gánushka, + Echoed my voice + As they played by my side; +That under this linden 640 + My young wife confessed me +That little Gavrióushka, + Our best-beloved first-born, +Lay under her heart, + As she nestled against me +And bashfully hid + Her sweet face in my bosom +As red as a cherry.... + It is to his profit +To ravish the park, 650 + And his mission delights him. +It makes one ashamed now + To pass through a village; +The peasant sits still +And he dreams not of bowing. + One feels in one's breast +Not the pride of a noble + But wrath and resentment. +The axe of the robber + Resounds in the forest, 660 +It maddens your heart, + But you cannot prevent it, +For who can you summon + To rescue your forest? +The fields are half-laboured, + The seeds are half-wasted, +No trace left of order.... + O Mother, my country, +We do not complain + For ourselves--of our sorrows, 670 +Our hearts bleed for thee: + Like a widow thou standest +In helpless affliction + With tresses dishevelled +And grief-stricken face.... + They have blighted the forest, +The noisy low taverns +Have risen and flourished. + They've picked the most worthless +And loose of the people, 680 + And given them power +In the posts of the Zemstvos; + They've seized on the peasant +And taught him his letters-- + Much good may it do him! +Your brow they have branded, + As felons are branded, +As cattle are branded, + With these words they've stamped it: +'To take away with you 690 + Or drink on the premises.' +Was it worth while, pray, + To weary the peasant +With learning his letters + In order to read them? +The land that we keep + Is our mother no longer, +Our stepmother rather. + And then to improve things, +These pert good-for-nothings, 700 + These impudent writers +Must needs shout in chorus: + 'But whose fault, then, is it, +That you thus exhausted + And wasted your country?' +But I say--you duffers! + Who _could_ foresee this? +They babble, 'Enough + Of your lordly pretensions! +It's time that you learnt something, 710 + Lazy Pomyéshchicks! +Get up, now, and work!' + + "Work! To whom, in God's name, +Do you think you are speaking? + I am not a peasant +In 'laputs,' good madman! + I am--by God's mercy-- +A Noble of Russia. + You take us for Germans! +We nobles have tender 720 + And delicate feelings, +Our pride is inborn, + And in Russia our classes +Are not taught to work. + Why, the meanest official + Will not raise a finger +To clear his own table, + Or light his own stove! +I can say, without boasting, + That though I have lived 730 +Forty years in the country, + And scarcely have left it, +I could not distinguish + Between rye and barley. +And they sing of 'work' to me! + + "If we Pomyéshchicks +Have really mistaken + Our duty and calling, +If really our mission + Is not, as in old days, 740 +To keep up the hunting, + To revel in luxury, +Live on forced labour, + Why did they not tell us +Before? Could I learn it? + For what do I see? +I've worn the Tsar's livery, +'Sullied the Heavens,' + And 'squandered the treasury +Gained by the people,' 750 + And fully imagined +To do so for ever, + And now ... God in Heaven!"... +The Barin is sobbing!... + + The kind-hearted peasants +Can hardly help crying + Themselves, and they think: +"Yes, the chain has been broken, + The strong links have snapped, +And the one end recoiling 760 + Has struck the Pomyéshchick, +The other--the peasant." + + + + + +PART II. + +THE LAST POMYÉSHCHICK + + +PROLOGUE + +The day of St. Peter-- + And very hot weather; +The mowers are all + At their work in the meadows. +The peasants are passing + A tumble-down village, +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Of Government "Know-Nothing.' + They are approaching 10 +The banks of the Volga. + They come to the river, +The sea-gulls are wheeling + And flashing above it; +The sea-hens are walking + About on the sand-banks; +And in the bare hayfields, + Which look just as naked +As any youth's cheek + After yesterday's shaving, 20 +The Princes Volkonsky[37] + Are haughtily standing, +And round them their children, + Who (unlike all others) +Are born at an earlier + Date than their sires. + +"The fields are enormous," +Remarks old Pakhóm, + "Why, the folk must be giants." +The two brothers Goóbin 30 + Are smiling at something: +For some time they've noticed + A very tall peasant +Who stands with a pitcher + On top of a haystack; +He drinks, and a woman + Below, with a hay-fork, +Is looking at him + With her head leaning back. +The peasants walk on 40 + Till they come to the haystack; +The man is still drinking; + They pass it quite slowly, +Go fifty steps farther, + Then all turn together +And look at the haystack. + Not much has been altered: +The peasant is standing + With body bent back +As before,--but the pitcher 50 + Has turned bottom upwards.... + +The strangers go farther. + The camps are thrown out +On the banks of the river; + And there the old people +And children are gathered, + And horses are waiting +With big empty waggons; + And then, in the fields +Behind those that are finished, 60 + The distance is filled +By the army of workers, + The white shirts of women, +The men's brightly coloured, + And voices and laughter, +With all intermingled + The hum of the scythes.... + + "God help you, good fellows!" +"Our thanks to you, brothers!" + + The peasants stand noting 70 +The long line of mowers, + The poise of the scythes +And their sweep through the sunshine. + The rhythmical swell +Of melodious murmur. + + The timid grass stands +For a moment, and trembles, + Then falls with a sigh.... + + On the banks of the Volga +The grass has grown high 80 +And the mowers work gladly. + The peasants soon feel +That they cannot resist it. +"It's long since we've stretched ourselves, + Come, let us help you!" +And now seven women + Have yielded their places. + The spirit of work +Is devouring our peasants; + Like teeth in a ravenous 90 +Mouth they are working-- + The muscular arms, +And the long grass is falling + To songs that are strange +To this part of the country, + To songs that are taught +By the blizzards and snow-storms, +The wild savage winds + Of the peasants' own homelands: +"Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," 100 + "Patched," "Bare-Foot," and "Shabby," +And "Harvestless," too.... + And when the strong craving +For work is appeased + They sit down by a haystack. + +"From whence have you come?" + A grey-headed old peasant +(The one whom the women + Call Vlásuchka) asks them, +"And where are you going?" 110 + + "We are--" say the peasants, +Then suddenly stop, + There's some music approaching! + +"Oh, that's the Pomyéshchick + Returning from boating!" +Says Vlásuchka, running + To busy the mowers: +"Wake up! Look alive there! + And mind--above all things, +Don't heat the Pomyéshchick 120 + And don't make him angry! +And if he abuse you, + Bow low and say nothing, +And if he should praise you, + Start lustily cheering. +You women, stop cackling! + And get to your forks!" +A big burly peasant +With beard long and bushy + Bestirs himself also 130 +To busy them all, + Then puts on his "kaftan," [38] +And runs away quickly + To meet the Pomyéshchick. + +And now to the bank-side + Three boats are approaching. +In one sit the servants + And band of musicians, +Most busily playing; + The second one groans 140 +'Neath a mountainous wet-nurse, + Who dandles a baby, +A withered old dry-nurse, + A motionless body +Of ancient retainers. + And then in the third +There are sitting the gentry: + Two beautiful ladies +(One slender and fair-haired, + One heavy and black-browed) 150 +And two moustached Barins + And three little Barins, +And last--the Pomyéshchick, + A very old man +Wearing long white moustaches + (He seems to be all white); +His cap, broad and high-crowned, + Is white, with a peak, +In the front, of red satin. + His body is lean 160 +As a hare's in the winter, + His nose like a hawk's beak, +His eyes--well, they differ: + The one sharp and shining, +The other--the left eye-- + Is sightless and blank, +Like a dull leaden farthing. + Some woolly white poodles +With tufts on their ankles + Are in the boat too. 170 + +The old man alighting + Has mounted the bank, +Where for long he reposes + Upon a red carpet +Spread out by the servants. +And then he arises + To visit the mowers, +To pass through the fields + On a tour of inspection. +He leans on the arm-- 180 + Now of one of the Barins, +And now upon those + Of the beautiful ladies. +And so with his suite-- + With the three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles,-- +Along through the hayfields + Proceeds the Pomyéshchick. 190 + +The peasants on all sides + Bow down to the ground; +And the big, burly peasant + (The Elder he is +As the peasants have noticed) + Is cringing and bending +Before the Pomyéshchick, + Just like the Big Devil +Before the high altar: +"Just so! Yes, Your Highness, 200 + It's done, at your bidding!" +I think he will soon fall + Before the Pomyéshchick +And roll in the dust.... + + So moves the procession, +Until it stops short + In the front of a haystack +Of wonderful size, + Only this day erected. +The old man is poking 210 + His forefinger in it, +He thinks it is damp, + And he blazes with fury: +"Is this how you rot + The best goods of your master? +I'll rot you with barschin,[39] + I'll make you repent it! +Undo it--at once!" + + The Elder is writhing +In great agitation: 220 + "I was not quite careful +Enough, and it _is_ damp. + It's my fault, Your Highness!" +He summons the peasants, + Who run with their pitchforks +To punish the monster. + And soon they have spread it +In small heaps around, + At the feet of the master; +His wrath is appeased. 230 + + (In the meantime the strangers +Examine the hay--It's + like tinder--so dry!) + +A lackey comes flying + Along, with a napkin; +He's lame--the poor man! + "Please, the luncheon is served." +And then the procession, +The three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, 240 + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles, + Moves onward to lunch. + +The peasants stand watching; + From one of the boats +Comes an outburst of music +To greet the Pomyéshchick. + + The table is shining +All dazzlingly white + On the bank of the river. 250 +The strangers, astonished, +Draw near to old Vlásuchka; + "Pray, little Uncle," +They say, "what's the meaning + Of all these strange doings? +And who is that curious + Old man?" + + "Our Pomyéshchick, +The great Prince Yutiátin." + +"But why is he fussing 260 + About in that manner? +For things are all changed now, + And he seems to think +They are still as of old. + The hay is quite dry, +Yet he told you to dry it!" + + "But funnier still +That the hay and the hayfields + Are not his at all." + +"Then whose are they?" 270 + "The Commune's." + +"Then why is he poking + His nose into matters +Which do not concern him? + For are you not free?" + +"Why, yes, by God's mercy + The order is changed now +For us as for others; + But ours is a special case." + +"Tell us about it." 280 + The old man lay down +At the foot of the haystack + And answered them--nothing. + + The peasants producing + The magic white napkin +Sit down and say softly, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" +The napkin unfolds, + And two hands, which come floating +From no one sees where, 291 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away.... + + The peasants, still wishing +To question old Vlásuchka, + Wisely present him +A cupful of vodka: + "Now come, little Uncle, 300 +Be gracious to strangers, + And tell us your story." + +"There's nothing to tell you. + You haven't told me yet +Who _you_ are and whence +You have journeyed to these parts, + And whither you go." + +"We will not be surly + Like you. We will tell you. +We've come a great distance, 310 + And seek to discover +A thing of importance. + A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our work, from our homes, +From the love of our food...." + The peasants then tell him +About their chance meeting, + Their argument, quarrel, +Their vow, and decision; 320 + Of how they had sought +In the Government "Tight-Squeeze" + And Government "Shot-Strewn" +The man who, in Russia, + Is happy and free.... + + Old Vlásuchka listens, +Observing them keenly. + "I see," he remarks, +When the story is finished, + "I see you are very 330 +Peculiar people. + We're said to be strange here, +But you are still stranger." + +"Well, drink some more vodka + And tell us your tale." + + And when by the vodka +His tongue becomes loosened, + Old Vlásuchka tells them +The following story. + + +I + +THE DIE-HARD + +"The great prince, Yutiátin, + The ancient Pomyéshchick, +Is very eccentric. + His wealth is untold, +And his titles exalted, + His family ranks +With the first in the Empire. + The whole of his life +He has spent in amusement, + Has known no control 10 +Save his own will and pleasure. + When we were set free +He refused to believe it: + 'They lie! the low scoundrels!' +There came the posrédnik + And Chief of Police, +But he would not admit them, + He ordered them out +And went on as before, +And only became 20 + Full of hate and suspicion: +'Bow low, or I'll flog you + To death, without mercy!' +The Governor himself came + To try to explain things, +And long they disputed + And argued together; +The furious voice + Of the prince was heard raging +All over the house, 30 + And he got so excited +That on the same evening + A stroke fell upon him: +His left side went dead, + Black as earth, so they tell us, +And all over nothing! + It wasn't his pocket +That pinched, but his pride + That was touched and enraged him. +He lost but a mite 40 + And would never have missed it." + +"Ah, that's what it means, friends, + To be a Pomyéshchick, +The habit gets into + The blood," says Mitródor, + "And not the Pomyéshchick's +Alone, for the habit + Is strong in the peasant +As well," old Pakhóm said. + "I once on suspicion 50 +Was put into prison, + And met there a peasant +Called Sédor, a strange man, + Arrested for horse-stealing, +If I remember; + And he from the prison +Would send to the Barin + His taxes. (The prisoner's +Income is scanty, + He gets what he begs 60 +Or a trifle for working.) + The others all laughed at him; +'Why should you send them + And you off for life +To hard labour?' they asked him. + But he only said, +'All the same ... it is better.'" + + "Well, now, little Uncle, +Go on with the story." + + "A mite is a small thing, 70 + Except when it happens +To be in the eye! + The Pomyéshchick lay senseless, +And many were sure + That he'd never recover. +His children were sent for, + Those black-moustached footguards +(You saw them just now + With their wives, the fine ladies), +The eldest of them 80 + Was to settle all matters +Concerning his father. + He called the posrédnik +To draw up the papers + And sign the agreement, +When suddenly--there + Stands the old man before them! +He springs on them straight + Like a wounded old tiger, +He bellows like thunder. 90 + It was but a short time +Ago, and it happened + That I was then Elder, +And chanced to have entered + The house on some errand, +And I heard myself + How he cursed the Pomyéshchicks; +The words that he spoke + I have never forgotten: +'The Jews are reproached 100 + For betraying their Master; +But what are _you_ doing? + The rights of the nobles +By centuries sanctioned + You fling to the beggars!' +He said to his sons, + 'Oh, you dastardly cowards! +My children no longer! + It is for small reptiles-- +The pope's crawling breed-- 110 + To take bribes from vile traitors, +To purchase base peasants, + And they may be pardoned! +But you!--you have sprung + From the house of Yutiátin, +The Princes Yu-tiá-tin + You are! Go!... Go, leave me! +You pitiful puppies!' +The heirs were alarmed; + How to tide matters over 120 +Until he should die? + For they are not small items, +The forests and lands + That belong to our father; +His money-bags are not + So light as to make it +A question of nothing + Whose shoulders shall bear them; +We know that our father + Has three 'private' daughters 130 +In Petersburg living, + To Generals married, +So how do we know + That they may not inherit +His wealth?... The Pomyéshchick + Once more is prostrated, +His death is a question + Of time, and to make it +Run smoothly till then + An agreement was come to, 140 +A plan to deceive him: +So one of the ladies +(The fair one, I fancy, + She used at that time +To attend the old master + And rub his left side +With a brush), well, she told him + That orders had come +From the Government lately + That peasants set free 150 +Should return to their bondage. + And he quite believed it. +(You see, since his illness + The Prince had become +Like a child.) When he heard it + He cried with delight; +And the household was summoned + To prayer round the icons;[40] +And Thanksgiving Service + Was held by his orders 160 +In every small village, + And bells were set ringing. +And little by little + His strength returned partly. +And then as before + It was hunting and music, + The servants were caned +And the peasants were punished. + The heirs had, of course, +Set things right with the servants, 170 + A good understanding +They came to, and one man + (You saw him go running +Just now with the napkin) + Did not need persuading--- +He so loved his Barin. + His name is Ipát, +And when we were made free + He refused to believe it; +'The great Prince Yutiátin 180 + Be left without peasants! +What pranks are you playing?' + At last, when the 'Order +Of Freedom' was shown him, + Ipát said, 'Well, well, +Get you gone to your pleasures, + But I am the slave +Of the Princes Yutiátin!' + He cannot get over +The old Prince's kindness 190 + To him, and he's told us +Some curious stories + Of things that had happened +To him in his childhood, + His youth and old age. +(You see, I had often + To go to the Prince +On some matter or other + Concerning the peasants, +And waited and waited 200 + For hours in the kitchens, +And so I have heard them + A hundred times over.) +'When I was a young man + Our gracious young Prince +Spent his holidays sometimes + At home, and would dip me +(His meanest slave, mind you) + Right under the ice +In the depths of the Winter. 210 + He did it in such +A remarkable way, too! + He first made two holes +In the ice of the river, + In one he would lower +Me down in a net-- + Pull me up through the other!' +And when I began + To grow old, it would happen +That sometimes I drove 220 + With the Prince in the Winter; +The snow would block up + Half the road, and we used +To drive five-in-a-file. + Then the fancy would strike him +(How whimsical, mark you!) + To set me astride +On the horse which was leading, + Me--last of his slaves! +Well, he dearly loved music, 230 + And so he would throw me +A fiddle: 'Here! play now, + Ipát.' Then the driver +Would shout to the horses, +And urge them to gallop. + The snow would half-blind me, +My hands with the music + Were occupied both; +So what with the jolting, + The snow, and the fiddle, 240 +Ipát, like a silly +Old noodle, would tumble. + Of course, if he landed +Right under the horses + The sledge must go over +His ribs,--who could help it? + But that was a trifle; +The cold was the worst thing, + It bites you, and you +Can do nothing against it! 250 + The snow lay all round +On the vast empty desert, + I lay looking up +At the stars and confessing + My sins. But--my friends, +This is true as the Gospel-- + I heard before long +How the sledge-bells came ringing, + Drew nearer and nearer: +The Prince had remembered, 260 + And come back to fetch me!' + + "(The tears began falling +And rolled down his face + At this part of the story. + Whenever he told it +He always would cry + Upon coming to this!) +'He covered me up + With some rugs, and he warmed me, +He lifted me up, 270 + And he placed me beside him, +Me--last of his slaves-- + Beside his Princely Person! +And so we came home.'" + + They're amused at the story. + +Old Vlásuchka, when + He has emptied his fourth cup, +Continues: "The heirs came + And called us together-- +The peasants and servants; 280 + They said, 'We're distressed +On account of our father. + These changes will kill him, +He cannot sustain them. + So humour his weakness: + Keep silent, and act still +As if all this trouble + Had never existed; +Give way to him, bow to him + Just as in old days. 290 +For each stroke of barschin, +For all needless labour, + For every rough word +We will richly reward you. + He cannot live long now, +The doctors have told us + That two or three months +Is the most we may hope for. + Act kindly towards us, +And do as we ask you, 300 + And we as the price +Of your silence will give you + The hayfields which lie +On the banks of the Volga. + Think well of our offer, +And let the posrédnik + Be sent for to witness +And settle the matter.' + + "Then gathered the commune +To argue and clamour; 310 + The thought of the hayfields +(In which we are sitting), + With promises boundless +And plenty of vodka, + Decided the question: +The commune would wait + For the death of the Barin. + +"Then came the posrédnik, + And laughing, he said: +'It's a capital notion! 320 + The hayfields are fine, too, +You lose nothing by it; + You just play the fool +And the Lord will forgive you. + You know, it's forbidden +To no one in Russia + To bow and be silent.' + +"But I was against it: + I said to the peasants, +'For you it is easy, 330 + But how about me? +Whatever may happen + The Elder must come + To accounts with the Barin, +And how can I answer + His babyish questions? +And how can I do + His nonsensical bidding?' + + "'Just take off your hat +And bow low, and say nothing, 340 + And then you walk out +And the thing's at an end. + The old man is ill, +He is weak and forgetful, + And nothing will stay +In his head for an instant.' + + "Perhaps they were right; +To deceive an old madman + Is not very hard. +But for my part, I don't want 350 + To play at buffoon. +For how many years + Have I stood on the threshold +And bowed to the Barin? + Enough for my pleasure! +I said, 'If the commune + Is pleased to be ruled +By a crazy Pomyéshchick + To ease his last moments +I don't disagree, 360 + I have nothing against it; +But then, set me free + From my duties as Elder.' + +"The whole matter nearly + Fell through at that moment, +But then Klímka Lávin said, + 'Let _me_ be Elder, +I'll please you on both sides, + The master and you. +The Lord will soon take him, 370 + And then the fine hayfields +Will come to the commune. + I swear I'll establish +Such order amongst you + You'll die of the fun!' + +"The commune took long + To consider this offer: +A desperate fellow + Is Klímka the peasant, +A drunkard, a rover, 380 + And not very honest, + No lover of work, +And acquainted with gipsies; + A vagabond, knowing +A lot about horses. + A scoffer at those +Who work hard, he will tell you: + 'At work you will never +Get rich, my fine fellow; + You'll never get rich,-- 390 +But you're sure to get crippled!' + But he, all the same, +Is well up in his letters; + Has been to St. Petersburg. +Yes, and to Moscow, + And once to Siberia, too, +With the merchants. + A pity it was +That he ever returned! + He's clever enough, 400 +But he can't keep a farthing; + He's sharp--but he's always +In some kind of trouble. +He's picked some fine words up + From out of his travels: + 'Our Fatherland dear,' +And 'The soul of great Russia,' + And 'Moscow, the mighty, +Illustrious city!' + 'And I,' he will shout, 410 +'Am a plain Russian peasant!' + And striking his forehead +He'll swallow the vodka. + A bottle at once +He'll consume, like a mouthful. + He'll fall at your feet +For a bottle of vodka. + But if he has money +He'll share with you, freely; + The first man he meets 420 +May partake of his drink. + He's clever at shouting +And cheating and fooling, + At showing the best side +Of goods which are rotten, +At boasting and lying; + And when he is caught +He'll slip out through a cranny, + And throw you a jest, +Or his favourite saying: 430 + 'A crack in the jaw +Will your honesty bring you!' + + "Well, after much thinking +The commune decided + That I must remain +The responsible Elder; + But Klímka might act +In my stead to the Barin + As though he were Elder. +Why, then, let him do it! 440 + The right kind of Elder +He is for his Barin, + They make a fine pair! + Like putty his conscience; +Like Meenin's[41] his beard, + So that looking upon him +You'd think a sedater, + More dutiful peasant +Could never be found. + The heirs made his kaftan, 450 +And he put it on, + And from Klímka the 'scapegrace' +He suddenly changed + Into Klím, Son-of-Jacob,[42] +Most worthy of Elders. +So that's how it is;-- + And to our great misfortune +The Barin is ordered + A carriage-drive daily. +Each day through the village 460 + He drives in a carriage +That's built upon springs. + Then up you jump, quickly, +And whip off your hat, + And, God knows for what reason, +He'll jump down your throat, + He'll upbraid and abuse you; +But you must keep silent. + He watches a peasant +At work in the fields, 470 + And he swears we are lazy +And lie-abed sluggards + (Though never worked peasant +With half such a will + In the time of the Barin). +He has not a notion + That they are not _his_ fields, +But ours. When we gather + We laugh, for each peasant +Has something to tell 480 + Of the crazy Pomyéshchick; +His ears burn, I warrant, + When we come together! +And Klím, Son-of-Jacob, + Will run, with the manner +Of bearing the commune + Some news of importance +(The pig has got proud + Since he's taken to scratching +His sides on the steps 490 + Of the nobleman's manor). +He runs and he shouts: + 'A command to the commune! + I told the Pomyèshchick +That Widow Teréntevna's + Cottage had fallen. +And that she is begging + Her bread. He commands you + To marry the widow +To Gabriel Jóckoff; 500 + To rebuild the cottage, +And let them reside there + And multiply freely.' + +"The bride will be seventy, + Seven the bridegroom! +Well, who could help laughing? +Another command: + 'The dull-witted cows, +Driven out before sunrise, + Awoke the Pomyéshchick 510 +By foolishly mooing + While passing his courtyard. +The cow-herd is ordered + To see that the cows +Do not moo in that manner!'" + +The peasants laugh loudly. + + "But why do you laugh so? +We all have our fancies. + Yakútsk was once governed, +I heard, by a General; 520 + He had a liking +For sticking live cows + Upon spikes round the city, +And every free spot + Was adorned in that manner, +As Petersburg is, + So they say, with its statues, +Before it had entered + The heads of the people +That he was a madman. 530 + + "Another strict order +Was sent to the commune: + 'The dog which belongs +To Sofrónoff the watchman + Does not behave nicely, +It barked at the Barin. + Be therefore Sofrónoff +Dismissed. Let Evrémka +Be watchman to guard + The estate of the Barin.' 540 +(Another loud laugh, + For Evremka, the 'simple,' +Is known as the deaf-mute + And fool of the village). + But Klímka's delighted: +At last he's found something + That suits him exactly. +He bustles about + And in everything meddles, +And even drinks less. 550 + There's a sharp little woman +Whose name is Orévna, + And she is Klím's gossip, +And finely she helps him + To fool the old Barin. +And as to the women, + They're living in clover: +They run to the manor + With linen and mushrooms +And strawberries, knowing 560 + The ladies will buy them +And pay what they ask them + And feed them besides. +We laughed and made game + Till we fell into danger +And nearly were lost: + There was one man among us, +Petrov, an ungracious + And bitter-tongued peasant; +He never forgave us 570 + Because we'd consented +To humour the Barin. + 'The Tsar,' he would say, +'Has had mercy upon you, + And now, you, yourselves +Lift the load to your backs. + To Hell with the hayfields! + We want no more masters!' +We only could stop him + By giving him vodka 580 +(His weakness was vodka). + The devil must needs +Fling him straight at the Barin. +One morning Petrov + Had set out to the forest +To pilfer some logs + (For the night would not serve him, +It seems, for his thieving, + He must go and do it +In broadest white daylight), 590 + And there comes the carriage, +On springs, with the Barin! + + "'From whence, little peasant, +That beautiful tree-trunk? + From whence has it come?' +He knew, the old fellow, + From whence it had come. +Petrov stood there silent, + And what could he answer? +He'd taken the tree 600 + From the Barin's own forest. + + "The Barin already +Is bursting with anger; + He nags and reproaches, +He can't stop recalling + The rights of the nobles. +The rank of his Fathers, + He winds them all into +Petrov, like a corkscrew. + +"The peasants are patient, 610 + But even their patience +Must come to an end. + Petrov was out early, +Had eaten no breakfast, + Felt dizzy already, +And now with the words + Of the Barin all buzzing +Like flies in his ears-- + Why, he couldn't keep steady, +He laughed in his face! 620 + + "'Have done, you old scarecrow!' +He said to the Barin. + 'You crazy old clown!' + His jaw once unmuzzled +He let enough words out + To stuff the Pomyéshchick +With Fathers and Grandfathers + Into the bargain. +The oaths of the lords + Are like stings of mosquitoes, 630 +But those of the peasant + Like blows of the pick-axe. +The Barin's dumbfounded! + He'd safely encounter +A rain of small shot, + But he cannot face stones. +The ladies are with him, + They, too, are bewildered, +They run to the peasant + And try to restrain him. 640 + +"He bellows, 'I'll kill you! + For what are you swollen +With pride, you old dotard, + You scum of the pig-sty? +Have done with your jabber! + You've lost your strong grip +On the soul of the peasant, + The last one you are. +By the will of the peasant + Because he is foolish 650 +They treat you as master + To-day. But to-morrow +The ball will be ended; + A good kick behind +We will give the Pomyéshchick, + And tail between legs +Send him back to his dwelling + To leave us in peace!' + + "The Barin is gasping, +'You rebel ... you rebel!' 660 + He trembles all over, +Half-dead he has fallen, + And lies on the earth! + + "The end! think the others, +The black-moustached footguards, + The beautiful ladies; +But they are mistaken; + It isn't the end. + + "An order: to summon +The village together 670 + To witness the punishment +Dealt to the rebel + Before the Pomyéshchick.... +The heirs and the ladies + Come running in terror +To Klím, to Petrov, + And to me: 'Only save us!' +Their faces are pale, + 'If the trick is discovered +We're lost!' 680 + It is Klím's place +To deal with the matter: + He drinks with Petrov +All day long, till the evening, + Embracing him fondly. +Together till midnight + They pace round the village, +At midnight start drinking + Again till the morning. +Petrov is as tipsy 690 + As ever man was, +And like that he is brought + To the Barin's large courtyard, +And all is perfection! + The Barin can't move +From the balcony, thanks + To his yesterday's shaking. +And Klím is well pleased. + + "He leads Petrov into +The stable and sets him 700 + In front of a gallon +Of vodka, and tells him: + 'Now, drink and start crying, +''Oh, oh, little Fathers! + Oh, oh, little. Mothers! +Have mercy! Have mercy!''' + + "Petrov does his bidding; +He howls, and the Barin, + Perched up on the balcony, +Listens in rapture. 710 + He drinks in the sound +Like the loveliest music. + And who could help laughing +To hear him exclaiming, + 'Don't spare him, the villain! +The im-pu-dent rascal! + Just teach him a lesson!' +Petrov yells aloud + Till the vodka is finished. +Of course in the end 720 +He is perfectly helpless, + And four peasants carry him +Out of the stable. + His state is so sorry +That even the Barin + Has pity upon him, +And says to him sweetly, + 'Your own fault it is, +Little peasant, you know!'" + +"You see what a kind heart 730 + He has, the Pomyéshchick," +Says Prov, and old Vlásuchka + Answers him quietly, +"A saying there is: + 'Praise the grass--in the haystack, +The lord--in his coffin.' + + "Twere well if God took him. +Petrov is no longer + Alive. That same evening +He started up, raving, 740 +At midnight the pope came, + And just as the day dawned +He died. He was buried, + A cross set above him, +And God alone knows + What he died of. It's certain +That we never touched him, + Nay, not with a finger, +Much less with a stick. + Yet sometimes the thought comes: +Perhaps if that accident 751 + Never had happened +Petrov would be living. + You see, friends, the peasant +Was proud more than others, + He carried his head high, +And never had bent it, + And now of a sudden-- +Lie down for the Barin! + Fall flat for his pleasure! 760 +The thing went off well, + But Petrov had not wished it. +I think he was frightened + To anger the commune +By not giving in, + And the commune is foolish, +It soon will destroy you.... + The ladies were ready +To kiss the old peasant, + They brought fifty roubles 770 +For him, and some dainties. + 'Twas Klímka, the scamp, +The unscrupulous sinner, + Who worked his undoing.... + + "A servant is coming +To us from the Barin, + They've finished their lunch. +Perhaps they have sent him + To summon the Elder. +I'll go and look on 780 + At the comedy there." + + +II + +KLÍM, THE ELDER + +With him go the strangers, + And some of the women +And men follow after, + For mid-day has sounded, +Their rest-time it is, + So they gather together +To stare at the gentry, + To whisper and wonder. +They stand in a row + At a dutiful distance 10 +Away from the Prince.... + + At a long snowy table +Quite covered with bottles + And all kinds of dishes +Are sitting the gentry, + The old Prince presiding +In dignified state + At the head of the table; +All white, dressed in white, + With his face shrunk awry, 20 +His dissimilar eyes; + In his button-hole fastened +A little white cross + (It's the cross of St. George, +Some one says in a whisper); +And standing behind him, + Ipát, the domestic, +The faithful old servant, +In white tie and shirt-front + Is brushing the flies off. 30 +Beside the Pomyéshchick + On each hand are sitting +The beautiful ladies: + The one with black tresses, +Her lips red as beetroots, + Each eye like an apple; +The other, the fair-haired, + With yellow locks streaming. +(Oh, you yellow locks, + Like spun gold do you glisten 40 +And glow, in the sunshine!) + Then perched on three high chairs +The three little Barins, + Each wearing his napkin +Tucked under his chin, + With the old nurse beside them, +And further the body + Of ancient retainers; +And facing the Prince + At the foot of the table, 50 +The black-moustached footguards + Are sitting together. +Behind each chair standing + A young girl is serving, +And women are waving + The flies off with branches. +The woolly white poodles + Are under the table, +The three little Barins + Are teasing them slyly. 60 + + Before the Pomyéshchick, +Bare-headed and humble, + The Elder is standing. +"Now tell me, how soon + Will the mowing be finished?" +The Barin says, talking + And eating at once. + + "It soon will be finished. +Three days of the week + Do we work for your Highness; 70 +A man with a horse, + And a youth or a woman, +And half an old woman + From every allotment. +To-day for this week +Is the Barin's term finished." + + "Tut-tut!" says the Barin, +Like one who has noticed + Some crafty intent +On the part of another. 80 + "'The Barin's term,' say you? +Now, what do you mean, pray?" + The eye which is bright +He has fixed on the peasant. + + The Elder is hanging +His head in confusion. + "Of course it must be +As your Highness may order. + In two or three days, +If the weather be gracious, 90 + The hay of your Highness +Can surely be gathered. + That's so,--is it not?" + +(He turns his broad face round + And looks at the peasants.) +And then the sharp woman, + Klím's gossip, Orévna, +Makes answer for them: + "Yes, Klím, Son-of-Jacob, +The hay of the Barin 100 + Is surely more precious +Than ours. We must tend it + As long as the weather lasts; +Ours may come later." + + "A woman she is, +But more clever than you," + The Pomyéshchick says smiling, +And then of a sudden + Is shaken with laughter: +"Ha, ha! Oh, you blockhead! 110 + Ha? ha! fool! fool! fool! +It's the 'Barin's term,' say you? + Ha, ha! fool, ha, ha! +The Barin's term, slave, + Is the whole of your life-time; +And you have forgotten + That I, by God's mercy, +By Tsar's ancient charter, + By birth and by merit, +Am your supreme master!" 120 + + The strangers remark here +That Vlásuchka gently + Slips down to the grass. + + "What's that for?" they ask him. +"We may as well rest now; + He's off. You can't stop him. +For since it was rumoured + That we should be given +Our freedom, the Barin + Takes care to remind us 130 +That till the last hour + Of the world will the peasant +Be clenched in the grip + Of the nobles." And really +An hour slips away + And the Prince is still speaking; +His tongue will not always + Obey him, he splutters +And hisses, falls over + His words, and his right eye 140 +So shares his disquiet + That it trembles and twitches. +The left eye expands, + Grows as round as an owl's eye, +Revolves like a wheel. + The rights of his Fathers +Through ages respected, + His services, merits, +His name and possessions, + The Barin rehearses. 150 + +God's curse, the Tsar's anger, + He hurls at the heads +Of obstreperous peasants. + And strictly gives order +To sweep from the commune + All senseless ideas, +Bids the peasants remember + That they are his slaves +And must honour their master. + + "Our Fathers," cried Klím, 160 +And his voice sounded strangely, + It rose to a squeak +As if all things within him + Leapt up with a passionate +Joy of a sudden + At thought of the mighty +And noble Pomyéshchicks, +"And whom should we serve + Save the Master we cherish? +And whom should we honour? 170 + In whom should we hope? +We feed but on sorrows, + We bathe but in tear-drops, +How can we rebel? + + "Our tumble-down hovels, +Our weak little bodies, + Ourselves, we are yours, +We belong to our Master. + The seeds which we sow +In the earth, and the harvest, 180 + The hair on our heads-- +All belongs to the Master. + Our ancestors fallen +To dust in their coffins, + Our feeble old parents +Who nod on the oven, + Our little ones lying +Asleep in their cradles + Are yours--are our Master's, +And we in our homes 190 +Use our wills but as freely + As fish in a net." + +The words of the Elder + Have pleased the Pomyéshchick, +The right eye is gazing + Benignantly at him, +The left has grown smaller + And peaceful again +Like the moon in the heavens. +He pours out a goblet 200 + Of red foreign wine: +"Drink," he says to the peasant. + The rich wine is burning +Like blood in the sunshine; + Klím drinks without protest. +Again he is speaking: + + "Our Fathers," he says, +"By your mercy we live now + As though in the bosom +Of Christ. Let the peasant 210 + But try to exist +Without grace from the Barin!" +(He sips at the goblet.) + "The whole world would perish +If not for the Barin's + Deep wisdom and learning. +If not for the peasant's + Most humble submission. +By birth, and God's holy + Decree you are bidden 220 + To govern the stupid +And ignorant peasant; + By God's holy will +Is the peasant commanded + To honour and cherish +And work for his lord!" + + And here the old servant, +Ipát, who is standing + Behind the Pomyéshchick +And waving his branches, 230 + Begins to sob loudly, +The tears streaming down + O'er his withered old face: +"Let us pray that the Barin + For many long years +May be spared to his servants!" +The simpleton blubbers, + The loving old servant, +And raising his hand, + Weak and trembling, he crosses 240 +Himself without ceasing. + The black-moustached footguards +Look sourly upon him + With secret displeasure. +But how can they help it? + So off come their hats +And they cross themselves also. + And then the old Prince +And the wrinkled old dry-nurse + Both sign themselves thrice, 250 +And the Elder does likewise. + He winks to the woman, +His sharp little gossip, + And straightway the women, +Who nearer and nearer + Have drawn to the table, +Begin most devoutly + To cross themselves too. +And one begins sobbing + In just such a manner 260 +As had the old servant. +("That's right, now, start whining, + Old Widow Terentevna, +Sill-y old noodle!" + Says Vlásuchka, crossly.) + +The red sun peeps slyly + At them from a cloud, +And the slow, dreamy music + Is heard from the river.... + +The ancient Pomyéshchick 270 + Is moved, and the right eye +Is blinded with tears, + Till the golden-haired lady +Removes them and dries it; + She kisses the other eye +Heartily too. + + "You see!" then remarks +The old man to his children, + The two stalwart sons +And the pretty young ladies; 280 + "I wish that those villains, +Those Petersburg liars + Who say we are tyrants, +Could only be here now + To see and hear this!" + +But then something happened + Which checked of a sudden +The speech of the Barin: + A peasant who couldn't +Control his amusement 290 + Gave vent to his laughter. + +The Barin starts wildly, + He clutches the table, +He fixes his face + In the sinner's direction; +The right eye is fierce, + Like a lynx he is watching +To dart on his prey, + And the left eye is whirling. +"Go, find him!" he hisses, 300 + "Go, fetch him! the scoundrel!" + +The Elder dives straight + In the midst of the people; +He asks himself wildly, + "Now, what's to be done?" +He makes for the edge + Of the crowd, where are sitting +The journeying strangers; + His voice is like honey: +"Come one of you forward; 310 + You see, you are strangers, +He wouldn't touch _you_." + + But they are not anxious +To face the Pomyéshchick, + Although they would gladly +Have helped the poor peasants. + He's mad, the old Barin, +So what's to prevent him + From beating them too? + + "Well, you go, Román," 320 + Say the two brothers Góobin, +"_You_ love the Pomyéshchicks." + + "I'd rather you went, though!" +And each is quite willing + To offer the other. +Then Klím looses patience; + "Now, Vlásuchka, help us! +Do something to save us! + I'm sick of the thing!" + +"Yes! Nicely you lied there!" 330 + + "Oho!" says Klím sharply, +"What lies did I tell? + And shan't we be choked +In the grip of the Barins + Until our last day +When we lie in our coffins? + When we get to Hell, too, +Won't they be there waiting + To set us to work?" + + "What kind of a job 340 +Would they find for us there, Klím?" + + "To stir up the fire +While they boil in the pots!" + The others laugh loudly. +The sons of the Barin + Come hurrying to them; +"How foolish you are, Klím! + Our father has sent us, +He's terribly angry + That you are so long, 350 +And don't bring the offender." + + "We can't bring him, Barin; +A stranger he is, + From St. Petersburg province, +A very rich peasant; + The devil has sent him +To us, for our sins! + He can't understand us, +And things here amuse him; + He couldn't help laughing." 360 + +"Well, let him alone, then. + Cast lots for a culprit, +We'll pay him. Look here!" + He offers five roubles. +Oh, no. It won't tempt them. + + "Well, run to the Barin, +And say that the fellow + Has hidden himself." + + "But what when to-morrow comes? +Have you forgotten 370 + Petrov, how we punished +The innocent peasant?" + +"Then what's to be done?" + +"Give me the five roubles! + You trust me, I'll save you!" +Exclaims the sharp woman, + The Elder's sly gossip. +She runs from the peasants + Lamenting and groaning, +And flings herself straight 380 + At the feet of the Barin: + +"O red little sun! + O my Father, don't kill me! +I have but one child, + Oh, have pity upon him! +My poor boy is daft, + Without wits the Lord made him, +And sent him so into + The world. He is crazy. +Why, straight from the bath 390 + He at once begins scratching; +His drink he will try + To pour into his laputs +Instead of the jug. + And of work he knows nothing; +He laughs, and that's all + He can do--so God made him! +Our poor little home, + 'Tis small comfort he brings it; +Our hut is in ruins, 400 + Not seldom it happens +We've nothing to eat, + And that sets him laughing-- +The poor crazy loon! + You may give him a farthing, +A crack on the skull, + And at one and the other +He'll laugh--so God made him! + And what can one say? +From a fool even sorrow 410 + Comes pouring in laughter." + +The knowing young woman! + She lies at the feet +Of the Barin, and trembles, + She squeals like a silly +Young girl when you pinch her, + She kisses his feet. + +"Well ... go. God be with you!" + The Barin says kindly, +"I need not be angry 420 + At idiot laughter, +I'll laugh at him too!" + + "How good you are, Father," +The black-eyed young lady + Says sweetly, and strokes +The white head of the Barin. + The black-moustached footguards +At this put their word in: + + "A fool cannot follow +The words of his masters, 430 + Especially those +Like the words of our father, + So noble and clever." + + And Klím--shameless rascal!-- +Is wiping his eyes + On the end of his coat-tails, +Is sniffing and whining; + "Our Fathers! Our Fathers! +The sons of our Father! + They know how to punish, 440 +But better they know + How to pardon and pity!" + + The old man is cheerful +Again, and is asking + For light frothing wine, + And the corks begin popping +And shoot in the air + To fall down on the women, +Who fly from them, shrieking. + The Barin is laughing, 450 +The ladies then laugh, + And at them laugh their husbands, +And next the old servant, + Ipát, begins laughing, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + And then the whole party +Laugh loudly together; + The feast will be merry! +His daughters-in-law + At the old Prince's order 460 +Are pouring out vodka + To give to the peasants, +Hand cakes to the youths, + To the girls some sweet syrup; +The women drink also + A small glass of vodka. +The old Prince is drinking + And toasting the peasants; +And slyly he pinches + The beautiful ladies. 470 + "That's right! That will do him +More good than his physic," + Says Vlásuchka, watching. +"He drinks by the glassful, + Since long he's lost measure +In revel, or wrath...." + + The music comes floating +To them from the Volga, + The girls now already +Are dancing and singing, 480 + The old Prince is watching them, +Snapping his fingers. + He wants to be nearer +The girls, and he rises. + His legs will not bear him, +His two sons support him; + And standing between them +He chuckles and whistles, + And stamps with his feet +To the time of the music; 490 + The left eye begins +On its own account working, + It turns like a wheel. + + "But why aren't you dancing?" +He says to his sons, + And the two pretty ladies. +"Dance! Dance!" They can't help themselves, + There they are dancing! +He laughs at them gaily, + He wishes to show them 500 +How things went in _his_ time; + He's shaking and swaying +Like one on the deck + Of a ship in rough weather. + +"Sing, Luiba!" he orders. + The golden-haired lady +Does not want to sing, + But the old man will have it. +The lady is singing + A song low and tender, 510 +It sounds like the breeze + On a soft summer evening +In velvety grasses + Astray, like spring raindrops +That kiss the young leaves, + And it soothes the Pomyéshchick. +The feeble old man: + He is falling asleep now.... +And gently they carry him + Down to the water, 520 +And into the boat, + And he lies there, still sleeping. +Above him stands, holding + A big green umbrella, +The faithful old servant, + His other hand guarding +The sleeping Pomyéshchick + From gnats and mosquitoes. +The oarsmen are silent, + The faint-sounding music 530 +Can hardly be heard + As the boat moving gently +Glides on through the water.... + + The peasants stand watching: +The bright yellow hair + Of the beautiful lady +Streams out in the breeze + Like a long golden banner.... + +"I managed him finely, +The noble Pomyéshchick," 540 + Said Klím to the peasants. +"Be God with you, Barin! + Go bragging and scolding, +Don't think for a moment + That we are now free +And your servants no longer, + But die as you lived, +The almighty Pomyéshchick, + To sound of our music, +To songs of your slaves; 550 + But only die quickly, +And leave the poor peasants + In peace. And now, brothers, +Come, praise me and thank me! + I've gladdened the commune. +I shook in my shoes there + Before the Pomyéshchick, +For fear I should trip + Or my tongue should betray me; +And worse--I could hardly 560 + Speak plain for my laughter! +That eye! How it spins! + And you look at it, thinking: + 'But whither, my friend, +Do you hurry so quickly? + On some hasty errand +Of yours, or another's? + Perhaps with a pass +From the Tsar--Little Father, + You carry a message 570 +From him.' I was standing + And bursting with laughter! +Well, I am a drunken + And frivolous peasant, +The rats in my corn-loft + Are starving from hunger, +My hut is quite bare, + Yet I call God to witness +That I would not take + Such an office upon me 580 +For ten hundred roubles + Unless I were certain +That he was the last, + That I bore with his bluster +To serve my own ends, + Of my own will and pleasure." + + Old Vlásuchka sadly +And thoughtfully answers, + "How long, though, how long, though, +Have we--not we only 590 + But all Russian peasants-- +Endured the Pomyéshchicks? + And not for our pleasure, +For money or fun, + Not for two or three months, +But for life. What has changed, though? + Of what are we bragging? +For still we are peasants." + + The peasants, half-tipsy, +Congratulate Klímka. 600 + "Hurrah! Let us toss him!" +And now they are placing + Old Widow Teréntevna +Next to her bridegroom, + The little child Jóckoff, +Saluting them gaily. +They're eating and drinking + What's left on the table. +Then romping and jesting + They stay till the evening, 610 +And only at nightfall + Return to the village. +And here they are met + By some sobering tidings: +The old Prince is dead. + From the boat he was taken, +They thought him asleep, + But they found he was lifeless. +The second stroke--while + He was sleeping--had fallen! 620 + +The peasants are sobered, + They look at each other, +And silently cross themselves. + Then they breathe deeply; +And never before + Did the poor squalid village +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Draw such an intense + And unanimous breath.... 630 +Their pleasure, however, + Was not very lasting, +Because with the death + Of the ancient Pomyéshchick, +The sweet-sounding words + Of his heirs and their bounties +Ceased also. Not even + A pick-me-up after +The yesterday's feast + Did they offer the peasants. 640 +And as to the hayfields-- + Till now is the law-suit +Proceeding between them, + The heirs and the peasants. +Old Vlásuchka was + By the peasants appointed +To plead in their name, + And he lives now in Moscow. +He went to St. Petersburg too, + But I don't think 650 +That much can be done + For the cause of the peasants. + + + + + +PART III. + +THE PEASANT WOMAN + + +PROLOGUE + + "Not only to men +Must we go with our question, + We'll ask of the women," +The peasants decided. + They asked in the village +"Split-up," but the people + Replied to them shortly, +"Not here will you find one. + But go to the village +'Stripped-Naked'--a woman 10 + Lives there who is happy. +She's hardly a woman, + She's more like a cow, +For a woman so healthy, + So smooth and so clever, +Could hardly be found. + You must seek in the village +Matróna Korchágin-- +The people there call her + 'The Governor's Lady.'" 20 +The peasants considered +And went.... + + Now already +The corn-stalks are rising + Like tall graceful columns, +With gilded heads nodding, + And whispering softly + In gentle low voices. + Oh, beautiful summer! +No time is so gorgeous, 30 + So regal, so rich. + +You full yellow cornfields, + To look at you now +One would never imagine + How sorely God's people +Had toiled to array you + Before you arose, +In the sight of the peasant, + And stood before him, +Like a glorious army 40 + n front of a Tsar! +'Tis not by warm dew-drops +That you have been moistened, + The sweat of the peasant +Has fallen upon you. + + The peasants are gladdened +At sight of the oats + And the rye and the barley, +But not by the wheat, + For it feeds but the chosen: 50 +"We love you not, wheat! + But the rye and the barley +We love--they are kind, + They feed all men alike." + +The flax, too, is growing + So sweetly and bravely: +"Ai! you little mite! + You are caught and entangled!" +A poor little lark + In the flax has been captured; 60 +It struggles for freedom. + Pakhóm picks it up, +He kisses it tenderly: + "Fly, little birdie!" ... +The lark flies away +To the blue heights of Heaven; + The kind-hearted peasants +Gaze lovingly upwards + To see it rejoice +In the freedom above.... 70 + The peas have come on, too; +Like locusts, the peasants + Attack them and eat them. +They're like a plump maiden-- + The peas--for whoever +Goes by must needs pinch them. + Now peas are being carried +In old hands, in young hands, + They're spreading abroad +Over seventy high-roads. 80 + The vegetables--how +They're flourishing also! + Each toddler is clasping +A radish or carrot, + And many are cracking +The seeds of the sunflower. + The beetroots are dotted +Like little red slippers + All over the earth. + + Our peasants are walking, 90 +Now faster--now slower. + At last they have reached it-- +The village 'Stripped-Naked,' + It's not much to look at: +Each hut is propped up + Like a beggar on crutches; +The thatch from the roofs + Has made food for the cattle; +The huts are like feeble + Old skeletons standing, 100 +Like desolate rooks' nests + When young birds forsake them. +When wild Autumn winds + Have dismantled the birch-trees. +The people are all + In the fields; they are working. +Behind the poor village + A manor is standing; +It's built on the slope + Of a hill, and the peasants 110 +Are making towards it + To look at it close. + +The house is gigantic, +The courtyard is huge, + There's a pond in it too; +A watch-tower arises + From over the house, +With a gallery round it, + A flagstaff upon it. + + They meet with a lackey 120 + Near one of the gates: +He seems to be wearing + A strange kind of mantle; +"Well, what are you up to?" + He says to the friends, +"The Pomyéshchick's abroad now, + The manager's dying." +He shows them his back, + And they all begin laughing: +A tiger is clutching 130 + The edge of his shoulders! +"Heh! here's a fine joke!" + They are hotly discussing +What kind of a mantle + The lackey is wearing, +Till clever Pakhóm + Has got hold of the riddle. + "The cunning old rascal, +He's stolen a carpet, + And cut in the middle 140 +A hole for his head!" + + Like weak, straddling beetles +Shut up to be frozen + In cold empty huts +By the pitiless peasants. +The servants are crawling + All over the courtyard. +Their master long since + Has forgotten about them, +And left them to live 150 + As they can. They are hungry, +All old and decrepit, +And dressed in all manners, + They look like a crowd +In a gipsy encampment. + And some are now dragging +A net through the pond: + "God come to your help! +Have you caught something, brothers?" + "One carp--nothing more; 160 +There used once to be many, +But now we have come + To the end of the feast!" + +"Do try to get five!" + Says a pale, pregnant woman, +Who's fervently blowing + A fire near the pond. + +"And what are those pretty + Carved poles you are burning? +They're balcony railings, 170 + I think, are they not?" + +"Yes, balcony railings." + + "See here. They're like tinder; +Don't blow on them, Mother! + I bet they'll burn faster +Than you find the victuals + To cook in the pot!" + + "I'm waiting and waiting, +And Mítyenka sickens + Because of the musty 180 +Old bread that I give him. + But what can I do? +This life--it is bitter!" + She fondles the head +Of a half-naked baby + Who sits by her side +In a little brass basin, + A button-nosed mite. + + "The boy will take cold there, +The basin will chill him," 190 + Says Prov; and he wishes +To lift the child up, + But it screams at him, angry. +"No, no! Don't you touch him," + The mother says quickly, +"Why, can you not see + That's his carriage he's driving? +Drive on, little carriage! + Gee-up, little horses! +You see how he drives!" 200 + + The peasants each moment +Observe some new marvel; + And soon they have noticed +A strange kind of labour + Proceeding around them: +One man, it appears, + To the door has got fastened; +He's toiling away + To unscrew the brass handles, +His hands are so weak 210 + He can scarcely control them. +Another is hugging + Some tiles: "See, Yegórshka, +I've dug quite a heap out!" + Some children are shaking +An apple-tree yonder: + "You see, little Uncles, + There aren't many left, +Though the tree was quite heavy." + "But why do you want them? 220 +They're quite hard and green." + "We're thankful to get them!" + +The peasants examine + The park for a long time; +Such wonders are seen here, + Such cunning inventions: +In one place a mountain + Is raised; in another +A ravine yawns deep! + A lake has been made too; 230 +Perhaps at one time +There were swans on the water? + The summer-house has some +Inscriptions upon it, + Demyán begins spelling +Them out very slowly. + A grey-haired domestic +Is watching the peasants; + He sees they have very +Inquisitive natures, 240 + And presently slowly +Goes hobbling towards them, + And holding a book. +He says, "Will you buy it?" + Demyán is a peasant +Acquainted with letters, + He tries for some time +But he can't read a word. + + "Just sit down yourself +On that seat near the linden, 250 + And read the book leisurely +Like a Pomyéshchick!" + + "You think you are clever," +The grey-headed servant +Retorts with resentment, + "Yet books which are learned +Are wasted upon you. + You read but the labels +On public-house windows, + And that which is written 260 +On every odd corner: +'Most strictly forbidden.'" + +The pathways are filthy, + The graceful stone ladies +Bereft of their noses. + "The fruit and the berries, +The geese and the swans + Which were once on the water, +The thieving old rascals + Have stuffed in their maws. 270 +Like church without pastor, + Like fields without peasants, +Are all these fine gardens + Without a Pomyéshchick," +The peasants remark. + For long the Pomyéshchick +Has gathered his treasures, +When all of a sudden.... +(The six peasants laugh, + But the seventh is silent, 280 +He hangs down his head.) + + A song bursts upon them! +A voice is resounding + Like blasts of a trumpet. +The heads of the peasants + Are eagerly lifted, +They gaze at the tower. + On the balcony round it +A man is now standing; + He wears a pope's cassock; 290 +He sings ... on the balmy + Soft air of the evening, +The bass, like a huge + Silver bell, is vibrating, +And throbbing it enters + The hearts of the peasants. +The words are not Russian, + But some foreign language, +But, like Russian songs, + It is full of great sorrow, 300 +Of passionate grief, + Unending, unfathomed; +It wails and laments, + It is bitterly sobbing.... + +"Pray tell us, good woman, + What man is that singing?" +Román asks the woman + Now feeding her baby +With steaming ukhá.[43] + + "A singer, my brothers, 310 +A born Little Russian, + The Barin once brought him +Away from his home, + With a promise to send him +To Italy later. +But long the Pomyéshchick + Has been in strange parts +And forgotten his promise; + And now the poor fellow +Would be but too glad 320 + To get back to his village. +There's nothing to do here, + He hasn't a farthing, +There's nothing before him + And nothing behind him +Excepting his voice. + You have not really heard it; +You will if you stay here + Till sunrise to-morrow: +Some three versts away 330 + There is living a deacon, +And he has a voice too. + They greet one another: +Each morning at sunrise + Will our little singer +Climb up to the watch-tower, + And call to the other, +'Good-morrow to Father + Ipát, and how fares he?' +(The windows all shake 340 +At the sound.) + From the distance + The deacon will answer, +'Good-morrow, good-morrow, + To our little sweet-throat! +I go to drink vodka, + I'm going ... I'm going....' +The voice on the air + Will hang quivering around us +For more than an hour, 350 + Like the neigh of a stallion." + +The cattle are now + Coming home, and the evening +Is filled with the fragrance + Of milk; and the woman, +The mother of Mítyenka, + Sighs; she is thinking, +"If only one cow + Would turn into the courtyard!" +But hark! In the distance 360 + Some voices in chorus! +"Good-bye, you poor mourners, + May God send you comfort! +The people are coming, + We're going to meet them." + +The peasants are filled + With relief; because after +The whining old servants + The people who meet them +Returning from work 370 + In the fields seem such healthy +And beautiful people. + The men and the women +And pretty young girls + Are all singing together. + +"Good health to you! Which is + Among you the woman +Matróna Korchágin?" + The peasants demand. + +"And what do you want 380 +With Matróna Korchágin?" + +The woman Matróna + Is tall, finely moulded, +Majestic in bearing, + And strikingly handsome. +Of thirty-eight years + She appears, and her black hair +Is mingled with grey. + Her complexion is swarthy, +Her eyes large and dark 390 + And severe, with rich lashes. +A white shirt, and short + Sarafán[44] she is wearing, +She walks with a hay-fork + Slung over her shoulder. + +"Well, what do you want + With Matróna Korchágin?" +The peasants are silent; + They wait till the others +Have gone in advance, 400 + And then, bowing, they answer: + +"We come from afar, + And a trouble torments us, +A trouble so great + That for it we've forsaken +Our homes and our work, + And our appetites fail. +We're orthodox peasants, + From District 'Most Wretched,' +From 'Destitute Parish,' 410 + From neighbouring hamlets-- +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' +And 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway + And argued about +Who is happy in Russia. +Luká said, 'The pope,' + And Demyán, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 420 + And Román, 'The official.' +'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan. +Pakhóm said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it + Although you should beat them 430 +With stout wooden cudgels, + They stick to their folly +And nothing will move them. + We argued and quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, + And while fighting decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homewards +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, 440 +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Of who can in Russia + Be happy and free? +We've questioned the pope, + We've asked the Pomyéshchick, +And now we ask you. + We'll seek the official, +The Minister, merchant, + We even will go 450 +To the Tsar--Little Father, + Though whether he'll see us +We cannot be sure. + But rumour has told us +That _you're_ free and happy. + Then say, in God's name, +If the rumour be true." + +Matróna Korchágin + Does not seem astonished, +But only a sad look 460 + Creeps into her eyes, +And her face becomes thoughtful. + + "Your errand is surely +A foolish one, brothers," + She says to the peasants, +"For this is the season + Of work, and no peasant +For chatter has time." + +"Till now on our journey + Throughout half the Empire 470 +We've met no denial," + The peasants protest. + +"But look for yourselves, now, + The corn-ears are bursting. +We've not enough hands." + + "And we? What are we for? +Just give us some sickles, + And see if we don't +Get some work done to-morrow!" + The peasants reply. 480 + +Matróna sees clearly + Enough that this offer +Must not be rejected; + "Agreed," she said, smiling, +"To such lusty fellows + As you, we may well look +For ten sheaves apiece." + + "You give us your promise +To open your heart to us?" + + "I will hide nothing." 490 + +Matróna Korchágin + Now enters her cottage, +And while she is working + Within it, the peasants +Discover a very + Nice spot just behind it, +And sit themselves down. + There's a barn close beside them +And two immense haystacks, + A flax-field around them; 500 +And lying just near them + A fine plot of turnips, +And spreading above them + A wonderful oak-tree, +A king among oaks. + They're sitting beneath it, +And now they're producing + The magic white napkin: +"Heh, napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!" 510 +The napkin unfolds, + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, +Place a pailful of vodka, + A large pile of bread +On the magic white napkin, + And dwindle away. +The two brothers Goóbin + Are chuckling together, +For they have just pilfered 520 + A very big horse-radish +Out of the garden-- + It's really a monster! + +The skies are dark blue now, + The bright stars are twinkling, +The moon has arisen + And sails high above them; +The woman Matróna + Comes out of the cottage +To tell them her tale. 530 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THE WEDDING + +"My girlhood was happy, + For we were a thrifty +Arid diligent household; + And I, the young maiden, +With Father and Mother + Knew nothing but joy. +My father got up + And went out before sunrise, +He woke me with kisses + And tender caresses; 10 +My brother, while dressing, + Would sing little verses: +'Get up, little Sister, + Get up, little Sister, +In no little beds now +Are people delaying, +In all little churches +The peasants are praying, +Get up, now, get up, +It is time, little Sister. 20 +The shepherd has gone +To the field with the sheep, +And no little maidens +Are lying asleep, +They've gone to pick raspberries, +Merrily singing. +The sound of the axe +In the forest is ringing.' + +"And then my dear mother, + When she had done scouring 30 +The pots and the pans, + When the hut was put tidy, +The bread in the oven, + Would steal to my bedside, +And cover me softly + And whisper to me: + +"'Sleep on, little dove, + Gather strength--you will need it-- +You will not stay always + With Father and Mother, 40 +And when you will leave them + To live among strangers +Not long will you sleep. + You'll slave till past midnight, +And rise before daybreak; + You'll always be weary. +They'll give you a basket + And throw at the bottom +A crust. You will chew it, + My poor little dove, 50 +And start working again....' + + "But, brothers, I did not +Spend much time in sleeping; + And when I was five +On the day of St. Simon, + I mounted a horse +With the help of my father, + And then was no longer +A child. And at six years + I carried my father 60 +His breakfast already, + And tended the ducks, +And at night brought the cow home, + And next--took my rake, +And was off to the hayfields! + And so by degrees +I became a great worker, + And yet best of all +I loved singing and dancing; + The whole day I worked 70 +In the fields, and at nightfall + Returned to the cottage +All covered with grime. + But what's the hot bath for? +And thanks to the bath + And boughs of the birch-tree, +And icy spring water, + Again I was clean +And refreshed, and was ready + To take out my spinning-wheel, 80 +And with companions + To sing half the night. + +"I never ran after + The youths, and the forward +I checked very sharply. +To those who were gentle + And shy, I would whisper: +'My cheeks will grow hot, + And sharp eyes has my mother; +Be wise, now, and leave me 90 + Alone'--and they left me. + +"No matter how clever + I was to avoid them, +The one came at last + I was destined to wed; +And he--to my bitter + Regret--was a stranger: +Young Phílip Korchágin, + A builder of ovens. +He came from St. Petersburg. 100 + Oh, how my mother +Did weep: 'Like a fish + In the ocean, my daughter, +You'll plunge and be lost; + Like a nightingale, straying +Away from its nest, + We shall lose you, my daughter! +The walls of the stranger + Are not built of sugar, +Are not spread with honey, 110 + Their dwellings are chilly +And garnished with hunger; + The cold winds will nip you, +The black rooks will scold you, + The savage dogs bite you, +The strangers despise you.' + +"But Father sat talking + And drinking till late +With the 'swat.'[45] I was frightened. + I slept not all night.... 120 + + "Oh, youth, pray you, tell me, +Now what can you find + In the maiden to please you? +And where have you seen her? + Perhaps in the sledges +With merry young friends + Flying down from the mountain? +Then you were mistaken, + O son of your father, +It was but the frost 130 + And the speed and the laughter +That brought the bright tints + To the cheeks of the maiden. +Perhaps at some feast + In the home of a neighbour +You saw her rejoicing + And clad in bright colours? +But then she was plump + From her rest in the winter; +Her rosy face bloomed 140 + Like the scarlet-hued poppy; +But wait!--have you been + To the hut of her father +And seen her at work + Beating flax in the barn? +Ah, what shall I do? + I will take brother falcon +And send him to town: + 'Fly to town, brother falcon, +And bring me some cloth 150 + And six colours of worsted, +And tassels of blue. + I will make a fine curtain, +Embroider each corner + With Tsar and Tsaritsa, +With Moscow and Kiev, + And Constantinople, +And set the great sun + Shining bright in the middle, +And this I will hang 160 + In the front of my window: +Perhaps you will see it, + And, struck by its beauty, +Will stand and admire it, + And will not remember +To seek for the maiden....' + + "And so till the morning +I lay with such thoughts. + 'Now, leave me, young fellow,' +I said to the youth 170 + When he came in the evening; +'I will not be foolish + Enough to abandon +My freedom in order + To enter your service. +God sees me--I will not + Depart from my home!' + + "'Do come,' said young Phílip, +'So far have I travelled + To fetch you. Don't fear me-- 180 + I will not ill-treat you.' +I begged him to leave me, + I wept and lamented; +But nevertheless + I was still a young maiden: +I did not forget + Sidelong glances to cast +At the youth who thus wooed me. + And Phílip was handsome, +Was rosy and lusty, 190 + Was strong and broad-shouldered, +With fair curling hair, + With a voice low and tender.... +Ah, well ... I was won.... + +"'Come here, pretty fellow, + And stand up against me, +Look deep in my eyes-- + They are clear eyes and truthful; +Look well at my rosy + Young face, and bethink you: 200 +Will you not regret it, + Won't my heart be broken, +And shall I not weep + Day and night if I trust you +And go with you, leaving + My parents forever?' + +"'Don't fear, little pigeon, + We shall not regret it,' +Said Phílip, but still + I was timid and doubtful. 210 +'Do go,' murmured I, and he, + 'When you come with me.' +Of course I was fairer + And sweeter and dearer +Than any that lived, + And his arms were about me.... +Then all of a sudden + I made a sharp effort +To wrench myself free. 219 + 'How now? What's the matter? +You're strong, little pigeon!' + Said Phílip astonished, +But still held me tight. + 'Ah, Phílip, if you had +Not held me so firmly + You would not have won me; +I did it to try you, + To measure your strength; +You were strong, and it pleased me.' +We must have been happy 230 + In those fleeting moments +When softly we whispered + And argued together; +I think that we never + Were happy again.... + +"How well I remember.... + The night was like this night, +Was starlit and silent ... + Was dreamy and tender +Like this...." 240 + + And the woman, +Matróna, sighed deeply, + And softly began-- +Leaning back on the haystack-- + To sing to herself +With her thoughts in the past: + + "'Tell me, young merchant, pray, + Why do you love me so-- + Poor peasant's daughter? + I am not clad in gold, 250 + I am not hung with pearls, + Not decked with silver.' + + "'Silver your chastity, + Golden your beauty shines, + O my belovèd, + White pearls are falling now + Out of your weeping eyes, + Falling like tear-drops.' + +"My father gave orders + To bring forth the wine-cups, 260 +To set them all out + On the solid oak table. +My dear mother blessed me: + 'Go, serve them, my daughter, +Bow low to the strangers.' + I bowed for the first time, +My knees shook and trembled; + I bowed for the second-- +My face had turned white; + And then for the third time 270 +I bowed, and forever + The freedom of girlhood +Rolled down from my head...." + +"Ah, that means a wedding," + Cry both brothers Goóbin, +"Let's drink to the health + Of the happy young pair!" + +"Well said! We'll begin + With the bride," say the others. + +"Will you drink some vodka, 280 + Matróna Korchágin?" + +"An old woman, brothers, + And not drink some vodka?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +A SONG + +Stand before your judge-- +And your legs will quake! +Stand before the priest +On your wedding-day,-- +How your head will ache! +How your head will ache! +You will call to mind +Songs of long ago, +Songs of gloom and woe: +Telling how the guests 10 +Crowd into the yard, +Run to see the bride +Whom the husband brings +Homeward at his side. +How his parents both +Fling themselves on her; +How his brothers soon +Call her "wasteful one"; +How his sisters next +Call her "giddy one"; 20 +How his father growls, +"Greedy little bear!" +How his mother snarls, +"Cannibal!" at her. +She is "slovenly" +And "disorderly," +She's a "wicked one"! + +"All that's in the song + Happened now to me. +Do you know the song? 30 + Have you heard it sung?" + +"Yes, we know it well; +Gossip, you begin, + We will all join in." + + _Matróna_ + +So sleepy, so weary +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow. +But out in the passage +My Father-in-law +Begins stamping and swearing. 40 + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Stamping and swearing! +Stamping and swearing! + He won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + + _Matróna_ + +So sleepy, so weary 50 +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow; +But out in the passage +My Mother-in-law +Begins scolding and nagging. + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Scolding and nagging! +Scolding and nagging! + She won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! 60 + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + +"A quarrelsome household + It was--that of Philip's +To which I belonged now; + And I from my girlhood +Stepped straight into Hell. + My husband departed 70 +To work in the city, + And leaving, advised me +To work and be silent, + To yield and be patient: +'Don't splash the red iron + With cold water--it hisses!' +With father and mother + And sisters-in-law he +Now left me alone; + Not a soul was among them 80 +To love or to shield me, + But many to scold. +One sister-in-law-- + It was Martha, the eldest,-- +Soon set me to work + Like a slave for her pleasure. +And Father-in-law too + One had to look after, +Or else all his clothes + To redeem from the tavern. 90 +In all that one did + There was need to be careful, +Or Mother-in-law's + Superstitions were troubled +(One never could please her). +Well, some superstitions + Of course may be right; +But they're most of them evil. + And one day it happened +That Mother-in-law 100 + Murmured low to her husband +That corn which is stolen + Grows faster and better. +So Father-in-law + Stole away after midnight.... +It chanced he was caught, + And at daybreak next morning +Brought back and flung down + Like a log in the stable. + + "But I acted always 110 +As Phílip had told me: + I worked, with the anger +Hid deep in my bosom, + And never a murmur +Allowed to escape me. + And then with the winter +Came Phílip, and brought me + A pretty silk scarf; +And one feast-day he took me + To drive in the sledges; 120 +And quickly my sorrows + Were lost and forgotten: +I sang as in old days + At home, with my father. +For I and my husband + Were both of an age, +And were happy together + When only they left us +Alone, but remember + A husband like Phílip 130 +Not often is found." + +"Do you mean to say + That he never once beat you?" + +Matróna was plainly + Confused by the question; + "Once, only, he beat me," + She said, very low. + + "And why?" asked the peasants. + +"Well, you know yourselves, friends, + How quarrels arise 140 +In the homes of the peasants. + A young married sister +Of Phílip's one day + Came to visit her parents. +She found she had holes + In her boots, and it vexed her. +Then Phílip said, 'Wife, + Fetch some boots for my sister.' +And I did not answer + At once; I was lifting 150 +A large wooden tub, + So, of course, couldn't speak. +But Phílip was angry + With me, and he waited +Until I had hoisted + The tub to the oven, +Then struck me a blow +With his fist, on my temple. + +"'We're glad that you came, + But you see that you'd better 160 +Keep out of the way,' + Said the other young sister +To her that was married. + + "Again Philip struck me! + + "'It's long since I've seen you, + My dearly-loved daughter, +But could I have known + How the baggage would treat you!'... +Whined Mother-in-law. + +"And again Phílip struck me! 170 + + "Well, that is the story. +'Tis surely not fitting + For wives to sit counting +The blows of their husbands, + But then I had promised +To keep nothing back." + + "Ah, well, with these women-- +The poisonous serpents!-- + A corpse would awaken +And snatch up a horsewhip," 180 + The peasants say, smiling. + +Matróna said nothing. + The peasants, in order +To keep the occasion + In manner befitting, +Are filling the glasses; + And now they are singing +In voices of thunder + A rollicking chorus, +Of husbands' relations, 190 + And wielding the knout. + + ... ... + + "Cruel hated husband, +Hark! he is coming! + Holding the knout...." + + _Chorus_ + + "Hear the lash whistle! +See the blood spurt! + Ai, leli, leli! +See the blood spurt!" + + ... ... + +"Run to his father! + Bowing before him-- 200 +'Save me!' I beg him; + 'Stop my fierce husband-- +Venomous serpent!' + Father-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly! + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" 210 + + ... ... + +"Quick--to his mother! + Bowing before her-- +'Save me!' I beg her; + 'Stop my cruel husband! +Venomous serpent!' + Mother-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly, + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! 220 +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" + + * * * * * + +"On Lady-day Phílip + Went back to the city; +A little while later + Our baby was born. +Like a bright-coloured picture + Was he--little Djóma; +The sunbeams had given + Their radiance to him, 230 +The pure snow its whiteness; + The poppies had painted +His lips; by the sable + His brow had been pencilled; +The falcon had fashioned + His eyes, and had lent them +Their wonderful brightness. + At sight of his first +Angel smile, all the anger + And bitterness nursed 240 +In my bosom was melted; + It vanished away +Like the snow on the meadows + At sight of the smiling +Spring sun. And not longer + I worried and fretted; +I worked, and in silence + I let them upbraid. +But soon after that + A misfortune befell me: 250 +The manager by + The Pomyéshchick appointed, +Called Sitnikov, hotly + Began to pursue me. +'My lovely Tsaritsa! + 'My rosy-ripe berry!' +Said he; and I answered, + 'Be off, shameless rascal! +Remember, the berry + Is not in _your_ forest!' 260 +I stayed from the field-work, + And hid in the cottage; +He very soon found me. + I hid in the corn-loft, +But Mother-in-law + Dragged me out to the courtyard; +'Now don't play with fire, girl!' + She said. I besought her +To send him away, + But she answered me roughly, 270 +'And do you want Phílip + To serve as a soldier?' +I ran to Savyéli, + The grandfather, begging +His aid and advice. + + "I haven't yet told you +A word of Savyéli, + The only one living +Of Phílip's relations + Who pitied and loved me. 280 +Say, friends, shall I tell you + About him as well?" + +"Yes, tell us his tale, +And we'll each throw a couple +Of sheaves in to-morrow, + Above what we promised." + +"Well, well," says Matróna, + "And 'twould be a pity +To give old Savyéli +No place in the story; 290 +For he was a happy one, + Too--the old man...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +SAVYÉLI + +"A mane grey and bushy + Which covered his shoulders, +A huge grizzled beard + Which had not seen the scissors +For twenty odd years, + Made Savyéli resemble +A shaggy old bear, + Especially when he +Came out of the forest, + So broad and bent double. 10 +The grandfather's shoulders + Were bowed very low, +And at first I was frightened + Whenever he entered +The tiny low cottage: + I thought that were he +To stand straight of a sudden + He'd knock a great hole +With his head in the ceiling. + But Grandfather could not 20 +Stand straight, and they told me +That he was a hundred. + He lived all alone +In his own little cottage, + And never permitted +The others to enter; + He couldn't abide them. +Of course they were angry + And often abused him. +His own son would shout at him, 30 + 'Branded one! Convict!' +But this did not anger + Savyéli, he only +Would go to his cottage + Without making answer, +And, crossing himself, + Begin reading the scriptures; +Then suddenly cry + In a voice loud and joyful, +'Though branded--no slave!' 40 + When too much they annoyed him, +He sometimes would say to them: + 'Look, the swat's[46] coming!' +The unmarried daughter + Would fly to the window; +Instead of the swat there + A beggar she'd find! +And one day he silvered + A common brass farthing, +And left it to lie 50 + On the floor; and then straightway +Did Father-in-law run + In joy to the tavern,-- +He came back, not tipsy, + But beaten half-dead! +At supper that night + We were all very silent, +And Father-in-law had + A cut on his eyebrow, +But Grandfather's face 60 + Wore a smile like a rainbow! + +"Savyéli would gather + The berries and mushrooms +From spring till late autumn, + And snare the wild rabbits; +Throughout the long winter +He lay on the oven + And talked to himself. +He had favourite sayings: +He used to lie thinking 70 + For whole hours together, +And once in an hour + You would hear him exclaiming: + +"'Destroyed ... and subjected!' + Or, 'Ai, you toy heroes! +You're fit but for battles + With old men and women!' + +"'Be patient ... and perish, +Impatient ... and perish!' + +"'Eh, you Russian peasant, 80 + You giant, you strong man, +The whole of your lifetime + You're flogged, yet you dare not +Take refuge in death, + For Hell's torments await you!' + +"'At last the Korójins[47] + Awoke, and they paid him, +They paid him, they paid him, + They paid the whole debt!' +And many such sayings 90 + He had,--I forget them. +When Father-in-law grew + Too noisy I always +Would run to Savyéli, + And we two, together, +Would fasten the door. + Then I began working, +While Djómushka climbed + To the grandfather's shoulder, +And sat there, and looked 100 + Like a bright little apple +That hung on a hoary + Old tree. Once I asked him: + +"'And why do they call you + A convict, Savyéli?' + +"'I was once a convict,' + Said he. + + "'You, Savyéli!' + +"'Yes I, little Grandchild, + Yes, I have been branded. 110 +I buried a German + Alive--Christian Vogel.' + +"'You're joking, Savyéli!' + + "'Oh no, I'm not joking. +I mean it,' he said, + And he told me the story. + +"'The peasants in old days + Were serfs as they now are, +But our race had, somehow, + Not seen its Pomyéshchick; 120 +No manager knew we, + No pert German agent. +And barschin we gave not, + And taxes we paid not +Except when it pleased us,-- + Perhaps once in three years +Our taxes we'd pay.' + +"'But why, little Grandad?' + + "'The times were so blessed,-- +And folk had a saying 130 + That our little village +Was sought by the devil + For more than three years, +But he never could find it. + Great forests a thousand +Years old lay about us; +And treacherous marshes + And bogs spread around us; +No horseman and few men + On foot ever reached us. 140 +It happened that once + By some chance, our Pomyéshchick, +Shaláshnikov, wanted + To pay us a visit. +High placed in the army + Was he; and he started +With soldiers to find us. + They soon got bewildered +And lost in the forest, + And had to turn back; 150 +Why, the Zemsky policeman + Would only come once +In a year! They were good times! + In these days the Barin +Lives under your window; + The roadways go spreading +Around, like white napkins-- + The devil destroy them! +We only were troubled + By bears, and the bears too 160 +Were easily managed. + Why, I was a worse foe +By far than old Mishka, + When armed with a dagger +And bear-spear. I wandered + In wild, secret woodpaths, +And shouted, ''_My_ forest!'' + And once, only once, +I was frightened by something: +I stepped on a huge 170 + Female bear that was lying +Asleep in her den + In the heart of the forest. +She flung herself at me, + And straight on my bear-spear +Was fixed. Like a fowl + On the spit she hung twisting +An hour before death. + It was then that my spine snapped. +It often was painful 180 + When I was a young man; +But now I am old, + It is fixed and bent double. +Now, do I not look like +A hook, little Grandchild?' + +"'But finish the story. + You lived and were not much +Afflicted. What further?' + +"'At last our Pomyéshchick + Invented a new game: 190 +He sent us an order, + ''Appear!'' We appeared not. +Instead, we lay low + In our dens, hardly breathing. +A terrible drought + Had descended that summer, +The bogs were all dry; + So he sent a policeman, +Who managed to reach us, + To gather our taxes, 200 +In honey and fish; + A second time came he, +We gave him some bear-skins; + And when for the third time +He came, we gave nothing,-- + We said we had nothing. +We put on our laputs, + We put our old caps on, +Our oldest old coats, + And we went to Korójin 210 +(For there was our master now, + Stationed with soldiers). +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none, + We cannot pay taxes, +The corn has not grown, + And the fish have escaped us.'' +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none.'' + He waited no longer; +''Hey! Give them the first round!'' + He said, and they flogged us. 220 + +"'Our pockets were not + Very easily opened; +Shaláshnikov, though, was + A master at flogging. +Our tongues became parched, + And our brains were set whirling, +And still he continued. + He flogged not with birch-rods, +With whips or with sticks, + But with knouts made for giants. 230 +At last we could stand it + No longer; we shouted, +''Enough! Let us breathe!'' + We unwound our foot-rags +And took out our money, + And brought to the Barin +A ragged old bonnet + With roubles half filled. + +"'The Barin grew calm, + He was pleased with the money; 240 +He gave us a glass each + Of strong, bitter brandy, +And drank some himself + With the vanquished Korójins, +And gaily clinked glasses. + ''It's well that you yielded,'' +Said he, ''For I swear + I was fully decided +To strip off the last shred + Of skins from your bodies 250 +And use it for making + A drum for my soldiers! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'' + (He was pleased with the notion.) +''A fine drum indeed!'' + + "'In silence we left; +But two stalwart old peasants + Were chuckling together; +They'd two hundred roubles + In notes, the old rascals! 260 +Safe hidden away + In the end of their coat-tails. +They both had been yelling, + ''We're beggars! We're beggars!'' +So carried them home. + ''Well, well, you may cackle!'' + I thought to myself, +''But the next time, be certain, + You won't laugh at me!'' +The others were also 270 + Ashamed of their weakness, +And so by the ikons + We swore all together + That next time we rather +Would die of the beating + Than feebly give way. +It seems the Pomyéshchick + Had taken a fancy +At once to our roubles, + Because after that 280 +Every year we were summoned + To go to Korójin, +We went, and were flogged. + + "'Shaláshnikov flogged like +A prince, but be certain +The treasures he thrashed from + The doughty Korójins +Were not of much weight. + The weak yielded soon, +But the strong stood like iron 290 + For the commune. I also +Bore up, and I thought: + ''Though never so stoutly +You flog us, you dog's son, + You won't drag the whole soul +From out of the peasant; + Some trace will be left.'' + +"'When the Barin was sated + We went from the town, +But we stopped on the outskirts 300 + To share what was over. +And plenty there was, too! + Shaláshnikov, heh, +You're a fool! It was our turn + To laugh at the Barin; +Ah, they were proud peasants-- + The plucky Korójins! +But nowadays show them + The tail of a knout, +And they'll fly to the Barin, 310 + And beg him to take +The last coin from their pockets. + Well, that's why we all lived +Like merchants in those days. + One summer came tidings +To us that our Barin + Now owned us no longer, +That he had, at Varna, + Been killed. We weren't sorry, +But somehow we thought then: 320 + ''The peasants' good fortune +Has come to an end!'' + The heir made a new move: +He sent us a German.[48] + Through vast, savage forests, +Through sly sucking bogs + And on foot came the German, +As bare as a finger. + + "'As melting as butter +At first was the German: 330 + ''Just give what you can, then,'' +He'd say to the peasants. + +"'''We've nothing to give!'' + +"'''I'll explain to the Barin.'' + +"'''Explain,'' we replied, + And were troubled no more. +It seemed he was going + To live in the village; +He soon settled down. + On the banks of the river, 340 +For hour after hour + He sat peacefully fishing, +And striking his nose + Or his cheek or his forehead. +We laughed: ''You don't like + The Korójin mosquitoes?'' +He'd boat near the bankside + And shout with enjoyment, +Like one in the bath-house + Who's got to the roof.[49] 350 + + "'With youths and young maidens +He strolled in the forest + (They were not for nothing +Those strolls in the forest!)-- + ''Well, if you can't pay +You should work, little peasants.'' + +"'''What work should we do?'' + + "'''You should dig some deep ditches +To drain off the bog-lands.'' + We dug some deep ditches. 360 + +"'''And now trim the forest.'' + + "'''Well, well, trim the forest....'' +We hacked and we hewed + As the German directed, +And when we look round + There's a road through the forest! + +"'The German went driving +To town with three horses; +Look! now he is coming + With boxes and bedding, 370 +And God knows wherefrom + Has this bare-footed German +Raised wife and small children! + And now he's established +A village ispravnik,[50] + They live like two brothers. +His courtyard at all times + Is teeming with strangers, +And woe to the peasants-- + The fallen Korójins! 380 +He sucked us all dry + To the very last farthing; +And flog!--like the soul + Of Shaláshnikov flogged he! +Shaláshnikov stopped + When he got what he wanted; +He clung to our backs + Till he'd glutted his stomach, +And then he dropped down + Like a leech from a dog's ear. 390 +But he had the grip + Of a corpse--had this German; +Until he had left you + Stripped bare like a beggar +You couldn't escape.' + + "'But how could you bear it?' + + "'Ah, how could we bear it? +Because we were giants-- + Because by their patience +The people of Russia + Are great, little Grandchild. 400 +You think, then, Matróna, + That we Russian peasants +No warriors are? + Why, truly the peasant +Does not live in armour, + Does not die in warfare, +But nevertheless + He's a warrior, child. +His hands are bound tight, 410 + And his feet hung with fetters; +His back--mighty forests + Have broken across it; +His breast--I will tell you, +The Prophet Elijah + In chariot fiery +Is thundering within it; + And these things the peasant +Can suffer in patience. + He bends--but he breaks not; 420 +He reels--but he falls not; + Then is he not truly +A warrior, say?' + + "'You joke, little Grandad; +Such warriors, surely, + A tiny mouse nibbling +Could crumble to atoms,' + I said to Savyéli. + +"'I know not, Matróna, + But up till to-day 430 +He has stood with his burden; + He's sunk in the earth +'Neath its weight to his shoulders; + His face is not moistened +With sweat, but with heart's blood. + I don't know what may +Come to pass in the future, + I can't think what will +Come to pass--only God knows. + For my part, I know 440 +When the storm howls in winter, + When old bones are painful, +I lie on the oven, + I lie, and am thinking: +''Eh, you, strength of giants, + On what have they spent you? +On what are you wasted? + With whips and with rods +They will pound you to dust!''' + +"'But what of the German, 450 +Savyéli?' + + "'The German? +Well, well, though he lived + Like a lord in his glory +For eighteen long years, + We were waiting our day. + Then the German considered +A factory needful, + And wanted a pit dug. +'Twas work for nine peasants. 460 + We started at daybreak +And laboured till mid-day, +And then we were going + To rest and have dinner, +When up comes the German: + ''Eh, you, lazy devils! +So little work done?'' + He started to nag us, +Quite coolly and slowly, + Without heat or hurry; 470 +For that was his way. + +"'And we, tired and hungry, + Stood listening in silence. +He kicked the wet earth + With his boot while he scolded, +Not far from the edge + Of the pit. I stood near him. +And happened to give him + A push with my shoulder; +Then somehow a second 480 + And third pushed him gently.... +We spoke not a word, + Gave no sign to each other, +But silently, slowly, + Drew closer together, +And edging the German +Respectfully forward, + We brought him at last +To the brink of the hollow.... + He tumbled in headlong! 490 +''A ladder!'' he bellows; + Nine shovels reply. +''Naddai!''[51]--the word fell + From my lips on the instant, +The word to which people + Work gaily in Russia; +''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!'' + And we laboured so bravely +That soon not a trace + Of the pit was remaining, 500 + The earth was as smooth +As before we had touched it; + And then we stopped short +And we looked at each other....' + + "The old man was silent. +'What further, Savyéli?' + + "'What further? Ah, bad times: +The prison in Buy-Town + (I learnt there my letters), +Until we were sentenced; 510 + The convict-mines later; +And plenty of lashes. + But I never frowned +At the lash in the prison; + They flogged us but poorly. +And later I nearly + Escaped to the forest; +They caught me, however. + Of course they did not +Pat my head for their trouble; 520 + The Governor was through +Siberia famous + For flogging. But had not +Shaláshnikov flogged us? + I spit at the floggings +I got in the prison! + Ah, he was a Master! +He knew how to flog you! + He toughened my hide so +You see it has served me 530 + For one hundred years, +And 'twill serve me another. + But life was not easy, +I tell you, Matróna: +First twenty years prison, + Then twenty years exile. +I saved up some money, + And when I came home, +Built this hut for myself. + And here I have lived 540 +For a great many years now. + They loved the old grandad +So long as he'd money, + But now it has gone +They would part with him gladly, + They spit in his face. +Eh, you plucky toy heroes! + You're fit to make war +Upon old men and women!' + + "And that was as much 550 +As the grandfather told me." + + "And now for your story," +They answer Matróna. + + "'Tis not very bright. +From one trouble God + In His goodness preserved me; +For Sitnikov died + Of the cholera. Soon, though, +Another arose, + I will tell you about it." 560 + +"Naddai!" say the peasants + (They love the word well), +They are filling the glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +DJÓMUSHKA + +"The little tree burns + For the lightning has struck it. +The nightingale's nest + Has been built in its branches. +The little tree burns, + It is sighing and groaning; +The nightingale's children + Are crying and calling: +'Oh, come, little Mother! + Oh, come, little Mother! 10 +Take care of us, Mother, + Until we can fly, +Till our wings have grown stronger, +Until we can fly + To the peaceful green forest, +Until we can fly + To the far silent valleys....' +The poor little tree-- + It is burnt to grey ashes; +The poor little fledgelings 20 + Are burnt to grey ashes. +The mother flies home, + But the tree ... and the fledgelings ... +The nest.... She is calling, + Lamenting and calling; +She circles around, + She is sobbing and moaning; +She circles so quickly, + She circles so quickly, +Her tiny wings whistle. 30 + The dark night has fallen, +The dark world is silent, + But one little creature +Is helplessly grieving + And cannot find comfort;-- +The nightingale only + Laments for her children.... +She never will see them + Again, though she call them +Till breaks the white day.... 40 +I carried my baby + Asleep in my bosom +To work in the meadows. + But Mother-in-law cried, +'Come, leave him behind you, + At home with Savyéli, +You'll work better then.' + And I was so timid, +So tired of her scolding, + I left him behind. 50 + +"That year it so happened + The harvest was richer +Than ever we'd known it; + The reaping was hard, +But the reapers were merry, + I sang as I mounted +The sheaves on the waggon. + (The waggons are loaded +To laughter and singing; + The sledges in silence, 60 +With thoughts sad and bitter; + The waggons convey the corn +Home to the peasants, + The sledges will bear it + Away to the market.) + +"But as I was working + I heard of a sudden +A deep groan of anguish: + I saw old Savyéli +Creep trembling towards me, 70 + His face white as death: +'Forgive me, Matróna! + Forgive me, Matróna! +I sinned....I was careless.' + He fell at my feet. + +"Oh, stay, little swallow! + Your nest build not there! +Not there 'neath the leafless + Bare bank of the river: +The water will rise, 80 + And your children will perish. +Oh, poor little woman, + Young wife and young mother, +The daughter-in-law + And the slave of the household, +Bear blows and abuse, + Suffer all things in silence, +But let not your baby + Be torn from your bosom.... +Savyéli had fallen 90 + Asleep in the sunshine, +And Djóma--the pigs + Had attacked him and killed him. + +"I fell to the ground + And lay writhing in torture; +I bit the black earth + And I shrieked in wild anguish; +I called on his name, + And I thought in my madness +My voice must awake him.... 100 + + "Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52] +And harness-bells jangling-- + Another misfortune! +The children are frightened, + They run to the houses; +And outside the window + The old men and women +Are talking in whispers + And nodding together. +The Elder is running 110 + And tapping each window +In turn with his staff; +Then he runs to the hayfields, + He runs to the pastures, +To summon the people. + They come, full of sorrow-- +Another misfortune! + And God in His wrath +Has sent guests that are hateful, + Has sent unjust judges. 120 +Perhaps they want money? + Their coats are worn threadbare? +Perhaps they are hungry? + + "Without greeting Christ +They sit down at the table, + They've set up an icon +And cross in the middle; + Our pope, Father John, +Swears the witnesses singly. + + "They question Savyéli, 130 +And then a policeman + Is sent to find me, +While the officer, swearing, + Is striding about +Like a beast in the forest.... + 'Now, woman, confess it,' +He cries when I enter, + 'You lived with the peasant +Savyéli in sin?' + +"I whisper in answer, 140 +'Kind sir, you are joking. + I am to my husband +A wife without stain, + And the peasant Savyéli +Is more than a hundred + Years old;--you can see it.' + +"He's stamping about + Like a horse in the stable; +In fury he's thumping + His fist on the table. 150 +'Be silent! Confess, then, + That you with Savyéli +Had plotted to murder + Your child!' + + "Holy Mother! +What horrible ravings! + My God, give me patience, +And let me not strangle + The wicked blasphemer! +I looked at the doctor 160 + And shuddered in terror: +Before him lay lancets, + Sharp scissors, and knives. +I conquered myself, + For I knew why they lay there. +I answer him trembling, + 'I loved little Djóma, +I would not have harmed him.' + +"'And did you not poison him. + Give him some powder?' 170 + +"'Oh, Heaven forbid!' +I kneel to him crying, + 'Be gentle! Have mercy! +And grant that my baby + In honour be buried, +Forbid them to thrust + The cruel knives in his body! +Oh, I am his mother!' + + "Can anything move them? +No hearts they possess, 180 + In their eyes is no conscience, +No cross at their throats.... + + "They have lifted the napkin +Which covered my baby; + His little white body +With scissors and lancets + They worry and torture ... +The room has grown darker, + I'm struggling and screaming, +'You butchers! You fiends! 190 + Not on earth, not on water, +And not on God's temple + My tears shall be showered; +But straight on the souls + Of my hellish tormentors! +Oh, hear me, just God! + May Thy curse fall and strike them! +Ordain that their garments + May rot on their bodies! +Their eyes be struck blind, 200 + And their brains scorch in madness! +Their wives be unfaithful, + Their children be crippled! +Oh, hear me, just God! + Hear the prayers of a mother, +And look on her tears,-- + Strike these pitiless devils!' + +"'She's crazy, the woman!' + The officer shouted, +'Why did you not tell us 210 + Before? Stop this fooling! +Or else I shall order + My men, here, to bind you.' + +"I sank on the bench, + I was trembling all over; +I shook like a leaf + As I gazed at the doctor; +His sleeves were rolled backwards, + A knife was in one hand, +A cloth in the other, 220 + And blood was upon it; +His glasses were fixed + On his nose. All was silent. +The officer's pen + Began scratching on paper; +The motionless peasants + Stood gloomy and mournful; +The pope lit his pipe + And sat watching the doctor. +He said, 'You are reading 230 + A heart with a knife.' +I started up wildly; + I knew that the doctor +Was piercing the heart + Of my little dead baby. + +"'Now, bind her, the vixen!' +The officer shouted;-- + She's mad!' He began +To inquire of the peasants, + 'Have none of you noticed 240 +Before that the woman + Korchágin is crazy?' + +"'No,' answered the peasants. + And then Phílip's parents +He asked, and their children; + They answered, 'Oh, no, sir! +We never remarked it.' + He asked old Savyéli,-- +There's one thing,' he answered, + 'That might make one think 250 +That Matróna is crazy: + She's come here this morning +Without bringing with her + A present of money +Or cloth to appease you.' + + "And then the old man +Began bitterly crying. + The officer frowning +Sat down and said nothing. + And then I remembered: 260 +In truth it was madness-- + The piece of new linen +Which I had made ready + Was still in my box-- +I'd forgotten to bring it; + And now I had seen them +Seize Djómushka's body + And tear it to pieces. +I think at that moment + I turned into marble: 270 +I watched while the doctor + Was drinking some vodka +And washing his hands; + I saw how he offered +The glass to the pope, + And I heard the pope answer, +'Why ask me? We mortals + Are pitiful sinners,-- +We don't need much urging + To empty a glass!' 280 + +"The peasants are standing + In fear, and are thinking: +'Now, how did these vultures + Get wind of the matter? +Who told them that here + There was chance of some profit? +They dashed in like wolves, +Seized the beards of the peasants, + And snarled in their faces +Like savage hyenas!' 290 + + "And now they are feasting, +Are eating and drinking; + They chat with the pope, +He is murmuring to them, + 'The people in these parts +Are beggars and drunken; + They owe me for countless +Confessions and weddings; + They'll take their last farthing +To spend in the tavern; 300 + And nothing but sins +Do they bring to their priest.' + + "And then I hear singing +In clear, girlish voices-- + I know them all well: +There's Natásha and Glásha, + And Dáriushka,--Jesus +Have mercy upon them! +Hark! steps and accordion; + Then there is silence. 310 +I think I had fallen + Asleep; then I fancied +That somebody entering + Bent over me, saying, +'Sleep, woman of sorrows, + Exhausted by sorrow,' +And making the sign + Of the cross on my forehead. +I felt that the ropes + On my body were loosened, 320 +And then I remembered + No more. In black darkness +I woke, and astonished + I ran to the window: +Deep night lay around me-- + What's happened? Where am I? +I ran to the street,-- + It was empty, in Heaven +No moon and no stars, + And a great cloud of darkness 330 +Spread over the village. + The huts of the peasants +Were dark; only one hut + Was brilliantly lighted, +It shone like a palace-- + The hut of Savyéli. +I ran to the doorway, + And then ... I remembered. + +"The table was gleaming + With yellow wax candles, 340 +And there, in the midst, + Lay a tiny white coffin, +And over it spread + Was a fine coloured napkin, +An icon was placed + At its head.... + O you builders, +For my little son + What a house you have fashioned! +No windows you've made 350 + That the sunshine may enter, +No stove and no bench, + And no soft little pillows.... +Oh, Djómushka will not + Feel happy within it, +He cannot sleep well.... +'Begone!'--I cried harshly + On seeing Savyéli; +He stood near the coffin + And read from the book 360 +In his hand, through his glasses. + I cursed old Savyéli, +Cried--'Branded one! Convict! + Begone! 'Twas you killed him! +You murdered my, Djóma, + Begone from my sight!' + + "He stood without moving; +He crossed himself thrice + And continued his reading. +But when I grew calmer 370 + Savyéli approached me, +And said to me gently, + 'In winter, Matróna, +I told you my story, + But yet there was more. +Our forests were endless, + Our lakes wild and lonely, +Our people were savage; + By cruelty lived we: +By snaring the wood-grouse, 380 +By slaying the bears:-- + You must kill or you perish! +I've told you of Barin + Shaláshnikov, also +Of how we were robbed + By the villainous German, +And then of the prison, + The exile, the mines. +My heart was like stone, + I grew wild and ferocious. 390 +My winter had lasted + A century, Grandchild, +But your little Djóma + Had melted its frosts. +One day as I rocked him + He smiled of a sudden, +And I smiled in answer.... + A strange thing befell me +Some days after that: + As I prowled in the forest 400 +I aimed at a squirrel; + But suddenly noticed +How happy and playful + It was, in the branches: +Its bright little face + With its paw it sat washing. +I lowered my gun:-- + 'You shall live, little squirrel!' +I rambled about + In the woods, in the meadows, 410 +And each tiny floweret + I loved. I went home then +And nursed little Djóma, + And played with him, laughing. +God knows how I loved him, + The innocent babe! +And now ... through my folly, + My sin, ... he has perished.... +Upbraid me and kill me, + But nothing can help you, 420 +With God one can't argue.... + Stand up now, Matróna, +And pray for your baby; + God acted with reason: +He's counted the joys + In the life of a peasant!' + +"Long, long did Savyéli + Stand bitterly speaking, +The piteous fate + Of the peasant he painted; 430 +And if a rich Barin, + A merchant or noble, +If even our Father + The Tsar had been listening, +Savyéli could not + Have found words which were truer, +Have spoken them better.... + + "'Now Djóma is happy +And safe, in God's Heaven,' + He said to me later. 440 +His tears began falling.... + + "'I do not complain +That God took him, Savyéli,' + I said,--'but the insult +They did him torments me, + It's racking my heart. +Why did vicious black ravens + Alight on his body +And tear it to pieces? + Will neither our God 450 +Nor our Tsar--Little Father-- + Arise to defend us?' + +"'But God, little Grandchild, + Is high, and the Tsar +Far away,' said Savyéli. + + "I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!' + +"But Grandfather answered, + 'Now hush, little Grandchild, +You woman of sorrow, + Bow down and have patience; 460 +No truth you will find + In the world, and no justice.' + + "'But why then, Savyéli?' + +"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, + You are; and for such +Is no hope,' said Savyéli. + + "For long I sat darkly +And bitterly thinking. + The thunder pealed forth +And the windows were shaken; 470 + I started! Savyéli +Drew nearer and touched me, + And led me to stand +By the little white coffin: + +"'Now pray that the Lord + May have placed little Djóma +Among the bright ranks + Of His angels,' he whispered; +A candle he placed + In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 +The whole of the night + Till the pale dawn of daybreak: +The grandfather stood + Beside Djómushka's coffin +And read from the book + In a measured low voice...." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE SHE-WOLF + +"'Tis twenty years now + Since my Djóma was taken, +Was carried to sleep + 'Neath his little grass blanket; +And still my heart bleeds, + And I pray for him always, +No apple till Spassa[53] + I touch with my lips.... + +"For long I lay ill, + Not a word did I utter, 10 +My eyes could not suffer + The old man, Savyéli. +No work did I do, + And my Father-in-law thought +To give me a lesson + And took down the horse-reins; +I bowed to his feet, + And cried--'Kill me! Oh, kill me! +I pray for the end!' +He hung the reins up, then. 20 + I lived day and night +On the grave of my Djóma, + I dusted it clean +With a soft little napkin + That grass might grow green, +And I prayed for my lost one. + I yearned for my parents: +'Oh, you have forgotten, + Forgotten your daughter!' + +"'We have not forgotten 30 + Our poor little daughter, +But is it worth while, say, + To wear the grey horse out +By such a long journey + To learn about your woes, +To tell you of ours? + Since long, little daughter, +Would father and mother + Have journeyed to see you, +But ever the thought rose: 40 + She'll weep at our coming, +She'll shriek when we leave!' + + "In winter came Philip, +Our sorrow together + We shared, and together +We fought with our grief + In the grandfather's hut." + +"The grandfather died, then?" + + "Oh, no, in his cottage +For seven whole days 50 + He lay still without speaking, +And then he got up + And he went to the forest; +And there old Savyéli + So wept and lamented, + The woods were set throbbing. +In autumn he left us + And went as a pilgrim +On foot to do penance + At some distant convent.... 60 + + "I went with my husband +To visit my parents, + And then began working +Again. Three years followed, + Each week like the other, +As twin to twin brother, +And each year a child. + There was no time for thinking +And no time for grieving; + Praise God if you have time 70 +For getting your work done + And crossing your forehead. +You eat--when there's something + Left over at table, +When elders have eaten, + When children have eaten; +You sleep--when you're ill.... + + "In the fourth year came sorrow +Again; for when sorrow + Once lightens upon you 80 +To death he pursues you; +He circles before you-- + A bright shining falcon; +He hovers behind you-- + An ugly black raven; +He flies in advance-- + But he will not forsake you; +He lingers behind-- + But he will not forget.... + +"I lost my dear parents. 90 +The dark nights alone knew + The grief of the orphan; +No need is there, brothers, + To tell you about it. +With tears did I water + The grave of my baby. +From far once I noticed + A wooden cross standing +Erect at its head, + And a little gilt icon; 100 +A figure is kneeling + Before it--'Savyéli! +From whence have you come?' + + "'I have come from Pesótchna. +I've prayed for the soul + Of our dear little Djóma; +I've prayed for the peasants + Of Russia.... Matróna, +Once more do I pray-- + Oh, Matróna ... Matróna.... 110 +I pray that the heart + Of the mother, at last, +May be softened towards me.... + Forgive me, Matróna!' + +"'Oh, long, long ago + I forgave you, Savyéli.' + + "'Then look at me now +As in old times, Matróna!' + + "I looked as of old. +Then up rose Savyéli, 120 + And gazed in my eyes; +He was trying to straighten + His stiffened old back; +Like the snow was his hair now. + I kissed the old man, +And my new grief I told him; + For long we sat weeping +And mourning together. + He did not live long +After that. In the autumn 130 + A deep wound appeared +In his neck, and he sickened. + He died very hard. +For a hundred days, fully, + No food passed his lips; +To the bone he was shrunken. + He laughed at himself: +'Tell me, truly, Matróna, +Now am I not like + A Korójin mosquito?' 140 + +"At times the old man + Would be gentle and patient; +At times he was angry + And nothing would please him; +He frightened us all + By his outbursts of fury: +'Eh, plough not, and sow not, + You downtrodden peasants! +You women, sit spinning + And weaving no longer! 150 +However you struggle, + You fools, you must perish! +You will not escape + What by fate has been written! +Three roads are spread out + For the peasant to follow-- +They lead to the tavern, + The mines, and the prison! +Three nooses are hung + For the women of Russia: 160 +The one is of white silk, + The second of red silk, +The third is of black silk-- + Choose that which you please!' +And Grandfather laughed + In a manner which caused us +To tremble with fear + And draw nearer together.... +He died in the night, + And we did as he asked us: 170 +We laid him to rest + In the grave beside Djóma. +The Grandfather lived + To a hundred and seven.... + +"Four years passed away then, + The one like the other, +And I was submissive, + The slave of the household, +For Mother-in-law + And her husband the drunkard, 180 +For Sister-in-law + By all suitors rejected. +I'd draw off their boots-- + Only,--touch not my children! +For them I stood firm + Like a rock. Once it happened +A pilgrim arrived + At our village--a holy +And pious-tongued woman; + She spoke to the people 190 +Of how to please God + And of how to reach Heaven. + She said that on fast-days +No woman should offer + The breast to her child. +The women obeyed her: + On Wednesdays and Fridays +The village was filled + By the wailing of babies; +And many a mother 200 + Sat bitterly weeping +To hear her child cry + For its food--full of pity, +But fearing God's anger. + But I did not listen! +I said to myself + That if penance were needful +The mothers must suffer, + But not little children. +I said, 'I am guilty, 210 + My God--not my children!' + +"It seems God was angry + And punished me for it +Through my little son; + My Father-in-law +To the commune had offered + My little Fedótka +As help to the shepherd + When he was turned eight.... +One night I was waiting 220 + To give him his supper; +The cattle already + Were home, but he came not. +I went through the village + And saw that the people +Were gathered together + And talking of something. +I listened, then elbowed + My way through the people; +Fedótka was set 230 + In their midst, pale and trembling, +The Elder was gripping + His ear. 'What has happened? +And why do you hold him?' + I said to the Elder. + +"'I'm going to beat him,-- + He threw a young lamb +To the wolf,' he replied. + + "I snatched my Fedótka +Away from their clutches; 240 + And somehow the Elder +Fell down on the ground! + + "The story was strange: +It appears that the shepherd + Went home for awhile, +Leaving little Fedótka + In charge of the flock. +'I was sitting,' he told me, + 'Alone on the hillside, +When all of a sudden 250 + A wolf ran close by me +And picked Masha's lamb up. + I threw myself at her, +I whistled and shouted, + I cracked with my whip, +Blew my horn for Valétka, +And then I gave chase. + I run fast, little Mother, +But still I could never + Have followed the robber 260 +If not for the traces + She left; because, Mother, +Her breasts hung so low + (She was suckling her children) +They dragged on the earth + And left two tracks of blood. +But further the grey one + Went slower and slower; +And then she looked back + And she saw I was coming. 270 +At last she sat down. + With my whip then I lashed her; +''Come, give me the lamb, + You grey devil!'' She crouched, +But would not give it up. + I said--''I must save it +Although she should kill me.'' + I threw myself on her +And snatched it away, + But she did not attack me. 280 +The lamb was quite dead, + She herself was scarce living. +She gnashed with her teeth + And her breathing was heavy; +And two streams of blood ran +From under her body. + Her ribs could be counted, +Her head was hung down, + But her eyes, little Mother, +Looked straight into mine ... 290 + Then she groaned of a sudden, +She groaned, and it sounded + As if she were crying. +I threw her the lamb....' + + "Well, that was the story. +And foolish Fedótka + Ran back to the village +And told them about it. + And they, in their anger, +Were going to beat him 300 + When I came upon them. +The Elder, because + Of his fall, was indignant, +He shouted--'How dare you! + Do you want a beating +Yourself?' And the woman + Whose lamb had been stolen +Cried, 'Whip the lad soundly, + 'Twill teach him a lesson!' +Fedótka she pulled from 310 + My arms, and he trembled, +He shook like a leaf. + + "Then the horns of the huntsmen +Were heard,--the Pomyéshchick + Returning from hunting. +I ran to him, crying, + 'Oh, save us! Protect us!' + +"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!' + And then, in an instant, + The matter is settled: 320 +'The shepherd is tiny-- + His youth and his folly +May well be forgiven. + The woman's presumption +You'll punish severely!' + + "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!' +I danced with delight! + 'Fedótka is safe now! +Run home, quick, Fedótka.' + + "'Your will shall be done, sir,' 330 +The Elder said, bowing; + 'Now, woman, prepare; +You can dance later on!' + + "A gossip then whispered, +'Fall down at the feet + Of the Elder--beg mercy!' + +"'Fedótka--go home!' + + "Then I kissed him, and told him: +'Remember, Fedótka, + That I shall be angry 340 +If once you look backwards. + Run home!' + + "Well, my brothers, +To leave out a word + Of the song is to spoil it,-- +I lay on the ground...." + + * * * * * + + "I crawled like a cat +To Fedótushka's corner + That night. He was sleeping, +He tossed in his dream. 350 +One hand was hung down, +While the other, clenched tightly, +Was shielding his eyes: + 'You've been crying, my treasure; + Sleep, darling, it's nothing-- +See, Mother is near!' + I'd lost little Djóma +While heavy with this one; + He was but a weakling, +But grew very clever. 360 + He works with his dad now, +And built such a chimney + With him, for his master, +The like of it never + Was seen. Well, I sat there +The whole of the night + By the sweet little shepherd. +At daybreak I crossed him, + I fastened his laputs, +I gave him his wallet, 370 + His horn and his whip. +The rest began stirring, + But nothing I told them +Of all that had happened, + But that day I stayed +From the work in the fields. + +"I went to the banks + Of the swift little river, +I sought for a spot + Which was silent and lonely 380 +Amid the green rushes + That grow by the bank. + +"And on the grey stone + I sat down, sick and weary, +And leaning my head + On my hands, I lamented, + Poor sorrowing orphan. +And loudly I called + On the names of my parents: +'Oh, come, little Father, 390 + My tender protector! +Oh, look at the daughter + You cherished and loved!' + +"In vain do I call him! + The loved one has left me; +The guest without lord, + Without race, without kindred, +Named Death, has appeared, + And has called him away. + +"And wildly I summon 400 + My mother, my mother! +The boisterous wind cries, + The distant hills answer, +But mother is dead, + She can hear me no longer! + + "You grieved day and night, +And you prayed for me always, + But never, beloved, +Shall I see you again; + You cannot turn back now, 410 +And I may not follow. + + "A pathway so strange, +So unknown, you have chosen, + The beasts cannot find it, +The winds cannot reach it, +My voice will be lost + In the terrible distance.... + +"My loving protectors, + If you could but see me! +Could know what your daughter 420 + Must suffer without you! +Could learn of the people + To whom you have left her! + +"By night bathed in tears, + And by day weak and trembling, +I bow like the grass + To the wind, but in secret +A heart full of fury + Is gnawing my breast!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +AN UNLUCKY YEAR + + "Strange stars played that year +On the face of the Heavens; + And some said, 'The Lord rides +Abroad, and His angels + With long flaming brooms sweep +The floor of the Heavens + In front of his carriage.' +But others were frightened,-- + They said, 'It is rather +The Antichrist coming! 10 + It signals misfortune!' +And they read it truly. + A terrible year came, +A terrible famine, + When brother denied +To his brother a morsel. + And then I remembered +The wolf that was hungry, + For I was like her, +Craving food for my children. 20 + Now Mother-in-law found +A new superstition: + She said to the neighbours +That I was the reason + Of all the misfortune; +And why? I had caused it + By changing my shirt +On the day before Christmas! + Well, I escaped lightly, +For I had a husband 30 + To shield and protect me, +But one woman, having + Offended, was beaten +To death by the people. + To play with the starving +Is dangerous, my friends. + + "The famine was scarcely +At end, when another + Misfortune befell us-- +The dreaded recruiting. 40 + But I was not troubled +By that, because Phílip + Was safe: one already +Had served of his people. + One night I sat working, +My husband, his brothers, + The family, all had +Been out since the morning. + My Father-in-law +Had been called to take part 50 + In the communal meeting. +The women were standing + And chatting with neighbours. +But I was exhausted, + For then I was heavy +With child. I was ailing, + And hourly expected +My time. When the children + Were fed and asleep +I lay down on the oven. 60 + The women came home soon +And called for their suppers; + But Father-in-law +Had not come, so we waited. + He came, tired and gloomy: +'Eh, wife, we are ruined! + I'm weary with running, +But nothing can save us: +They've taken the eldest-- + Now give them the youngest! 70 +I've counted the years + To a day--I have proved them; +They listen to nothing. + They want to take Phílip! +I prayed to the commune-- + But what is it worth? +I ran to the bailiff; + He swore he was sorry, +But couldn't assist us. + I went to the clerk then; 80 +You might just as well + Set to work with a hatchet +To chop out the shadows + Up there, on the ceiling, +As try to get truth + Out of that little rascal! +He's bought. They are all bought,-- + Not one of them honest! +If only he knew it-- + The Governor--he'd teach them! 90 +If he would but order + The commune to show him + The lists of the volost, +And see how they cheat us!' + The mother and daughters +Are groaning and crying; + But I! ... I am cold.... +I am burning in fever! ... + My thoughts ... I have no thoughts! +I think I am dreaming! 100 + My fatherless children +Are standing before me, + And crying with hunger. +The family, frowning, + Looks coldly upon them.... +At home they are 'noisy,' + At play they are 'clumsy,' +At table they're 'gluttons'! + And somebody threatens +To punish my children-- 110 + They slap them and pinch them! +Be silent, you mother! + You wife of a soldier!" + + * * * * * + + "I now have no part +In the village allotments, + No share in the building, +The clothes, and the cattle, + And these are my riches: +Three lakes of salt tear-drops, + Three fields sown with grief!" 120 + + * * * * * + +"And now, like a sinner, + I bow to the neighbours; +I ask their forgiveness; + I hear myself saying, +'Forgive me for being + So haughty and proud! +I little expected + That God, for my pride, +Would have left me forsaken! + I pray you, good people, 130 +To show me more wisdom, + To teach me to live +And to nourish my children, + What food they should have, +And what drink, and what teaching.'" + + * * * * * + +"I'm sending my children + To beg in the village; +'Go, children, beg humbly, + But dare not to steal.' +The children are sobbing, 140 + 'It's cold, little Mother, +Our clothes are in rags; + We are weary of passing +From doorway to doorway; + We stand by the windows +And shiver. We're frightened + To beg of the rich folk; +The poor ones say, ''God will + Provide for the orphans!'' +We cannot come home, 150 + For if we bring nothing +We know you'll be angry!'" + + * * * * * + + "To go to God's church +I have made myself tidy; + I hear how the neighbours +Are laughing around me: + 'Now who is she setting +Her cap at?' they whisper." + + * * * * * + +"Don't wash yourself clean. + And don't dress yourself nicely; 160 +The neighbours are sharp-- + They have eyes like the eagle +And tongues like the serpent. + Walk humbly and slowly, +Don't laugh when you're cheerful, + Don't weep when you're sad." + + * * * * * + +"The dull, endless winter + Has come, and the fields +And the pretty green meadows + Are hidden away 170 +'Neath the snow. Nothing living + Is seen in the folds +Of the gleaming white grave-clothes. + No friend under Heaven +There is for the woman, + The wife of the soldier. +Who knows what her thoughts are? + Who cares for her words? +Who is sad for her sorrow? + And where can she bury 180 +The insults they cast her? +Perhaps in the woods?-- + But the woods are all withered! +Perhaps in the meadows?-- + The meadows are frozen! +The swift little stream?-- + But its waters are sleeping! +No,--carry them with you + To hide in your grave!" + + * * * * * + +"My husband is gone; 190 + There is no one to shield me. +Hark, hark! There's the drum! + And the soldiers are coming! +They halt;--they are forming + A line in the market. +'Attention!' There's Phílip! + There's Phílip! I see him! +'Attention! Eyes front!' + It's Shaláshnikov shouting.... +Oh, Phílip has fallen! 200 + Have mercy! Have mercy! +'Try that--try some physic! + You'll soon get to like it! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' + He is striking my husband! +'I flog, not with whips, + But with knouts made for giants!'" + + * * * * * + +"I sprang from the stove, + Though my burden was heavy; +I listen.... All silent.... 210 + The family sleeping. +I creep to the doorway + And open it softly, +I pass down the street + Through the night.... It is frosty. +In Domina's hut, + Where the youths and young maidens +Assemble at night, + They are singing in chorus +My favourite song: 220 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Her father comes to look for her, +He wakens her and coaxes her: +''Eh, Máshenka, come home,'' he cries, +''Efeémovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards.'' 231 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Her mother comes to look for her, +She wakens her and coaxes her: +''Now, Máshenka, come home,'' she says, +''Efeémovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards!'' 242 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Young Peter comes to look for her, +He wakens her, and coaxes her: +''Oh, Máshenka, come home with me! +My little dove, Efeémovna, +Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250 + + "'''I will come, and I will listen, + Fair the night--the moon in Heaven, + Calm the stream with bridge and ferry, + In the wood strong guards.'''" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + + "I'm hurrying blindly, +I've run through the village; + Yet strangely the singing +From Domina's cottage + Pursues me and rings +In my ears. My pace slackens, + I rest for awhile, +And look back at the village: + I see the white snowdrift +O'er valley and meadow, 10 + The moon in the Heavens, +My self, and my shadow.... + + "I do not feel frightened; +A flutter of gladness + Awakes in my bosom, +'You brisk winter breezes, + My thanks for your freshness! +I crave for your breath + As the sick man for water.' +My mind has grown clear, 20 + To my knees I am falling: +'O Mother of Christ! + I beseech Thee to tell me +Why God is so angry + With me. Holy Mother! +No tiniest bone + In my limbs is unbroken; +No nerve in my body + Uncrushed. I am patient,-- +I have not complained. 30 + All the strength that God gave me +I've spent on my work; + All the love on my children. +But Thou seest all things, + And Thou art so mighty; +Oh, succour thy slave!' + + "I love now to pray +On a night clear and frosty; + To kneel on the earth +'Neath the stars in the winter. 40 + Remember, my brothers, +If trouble befall you, + To counsel your women +To pray in that manner; +In no other place + Can one pray so devoutly, +At no other season.... + + "I prayed and grew stronger; +I bowed my hot head + To the cool snowy napkin, 50 +And quickly my fever + Was spent. And when later +I looked at the roadway + I found that I knew it; +I'd passed it before + On the mild summer evenings; +At morning I'd greeted + The sunrise upon it +In haste to be off + To the fair. And I walked now 60 +The whole of the night + Without meeting a soul.... +But now to the cities + The sledges are starting, +Piled high with the hay + Of the peasants. I watch them, +And pity the horses: +Their lawful provision + Themselves they are dragging +Away from the courtyard; 70 + And afterwards they +Will be hungry. I pondered: + The horses that work +Must eat straw, while the idlers + Are fed upon oats. +But when Need comes he hastens + To empty your corn-lofts, +Won't wait to be asked.... + + "I come within sight +Of the town. On the outskirts 80 + The merchants are cheating +And wheedling the peasants, + There's shouting and swearing, +Abusing and coaxing. + + "I enter the town +As the bell rings for matins. + I make for the market +Before the cathedral. + I know that the gates +Of the Governor's courtyard 90 + Are there. It is dark still, +The square is quite empty; + In front of the courtyard +A sentinel paces: + 'Pray tell me, good man, +Does the Governor rise early?' + + "'Don't know. Go away. +I'm forbidden to chatter.' + (I give him some farthings.) +'Well, go to the porter; 100 + He knows all about it.' + +"'Where is he? And what + Is his name, little sentry?' + +"'Makhár Fedosséich, + He stands at the entrance.' +I walk to the entrance, + The doors are not opened. +I sit on the doorsteps + And think.... + +"It grows lighter, 110 + A man with a ladder +Is turning the lamps down. + + "'Heh, what are you doing? +And how did you enter?' + +"I start in confusion, + I see in the doorway +A bald-headed man + In a bed-gown. Then quickly +I come to my senses, + And bowing before him 120 +(Makhár Fedosséich), + I give him a rouble. + +"'I come in great need + To the Governor, and see him +I must, little Uncle!' + + "'You can't see him, woman. +Well, well.... I'll consider.... + Return in two hours.' + + "I see in the market +A pedestal standing, 130 + A peasant upon it, +He's just like Savyéli, + And all made of brass: +It's Susánin's memorial. +While crossing the market + I'm suddenly startled-- +A heavy grey drake + From a cook is escaping; +The fellow pursues + With a knife. It is shrieking. 140 +My God, what a sound! + To the soul it has pierced me. +('Tis only the knife + That can wring such a shriek.) +The cook has now caught it; + It stretches its neck, +Begins angrily hissing, + As if it would frighten +The cook,--the poor creature! + I run from the market, 150 +I'm trembling and thinking, + 'The drake will grow calm +'Neath the kiss of the knife!' + +"The Governor's dwelling + Again is before me, +With balconies, turrets, + And steps which are covered +With beautiful carpets. +I gaze at the windows + All shaded with curtains. 160 +'Now, which is your chamber,' + I think, 'my desired one? +Say, do you sleep sweetly? + Of what are you dreaming?' +I creep up the doorsteps, + And keep to the side +Not to tread on the carpets; + And there, near the entrance, +I wait for the porter. + + "'You're early, my gossip!' 170 +Again I am startled: + A stranger I see,-- +For at first I don't know him; + A livery richly +Embroidered he wears now; + He holds a fine staff; +He's not bald any longer! + He laughs--'You were frightened?' + +"'I'm tired, little Uncle.' + +"'You've plenty of courage, 180 + God's mercy be yours! +Come, give me another, + And I will befriend you.' + + "(I give him a rouble.) +'Now come, I will make you + Some tea in my office.' + +"His den is just under + The stairs. There's a bedstead, +A little iron stove, + And a candlestick in it, 190 +A big samovar, + And a lamp in the corner. +Some pictures are hung + On the wall. 'That's His Highness,' +The porter remarks, + And he points with his finger. +I look at the picture: + A warrior covered +With stars. 'Is he gentle?' + + "'That's just as you happen 200 +To find him. Why, neighbour, + The same is with me: +To-day I'm obliging, + At times I'm as cross +As a dog.' + + "'You are dull here, +Perhaps, little Uncle?' + +"'Oh no, I'm not dull; + I've a task that's exciting: +Ten years have I fought 210 + With a foe: Sleep his name is. +And I can assure you + That when I have taken +An odd cup of vodka, + The stove is red hot, +And the smuts from the candle + Have blackened the air, +It's a desperate struggle!' + + "There's somebody knocking. +Makhár has gone out; 220 + I am sitting alone now. +I go to the door + And look out. In the courtyard +A carriage is waiting. + I ask, 'Is he coming?' +'The lady is coming,' + The porter makes answer, +And hurries away + To the foot of the staircase. +A lady descends, 230 + Wrapped in costliest sables, +A lackey behind her. +I know not what followed + (The Mother of God +Must have come to my aid), +It seems that I fell + At the feet of the lady, +And cried, 'Oh, protect us! + They try to deceive us! +My husband--the only 240 + Support of my children-- +They've taken away-- + Oh, they've acted unjustly!'... + +"'Who are you, my pigeon?' + + "My answer I know not, +Or whether I gave one; + A sudden sharp pang tore +My body in twain." + + * * * * * + +"I opened my eyes + In a beautiful chamber, 250 + In bed I was laid +'Neath a canopy, brothers, + And near me was sitting +A nurse, in a head-dress + All streaming with ribbons. +She's nursing a baby. + 'Who's is it?' I ask her. + +"'It's yours, little Mother.' + I kiss my sweet child. +It seems, when I fell 260 + At the feet of the lady, +I wept so and raved so, + Already so weakened +By grief and exhaustion, + That there, without warning, +My labour had seized me. + I bless the sweet lady, +Elyén Alexándrovna, + Only a mother +Could bless her as I do. 270 + She christened my baby, +Lidórushka called him." + + "And what of your husband?" + +"They sent to the village + And started enquiries, +And soon he was righted. + Elyén Alexándrovna +Brought him herself + To my side. She was tender +And clever and lovely, 280 + And healthy, but childless, +For God would not grant her + A child. While I stayed there +My baby was never + Away from her bosom. +She tended and nursed him + Herself, like a mother. +The spring had set in + And the birch trees were budding, +Before she would let us 290 + Set out to go home. + + "Oh, how fair and bright + In God's world to-day! + Glad my heart and gay! + + "Homewards lies our way, + Near the wood we pause, + See, the meadows green, + Hark! the waters play. + Rivulet so pure, + Little child of Spring, 300 + How you leap and sing, + Rippling in the leaves! + High the little lark + Soars above our heads, + Carols blissfully! + Let us stand and gaze; + Soon our eyes will meet, + I will laugh to thee, + Thou wilt smile at me, + Wee Lidórushka! 310 + + "Look, a beggar comes, + Trembling, weak, old man, + Give him what we can. + 'Do not pray for us,' + Let us to him say, + 'Father, you must pray + For Elyénushka, + For the lady fair, + Alexándrovna!' + + "Look, the church of God! 320 + Sign the cross we twain + Time and time again.... + 'Grant, O blessed Lord, + Thy most fair reward + To the gentle heart + Of Elyénushka, + Alexándrovna!' + + "Green the forest grows, + Green the pretty fields, + In each dip and dell 330 + Bright a mirror gleams. + Oh, how fair it is + In God's world to-day, + Glad my heart and gay! + Like the snowy swan + O'er the lake I sail, + O'er the waving steppes + Speeding like the quail. + + "Here we are at home. + Through the door I fly 340 + Like the pigeon grey; + Low the family + Bow at sight of me, + Nearly to the ground, + Pardon they beseech + For the way in which + They have treated me. + 'Sit you down,' I say, + 'Do not bow to me. + Listen to my words: 350 + You must bow to one + Better far than I, + Stronger far than I, + Sing your praise to her.' + + "'Sing to whom,' you say? + 'To Elyénushka, + To the fairest soul + God has sent on earth: + Alexándrovna!'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + + Matróna is silent. +You see that the peasants + Have seized the occasion-- +They are not forgetting + To drink to the health +Of the beautiful lady! + But noticing soon +That Matróna is silent, + In file they approach her. + +"What more will you tell us?" 10 + + "What more?" says Matróna, +"My fame as the 'lucky one' + Spread through the volost, +Since then they have called me + 'The Governor's Lady.' +You ask me, what further? + I managed the household, +And brought up my children. + You ask, was I happy? +Well, that you can answer 20 +Yourselves. And my children? + Five sons! But the peasant's +Misfortunes are endless: + They've robbed me of one." +She lowers her voice, + And her lashes are trembling, +But turning her head + She endeavours to hide it. +The peasants are rather + Confused, but they linger: 30 +"Well, neighbour," they say, + "Will you tell us no more?" + +"There's one thing: You're foolish + To seek among women +For happiness, brothers." + +"That's all?" + + "I can tell you +That twice we were swallowed + By fire, and that three times +The plague fell upon us; 40 + But such things are common +To all of us peasants. + Like cattle we toiled, +My steps were as easy + As those of a horse +In the plough. But my troubles +Were not very startling: + No mountains have moved +From their places to crush me; + And God did not strike me 50 +With arrows of thunder. + The storm in my soul +Has been silent, unnoticed, + So how can I paint it +To you? O'er the Mother + Insulted and outraged, +The blood of her first-born + As o'er a crushed worm +Has been poured; and unanswered + The deadly offences 60 +That many have dealt her; + The knout has been raised +Unopposed o'er her body. + But one thing I never +Have suffered: I told you + That Sítnikov died, +That the last, irreparable + Shame had been spared me. +You ask me for happiness? + Brothers, you mock me! 70 +Go, ask the official, + The Minister mighty, +The Tsar--Little Father, +But never a woman! + God knows--among women +Your search will be endless, + Will lead to your graves. + +"A pious old woman + Once asked us for shelter; +The whole of her lifetime 80 + The Flesh she had conquered +By penance and fasting; + She'd bathed in the Jordan, +And prayed at the tomb + Of Christ Jesus. She told us +The keys to the welfare + And freedom of women +Have long been mislaid-- + God Himself has mislaid them. +And hermits, chaste women, 90 + And monks of great learning, +Have sought them all over + The world, but not found them. +They're lost, and 'tis thought + By a fish they've been swallowed. +God's knights have been seeking + In towns and in deserts, +Weak, starving, and cold, + Hung with torturing fetters. +They've asked of the seers, 100 + The stars they have counted +To learn;--but no keys! + Through the world they have journeyed; +In underground caverns, + In mountains, they've sought them. +At last they discovered + Some keys. They were precious, +But only--not ours. + Yet the warriors triumphed: +They fitted the lock 110 + On the fetters of serfdom! +A sigh from all over + The world rose to Heaven, +A breath of relief, + Oh, so deep and so joyful! +Our keys were still missing.... + Great champions, though, +Till to-day are still searching, + Deep down in the bed +Of the ocean they wander, 120 + They fly to the skies, +In the clouds they are seeking, + But never the keys. +Do you think they will find them? +Who knows? Who can say? + But I think it is doubtful, +For which fish has swallowed + Those treasures so priceless, +In which sea it swims-- + God Himself has forgotten!" 130 + + + + + +PART IV. + +Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin + +A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + +PROLOGUE + +A very old willow + There is at the end +Of the village of "Earthworms," + Where most of the folk +Have been diggers and delvers +From times very ancient + (Though some produced tar). +This willow had witnessed + The lives of the peasants: +Their holidays, dances, 10 + Their communal meetings, +Their floggings by day, + In the evening their wooing, +And now it looked down + On a wonderful feast. + + The feast was conducted +In Petersburg fashion, + For Klímka, the peasant +(Our former acquaintance), + Had seen on his travels 20 +Some noblemen's banquets, + With toasts and orations, +And he had arranged it. + +The peasants were sitting + On tree-trunks cut newly +For building a hut. + With them, too, our seven +(Who always were ready + To see what was passing) +Were sitting and chatting 30 + With Vlass, the old Elder. +As soon as they fancied + A drink would be welcome, +The Elder called out + To his son, "Run for Trifon!" +With Trifon the deacon, + A jovial fellow, +A chum of the Elder's, + His sons come as well. + +Two pupils they are 40 + Of the clerical college +Named Sava and Grisha. + The former, the eldest, +Is nineteen years old. +He looks like a churchman + Already, while Grisha +Has fine, curly hair, + With a slight tinge of red, +And a thin, sallow face. +Both capital fellows 50 + They are, kind and simple, +They work with the ploughshare, + The scythe, and the sickle, +Drink vodka on feast-days, + And mix with the peasants +Entirely as equals.... + +The village lies close + To the banks of the Volga; +A small town there is + On the opposite side. 60 +(To speak more correctly, + There's now not a trace +Of the town, save some ashes: + A fire has demolished it +Two days ago.) + +Some people are waiting + To cross by the ferry, +While some feed their horses + (All friends of the peasants). +Some beggars have crawled 70 + To the spot; there are pilgrims, +Both women and men; + The women loquacious, +The men very silent. + +The old Prince Yutiátin + Is dead, but the peasants +Are not yet aware + That instead of the hayfields +His heirs have bequeathed them +A long litigation. 80 + So, drinking their vodka, +They first of all argue + Of how they'll dispose +Of the beautiful hayfields. + +You were not all cozened,[54] + You people of Russia, +And robbed of your land. +In some blessed spots + You were favoured by fortune! +By some lucky chance-- 90 + The Pomyéshchick's long absence, +Some slip of posrédnik's, +By wiles of the commune, + You managed to capture +A slice of the forest. +How proud are the peasants + In such happy corners! +The Elder may tap + At the window for taxes, +The peasant will bluster,-- 100 + One answer has he: +"Just sell off the forest, + And don't bother me!" + +So now, too, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" decided +To part with the fields + To the Elder for taxes. +They calculate closely: + "They'll pay both the taxes +And dues--with some over, 110 + Heh, Vlásuchka, won't they?" + +"Once taxes are paid + I'll uncover to no man. +I'll work if it please me, + I'll lie with my wife, +Or I'll go to the tavern." +"Bravo!" cry the peasants, + In answer to Klímka, +"Now, Vlásuchka, do you + Agree to our plan?" 120 + +"The speeches of Klímka + Are short, and as plain +As the public-house signboard," + Says Vlásuchka, joking. +"And that is his manner: + To start with a woman +And end in the tavern." + +"Well, where should one end, then? +Perhaps in the prison? + Now--as to the taxes, 130 +Don't croak, but decide." + +But Vlásuchka really + Was far from a croaker. +The kindest soul living + Was he, and he sorrowed +For all in the village, + Not only for one. +His conscience had pricked him +While serving his haughty + And rigorous Barin, 140 +Obeying his orders, + So cruel and oppressive. +While young he had always + Believed in 'improvements,' +But soon he observed + That they ended in nothing, +Or worse--in misfortune. + So now he mistrusted +The new, rich in promise. + The wheels that have passed 150 +O'er the roadways of Moscow +Are fewer by far + Than the injuries done +To the soul of the peasant. + There's nothing to laugh at +In that, so the Elder + Perforce had grown gloomy. +But now, the gay pranks +Of the peasants of "Earthworms" + Affected him too. 160 +His thoughts became brighter: +No taxes ... no barschin ... + No stick held above you, +Dear God, am I dreaming? + Old Vlásuchka smiles.... +A miracle surely! + Like that, when the sun +From the splendour of Heaven +May cast a chance ray + In the depths of the forest: 170 +The dew shines like diamonds, + The mosses are gilded. + +"Drink, drink, little peasants! + Disport yourselves bravely!" +'Twas gay beyond measure. + In each breast awakens +A wondrous new feeling, + As though from the depths +Of a bottomless gulf + On the crest of a wave, 180 +They've been borne to the surface +To find there awaits them + A feast without end. + +Another pail's started, + And, oh, what a clamour +Of voices arises, + And singing begins. + +And just as a dead man's + Relations and friends +Talk of nothing but him 190 + Till the funeral's over, +Until they have finished + The funeral banquet +And started to yawn,-- + So over the vodka, +Beneath the old willow, + One topic prevails: +The "break in the chain" + Of their lords, the Pomyéshchicks. + +The deacon they ask, 200 + And his sons, to oblige them +By singing a song + Called the "Merry Song" to them. + +(This song was not really + A song of the people: +The deacon's son Grisha + Had sung it them first. +But since the great day + When the Tsar, Little Father, +Had broken the chains 210 + Of his suffering children, +They always had danced + To this tune on the feast-days. +The "popes" and the house-serfs + Could sing the words also, +The peasants could not, + But whenever they heard it +They whistled and stamped, + And the "Merry Song" called it.) + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + + +_The Merry Song_ + + * * * * * + +The "Merry Song" finished, + They struck up a chorus, +A song of their own, + A wailing lament +(For, as yet, they've no others). + And is it not strange +That in vast Holy Russia, +With masses and masses + Of people unnumbered, +No song has been born 10 + Overflowing with joy +Like a bright summer morning? + Yes, is it not striking, +And is it not tragic? + O times that are coming, +You, too, will be painted +In songs of the people, + But how? In what colours? +And will there be ever + A smile in their hearts? 20 + +"Eh, that's a fine song! + 'Tis a shame to forget it." +Our peasants regret + That their memories trick them. +And, meanwhile, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" are saying, +"We lived but for 'barschin,' + Pray, how would you like it? +You see, we grew up + 'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30 +Our noses were glued + To the earth. We'd forgotten +The faces of neighbours, + Forgot how to speak. +We got tipsy in silence, + Gave kisses in silence, +Fought silently, too." + +"Eh, who speaks of silence? +We'd more cause to hate it + Than you," said a peasant 40 +Who came from a Volost + Near by, with a waggon +Of hay for the market. + (Some heavy misfortune +Had forced him to sell it.) + "For once our young lady, +Miss Gertrude, decided + That any one swearing +Must soundly be flogged. + Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50 +Until we stopped swearing! + Of course, not to swear +For the peasant means--silence. + We suffered, God knows! +Then freedom was granted, + We feasted it finely, +And then we made up + For our silence, believe me: +We swore in such style + That Pope John was ashamed 60 +For the church-bells to hear us. + (They rang all day long.) +What stories we told then! + We'd no need to seek +For the words. They were written + All over our backs." + +"A funny thing happened + In our parts,--a strange thing," +Remarked a tall fellow + With bushy black whiskers. 70 +(He wore a round hat + With a badge, a red waistcoat +With ten shining buttons, + And stout homespun breeches. +His legs, to contrast + With the smartness above them, +Were tied up in rags! +There are trees very like him, + From which a small shepherd +Has stripped all the bark off 80 + Below, while above +Not a scratch can be noticed! + And surely no raven +Would scorn such a summit +For building a nest.) + +"Well, tell us about it." + +"I'll first have a smoke." + +And while he is smoking + Our peasants are asking, +"And who is this fellow? 90 + What sort of a goose?" + +"An unfortunate footman + Inscribed in our Volost, +A martyr, a house-serf + Of Count Sinegúsin's. +His name is Vikénti. + He sprang from the foot-board +Direct to the ploughshare; + We still call him 'Footman.' +He's healthy enough, 100 + But his legs are not strong, +And they're given to trembling. + His lady would drive +In a carriage and four +To go hunting for mushrooms. + He'll tell you some stories: +His memory's splendid; + You'd think he had eaten +The eggs of a magpie." [55] + +Now, setting his hat straight, 110 + Vikénti commences +To tell them the story. + + + +_The Dutiful Serf--Jacob the Faithful_ + +Once an official, of rather low family, + Bought a small village from bribes he had stored, +Lived in it thirty-three years without leaving it, + Feasted and hunted and drank like a lord. +Greedy and miserly, not many friends he made, + Sometimes he'd drive to his sister's to tea. +Cruel was his nature, and not to his serfs alone: + On his own daughter no pity had he, 120 +Horsewhipped her husband, and drove them both penniless + Out of his house; not a soul dare resist. + Jacob, his dutiful servant, + Ever of orders observant, + Often he'd strike in the mouth with his fist. + + Hearts of men born into slavery + Sometimes with dogs' hearts accord: + Crueller the punishments dealt to them + More they will worship their lord. 129 + +Jacob, it seems, had a heart of that quality, + Only two sources of joy he possessed: +Tending and serving his Barin devotedly, + Rocking his own little nephew to rest. +So they lived on till old age was approaching them, + Weak grew the legs of the Barin at last, +Vainly, to cure them, he tried every remedy; + Feast and debauch were delights of the past. + + Plump are his hands and white, + Keen are his eyes and bright, + Rosy his cheek remains, 140 + But on his legs--are chains! + +Helpless the Barin now lies in his dressing-gown, + Bitterly, bitterly cursing his fate. +Jacob, his "brother and friend,"--so the Barin says,-- + Nurses him, humours him early and late. +Winter and summer they pass thus in company, + Mostly at card-games together they play, +Sometimes they drive for a change to the sister's house, + Eight miles or so, on a very fine day. +Jacob himself bears his lord to the carriage then, 150 + Drives him with care at a moderate pace, +Carries him into the old lady's drawing-room.... + So they live peacefully on for a space. + +Grisha, the nephew of Jacob, a youth becomes, + Falls at the feet of his lord: "I would wed." +"Who will the bride be?" "Her name is Arisha, sir." + Thunders the Barin, "You'd better be dead!" +Looking at her he had often bethought himself, + "Oh, for my legs! Would the Lord but relent!" 159 +So, though the uncle entreated his clemency, + Grisha to serve in the army he sent. +Cut to the heart was the slave by this tyranny, + Jacob the Faithful went mad for a spell: +Drank like a fish, and his lord was disconsolate, + No one could please him: "You fools, go to Hell!" +Hate in each bosom since long has been festering: + Now for revenge! Now the Barin must pay, +Roughly they deal with his whims and infirmities, + Two quite unbearable weeks pass away. +Then the most faithful of servants appeared again, 170 + Straight at the feet of his master he fell, +Pity has softened his heart to the legless one, + Who can look after the Barin so well? +"Barin, recall not your pitiless cruelty, + While I am living my cross I'll embrace." +Peacefully now lies the lord in his dressing-gown, + Jacob, once more, is restored to his place. +Brother again the Pomyéshchick has christened him. + "Why do you wince, little Jacob?" says he. +"Barin, there's something that stings ... in my memory...." 180 + Now they thread mushrooms, play cards, and drink tea, +Then they make brandy from cherries and raspberries, + Next for a drive to the sister's they start, +See how the Barin lies smoking contentedly, + Green leaves and sunshine have gladdened his heart. +Jacob is gloomy, converses unwillingly, + Trembling his fingers, the reins are hung slack, +"Spirits unholy!" he murmurs unceasingly, + "Leave me! Begone!" (But again they attack.) +Just on the right lies a deep, wooded precipice, + Known in those parts as "The Devil's Abyss," 191 +Jacob turns into the wood by the side of it. + Queries his lord, "What's the meaning of this?" +Jacob replies not. The path here is difficult, + Branches and ruts make their steps very slow; +Rustling of trees is heard. Spring waters noisily + Cast themselves into the hollow below. +Then there's a halt,--not a step can the horses move: + Straight in their path stand the pines like a wall; +Jacob gets down, and, the horses unharnessing, + Takes of the Barin no notice at all. 201 + +Vainly the Barin's exclaiming and questioning, + Jacob is pale, and he shakes like a leaf, +Evilly smiles at entreaties and promises: + "Am I a murderer, then, or a thief? +No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. There's another way!" + Now he has climbed to the top of a pine, +Fastened the reins to the summit, and crossed himself, + Turning his face to the sun's bright decline. +Thrusting his head in the noose ... he has hanged himself! 210 + Horrible! Horrible! See, how he sways +Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate, + Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. +Twisting his head he is jerking convulsively, + Straining his voice to the utmost he cries, +All is in vain, there is no one to rescue him, + Only the mischievous echo replies. + +Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet, + Black is the night. Hear the owls on the wing, +Striking the earth as they pass, while the horses stand 220 + Chewing the leaves, and their bells faintly ring. +Two eyes are burning like lamps at the train's approach, + Steadily, brightly they gleam in the night, +Strange birds are flitting with movements mysterious, + Somewhere at hand they are heard to alight. +Straight over Jacob a raven exultingly + Hovers and caws. Now a hundred fly round! +Feebly the Barin is waving his crutch at them, + Merciful Heaven, what horrors abound! + +So the poor Barin all night in the carriage lies, + Shouting, from wolves to protect his old bones. 231 +Early next morning a hunter discovers him, + Carries him home, full of penitent groans: +"Oh, I'm a sinner most infamous! Punish me!" + Barin, I think, till you rest in your grave, +One figure surely will haunt you incessantly, + Jacob the Faithful, your dutiful slave. + + "What sinners! What sinners!" + The peasants are saying, + "I'm sorry for Jacob, 240 + Yet pity the Barin, + Indeed he was punished! + Ah, me!" Then they listen + To two or three more tales + As strange and as fearful, + And hotly they argue + On who must be reckoned + The greatest of sinners: + "The publican," one says, + And one, "The Pomyéshchick," 250 + Another, "The peasant." + This last was a carter, + A man of good standing + And sound reputation, + No ignorant babbler. + He'd seen many things + In his life, his own province + Had traversed entirely. + He should have been heard. + The peasants, however, 260 + Were all so indignant + They would not allow him + To speak. As for Klímka, + His wrath is unbounded, + "You fool!" he is shouting. + + "But let me explain." + + "I see you are _all_ fools," + A voice remarks roughly: + The voice of a trader + Who squeezes the peasants 270 + For laputs or berries + Or any spare trifles. + But chiefly he's noted + For seizing occasions + When taxes are gathered, + And peasants' possessions + Are bartered at auction. + "You start a discussion + And miss the chief point. + Why, who's the worst sinner? 280 + Consider a moment." + + "Well, who then? You tell us." + + "The robber, of course." + + "You've not been a serf, man," + Says Klímka in answer; + "The burden was heavy, + But not on your shoulders. + Your pockets are full, + So the robber alarms you; + The robber with this case 290 + Has nothing to do." + + "The case of the robber + Defending the robber," + The other retorts. + + "Now, pray!" bellows Klímka, + And leaping upon him, + He punches his jaw. + The trader repays him + With buffets as hearty, + "Take leave of your carcase!" 300 + He roars. + + "Here's a tussle!" + The peasants are clearing + A space for the battle; + They do not prevent it + Nor do they applaud it. + The blows fall like hail. + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! + Write home to your parents!" + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310 + Heh, send for the pope!" + + The trader, bent double + By Klímka, who, clutching + His hair, drags his head down, + Repeating, "He's bowing!" + Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" + When Klímka has freed him + He sits on a log, + And says, wiping his face + With a broadly-checked muffler, 320 + "No wonder he conquered: + He ploughs not, he reaps not, + Does nothing but doctor + The pigs and the horses; + Of course he gets strong!" + + The peasants are laughing, + And Klímka says, mocking, + "Here, try a bit more!" + + "Come on, then! I'm ready," + The trader says stoutly, 330 + And rolling his sleeves up, + He spits on his palms. + + "The hour has now sounded + For me, though a sinner, + To speak and unite you," + Ióna pronounces. + The whole of the evening + That diffident pilgrim + Has sat without speaking, + And crossed himself, sighing. 340 + The trader's delighted, + And Klímka replies not. + The rest, without speaking, + Sit down on the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + +We know that in Russia + Are numbers of people +Who wander at large + Without kindred or home. +They sow not, they reap not, + They feed at the fountain +That's common to all, + That nourishes likewise +The tiniest mouse + And the mightiest army: +The sweat of the peasant. 10 + The peasants will tell you +That whole populations + Of villages sometimes +Turn out in the autumn + To wander like pilgrims. +They beg, and esteem it + A paying profession. +The people consider + That misery drives them 20 +More often than cunning, + And so to the pilgrims +Contribute their mite. + Of course, there are cases +Of downright deception: + One pilgrim's a thief, +Or another may wheedle + Some cloth from the wife +Of a peasant, exchanging + Some "sanctified wafers" 30 +Or "tears of the Virgin" + He's brought from Mount Athos, +And then she'll discover + He's been but as far +As a cloister near Moscow. + One saintly old greybeard +Enraptured the people + By wonderful singing, +And offered to teach + The young girls of the village 40 +The songs of the church + With their mothers' permission. +And all through the winter + He locked himself up +With the girls in a stable. + From thence, sometimes singing +Was heard, but more often + Came laughter and giggles. +Well, what was the upshot? + He taught them no singing, 50 +But ruined them all. + + Some Masters so skilful +There are, they will even + Lay siege to the ladies. +They first to the kitchens + Make sure of admission, +And then through the maids + Gained access to the mistress. +See, there he goes, strutting + Along through the courtyard 60 +And jingling the keys + Of the house like a Barin. +And soon he will spit + In the teeth of the peasants; +The pious old women, + Who always before +At the house have been welcome, + He'll speedily banish. +The people, however, + Can see in these pilgrims 70 +A good side as well. + For, who begs the money +For building the churches? + And who keeps the convent's +Collecting-box full? + And many, though useless, +Are perfectly harmless; + But some are uncanny, +One can't understand them: + The people know Fóma, 80 +With chains round his middle + Some six stones in weight; +How summer and winter + He walks about barefoot, +And constantly mutters +Of Heaven knows what. + His life, though, is godly: +A stone for his pillow, + A crust for his dinner. + +The people know also 90 + The old man, Nikífor, +Adherent, most strange, + Of the sect called "The Hiders." +One day he appeared + In Usólovo village +Upbraiding the people + For lack of religion, +And calling them forth + To the great virgin forest +To seek for salvation. 100 + The chief of police +Of the district just happened + To be in the village +And heard his oration: + "Ho! Question the madman!" + +"Thou foe of Christ Jesus! + Thou Antichrist's herald!" +Nikífor retorts. +The Elders are nudging him: + "Now, then, be silent!" 110 +He pays no attention. +They drag him to prison. + He stands in the waggon, +Undauntedly chiding + The chief of police, +And loudly he cries + To the people who follow him: + +"Woe to you! Woe to you! Bondsmen, I mourn for you! + Though you're in rags, e'en the rags shall be torn from you! +Fiercely with knouts in the past did they mangle you: 120 + Clutches of iron in the future will strangle you!" + + The people are crossing + Themselves. The Nachálnik[56] + Is striking the prophet: + "Remember the Judge + Of Jerusalem, sinner!" + The driver's so frightened + The reins have escaped him, + His hair stands on end.... + + And when will the people 130 + Forget Yevressína, + Miraculous widow? + Let cholera only + Break out in a village: + At once like an envoy + Of God she appears. + She nurses and fosters + And buries the peasants. + The women adore her, + They pray to her almost. 140 + + It's evident, then, + That the door of the peasant + Is easily opened: + Just knock, and be certain + He'll gladly admit you. + He's never suspicious + Like wealthier people; + The thought does not strike him + At sight of the humble + And destitute stranger, 150 + "Perhaps he's a thief!" + And as to the women, + They're simply delighted, + They'll welcome you warmly. + + At night, in the Winter, + The family gathered + To work in the cottage + By light of "luchina," [57] + Are charmed by the pilgrim's + Remarkable stories. 160 + He's washed in the steam-bath, + And dipped with his spoon + In the family platter, + First blessing its contents. + His veins have been thawed + By a streamlet of vodka, + His words flow like water. + The hut is as silent + As death. The old father + Was mending the laputs, 170 + But now he has dropped them. + + The song of the shuttle + Is hushed, and the woman + Who sits at the wheel + Is engrossed in the story. + The daughter, Yevgénka, + Her plump little finger + Has pricked with a needle. + The blood has dried up, + But she notices nothing; 180 + Her sewing has fallen, + Her eyes are distended, + Her arms hanging limp. + The children, in bed + On the sleeping-planks, listen, + Their heads hanging down. + They lie on their stomachs + Like snug little seals + Upon Archangel ice-blocks. + Their hair, like a curtain, 190 + Is hiding their faces: + It's yellow, of course! + + But wait. Soon the pilgrim + Will finish his story-- + (It's true)--from Mount Athos. + It tells how that sinner + The Turk had once driven + Some monks in rebellion + Right into the sea,-- + Who meekly submitted, 200 + And perished in hundreds. + + (What murmurs of horror + Arise! Do you notice + The eyes, full of tears?) + And now conies the climax, + The terrible moment, + And even the mother + Has loosened her hold + On the corpulent bobbin, + It rolls to the ground.... 210 + And see how cat Vaska + At once becomes active + And pounces upon it. + At times less enthralling + The antics of Vaska + Would meet their deserts; + But now he is patting + And touching the bobbin + And leaping around it + With flexible movements, 220 + And no one has noticed. + It rolls to a distance, + The thread is unwound. + + Whoever has witnessed + The peasant's delight + At the tales of the pilgrims + Will realise this: + Though never so crushing + His labours and worries, + Though never so pressing 230 + The call of the tavern, + Their weight will not deaden + The soul of the peasant + And will not benumb it. + The road that's before him + Is broad and unending.... + When old fields, exhausted, + Play false to the reaper, + He'll seek near the forest + For soil more productive. 240 + The work may be hard, + But the new plot repays him: + It yields a rich harvest + Without being manured. + A soil just as fertile + Lies hid in the soul + Of the people of Russia: + O Sower, then come! + + The pilgrim Ióna + Since long is well known 250 + In the village of "Earthworms." + The peasants contend + For the honour of giving + The holy man shelter. + At last, to appease them, + He'd say to the women, + "Come, bring out your icons!" + They'd hurry to fetch them. + Ióna, prostrating + Himself to each icon, 260 + Would say to the people, + "Dispute not! Be patient, + And God will decide: + The saint who looks kindest + At me I will follow." + And often he'd follow + The icon most poor + To the lowliest hovel. + That hut would become then + A Cup overflowing; 270 + The women would run there + With baskets and saucepans, + All thanks to Ióna. + + And now, without hurry + Or noise, he's beginning + To tell them a story, + "Two Infamous Sinners," + But first, most devoutly, + He crosses himself. + + + +_Two Infamous Sinners_ + +Come, let us praise the Omnipotent! 280 + Let us the legend relate +Told by a monk in the Priory. + Thus did I hear him narrate: + +Once were twelve brigands notorious, + One, Kudeár, at their head; +Torrents of blood of good Christians + Foully the miscreants shed. + +Deep in the forest their hiding-place, + Rich was their booty and rare; +Once Kudeár from near Kiev Town 290 + Stole a young maiden most fair. + +Days Kudeár with his mistress spent, + Nights on the road with his horde; +Suddenly, conscience awoke in him, + Stirred by the grace of the Lord. + +Sleep left his couch. Of iniquity + Sickened his spirit at last; +Shades of his victims appeared to him, + Crowding in multitudes vast. + +Long was this monster most obdurate, 300 + Blind to the light from above, +Then flogged to death his chief satellite, + Cut off the head of his love,-- + +Scattered his gang in his penitence, + And to the churches of God +All his great riches distributed, + Buried his knife in the sod, + +Journeyed on foot to the Sepulchre, + Filled with repentance and grief; +Wandered and prayed, but the pilgrimage + Brought to his soul no relief. 311 + +When he returned to his Fatherland + Clad like a monk, old and bent, +'Neath a great oak, as an anchorite, + Life in the forest he spent. + +There, from the Maker Omnipotent, + Grace day and night did he crave: +"Lord, though my body thou castigate, + Grant that my soul I may save!" + +Pity had God on the penitent, 320 + Showed him the pathway to take, +Sent His own messenger unto him + During his prayers, who thus spake: + +"Know, for this oak sprang thy preference, + Not without promptings divine; +Lo! take the knife thou hast slaughtered with, + Fell it, and grace shall be thine. + +"Yea, though the task prove laborious, + Great shall the recompense be, +Let but the tree fall, and verily 330 + Thou from thy load shalt be free." + +Vast was the giant's circumference; + Praying, his task he begins, +Works with the tool of atrociousness, + Offers amends for his sins. + +Glory he sang to the Trinity, + Scraped the hard wood with his blade. +Years passed away. Though he tarried not, + Slow was the progress he made. + +'Gainst such a mighty antagonist 340 + How could he hope to prevail? +Only a Samson could vanquish it, + Not an old man, spent and frail. + +Doubt, as he worked, began plaguing him: + Once of a voice came the sound, +"Heh, old man, say what thy purpose is?" + Crossing himself he looked round. + +There, Pan[58] Glukhóvsky was watching him + On his brave Arab astride, +Rich was the Pan, of high family, 350 + Known in the whole countryside. + +Many cruel deeds were ascribed to him, + Filled were his subjects with hate, +So the old hermit to caution him + Told him his own sorry fate. + +"Ho!" laughed Glukhóvsky, derisively, + "Hope of salvation's not mine; +These are the things that I estimate-- + Women, gold, honour, and wine. + +"My life, old man, is the only one; 360 + Many the serfs that I keep; +What though I waste, hang, and torture them-- + You should but see how I sleep!" + +Lo! to the hermit, by miracle, + Wrath a great strength did impart, +Straight on Glukhóvsky he flung himself, + Buried the knife in his heart. + +Scarce had the Pan, in his agony, + Sunk to the blood-sodden ground, +Crashed the great tree, and lay subjugate, + Trembled the earth at the sound. 371 + +Lo! and the sins of the anchorite + Passed from his soul like a breath. +"Let us pray God to incline to us, + Slaves in the shadow of Death...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +OLD AND NEW + +Ióna has finished. + He crosses himself, +And the people are silent. + And then of a sudden + +The trader cries loudly + In great irritation, +"What's wrong with the ferry? + A plague on the sluggards! +Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +"You won't get the ferry 10 + Till sunrise, for even +In daytime they're frightened + To cross: the boat's rotten! + About Kudeár, now--" + +"Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +He strides to his waggon. + A cow is there tethered; +He churlishly kicks her. + His hens begin clucking; +He shouts at them, "Silence!" 20 + The calf, which is shifting +About in the cart. + Gets a crack on the forehead. +He strikes the roan mare + With the whip, and departing +He makes for the Volga. + The moon is now shining, +It casts on the roadway + A comical shadow, +Which trots by his side. 30 + +"Oho!" says the Elder, + "He thought himself able +To fight, but discussion + Is not in his line.... +My brothers, how grievous + The sins of the nobles!" + +"And yet not as great + As the sin of the peasant," +The carter cannot here + Refrain from remarking. 40 + +"A plaguey old croaker!" + Says Klím, spitting crossly; +"Whatever arises + The raven must fly +To his own little brood! + What is it, then, tell us, +The sin of the peasant?" + + + +_The Sin of Gleb the Peasant_ + +A'miral Widower sailed on the sea, + Steering his vessels a-sailing went he. 49 +Once with the Turk a great battle he fought, + His was the victory, gallantly bought. +So to the hero as valour's reward + Eight thousand souls[59] did the Empress award. +A'miral Widower lived on his land + Rich and content, till his end was at hand. +As he lay dying this A'miral bold + Handed his Elder a casket of gold. +"See that thou cherish this casket," he said, + "Keep it and open it when I am dead. +There lies my will, and by it you will see + Eight thousand souls are from serfdom set free." 61 +Dead, on the table, the A'miral lies, + A kinsman remote to the funeral hies. +Buried! Forgotten! His relative soon + Calls Gleb, the Elder, with him to commune. +And, in a trice, by his cunning and skill, + Learns of the casket, and terms of the will. +Offers him riches and bliss unalloyed, + Gives him his freedom,--the will is destroyed! +Thus, by Gleb's longing for criminal gains, + Eight thousand souls were left rotting in chains, 71 +Aye, and their sons and their grandsons as well, + Think, what a crowd were thrown back into Hell! +God forgives all. Yes, but Judas's crime + Ne'er will be pardoned till end of all time. +Peasant, most infamous sinner of all, + Endlessly grieve to atone for thy fall! + + Wrathful, relentless, + The carter thus finished + The tale of the peasant 80 + In thunder-like tones. + The others sigh deeply + And rise. They're exclaiming, + "So, that's what it is, then, + The sin of the peasant. + He's right. 'Tis indeed + A most terrible sin!" + + "The story speaks truly; + Our grief shall be endless, + Ah, me!" says the Elder. 90 + (His faith in improvements + Has vanished again.) + And Klímka, who always + Is swayed in an instant + By joy or by sorrow, + Despondingly echoes, + "A terrible sin!" + + The green by the Volga, + Now flooded with moonlight, + Has changed of a sudden: 100 + The peasants no longer + Seem men independent + With self-assured movements, + They're "Earthworms" again-- + Those "Earthworms" whose victuals + Are never sufficient, + Who always are threatened + With drought, blight, or famine, + Who yield to the trader + The fruits of extortion 110 + Their tears, shed in tar. + The miserly haggler + Not only ill-pays them, + But bullies as well: + "For what do I pay you? + The tar costs you nothing. + The sun brings it oozing + From out of your bodies + As though from a pine." + + Again the poor peasants 120 + Are sunk in the depths + Of the bottomless gulf! + Dejected and silent, + They lie on their stomachs + Absorbed in reflection. + But then they start singing; + And slowly the song, + Like a ponderous cloud-bank, + Rolls mournfully onwards. + They sing it so clearly 130 + That quickly our seven + Have learnt it as well. + + +_The Hungry One_ + + The peasant stands +With haggard gaze, + He pants for breath, +He reels and sways; + + From famine food, +From bread of bark, + His form has swelled, +His face is dark. 140 + + Through endless grief +Suppressed and dumb + His eyes are glazed, +His soul is numb. + + As though in sleep, +With footsteps slow, + He creeps to where +The rye doth grow. + + Upon his field +He gazes long, 150 + He stands and sings +A voiceless song: + + "Grow ripe, grow ripe, +O Mother rye, + I fostered thee, +Thy lord am I. + + "Yield me a loaf +Of monstrous girth, + A cake as vast +As Mother-Earth. 160 + + "I'll eat the whole-- +No crumb I'll spare; + With wife, with child, +I will not share." + +"Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!" + A voice exclaims feebly. +It's one of the peasants. + He fetches a loaf +From his bag, and devours it. + +"They sing without voices, 170 + And yet when you listen +Your hair begins rising," + Another remarks. + +It's true. Not with voices + They sing of the famine-- +But something within them. + One, during the singing, +Has risen, to show them + The gait of the peasant +Exhausted by hunger, 180 + And swayed by the wind. +Restrained are his movements + And slow. After singing +"The Hungry One," thirsting + They make for the bucket, +One after another + Like geese in a file. +They stagger and totter + As people half-famished, +A drink will restore them. 190 +"Come, let us be joyful!" + The deacon is saying. +His youngest son, Grísha, +Approaches the peasants. + "Some vodka?" they ask him. + +"No, thank you. I've had some. + But what's been the matter? +You look like drowned kittens." + +"What should be the matter?" +(And making an effort 200 + They bear themselves bravely.) +And Vlass, the old Elder, + Has placed his great palm +On the head of his godson. + +"Is serfdom revived? + Will they drive you to barschin +Or pilfer your hayfields?" + Says Grísha in jest. + +"The hay-fields? You're joking!" + +"Well, what has gone wrong, then? + And why were you singing 211 +'The Hungry One,' brothers? + To summon the famine?" + +"Yes, what's all the pother?" + Here Klímka bursts out +Like a cannon exploding. + The others are scratching +Their necks, and reflecting: +"It's true! What's amiss?" +"Come, drink, little 'Earthworms,' + Come, drink and be merry! 221 +All's well--as we'd have it, + Aye, just as we wished it. +Come, hold up your noddles! + But what about Gleb?" + +A lengthy discussion + Ensues; and it's settled +That they're not to blame +For the deed of the traitor: + 'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230 +For just as the big snake + Gives birth to the small ones, +So serfdom gave birth + To the sins of the nobles, +To Jacob the Faithful's + And also to Gleb's. +For, see, without serfdom + Had been no Pomyéshchick +To drive his true servant + To death by the noose, 240 +No terrible vengeance + Of slave upon master +By suicide fearful, + No treacherous Gleb. + +'Twas Prov of all others + Who listened to Grísha +With deepest attention +And joy most apparent. + And when he had finished +He cried to the others 250 + In accents of triumph, +Delightedly smiling, + "Now, brothers, mark _that_!" +"So now, there's an end + Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" +Cries Klímka, with glee. +The words about serfdom + Were quickly caught up +By the crowd, and went passing + From one to another: 260 +"Yes, if there's no big snake + There cannot be small ones!" +And Klímka is swearing + Again at the carter: +"You ignorant fool!" +They're ready to grapple! + The deacon is sobbing +And kissing his Grísha: + "Just see what a headpiece +The Lord is creating! 270 + No wonder he longs +For the college in Moscow!" + Old Vlass, too, is patting +His shoulder and saying, + "May God send thee silver +And gold, and a healthy + And diligent wife!" + +"I wish not for silver + Or gold," replies Grísha. +"But one thing I wish: 280 + I wish that my comrades, +Yes, all the poor peasants + In Russia so vast, +Could be happy and free!" + Thus, earnestly speaking, +And blushing as shyly + As any young maiden, +He walks from their midst. + +The dawn is approaching. + The peasants make ready 290 +To cross by the ferry. +"Eh, Vlass," says the carter, + As, stooping, he raises +The span of his harness, + "Who's this on the ground?" + +The Elder approaches, + And Klímka behind him, +Our seven as well. + (They're always most anxious +To see what is passing.) 300 + +Some fellow is lying + Exhausted, dishevelled, +Asleep, with the beggars + Behind some big logs. +His clothing is new, + But it's hanging in ribbons. +A crimson silk scarf + On his neck he is wearing; +A watch and a waistcoat; + His blouse, too, is red. 310 +Now Klímka is stooping +To look at the sleeper, + Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly +Stamps straight on his mouth. + +The fellow springs up, + Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep, +And old Vlásuchka strikes him. + He squeals like a rat +'Neath the heel of your slipper, + And makes for the forest 320 +On long, lanky legs. + Four peasants pursue him, +The others cry, "Beat him!" + Until both the man +And the band of pursuers + Are lost in the forest. + +"Who is he?" our seven + Are asking the Elder, +"And why do they beat him?" + +"We don't know the reason, 330 + But we have been told +By the people of Tískov + To punish this Shútov +Whenever we catch him, + And so we obey. +When people from Tískov + Pass by, they'll explain it. +What luck? Did you catch him?" + He asks of the others +Returned from the chase. 340 + +"We caught him, I warrant, + And gave him a lesson. +He's run to Demyánsky, + For there he'll be able +To cross by the ferry." + +"Strange people, to beat him + Without any cause!" +"And why? If the commune + Has told us to do it +There must be some reason!" 350 + Shouts Klím at the seven. +"D'you think that the people +Of Tískov are fools? + It isn't long since, mind, +That many were flogged there, +One man in each ten. + Ah, Shútov, you rendered +A dastardly service, + Your duties are evil, +You damnable wretch! 360 + And who deserves beating +As richly as Shútov? + Not we alone beat him: +From Tískov, you know, + Fourteen villages lie +On the banks of the Volga; + I warrant through each +He's been driven with blows." + +The seven are silent. + They're longing to get 370 +At the root of the matter. + But even the Elder +Is now growing angry. + +It's daylight. The women + Are bringing their husbands +Some breakfast, of rye-cakes + And--goose! (For a peasant +Had driven some geese + Through the village to market, +And three were grown weary, 380 + And had to be carried.) +"See here, will you sell them? + They'll die ere you get there." +And so, for a trifle, + The geese had been bought. + +We've often been told + How the peasant loves drinking; +Not many there are, though, + Who know how he eats. +He's greedier far 390 + For his food than for vodka, +So one man to-day +(A teetotaller mason) + Gets perfectly drunk +On his breakfast of goose! +A shout! "Who is coming? + Who's this?" Here's another +Excuse for rejoicing + And noise! There's a hay-cart +With hay, now approaching, 400 + And high on its summit +A soldier is sitting. + He's known to the peasants +For twenty versts round. + And, cosy beside him, +Justínutchka sits + (His niece, and an orphan, +His prop in old age). +He now earns his living + By means of his peep-show, 410 +Where, plainly discerned, + Are the Kremlin and Moscow, +While music plays too. + The instrument once +Had gone wrong, and the soldier, + No capital owning, +Bought three metal spoons, +Which he beat to make music; + But the words that he knew +Did not suit the new music, 420 +And folk did not laugh. + The soldier was sly, though: +He made some new words up + That went with the music. + +They hail him with rapture! + "Good-health to you, Grandad! +Jump down, drink some vodka, + And give us some music." + +"It's true I got _up_ here, + But how to get-down?" 430 + +"You're going, I see, + To the town for your pension, +But look what has happened: + It's burnt to the ground." + +"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly! + What then? Then I'll go + To St. Petersburg for it; +For all my old comrades + Are there with their pensions, +They'll show me the way." 440 + +"You'll go by the train, then?" + +The old fellow whistles: + "Not long you've been serving +Us, orthodox Christians, + You, infidel railway! +And welcome you were + When you carried us cheaply +From Peters to Moscow. + (It cost but three roubles.) +But now you want seven, 450 + So, go to the devil! + +"Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! +Hiss like a snake as you glide! +_Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!_ +Puff at the whole countryside! +Crushing and maiming your toll you extort, +Straight in the face of the peasant you snort, +Soon all the people of Russia you may +Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!" + +"Come, give us some music," 460 + Says Vlass to the soldier, +"For here there are plenty + Of holiday people, +'Twill be to your profit. + You see to it, Klímka!" +(Though Vlass doesn't like him, + Whenever there's something +That calls for arranging + He leaves it to Klímka: +"You see to it, Klímka!" 470 + And Klimka is pleased.) + +And soon the old soldier + Is helped from the hay-cart: +He's weak on his legs,--tall, + And strikingly thin. +His uniform seems + To be hung from a pole; +There are medals upon it. + +It cannot be said + That his face is attractive, 480 +Especially when + It's distorted by _tic_: +His mouth opens wide + And his eyes burn like charcoal,-- +A regular demon! + +The music is started, + The people run back +From the banks of the Volga. +He sings to the music. + + * * * * * + +A spasm has seized him: 490 + He leans on his niece, +And his left leg upraising + He twirls it around +In the air like a weight. + His right follows suit then, +And murmuring, "Curse it!" + He suddenly masters +And stands on them both. + +"You see to it, Klímka!" + Of course he'll arrange it 500 +In Petersburg fashion: + He stands them together, +The niece and the uncle; + Takes two wooden dishes +And gives them one each, + Then springs on a tree-trunk +To make an oration. + +(The soldier can't help + Adding apt little words +To the speech of the peasant, 510 + And striking his spoons.) + + * * * * * + +The soldier is stamping + His feet. One can hear +His dry bones knock together. + When Klímka has finished +The peasants come crowding, + Surrounding the soldier, +And some a kopéck give, + And others give half: +In no time a rouble 520 + Is piled on the dishes. + + + +EPILOGUE + +GRÍSHA DOBROSKLONOW + + +A CHEERFUL SEASON--CHEERFUL SONGS + +The feast was continued + Till morning--a splendid, +A wonderful feast! + Then the people dispersing +Went home, and our peasants + Lay down 'neath the willow; +Ióna--meek pilgrim + Of God--slept there too. +And Sáva and Grísha, + The sons of the deacon, 10 +Went home, with their parent + Unsteady between them. +They sang; and their voices, + Like bells on the Volga, +So loud and so tuneful, + Came chiming together: + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "That which will surely 20 + Banish the night + He[60] has awarded-- + Freedom and Light! + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "Blessings from Heaven, + Grace from above, + Rained on the battle, + Conquered by Love. 30 + + "Little we ask Thee-- + Grant us, O Lord, + Strength to be honest, + Fearing Thy word! + + "Brotherly living, + Sharing in part, + That is the roadway + Straight to the heart. + + "Turn from that teaching + Tender and wise-- 40 + Cowards and traitors + Soon will arise. + + "People of Russia, + Banish the night! + You have been granted + That which is needful-- + Freedom and Light!" + +The deacon was poor + As the poorest of peasants: +A mean little cottage 50 + Like two narrow cages, +The one with an oven + Which smoked, and the other +For use in the summer,-- + Such was his abode. +No horse he possessed + And no cow. He had once had +A dog and a cat, + But they'd both of them left him. + +His sons put him safely 60 + To bed, snoring loudly; +Then Sávushka opened + A book, while his brother +Went out, and away + To the fields and the forest. + +A broad-shouldered youth + Was this Grísha; his face, though, +Was terribly thin. + In the clerical college +The students got little 70 + To eat. Sometimes Grísha +Would lie the whole night + Without sleep; only longing +For morning and breakfast,-- + The coarse piece of bread +And the glassful of sbeeten.[61] +The village was poor + And the food there was scanty, +But still, the two brothers + Grew certainly plumper 80 +When home for the holidays-- + Thanks to the peasants. + +The boys would repay them + By all in their power, +By work, or by doing + Their little commissions +In town. Though the deacon + Was proud of his children, +He never had given + Much thought to their feeding. 90 +Himself, the poor deacon, + Was endlessly hungry, +His principal thought + Was the manner of getting +The next piece of food. + He was rather light-minded +And vexed himself little; + But Dyómna, his wife, +Had been different entirely: + She worried and counted, 100 +So God took her soon. + The whole of her life +She by salt[62] had been troubled: + If bread has run short +One can ask of the neighbours; + But salt, which means money, +Is hard to obtain. + The village with Dyómna +Had shared its bread freely; + And long, long ago 110 +Would her two little children + Have lain in the churchyard +If not for the peasants. + +And Dyómna was ready + To work without ceasing +For all who had helped her; + But salt was her trouble, +Her thought, ever present. + She dreamt of it, sang of it, +Sleeping and waking, 120 + While washing, while spinning, +At work in the fields, + While rocking her darling +Her favourite, Grísha. + And many years after +The death of his mother, + His heart would grow heavy +And sad, when the peasants + Remembered one song, +And would sing it together 130 + As Dyómna had sung it; +They called it "The Salt Song." + + + +_The Salt Song_ + + Now none but God + Can save my son: + He's dying fast, + My little one.... + + I give him bread--- + He looks at it, + He cries to me, + "Put salt on it." 140 + I have no salt-- + No tiny grain; + "Take flour," God whispers, + "Try again...." + + He tastes it once, + Once more he tries; + "That's not enough, + More salt!" he cries. + + The flour again.... + My tears fall fast 150 + Upon the bread,-- + He eats at last! + + The mother smiles + In pride and joy: + Her tears so salt + Have saved the boy. + + * * * * * + +Young Grísha remembered + This song; he would sing it +Quite low to himself + In the clerical college. 160 +The college was cheerless, +And singing this song + He would yearn for his mother, +For home, for the peasants, + His friends and protectors. +And soon, with the love + Which he bore to his mother, +His love for the people + Grew wider and stronger.... +At fifteen years old 170 + He was firmly decided +To spend his whole life + In promoting their welfare, +In striving to succour + The poor and afflicted. +The demon of malice + Too long over Russia +Has scattered its hate; + The shadow of serfdom +Has hidden all paths 180 + Save corruption and lying. +Another song now + Will arise throughout Russia; +The angel of freedom + And mercy is flying +Unseen o'er our heads, + And is calling strong spirits +To follow the road + Which is honest and clean. + +Oh, tread not the road 190 +So shining and broad: +Along it there speed +With feverish tread +The multitudes led +By infamous greed. + +There lives which are spent +With noble intent +Are mocked at in scorn; +There souls lie in chains, +And bodies and brains 200 +By passions are torn, + +By animal thirst +For pleasures accurst +Which pass in a breath. +There hope is in vain, +For there is the reign +Of darkness and death. + + * * * * * + +In front of your eyes +Another road lies-- +'Tis honest and clean. 210 +Though steep it appears +And sorrow and tears +Upon it are seen: + +It leads to the door +Of those who are poor, +Who hunger and thirst, +Who pant without air. +Who die in despair-- +Oh, there be the first! + +The song of the angel 220 + Of Mercy not vainly +Was sung to our Grísha. + The years of his study +Being passed, he developed + In thought and in feeling; +A passionate singer + Of Freedom became he, +Of all who are grieving, + Down-trodden, afflicted, +In Russia so vast. 230 + + * * * * * + +The bright sun was shining, + The cool, fragrant morning +Was filled with the sweetness + Of newly-mown hay. +Young Grísha was thoughtful, + He followed the first road +He met--an old high-road, + An avenue, shaded +By tall curling birch trees. + The youth was now gloomy, 240 +Now gay; the effect + Of the feast was still with him; +His thoughts were at work, + And in song he expressed them: + +"I know that you suffer, +O Motherland dear, +The thought of it fills me with woe: +And Fate has much sorrow +In store yet, I fear, +But you will not perish, I know. 250 + +"How long since your children +As playthings were used, +As slaves to base passions and lust; +Were bartered like cattle, +Were vilely abused +By masters most cruel and unjust? + +"How long since young maidens +Were dragged to their shame, +Since whistle of whips filled the land, +Since 'Service' possessed 260 +A more terrible fame +Than death by the torturer's hand? + +"Enough! It is finished, +This tale of the past; +'Tis ended, the masters' long sway; +The strength of the people +Is stirring at last, +To freedom 'twill point them the way. + +"Your burden grows lighter, +O Motherland dear, 270 +Your wounds less appalling to see. +Your fathers were slaves, +Smitten helpless by fear, +But, Mother, your children are free!" + + * * * * * + +A small winding footpath + Now tempted young Grísha, +And guided his steps + To a very broad hayfield. +The peasants were cutting + The hay, and were singing 280 +His favourite song. + Young Grísha was saddened +By thoughts of his mother, + And nearly in anger +He hurried away + From the field to the forest. +Bright echoes are darting + About in the forest; +Like quails in the wheat + Little children are romping 290 +(The elder ones work + In the hay fields already). +He stopped awhile, seeking + For horse-chestnuts with them. +The sun was now hot; + To the river went Grísha +To bathe, and he had + A good view of the ruins +That three days before + Had been burnt. What a picture! +No house is left standing; 301 + And only the prison +Is saved; just a few days + Ago it was whitewashed; + It stands like a little +White cow in the pastures. + The guards and officials +Have made it their refuge; + But all the poor peasants +Are strewn by the river 310 + Like soldiers in camp. +Though they're mostly asleep now, + A few are astir, +And two under-officials + Are picking their way +To the tent for some vodka + 'Mid tables and cupboards +And waggons and bundles. + A tailor approaches +The vodka tent also; 320 + A shrivelled old fellow. + His irons and his scissors +He holds in his hands, + Like a leaf he is shaking. +The pope has arisen + From sleep, full of prayers. +He is combing his hair; + Like a girl he is holding +His long shining plait. + Down the Volga comes floating 330 +Some wood-laden rafts, + And three ponderous barges +Are anchored beneath + The right bank of the river. +The barge-tower yesterday + Evening had dragged them +With songs to their places, +And there he is standing, + The poor harassed man! +He is looking quite gay though, 340 + As if on a holiday, +Has a clean shirt on; + Some farthings are jingling +Aloud in his pocket. + Young Grísha observes him +For long from the river, + And, half to himself, +Half aloud, begins singing: + + + +_The Barge-Tower_ + +With shoulders back and breast astrain, +And bathed in sweat which falls like rain, +Through midday heat with gasping song, +He drags the heavy barge along. 352 +He falls and rises with a groan, +His song becomes a husky moan.... +But now the barge at anchor lies, +A giant's sleep has sealed his eyes; +And in the bath at break of day +He drives the clinging sweat away. +Then leisurely along the quay +He strolls refreshed, and roubles three 360 +Are sewn into his girdle wide; +Some coppers jingle at his side. +He thinks awhile, and then he goes +Towards the tavern. There he throws +Some hard-earned farthings on the seat; +He drinks, and revels in the treat, +The sense of perfect ease and rest. +Soon with the cross he signs his breast: +The journey home begins to-day. +And cheerfully he goes away; 370 +On presents spends a coin or so: +For wife some scarlet calico, +A scarf for sister, tinsel toys +For eager little girls and boys. +God guide him home--'tis many a mile-- +And let him rest a little while.... + + * * * * * + + The barge-tower's fate + Lead the thoughts of young Grisha + To dwell on the whole + Of mysterious Russia-- 380 + The fate of her people. + For long he was roving + About on the bank, + Feeling hot and excited, + His brain overflowing + With new and new verses. + + _Russia_ + +"The Tsar was in mood +To dabble in blood: +To wage a great war. +Shall we have gold enough? 390 +Shall we have strength enough? +Questioned the Tsar. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet thou art powerful, +Thy wealth is plentiful, +Russia, my Mother!) + +"By misery chastened, +By serfdom of old, +The heart of thy people, 400 +O Tsar, is of gold. + +"And strong were the nation, +Unyielding its might, +If standing for conscience, +For justice and right. + +"But summon the country +To valueless strife, +And no man will hasten +To offer his life. + +"So Russia lies sleeping 410 +In obstinate rest;-- +But should the spark kindle +That's hid in her breast-- + +"She'll rise without summons, +Go forth without call, +With sacrifice boundless, +Each giving his all! + +"A host she will gather +Of strength unsurpassed, +With infinite courage 420 +Will fight to the last. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet of great treasure full, +Mighty, all-powerful, +Russia, my Mother!)" + + * * * * * + +Young Grísha was pleased + With his song; and he murmured. +"Its message is true; + I will sing it to-morrow 430 +Aloud to the peasants. + Their songs are so mournful, +It's well they should hear + Something joyful,--God help them! +For just as with running + The cheeks begin burning, +So acts a good song + On the spirit despairing, +Brings comfort and strength." + But first to his brother 440 +He sang the new song, +And his brother said, "Splendid!" + + Then Grísha tried vainly +To sleep; but half dreaming + New songs he composed. +They grew brighter and stronger.... + + Our peasants would soon +Have been home from their travels + If they could have known +What was happening to Grísha: 450 + With what exaltation +His bosom was burning; + What beautiful strains +In his ears began chiming; + How blissfully sang he +The wonderful anthem + Which tells of the freedom +And peace of the people. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Many years later, after his mother's death, Nekrassov found this +letter among her papers. It was a letter written to her by her own +mother after her flight and subsequent marriage. It announced to her her +father's curse, and was filled with sad and bitter reproaches: "To whom +have you entrusted your fate? For what country have you abandoned +Poland, your Motherland? You, whose hand was sought, a priceless gift, +by princes, have chosen a savage, ignorant, uncultured.... Forgive +me, but my heart is bleeding...." + +[2] Priest. + +[3] Landowner. + +[4] The peasants assert that the cuckoo chokes himself with young ears +of corn. + +[5] A kind of home-brewed cider. + +[6] _Laput_ is peasants' footgear made of bark of saplings. + +[7] Priest + +[8] New huts are built only when the village has been destroyed by fire. + +[9] The lines of asterisks throughout the poem represent passages that +were censored in the original. + +[10] There is a superstition among the Russian peasants that it is an +ill omen to meet the "pope" when going upon an errand. + +[11] Landowners + +[12] Dissenters in Russia are subjected to numerous religious +restrictions. Therefore they are obliged to bribe the local orthodox +pope, in order that he should not denounce them to the police. + +[13] There is a Russian superstition that a round rainbow is sent as a +sign of coming dry weather. + +[14] _Kasha_ and _stchee_ are two national dishes. + +[15] The mud and water from the high lands on both sides descend and +collect in the villages so situated, which are often nearly transformed +into swamps during the rainy season. + +[16] On feast days the peasants often pawn their clothes for drink. + +[17] Well-known popular characters in Russia. + +[18] Each landowner kept his own band of musicians. + +[19] The halting-place for prisoners on their way to Siberia. + +[20] The tax collector, the landlord, and the priest. + +[21] Fire. + +[22] Popular name for Petrograd. + +[23] The primitive wooden plough still used by the peasants in Russia. + +[24] Three pounds. + +[25] Holy pictures of the saints. + +[26] The Russian nickname for the bear. + +[27] Chief of police. + +[28] An administrative unit consisting of a group of villages. + +[29] The end of the story is omitted because of the interference of the +Censor. + +[30] A three-horsed carriage. + +[31] The Pomyeshchick is still bitter because his serfs have been set +free by the Government. + +[32] The Russian warriors of olden times. + +[33] Russian Easter dishes. + +[34] Russians embrace one another on Easter Sunday, recalling the +resurrection of Christ. + +[35] The Russians press their foreheads to the ground while worshipping. + +[36] The official appointed to arrange terms between the Pomyéshchicks +and their emancipated serfs. + +[37] The haystacks. + +[38] A long-skirted coat. + +[39] The forced labour of the serfs for their owners. + +[40] Holy images. + +[41] Meenin--a famous Russian patriot in the beginning of the +seventeenth century. He is always represented with an immense beard. + +[42] It is a sign of respect to address a person by his own name and +the name of his father. + +[43] Ukhá--fish soup. + +[44] A national loose sleeveless dress worn with a separate shirt +or blouse. + +[45] The marriage agent. + +[46] The marriage agent. + +[47] Inhabitants of the village Korojin. + +[48] Germans were often employed as managers of the Pomyéshchicks' +estates. + +[49] In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls +for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the +atmosphere. + +[50] Police-official. + +[51] Heave-to! + +[52] This paragraph refers to the custom of the country police in +Russia, who, on hearing of the accidental death of anybody in a village, +will, in order to extract bribes from the villagers, threaten to hold an +inquest on the corpse. The peasants are usually ready to part with +nearly all they possess in order to save their dead from what they +consider desecration. + +[53] The Saviour's day. + +[54] A reference to the arranging of terms between the Pomyéshchicks +and peasants with regard to land at the time of the emancipation of +the serfs. + +[55] There is a Russian superstition that a good memory is gained by +eating magpies' eggs. + +[56] Chief of Police. + +[57] A wooden splinter prepared and used for lighting purposes. + +[58] Polish title for nobleman or gentleman. + +[59] Serfs. + +[60] Alexander II., who gave emancipation to the peasants. + +[61] A popular Russian drink composed of hot water +and honey. + +[62] There was a very heavy tax laid upon salt at the time. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia?, by +Nicholas Nekrassov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + +***** This file should be named 9619-8.txt or 9619-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/1/9619/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? + +Author: Nicholas Nekrassov + +Posting Date: November 12, 2011 [EBook #9619] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 13, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +WHO CAN BE HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? + +BY + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV + + +Translated by Juliet M. Soskice + +With an Introduction by Dr. David Soskice + + +1917 + + + +[Illustration: Nicholas Nekrassov] + + + +NICHOLAS ALEXEIEVITCH NEKRASSOV + +Born, near the town Vinitza, province of Podolia, November 22, 1821 + +Died, St. Petersburg, December 27, 1877. + + +_'Who can be Happy and Free in Russia?' was first published in Russia +in 1879. In 'The World's Classics' this translation was first published +in 1917._ + + + + +CONTENTS: + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + +PROLOGUE + +PART I. + + CHAP. + + I. THE POPE + II. THE VILLAGE FAIR + III. THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + IV. THE HAPPY ONES + V. THE POMYESHCHICK + +PART II.--THE LAST POMYESHCHICK + + PROLOGUE + I. THE DIE-HARD + II. KLIM, THE ELDER + +PART III.--THE PEASANT WOMAN + + PROLOGUE + I. THE WEDDING + II. A SONG + III. SAVYELI + IV. DJOMUSHKA + V. THE SHE-WOLF + VI. AN UNLUCKY YEAR + VII. THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + VIII. THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + +PART IV.--A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + PROLOGUE + I. BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + II. PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + III. OLD AND NEW + +EPILOGUE + + + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + + +Western Europe has only lately begun to explore the rich domain of +Russian literature, and is not yet acquainted with all even of its +greatest figures. Treasures of untold beauty and priceless value, which +for many decades have been enlarging and elevating the Russian mind, +still await discovery here. Who in England, for instance, has heard the +names of Saltykov, Uspensky, or Nekrassov? Yet Saltykov is the greatest +of Russian satirists; Uspensky the greatest story-writer of the lives of +the Russian toiling masses; while Nekrassov, "the poet of the people's +sorrow," whose muse "of grief and vengeance" has supremely dominated the +minds of the Russian educated classes for the last half century, is the +sole and rightful heir of his two great predecessors, Pushkin and +Lermontov. + +Russia is a country still largely mysterious to the denizen +of Western Europe, and the Russian peasant, the _moujik_, an +impenetrable riddle to him. Of all the great Russian writers not one has +contributed more to the interpretation of the enigmatical soul of the +_moujik_ than Russia's great poet, Nekrassov, in his life-work the +national epic, _Who can be Happy in Russia?_ + +There are few literate persons in Russia who do not know whole pages of +this poem by heart. It will live as long as Russian literature exists; +and its artistic value as an instrument for the depiction of Russian +nature and the soul of the Russian people can be compared only with that +of the great epics of Homer with regard to the legendary life of +ancient Greece. + +Nekrassov seemed destined to dwell from his birth amid such surroundings +as are necessary for the creation of a great national poet. + +Nicholas Alexeievitch Nekrassov was the descendant of a noble family, +which in former years had been very wealthy, but subsequently had lost +the greater part of its estates. His father was an officer in the army, +and in the course of his peregrinations from one end of the country to +the other in the fulfilment of his military duties he became acquainted +with a young Polish girl, the daughter of a wealthy Polish aristocrat. +She was seventeen, a type of rare Polish beauty, and the handsome, +dashing Russian officer at once fell madly in love with her. The parents +of the girl, however, were horrified at the notion of marrying their +daughter to a "Muscovite savage," and her father threatened her with his +curse if ever again she held communication with her lover. So the matter +was secretly arranged between the two, and during a ball which the young +Polish beauty was attending she suddenly disappeared. Outside the house +the lover waited with his sledge. They sped away, and were married at +the first church they reached. + +The bride, with her father's curse upon her, passed straight from her +sheltered existence in her luxurious home to all the unsparing rigours +of Russian camp-life. Bred in an atmosphere of maternal tenderness and +Polish refinement she had now to share the life of her rough, uncultured +Russian husband, to content herself with the shallow society of the +wives of the camp officers, and soon to be crushed by the knowledge that +the man for whom she had sacrificed everything was not even faithful +to her. + +During their travels, in 1821, Nicholas Nekrassov the future poet was +born, and three years later his father left military service and settled +in his estate in the Yaroslav Province, on the banks of the great river +Volga, and close to the Vladimirsky highway, famous in Russian history +as the road along which, for centuries, chained convicts had been driven +from European Russia to the mines in Siberia. The old park of the manor, +with its seven rippling brooklets and mysterious shadowy linden avenues +more than a century old, filled with a dreamy murmur at the slightest +stir of the breeze, stretched down to the mighty Volga, along the banks +of which, during the long summer days, were heard the piteous, panting +songs of the _burlaki_, the barge-towers, who drag the heavy, loaded +barges up and down the river. + +The rattling of the convicts' chains as they passed; the songs of the +_burlaki_; the pale, sorrowful face of his mother as she walked alone in +the linden avenues of the garden, often shedding tears over a letter she +read, which was headed by a coronet and written in a fine, delicate +hand; the spreading green fields, the broad mighty river, the deep blue +skies of Russia,--such were the reminiscences which Nekrassov retained +from his earliest childhood. He loved his sad young mother with a +childish passion, and in after years he was wont to relate how jealous +he had been of that letter[1] she read so often, which always seemed to +fill her with a sorrow he could not understand, making her at moments +even forget that he was near her. + +The sight and knowledge of deep human suffering, framed in the soft +voluptuous beauty of nature in central Russia, could not fail to sow the +seed of future poetical powers in the soul of an emotional child. His +mother, who had been bred on Shakespeare, Milton, and the other great +poets and writers of the West, devoted her solitary life to the +development of higher intellectual tendencies in her gifted little son. +And from an early age he made attempts at verse. His mother has +preserved for the world his first little poem, which he presented to her +when he was seven years of age, with a little heading, roughly to the +following effect: + + My darling Mother, look at this, + I did the best I could in it, + Please read it through and tell me if + You think there's any good in it. + +The early life of the little Nekrassov was passed amid a series of +contrasting pictures. His father, when he had abandoned his military +calling and settled upon his estate, became the Chief of the district +police. He would take his son Nicholas with him in his trap as he drove +from village to village in the fulfilment of his new duties. The +continual change of scenery during their frequent journeys along country +roads, through forests and valleys, past meadows and rivers, the various +types of people they met with, broadened and developed the mind of +little Nekrassov, just as the mind of the child Ruskin was formed and +expanded during his journeys with his father. But Ruskin's education +lacked features with which young Nekrassov on his journeys soon became +familiar. While acquiring knowledge of life and accumulating impressions +of the beauties of nature, Nekrassov listened, perforce, to the brutal, +blustering speeches addressed by his father to the helpless, trembling +peasants, and witnessed the cruel, degrading corporal punishments he +inflicted upon them, while his eyes were speedily opened to his father's +addiction to drinking, gambling, and debauchery. These experiences would +most certainly have demoralised and depraved his childish mind had it +not been for the powerful influence the refined and cultured mother had +from the first exercised upon her son. The contrast between his parents +was so startling that it could not fail to awaken the better side of the +child's nature, and to imbue him with pure and healthy notions of the +truer and higher ideals of humanity. In his poetical works of later +years Nekrassov repeatedly returns to and dwells upon the memory of the +sorrowful, sweet image of his mother. The gentle, beautiful lady, with +her wealth of golden hair, with an expression of divine tenderness in +her blue eyes and of infinite suffering upon her sensitive lips, +remained for ever her son's ideal of womanhood. Later on, during years +of manhood, in moments of the deepest moral suffering and despondency, +it was always of her that he thought, her tenderness and spiritual +consolation he recalled and for which he craved. + +When Nekrassov was eleven years of age his father one day drove him to +the town nearest their estate and placed him in the local +grammar-school. Here he remained for six years, gradually, though +without distinction, passing upwards from one class to another, devoting +a moderate amount of time to school studies and much energy to the +writing of poetry, mostly of a satirical nature, in which his teachers +figured with unfortunate conspicuity. + +One day a copy-book containing the most biting of these productions fell +into the hands of the headmaster, and young Nekrassov was summarily +ejected from the school. + +His angry father, deciding in his own mind that the boy was good for +nothing, despatched him to St. Petersburg to embark upon a military +career. The seventeen-year-old boy arrived in the capital with a +copy-book of his poems and a few roubles in his pocket, and with a +letter of introduction to an influential general. He was filled with +good intentions and fully prepared to obey his father's orders, but +before he had taken the final step of entering the nobleman's regiment +he met a young student, a former school-mate, who captivated his +imagination by glowing descriptions of the marvellous sciences to be +studied in the university, and the surpassing interest of student life. +The impressionable boy decided to abandon the idea of his military +career, and to prepare for his matriculation in the university. He wrote +to his father to this effect, and received the stern and laconic reply: + +"If you disobey me, not another farthing shall you receive from me." + +The youth had made his mind up, however, and entered the university as +an unmatriculated student. And that was the beginning of his long +acquaintance with the hardships of poverty. + +"For three years," said Nekrassov in after life, "I was hungry all day, +and every day. It was not only that I ate bad food and not enough of +that, but some days I did not eat at all. I often went to a certain +restaurant in the Morskaya, where one is allowed to read the paper +without ordering food. You can hold the paper in front of you and nibble +at a piece of bread behind it...." + +While sunk in this state of poverty, however, Nekrassov got into touch +with some of the richest and most aristocratic families in St. +Petersburg; for at that time there existed a complete comradeship and +equality among the students, whether their budget consisted of a few +farthings or unlimited wealth. Thus here again Nekrassov was given the +opportunity of studying the contrasts of life. + +For several years after his arrival in St. Petersburg the true gifts of +the poet were denied expression. The young man was confronted with a +terrible uphill fight to conquer the means of bare subsistence. He had +no time to devote to the working out of his poems, and it would not have +"paid" him. He was obliged to accept any literary job that was offered +him, and to execute it with a promptitude necessitated by the +requirements of his daily bill of fare. During the first years of his +literary career he wrote an amazing number of prose reviews, essays, +short stories, novels, comedies and tragedies, alphabets and children's +stories, which, put together, would fill thirty or forty volumes. He +also issued a volume of his early poems, but he was so ashamed of them +that he would not put his name upon the fly-leaf. Soon, however, his +poems, "On the Road" and "My Motherland," attracted the attention of +Byelinsky, when the young poet brought some of his work to show the +great critic. With tears in his eyes Byelinsky embraced Nekrassov and +said to him: + +"Do you know that you are a poet, a true poet?" + +This decree of Byelinsky brought fame to Nekrassov, for Byelinsky's word +was law in Russia then, and his judgement was never known to fail. His +approval gave Nekrassov the confidence he lacked, and he began to devote +most of his time to poetry. + +The epoch in which Nekrassov began his literary career in St. +Petersburg, the early forties of last century, was one of a great +revival of idealism in Russia. The iron reaction of the then Emperor +Nicholas I. made independent political activity an impossibility. But +the horrible and degrading conditions of serfdom which existed at that +time, and which cast a blight upon the energy and dignity of the Russian +nation, nourished feelings of grief and indignation in the noblest minds +of the educated classes, and, unable to struggle for their principles in +the field of practical politics, they strove towards abstract idealism. +They devoted their energies to philosophy, literature, and art. It was +then that Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Dostoyevsky embarked upon their +phenomenal careers in fiction. It was then that the impetuous essayist, +Byelinsky, with his fiery and eloquent pen, taught the true meaning and +objects of literature. Nekrassov soon joined the circles of literary +people dominated by the spirit of Byelinsky, and he too drank at the +fountain of idealism and imbibed the gospel of altruistic toil for his +country and its people, that gospel of perfect citizenship expounded by +Byelinsky, Granovsky, and their friends. It was at this period that his +poetry became impregnated with the sadness which, later on, was embodied +in the lines: + +My verses! Living witnesses of tears Shed for the world, and born In +moments of the soul's dire agony, Unheeded and forlorn, Like waves that +beat against the rocks, You plead to hearts that scorn. + +Nekrassov's material conditions meanwhile began to improve, and he +actually developed business capacities, and soon the greatest writers of +the time were contributing to the monthly review _Sovremenik_ (the +Contemporary) which Nekrassov bought in 1847. Turgenieff, Herzen, +Byelinsky, Dostoyevsky gladly sent their works to him, and Nekrassov +soon became the intellectual leader of his time. His influence became +enormous, but he had to cope with all the rigours of the censorship +which had become almost insupportable in Russia, as the effect of the +Tsar's fears aroused by the events of the French Revolution of 1848. + +Byelinsky died in that year from consumption in the very presence of the +gendarmes who had come to arrest him for some literary offence. +Dostoyevsky was seized, condemned to death, and when already on the +scaffold, with the rope around his neck, reprieved and sent for life to +the Siberian mines. The rigours still increased during the Crimean War, +and it was only after the death of Nicholas I., the termination of the +war, and the accession of the liberal Tsar, Alexander II., that +Nekrassov and Russian literature in general began to breathe more +freely. The decade which followed upon 1855 was one of the bright +periods of Russian history. Serfdom was abolished and many great reforms +were passed. It was then that Nekrassov's activity was at its height. +His review _Sovremenik_ was a stupendous success, and brought him great +fame and wealth. During that year some of his finest poems appeared in +it: "The Peasant Children," "Orina, the Mother of a Soldier," "The +Gossips," "The Pedlars," "The Rail-way," and many others. + +Nekrassov became the idol of Russia. The literary evenings at which he +used to read his poems aloud were besieged by fervent devotees, and the +most brilliant orations were addressed to him on all possible occasions. +His greatest work, however, the national epic, _Who can be Happy in +Russia?_ was written towards the latter end of his life, between +1873 and 1877. + +Here he suffered from the censor more cruelly than ever. Long extracts +from the poem were altogether forbidden, and only after his death it was +allowed, in 1879, to appear in print more or less in its entirety. + +When gripped in the throes of his last painful illness, and practically +on his deathbed, he would still have found consolation in work, in the +dictation of his poems. But even then his sufferings were aggravated by +the harassing coercions of the censor. His last great poem was written +on his deathbed, and the censor peremptorily forbade its publication. +Nekrassov one day greeted his doctor with the following remark: + +"Now you see what our profession, literature, means. When I wrote my +first lines they were hacked to pieces by the censor's scissors--that +was thirty-seven years ago; and now, when I am dying, and have written +my last lines, I am again confronted by the scissors." + +For many months he lay in appalling suffering. His disease was the +outcome, he declared, of the privations he had suffered in his youth. +The whole of Russia seemed to be standing at his bedside, watching with +anguish his terrible struggle with death. Hundreds of letters and +telegrams arrived daily from every corner of the immense empire, and the +dying poet, profoundly touched by these tokens of love and sympathy, +said to the literary friends who visited him: + +"You see! We wonder all our lives what our readers think of us, whether +they love us and are our friends. We learn in moments like this...." + +It was a bright, frosty December day when Nekrassov's coffin was carried +to the grave on the shoulders of friends who had loved and admired him. +The orations delivered above it were full of passionate emotion called +forth by the knowledge that the speakers were expressing not only their +own sentiments, but those of a whole nation. + +Nekrassov is dead. But all over Russia young and old repeat and love his +poetry, so full of tenderness and grief and pity for the Russian people +and their endless woe. Quotations from the works of Nekrassov are as +abundant and widely known in Russia as those from Shakespeare in +England, and no work of his is so familiar and so widely quoted as the +national epic, now presented to the English public, _Who can be Happy +in Russia?_ + +DAVID SOSKICE. + + + + +PROLOGUE + +The year doesn't matter, + The land's not important, +But seven good peasants + Once met on a high-road. +From Province "Hard-Battered," + From District "Most Wretched," +From "Destitute" Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets-- +"Patched," "Barefoot," and "Shabby," + "Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," +From "Harvestless" also, 11 + They met and disputed +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luka said, "The pope," [2] + And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick," [3] +Demyan, "The official," + "The round-bellied merchant," + Said both brothers Goobin, +Mitrodor and Ivan. 20 + Pakhom, who'd been lost +In profoundest reflection, + Exclaimed, looking down +At the earth, "'Tis his Lordship, + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser," + And Prov said, "The Tsar." + +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it 30 + Although you should beat them +With stout wooden cudgels: + They stick to their folly, +And nothing can move them. + They raised such a clamour +That those who were passing + Thought, "Surely the fellows +Have found a great treasure + And share it amongst them!" + +They all had set out 40 + On particular errands: +The one to the blacksmith's, + Another in haste +To fetch Father Prokoffy + To christen his baby. +Pakhom had some honey + To sell in the market; +The two brothers Goobin + Were seeking a horse +Which had strayed from their herd. 50 + +Long since should the peasants + Have turned their steps homewards, +But still in a row + They are hurrying onwards +As quickly as though + The grey wolf were behind them. +Still further, still faster + They hasten, contending. +Each shouts, nothing hearing, + And time does not wait. 60 +In quarrel they mark not +The fiery-red sunset + Which blazes in Heaven +As evening is falling, + And all through the night +They would surely have wandered + If not for the woman, +The pox-pitted "Blank-wits," + Who met them and cried: + +"Heh, God-fearing peasants, 70 + Pray, what is your mission? +What seek ye abroad + In the blackness of midnight?" + +So shrilled the hag, mocking, + And shrieking with laughter +She slashed at her horses + And galloped away. + +The peasants are startled, + Stand still, in confusion, +Since long night has fallen, 80 + The numberless stars +Cluster bright in the heavens, +The moon gliding onwards. + Black shadows are spread +On the road stretched before + The impetuous walkers. +Oh, shadows, black shadows, + Say, who can outrun you, +Or who can escape you? + Yet no one can catch you, 90 +Entice, or embrace you! + +Pakhom, the old fellow, + Gazed long at the wood, +At the sky, at the roadway, + Gazed, silently searching +His brain for some counsel, + And then spake in this wise: +"Well, well, the wood-devil + Has finely bewitched us! +We've wandered at least 100 + Thirty versts from our homes. +We all are too weary + To think of returning +To-night; we must wait + Till the sun rise to-morrow." + +Thus, blaming the devil, + The peasants make ready +To sleep by the roadside. + They light a large fire, +And collecting some farthings 110 + Send two of their number +To buy them some vodka, + The rest cutting cups +From the bark of a birch-tree. +The vodka's provided, + Black bread, too, besides, +And they all begin feasting: + Each munches some bread +And drinks three cups of vodka-- + But then comes the question 120 +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luka cries, "The pope!" + And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick!" +And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" +And Demyan, "The official!" + "The round-bellied merchant!" +Bawl both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan. +Pakhom shrieks, "His Lordship, 130 + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser!" + +The obstinate peasants + Grow more and more heated, +Cry louder and louder, + Swear hard at each other; +I really believe + They'll attack one another! +Look! now they are fighting! + Roman and Pakhom close, 140 +Demyan clouts Luka, + While the two brothers Goobin +Are drubbing fat Prov, + And they all shout together. +Then wakes the clear echo, + Runs hither and thither, +Runs calling and mocking +As if to encourage + The wrath of the peasants. +The trees of the forest 150 + Throw furious words back: + +"The Tsar!" "The Pomyeshchick!" + "The pope!" "The official!" +Until the whole coppice + Awakes in confusion; +The birds and the insects, + The swift-footed beasts +And the low crawling reptiles + Are chattering and buzzing +And stirring all round. 160 + The timid grey hare +Springing out of the bushes + Speeds startled away; +The hoarse little jackdaw + Flies off to the top +Of a birch-tree, and raises + A harsh, grating shriek, +A most horrible clamour. + A weak little peewit +Falls headlong in terror 170 +From out of its nest, + And the mother comes flying +In search of her fledgeling. + She twitters in anguish. +Alas! she can't find it. + The crusty old cuckoo +Awakes and bethinks him + To call to a neighbour: +Ten times he commences + And gets out of tune, 180 +But he won't give it up.... + +Call, call, little cuckoo, + For all the young cornfields +Will shoot into ear soon, + And then it will choke you-- +The ripe golden grain, + And your day will be ended![4] + +From out the dark forest + Fly seven brown owls, +And on seven tall pine-trees 190 + They settle themselves +To enjoy the disturbance. + They laugh--birds of night-- +And their huge yellow eyes gleam + Like fourteen wax candles. +The raven--the wise one-- + Sits perched on a tree +In the light of the fire, + Praying hard to the devil +That one of the wranglers, 200 + At least, should be beaten +To death in the tumult. + A cow with a bell +Which had strayed from its fellows + The evening before, +Upon hearing men's voices + Comes out of the forest +And into the firelight, + And fixing its eyes, +Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 + Stands listening in silence +Some time to their raving, + And then begins mooing, +Most heartily moos. +The silly cow moos, + The jackdaw is screeching, +The turbulent peasants + Still shout, and the echo +Maliciously mocks them-- + The impudent echo 220 +Who cares but for mocking + And teasing good people, +For scaring old women + And innocent children: +Though no man has seen it + We've all of us heard it; +It lives--without body; + It speaks--without tongue. + + The pretty white owl +Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 + Comes plunging about +In the midst of the peasants, +Now circling above them, + Now striking the bushes +And earth with her body. +And even the fox, too, + The cunning old creature, +With woman's determined + And deep curiosity, +Creeps to the firelight 240 + And stealthily listens; +At last, quite bewildered, + She goes; she is thinking, +"The devil himself + Would be puzzled, I know!" + +And really the wranglers + Themselves have forgotten +The cause of the strife. + +But after awhile + Having pummelled each other 250 +Sufficiently soundly, + They come to their senses; +They drink from a rain-pool + And wash themselves also, +And then they feel sleepy. +And, meanwhile, the peewit, + The poor little fledgeling, +With short hops and flights + Had come fluttering towards them. +Pakhom took it up 260 + In his palm, held it gently +Stretched out to the firelight, + And looked at it, saying, +"You are but a mite, + Yet how sharp is your claw; +If I breathed on you once + You'd be blown to a distance, +And if I should sneeze + You would straightway be wafted +Right into the flames. 270 + One flick from my finger +Would kill you entirely. + Yet you are more powerful, +More free than the peasant: + Your wings will grow stronger, +And then, little birdie, + You'll fly where it please you. +Come, give us your wings, now, + You frail little creature, +And we will go flying 280 + All over the Empire, +To seek and inquire, + To search and discover +The man who in Russia-- + Is happy and free." + +"No wings would be needful + If we could be certain +Of bread every day; + For then we could travel +On foot at our leisure," 290 + Said Prov, of a sudden +Grown weary and sad. + +"But not without vodka, + A bucket each morning," +Cried both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan, +Who dearly loved vodka. + +"Salt cucumbers, also, + Each morning a dozen!" +The peasants cry, jesting. 300 + +"Sour qwass,[5] too, a jug + To refresh us at mid-day!" + +"A can of hot tea + Every night!" they say, laughing. + +But while they were talking + The little bird's mother +Was flying and wheeling + In circles above them; +She listened to all, + And descending just near them 310 +She chirruped, and making + A brisk little movement +She said to Pakhom + In a voice clear and human: +"Release my poor child, + I will pay a great ransom." + +"And what is your offer?" + +"A loaf each a day + And a bucket of vodka, +Salt cucumbers also, 320 + Each morning a dozen. +At mid-day sour qwass + And hot tea in the evening." + +"And where, little bird," + Asked the two brothers Goobin, +"And where will you find + Food and drink for all seven?" + +"Yourselves you will find it, + But I will direct you +To where you will find it." 330 + "Well, speak. We will listen." + +"Go straight down the road, + Count the poles until thirty: +Then enter the forest +And walk for a verst. + By then you'll have come +To a smooth little lawn + With two pine-trees upon it. +Beneath these two pine-trees + Lies buried a casket 340 +Which you must discover. + The casket is magic, +And in it there lies + An enchanted white napkin. +Whenever you wish it + This napkin will serve you +With food and with vodka: + You need but say softly, +'O napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!' 350 +At once, at your bidding, + Through my intercession +The napkin will serve you. + And now, free my child." + +"But wait. We are poor, + And we're thinking of making +A very long journey," + Pakhom said. "I notice +That you are a bird + Of remarkable talent. 360 +So charm our old clothing + To keep it upon us." + +"Our coats, that they fall not + In tatters," Roman said. + +"Our laputs,[6] that they too + May last the whole journey," +Demyan next demanded. + +"Our shirts, that the fleas + May not breed and annoy us," +Luka added lastly. 370 + +The little bird answered, + "The magic white napkin +Will mend, wash, and dry for you. + Now free my child." + +Pakhom then spread open + His palm, wide and spacious, +Releasing the fledgeling, + Which fluttered away +To a hole in a pine-tree. + The mother who followed it 380 +Added, departing: + "But one thing remember: +Food, summon at pleasure + As much as you fancy, +But vodka, no more + Than a bucket a day. +If once, even twice + You neglect my injunction +Your wish shall be granted; + The third time, take warning: 390 +Misfortune will follow." + +The peasants set off + In a file, down the road, +Count the poles until thirty + And enter the forest, +And, silently counting +Each footstep, they measure + A verst as directed. +They find the smooth lawn + With the pine-trees upon it, 400 +They dig all together + And soon reach the casket; +They open it--there lies + The magic white napkin! +They cry in a chorus, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" + +Look, look! It's unfolding! + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where; 410 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + +"The cucumbers, tea, + And sour qwass--where are they then?" +At once they appear! + +The peasants unloosen + Their waistbelts, and gather +Around the white napkin 420 + To hold a great banquet. +In joy, they embrace + One another, and promise +That never again + Will they beat one another +Without sound reflection, + But settle their quarrels +In reason and honour + As God has commanded; +That nought shall persuade them 430 +To turn their steps homewards + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until they have settled +For once and forever + The subject of discord: +Until they've discovered + The man who, in Russia, +Is happy and free. + +They swear to each other 440 + To keep this, their promise, +And daybreak beholds them + Embosomed in slumber +As deep and as dreamless + As that of the dead. + + + + + +PART I. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE POPE[7] + +The broad sandy high-road + With borders of birch-trees +Winds sadly and drearily + Into the distance; +On either hand running + Low hills and young cornfields, +Green pastures, and often-- + More often than any-- +Lands sterile and barren. +And near to the rivers 10 + And ponds are the hamlets +And villages standing-- + The old and the new ones. +The forests and meadows + And rivers of Russia + Are lovely in springtime, +But O you spring cornfields, + Your growth thin and scanty +Is painful to see. + + "'Twas not without meaning 20 +That daily the snow fell + Throughout the long winter," +Said one to another + The journeying peasants:-- +"The spring has now come + And the snow tells its story: +At first it is silent-- + 'Tis silent in falling, +Lies silently sleeping, + But when it is dying 30 +Its voice is uplifted: + The fields are all covered +With loud, rushing waters, + No roads can be traversed +For bringing manure + To the aid of the cornfields; +The season is late + For the sweet month of May +Is already approaching." + The peasant is saddened 40 +At sight of the dirty + And squalid old village; +But sadder the new ones: + The new huts are pretty, +But they are the token + Of heartbreaking ruin.[8] + +As morning sets in + They begin to meet people, +But mostly small people: + Their brethren, the peasants, 50 +And soldiers and waggoners, + Workmen and beggars. +The soldiers and beggars + They pass without speaking. +Not asking if happy + Or grievous their lot: +The soldier, we know, + Shaves his beard with a gimlet, +Has nothing but smoke + In the winter to warm him,-- 60 +What joy can be his? + +As evening is falling + Appears on the high-road +A pope in his cart. + The peasants uncover +Their heads, and draw up + In a line on the roadway, +Thus barring the passage + In front of the gelding. + The pope raised his head, 70 +Looked inquiringly at them. + "Fear not, we won't harm you," +Luka said in answer. + (Luka was thick-bearded, +Was heavy and stolid, + Was obstinate, stupid, +And talkative too; + He was like to the windmill +Which differs in one thing + Alone from an eagle: 80 +No matter how boldly + It waves its broad pinions +It rises no higher.) + + "We, orthodox peasants, +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From Province 'Hard Battered,' +From 'Destitute' Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets, +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 +From 'Harvestless' also, + Are striving to settle +A thing of importance; +A trouble torments us, + It draws us away +From our wives and our children, + Away from our work, +Kills our appetites too. + Pray, give us your promise +To answer us truly, 100 + Consulting your conscience +And searching your knowledge, +Not feigning nor mocking + The question we put you. +If not, we will go + Further on." + + "I will promise +If you will but put me + A serious question +To answer it gravely, 110 + With truth and with reason, +Not feigning nor mocking, + Amen!" + + "We are grateful, +And this is our story: + We all had set out +On particular errands, + And met in the roadway. +Then one asked another: +Who is he,--the man 120 + Free and happy in Russia? +And I said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' + And Demyan, 'The official'; +'The round-bellied merchant,' + Said both brothers Goobin, +Mitrodor and Ivan; + Pakhom said, 'His Lordship, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly + And nothing can move them. +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, 140 + Till at last we decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homeward +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Until we've discovered + For once and forever +The man who, in Russia, 150 + Is happy and free. +Then say, in God's truth, + Is the pope's life a sweet one? +Would you, honoured father, + Proclaim yourself happy?" + +The pope in his cart + Cast his eyes on the roadway, +Fell thoughtful and answered: + + "Then, Christians, come, hear me: +I will not complain 160 + Of the cross that I carry, +But bear it in silence. + I'll tell you my story, +And you try to follow + As well as you can." + +"Begin." + + "But first tell me +The gifts you consider + As true earthly welfare; +Peace, honour, and riches,-- 170 + Is that so, my children?" + +They answer, "It is so." + + "And now let us see, friends, +What peace does the pope get? + In truth, then, I ought +To begin from my childhood, + For how does the son +Of the pope gain his learning, + And what is the price +That he pays for the priesthood? 180 + 'Tis best to be silent." [9] + + * * * * * + + "Our roadways are poor +And our parishes large, + And the sick and the dying, +The new-born that call us, + Do not choose their season: +In harvest and hay-time, + In dark nights of autumn, +Through frosts in the winter, +Through floods in the springtime, 190 + Go--where they may call you. +You go without murmur, + If only the body +Need suffer alone! + But no,--every moment +The heart's deepest feelings + Are strained and tormented. +Believe me, my children, + Some things on this earth +One can never get used to: 200 + No heart there exists +That can bear without anguish + The rattle of death, +The lament for the lost one, + The sorrow of orphans, +Amen! Now you see, friends, + The peace that the pope gets." + +Not long did the peasants + Stand thinking. They waited +To let the pope rest, 210 + Then enquired with a bow: +"And what more will you tell us?" + "Well, now let us see +If the pope is much honoured; + And that, O my friends, +Is a delicate question-- + I fear to offend you.... +But answer me, Christians, + Whom call you, 'The cursed +Stallion breed?' Can you tell me?" + + The peasants stand silent 221 +In painful confusion; + The pope, too, is silent. + +"Who is it you tremble + To meet in the roadway[10] +For fear of misfortune?" + + The peasants stand shuffling +Their feet in confusion. + + "Of whom do you make +Little scandalous stories? 230 + Of whom do you sing +Rhymes and songs most indecent? + The pope's honoured wife, +And his innocent daughters, + Come, how do you treat them? +At whom do you shout + Ho, ho, ho, in derision +When once you are past him?" + +The peasants cast downwards + Their eyes and keep silent. 240 +The pope too is silent. + The peasants stand musing; +The pope fans his face + With his hat, high and broad-rimmed, +And looks at the heavens.... + + The cloudlets in springtime +Play round the great sun + Like small grandchildren frisking +Around a hale grandsire, + And now, on his right side 250 +A bright little cloud + Has grown suddenly dismal, +Begins to shed tears. + The grey thread is hanging +In rows to the earth, + While the red sun is laughing +And beaming upon it + Through torn fleecy clouds, +Like a merry young girl + Peeping out from the corn. 260 +The cloud has moved nearer, + The rain begins here, +And the pope puts his hat on. + But on the sun's right side +The joy and the brightness +Again are established. + The rain is now ceasing.... +It stops altogether, + And God's wondrous miracle, +Long golden sunbeams, 270 + Are streaming from Heaven +In radiant splendour. + + * * * * * + + "It isn't our own fault; +It comes from our parents," + Say, after long silence, +The two brothers Goobin. + The others approve him: +"It isn't our own fault, + It comes from our parents." + +The pope said, "So be it! 280 + But pardon me, Christians, +It is not my meaning + To censure my neighbours; +I spoke but desiring + To tell you the truth. +You see how the pope + Is revered by the peasants; +The gentry--" + "Pass over them, +Father--we know them." 290 + "Then let us consider +From whence the pope's riches. + In times not far distant +The great Russian Empire + Was filled with estates +Of wealthy Pomyeshchicks.[11] + They lived and increased, +And they let us live too. + What weddings were feasted! +What numbers and numbers 300 + Of children were born +In each rich, merry life-time! + Although they were haughty +And often oppressive, + What liberal masters! +They never deserted + The parish, they married, +Were baptized within it, + To us they confessed, +And by us they were buried. 310 + And if a Pomyeshchick +Should chance for some reason + To live in a city, +He cherished one longing, + To die in his birthplace; +But did the Lord will it + That he should die suddenly +Far from the village, + An order was found +In his papers, most surely, 320 + That he should be buried +At home with his fathers. + Then see--the black car +With the six mourning horses,-- + The heirs are conveying +The dead to the graveyard; + And think--what a lift +For the pope, and what feasting + All over the village! +But now that is ended, 330 + Pomyeshchicks are scattered +Like Jews over Russia + And all foreign countries. + They seek not the honour +Of lying with fathers + And mothers together. +How many estates + Have passed into the pockets +Of rich speculators! + O you, bones so pampered 340 +Of great Russian gentry, + Where are you not buried, +What far foreign graveyard + Do you not repose in? + + "Myself from dissenters[12] +(A source of pope's income) + I never take money, +I've never transgressed, + For I never had need to; +Because in my parish 350 + Two-thirds of the people +Are Orthodox churchmen. + But districts there are +Where the whole population + Consists of dissenters-- +Then how can the pope live? + + "But all in this world +Is subjected to changes: + The laws which in old days +Applied to dissenters 360 + Have now become milder; +And that in itself + Is a check to pope's income. +I've said the Pomyeshchicks +Are gone, and no longer + They seek to return +To the home of their childhood; + And then of their ladies +(Rich, pious old women), + How many have left us 370 +To live near the convents! + And nobody now + Gives the pope a new cassock +Or church-work embroidered. + He lives on the peasants, +Collects their brass farthings, + Their cakes on the feast-days, + At Easter their eggs. +The peasants are needy + Or they would give freely-- 380 +Themselves they have nothing; + And who can take gladly +The peasant's last farthing? + + "Their lands are so poor, +They are sand, moss, or boggy, + Their cattle half-famished, +Their crops yield but twofold; + And should Mother Earth +Chance at times to be kinder, +That too is misfortune: 390 + The market is crowded, + They sell for a trifle +To pay off the taxes. + Again comes a bad crop--- +Then pay for your bread + Three times higher than ever, +And sell all your cattle! + Now, pray to God, Christians, +For this year again + A great misery threatens: 400 +We ought to have sown + For a long time already; +But look you--the fields + Are all deluged and useless.... +O God, have Thou pity + And send a round[13] rainbow +To shine in Thy heavens!" + + Then taking his hat off +He crossed himself thrice, + And the peasants did likewise. + +"Our village is poor 411 + And the people are sickly, +The women are sad + And are scantily nourished, +But pious and laborious; + God give them courage! +Like slaves do they toil; + 'Tis hard to lay hands +On the fruits of such labour. + + "At times you are sent for 420 +To pray by the dying, + But Death is not really +The awful thing present, + But rather the living-- +The family losing + Their only support. +You pray by the dead. + Words of comfort you utter, +To calm the bereaved ones; + And then the old mother 430 +Comes tottering towards you, + And stretching her bony +And toil-blistered hand out; + You feel your heart sicken, +For there in the palm + Lie the precious brass farthings! +Of course it is only + The price of your praying. +You take it, because + It is what you must live on; 440 +Your words of condolence + Are frozen, and blindly, +Like one deep insulted, + You make your way homeward. +Amen...." + + * * * * * + + The pope finished +His speech, and touched lightly + The back of the gelding. +The peasants make way, + And they bow to him deeply. 450 + The cart moves on slowly, +Then six of the comrades + As though by agreement +Attack poor Luka + With indignant reproaches. + +"Now, what have you got?-- + You great obstinate blockhead, +You log of the village! + You too must needs argue; +Pray what did you tell us? 460 + 'The popes live like princes, +The lords of the belfry, + Their palaces rising +As high as the heavens, + Their bells set a-chiming +All over God's world. + + "'Three years,' you declared, +'Did I work as pope's servant. + It wasn't a life-- +'Twas a strawberry, brethren; 470 + Pope's kasha[14] is made +And served up with fresh butter. + Pope's stchee[14] made with fish, +And pope's pie stuffed to bursting; + The pope's wife is fat too, + And white the pope's daughter, +His horse like a barrel, + His bees are all swollen +And booming like church bells.' + + "Well, there's your pope's life,-- 480 +There's your 'strawberry,' boaster! + For that you've been shouting +And making us quarrel, + You limb of the Devil! +Pray is it because + Of your beard like a shovel +You think you're so clever? + If so, let me tell you +The goat walked in Eden + With just such another 490 +Before Father Adam, + And yet down to our time +The goat is considered + The greatest of duffers!" + +The culprit was silent, + Afraid of a beating; +And he would have got it + Had not the pope's face, +Turning sadly upon them, + Looked over a hedge 500 +At a rise in the road. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE VILLAGE FAIR + + No wonder the peasants +Dislike a wet spring-tide: + The peasant needs greatly +A spring warm and early. + This year, though he howl +Like a wolf, I'm afraid + That the sun will not gladden +The earth with his brightness. + The clouds wander heavily, +Dropping the rain down 10 + Like cows with full udders. +The snow has departed, + Yet no blade of grass, +Not a tiny green leaflet, + Is seen in the meadows. +The earth has not ventured + To don its new mantle + Of brightest green velvet, +But lies sad and bare + Like a corpse without grave-clothes +Beneath the dull heavens. 21 + One pities the peasant; +Still more, though, his cattle: + For when they have eaten +The scanty reserves + Which remain from the winter, +Their master will drive them + To graze in the meadows, +And what will they find there + But bare, inky blackness? 30 +Nor settled the weather + Until it was nearing +The feast of St. Nichol, + And then the poor cattle +Enjoyed the green pastures. + + The day is a hot one, +The peasants are strolling + Along 'neath the birch-trees. +They say to each other, + "We passed through one village, 40 +We passed through another, + And both were quite empty; +To-day is a feast-day, + But where are the people?" + + They reach a large village; +The street is deserted + Except for small children, +And inside the houses + Sit only the oldest +Of all the old women. 50 + The wickets are fastened +Securely with padlocks; + The padlock's a loyal +And vigilant watch-dog; + It barks not, it bites not, +But no one can pass it. + + They walk through the village +And see a clear mirror + Beset with green framework-- +A pond full of water; 60 + And over its surface +Are hovering swallows + And all kinds of insects; +The gnats quick and meagre + Skip over the water +As though on dry land; + And in the laburnums +Which grow on the banksides + The landrails are squeaking. + +A raft made of tree-trunks 70 + Floats near, and upon it +The pope's heavy daughter + Is wielding her beetle, +She looks like a hay-stack, + Unsound and dishevelled, +Her skirts gathered round her. + Upon the raft, near her, +A duck and some ducklings + Are sleeping together. + + And hark! from the water 80 +The neigh of a horse comes; + The peasants are startled, + They turn all together: +Two heads they see, moving + Along through the water-- +The one is a peasant's, + A black head and curly, +In one ear an ear-ring + Which gleams in the sunlight; +A horse's the other, 90 + To which there is fastened +A rope of some yards length, + Held tight in the teeth +Of the peasant beside it. + The man swims, the horse swims; +The horse neighs, the man neighs; + They make a fine uproar! +The raft with the woman + And ducklings upon it +Is tossing and heaving. 100 + + The horse with the peasant +Astride has come panting + From out of the water, +The man with white body + And throat black with sunburn; +The water is streaming + From horse and from rider. + +"Say, why is your village + So empty of people? +Are all dead and buried?" 110 + + "They've gone to Kousminsky; +A fair's being held there + Because it's a saint's day." + +"How far is Kousminsky?" + "Three versts, I should fancy." +"We'll go to Kousminsky," + The peasants decided, +And each to himself thought, + "Perhaps we shall find there +The happy, the free one." 120 + + The village Kousminsky +Is rich and commercial + And terribly dirty. +It's built on a hill-side, + And slopes down the valley, +Then climbs again upwards,-- + So how could one ask of it +Not to be dirty?[15] + It boasts of two churches. +The one is "dissenting," 130 + The other "Established." +The house with inscription, + "The School-House," is empty, +In ruins and deserted; + And near stands the barber's, +A hut with one window, + From which hangs the sign-board +Of "Barber and Bleeder." + A dirty inn also +There is, with its sign-board 140 + Adorned by a picture: +A great nosy tea-pot + With plump little tea-cups +Held out by a waiter, + Suggesting a fat goose +Surrounded by goslings. + A row of small shops, too, +There is in the village. + + The peasants go straight +To the market-place, find there 150 + A large crowd of people +And goods in profusion. + How strange!--notwithstanding +There's no church procession + The men have no hats on, +Are standing bare-headed, + As though in the presence +Of some holy Image: + Look, how they're being swallowed-- +The hoods of the peasants.[16] 160 + +The beer-shop and tavern + Are both overflowing; +All round are erected + Large tents by the roadside +For selling of vodka. + And though in each tent +There are five agile waiters, + All young and most active, +They find it quite hopeless + To try to get change right. 170 +Just look how the peasants + Are stretching their hands out, +With hoods, shirts, and waistcoats! + +Oh, you, thirst of Russia, + Unquenchable, endless +You are! But the peasant, + When once he is sated, +Will soon get a new hood + At close of the fair.... + +The spring sun is playing 180 + On heads hot and drunken, +On boisterous revels, + On bright mixing colours; +The men wear wide breeches + Of corduroy velvet, + With gaudy striped waistcoats +And shirts of all colours; + The women wear scarlet; +The girls' plaited tresses + Are decked with bright ribbons; 190 +They glide about proudly, + Like swans on the water. +Some beauties are even + Attired in the fashion +Of Petersburg ladies; + Their dresses spread stiffly +On wide hoops around them; + But tread on their skirts-- +They will turn and attack you, + Will gobble like turkeys! 200 + +Blame rather the fashion + Which fastens upon you +Great fishermen's baskets! + + A woman dissenter +Looks darkly upon them, + And whispers with malice: +"A famine, a famine + Most surely will blight us. +The young growths are sodden, + The floods unabated; 210 +Since women have taken + To red cotton dresses +The forests have withered, + And wheat--but no wonder!" + + "But why, little Mother, +Are red cotton dresses + To blame for the trouble? +I don't understand you." + "The cotton is _French_, +And it's reddened in dog's blood! 220 + D'you understand now?" + +The peasants still linger + Some time in the market, +Then go further upward, + To where on the hill-side +Are piled ploughs and harrows, + With rakes, spades, and hatchets, +And all kinds of iron-ware, + And pliable wood +To make rims for the cart-wheels. 230 + And, oh, what a hubbub +Of bargaining, swearing, + Of jesting and laughter! +And who could help laughing? + + A limp little peasant +Is bending and testing + The wood for the wheel-rims. +One piece does not please him; + He takes up another +And bends it with effort; 240 + It suddenly straightens, +And whack!--strikes his forehead. + The man begins roaring, +Abusing the bully, + The duffer, the block-head. +Another comes driving + A cart full of wood-ware, +As tipsy as can be; + He turns it all over! +The axle is broken, 250 + And, trying to mend it, +He smashes the hatchet. + + He gazes upon it, +Abusing, reproaching: + "A villain, a villain, +You are--not a hatchet. + You see, you can't do me +The least little service. + The whole of your life +You spend bowing before me, 260 + And yet you insult me!" + + Our peasants determine +To see the shop windows, + The handkerchiefs, ribbons, +And stuffs of bright colour; + And near to the boot-shop +Is fresh cause for laughter; + For here an old peasant +Most eagerly bargains + For small boots of goat-skin 270 +To give to his grandchild. + He asks the price five times; + Again and again +He has turned them all over; + He finds they are faultless. + + "Well, Uncle, pay up now, +Or else be off quickly," + The seller says sharply. +But wait! The old fellow + Still gazes, and fondles 280 +The tiny boots softly, + And then speaks in this wise: + + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild. + She clung to my neck, +And she said, 'Little Grandfather, 290 + Buy me a present.' +Her soft little ringlets + Were tickling my cheek, +And she kissed the old Grand-dad. + You wait, little bare-foot, +Wee spinning-top, wait then, + Some boots I will buy you, +Some boots made of goat-skin." + And then must old Vavil +Begin to boast grandly, 300 + To promise a present +To old and to young. + But now his last farthing +Is swallowed in vodka, + And how can he dare +Show his eyes in the village? + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. 310 + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild." + + And then he commences +The story again +Of the poor little grandchild. + He's very dejected. +A crowd listens round him, + Not laughing, but troubled +At sight of his sorrow. + +If they could have helped him 320 +With bread or by labour + They soon would have done so, +But money is money, + And who has got tenpence +To spare? Then came forward + Pavloosha Varenko, +The "gentleman" nicknamed. + (His origin, past life, +Or calling they knew not, + But called him the 'Barin'.) 330 +He listened with pleasure + To talk and to jesting; +His blouse, coat, and top-boots + Were those of a peasant; +He sang Russian folk-songs, + Liked others to sing them, +And often was met with + At taverns and inns. +He now rescued Vavil, + And bought him the boots 340 +To take home to his grandchild. + +The old man fled blindly, + But clasping them tightly, +Forgetting to thank him, + Bewildered with joy. +The crowd was as pleased, too, + As if had been given +To each one a rouble. + +The peasants next visit + The picture and book stall; 350 +The pedlars are buying + Their stock of small pictures, +And books for their baskets + To sell on the road. + + "'Tis generals, _you_ want!" +The merchant is saying. + + "Well, give us some generals; +But look--on your conscience-- + Now let them be real ones, +Be fat and ferocious." 360 + +"Your notions are funny," + The merchant says, smiling; +"It isn't a question + Of looks...." + + "Well, of what, then? +You want to deceive us, + To palm off your rubbish, +You swindling impostor! + D'you think that the peasants +Know one from another? 370 + A shabby one--he wants +An expert to sell him, + But trust me to part with +The fat and the fierce." + +"You don't want officials?" + +"To Hell with officials!" + +However they took one + Because he was cheap: +A minister, striking + In view of his stomach 380 +As round as a barrel, + And seventeen medals. + +The merchant is serving + With greatest politeness, +Displaying and praising, + With patience unyielding,-- +A thief of the first-class + He is, come from Moscow. +Of Bluecher he sells them + A hundred small pictures, 390 +As many of Fotyi[17] + The archimandrite, +And of Sipko[17] the brigand; + A book of the sayings +Of droll Balakireff[17] + The "English Milord," too. +The books were put into + The packs of the pedlars; +The pictures will travel + All over great Russia, 400 +Until they find rest + On the wall of some peasant-- +The devil knows why! + +Oh, may it come quickly + The time when the peasant +Will make some distinction + Between book and book, +Between picture and picture; + Will bring from the market, +Not picture of Bluecher, 410 + Not stupid "Milord," +But Belinsky and Gogol! +Oh, say, Russian people, + These names--have you heard them? +They're great. They were borne + By your champions, who loved you, +Who strove in your cause, + 'Tis _their_ little portraits +Should hang in your houses! + + "I'd walk into Heaven 420 +But can't find the doorway!" + Is suddenly shouted +By some merry blade. + "What door do you want, man?" +"The puppet-show, brothers!" + "I'll show you the way!" + +The puppet-show tempted + The journeying peasants; +They go to inspect it. + A farce is being acted, 430 +A goat for the drummer; + Real music is playing-- +No common accordion. + The play is not too deep, +But not stupid, either. + A bullet shot deftly +Right into the eye + Of the hated policeman. +The tent is quite crowded, + The audience cracking 440 +Their nuts, and exchanging + Remarks with each other. +And look--there's the vodka! + They're drinking and looking, +And looking and drinking, + Enjoying it highly, +With jubilant faces, + From time to time throwing +A right witty word + Into Peterkin's speeches, 450 +Which _you'd_ never hit on, + Although you should swallow +Your pen and your pad!... + + Some folk there are always +Who crowd on the platform + (The comedy ended), +To greet the performers, + To gossip and chat. + +"How now, my fine fellows, + And where do you come from?" 460 + +"As serfs we used only + To play for the masters,[18] +But now we are free, + And the man who will treat us +Alone is our Master!" + "Well spoken, my brothers; + Enough time you've wasted +Amusing the nobles; + Now play for the peasants! +Here, waiter, bring vodka, 470 + Sweet wine, tea, and syrup, +And see you make haste!" + + The sweet sparkling river +Comes rolling to meet them; + They'll treat the musicians +More handsomely, far, + Than their masters of old. + +It is not the rushing + Of furious whirlwinds, +Not Mother Earth shaking-- 480 + 'Tis shouting and singing +And swearing and fighting +And falling and kissing-- + The people's carouse! +It seems to the peasants + That all in the village +Was reeling around them! + That even the church +With the very tall, steeple + Had swayed once or twice! 490 + +When things are in this state, + A man who is sober +Feels nearly as awkward + As one who is naked.... + +The peasants recrossing + The market-place, quitted +The turbulent village + At evening's approach. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + +This village did not end, +As many in Russia, + In windmill or tavern, +In corn-loft or barn, + But in a large building +Of wood, with iron gratings + In small narrow windows. +The broad, sandy high-road, + With borders of birch-trees, +Spread out straight behind it-- 10 + The grim etape--prison.[19] +On week-days deserted + It is, dull and silent, +But now it is not so. + All over the high-road, +In neighbouring pathways, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are lying and crawling, + Are driving and climbing, +The numberless drunkards; 20 + Their shout fills the skies. + + The cart-wheels are screeching, +And like slaughtered calves' heads + Are nodding and wagging +The pates limp and helpless + Of peasants asleep. + + They're dropping on all sides, +As if from some ambush + An enemy firing +Is shooting them wholesale. 30 + The quiet night is falling, +The moon is in Heaven, + And God is commencing +To write His great letter + Of gold on blue velvet; +Mysterious message, + Which neither the wise man +Nor foolish can read. + +The high-road is humming + Just like a great bee-hive; 40 +The people's loud clamour + Is swelling and falling +Like waves in the ocean. + + "We paid him a rouble-- +The clerk, and he gave us + A written petition +To send to the Governor." + + "Hi, you with the waggon, +Look after your corn!" + + "But where are you off to, 50 +Olyenushka? Wait now-- + I've still got some cakes. +You're like a black flea, girl, + You eat all you want to +And hop away quickly + Before one can stroke you!" + + "It's all very fine talk, +This Tsar's precious Charter, + It's not writ for us!" + + "Give way there, you people!" 60 +The exciseman dashes + Amongst them, his brass plate +Attached to his coat-front, + And bells all a-jangle. + +"God save us, Parasha, + Don't go to St. Petersburg! +_I_ know the gentry: + By day you're a maid, +And by night you're a mistress. + You spit at it, love...." 70 + +"Now, where are you running?" + The pope bellows loudly +To busy Pavloosha, + The village policeman. + +"An accident's happened + Down here, and a man's killed." + +"God pardon our sins!" + +"How thin you've got, Dashka!" + +"The spinning-wheel fattens + By turning forever; 80 +I work just as hard, + But I never get fatter." + +"Heh, you, silly fellow, + Come hither and love me! +The dirty, dishevelled, + And tipsy old woman. +The f--i--ilthy o--l--d woman!" + + Our peasants, observing, +Are still walking onwards. + They see just before them 90 +A meek little fellow + Most busily digging +A hole in the road. + + "Now, what are you doing?" +"A grave I am digging + To bury my mother!" + + "You fool!--Where's your mother? +Your new coat you've buried! + Roll into the ditch, +Dip your snout in the water. 100 + 'Twill cool you, perhaps." + + "Let's see who'll pull hardest!" +Two peasants are squatting, + And, feet to feet pressing, +Are straining and groaning, + And tugging away +At a stick held between them. + This soon fails to please them: +"Let's try with our beards!" + And each man then clutches 110 +The jaw of the other, + And tugs at his beard! +Red, panting, and writhing, + And gasping and yelping, +But pulling and pulling! + "Enough there, you madmen!"... +Cold water won't part them! + + And in the ditch near them +Two women are squabbling; + One cries, "To go home now 120 +Were worse than to prison!" + The other, "You braggart! +In my house, I tell you, + It's worse than in yours. +One son-in-law punched me + And left a rib broken; +The second made off + With my big ball of cotton; +The cotton don't matter, + But in it was hidden 130 +My rouble in silver. + The youngest--he always +Is up with his knife out. + He'll kill me for sure!" + +"Enough, enough, darling! +Now don't you be angry!" + Is heard not far distant +From over a hillock-- + "Come on, I'm all right!" + + A mischievous night, this; 140 +On right hand, on left hand, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are sauntering couples. + The wood seems to please them; +They all stroll towards it, + The wood--which is thrilling +With nightingales' voices. + And later, the high-road +Gets more and more ugly, + And more and more often 150 +The people are falling, + Are staggering, crawling, +Or lying like corpses. + As always it happens +On feast days in Russia-- + No word can be uttered +Without a great oath. + And near to the tavern +Is quite a commotion; + Some wheels get entangled 160 +And terrified horses + Rush off without drivers. +Here children are crying, + And sad wives and mothers +Are anxiously waiting; + And is the task easy +Of getting the peasant + Away from his drink? + + Just near to the sign-post +A voice that's familiar 170 + Is heard by the peasants; +They see there the Barin + (The same that helped Vavil, +And bought him the boots + To take home to his grandchild). +He chats with the men. + The peasants all open +Their hearts to the Barin; + If some song should please him +They'll sing it through five times; 180 + "Just write the song down, sir!" +If some saying strike him; + "Take note of the words!" +And when he has written + Enough, he says quietly, +"The peasants are clever, +But one thing is bad: + They drink till they're helpless +And lie about tipsy, + It's painful to see." 190 + +They listen in silence. + The Barin commences +To write something down + In the little black note-book +When, all of a sudden, + A small, tipsy peasant, +Who up to that moment + Has lain on his stomach +And gazed at the speaker, + Springs up straight before him 200 +And snatches his pencil + Right out of his hand: +"Wait, wait!" cries the fellow, + "Stop writing your stories, +Dishonest and heartless, + About the poor peasant. +Say, what's your complaint? + That sometimes the heart +Of the peasant rejoices? + At times we drink hard, 210 +But we work ten times harder; + Among us are drunkards, +But many more sober. + Go, take through a village + A pailful of vodka; +Go into the huts-- + In one, in another, +They'll swallow it gladly. + But go to a third +And you'll find they won't touch it! + One family drinks, 221 +While another drinks nothing, + Drinks nothing--and suffers +As much as the drunkards: + They, wisely or foolishly, +Follow their conscience; + And see how misfortune, +The peasants' misfortune, + Will swallow that household +Hard-working and sober! 230 + Pray, have you seen ever +The time of the harvest + In some Russian village? +Well, where were the people? + At work in the tavern? +Our fields may be broad, + But they don't give too freely. +Who robes them in spring-time, + And strips them in autumn? +You've met with a peasant 240 + At nightfall, perchance, + When the work has been finished? +He's piled up great mountains + Of corn in the meadows, +He'll sup off a pea! + Hey, you mighty monster! +You builder of mountains, + I'll knock you flat down +With the stroke of a feather! + + "Sweet food is the peasant's! 250 +But stomachs aren't mirrors, + And so we don't whimper +To see what we've eaten. + + "We work single-handed, +But when we have finished + Three partners[20] are waiting +To share in the profits; + A fourth[21] one there is, too, +Who eats like a Tartar-- +Leaves nothing behind. 260 + The other day, only, +A mean little fellow + Like you, came from Moscow +And clung to our backs. + 'Oh, please sing him folk-songs' +And 'tell him some proverbs,' + 'Some riddles and rhymes.' +And then came another + To put us his questions: +How much do we work for? 270 + How much and how little +We stuff in our bellies? + To count all the people +That live in the village + Upon his five fingers. +He did not _ask how much + The fire feeds the wind with +Of peasants' hard work_. + Our drunkenness, maybe, +Can never be measured, 280 + But look at our labour-- +Can that then be measured? + Our cares or our woes? + +"The vodka prostrates us; + But does not our labour, +Our trouble, prostrate us? + The peasant won't grumble +At each of his burdens, + He'll set out to meet it, +And struggle to bear it; 290 + The peasant does not flinch +At life-wasting labour, + And tremble for fear +That his health may be injured. + Then why should he number +Each cupful of vodka + For fear that an odd one +May topple him over? + You say that it's painful +To see him lie tipsy?-- 300 + Then go to the bog; +You'll see how the peasant + Is squeezing the corn out, +Is wading and crawling + Where no horse or rider, +No man, though unloaded, + Would venture to tread. +You'll see how the army + Of profligate peasants +Is toiling in danger, 310 + Is springing from one clod +Of earth to another, + Is pushing through bog-slime + With backs nearly breaking! +The sun's beating down + On the peasants' bare heads, +They are sweating and covered + With mud to the eyebrows, +Their limbs torn and bleeding + By sharp, prickly bog-grass! 320 + + "Does this picture please you? +You say that you suffer; + At least suffer wisely. +Don't use for a peasant + A gentleman's judgement; +We are not white-handed + And tender-skinned creatures, +But men rough and lusty + In work and in play. + + "The heart of each peasant 330 +Is black as a storm-cloud, + Its thunder should peal +And its blood rain in torrents; + But all ends in drink-- +For after one cupful + The soul of the peasant +Is kindly and smiling; + But don't let that hurt you! +Look round and be joyful! + Hey, fellows! Hey, maidens! 340 + You know how to foot it! +Their bones may be aching, + Their limbs have grown weary, +But youth's joy and daring + Is not quite extinguished, +It lives in them yet!" + + The peasant is standing +On top of a hillock, + And stamping his feet, +And after being silent 350 + A moment, and gazing +With glee at the masses + Of holiday people, +He roars to them hoarsely. + + "Hey you, peasant kingdom! +You, hatless and drunken! + More racket! More noise!" +"Come, what's your name, uncle?" + "To write in the note-book? +Why not? Write it down: 360 + 'In Barefoot the village +Lives old Jacob Naked, + He'll work till he's taken, +He drinks till he's crazed.'" + The peasants are laughing, +And telling the Barin + The old fellow's story: +How shabby old Jacob + Had lived once in Peter,[22] +And got into prison 370 + Because he bethought him +To get him to law + With a very rich merchant; +How after the prison + He'd come back amongst them +All stripped, like a linden, + And taken to ploughing. +For thirty years since + On his narrow allotment +He'd worked in all weathers, 380 + The harrow his shelter +From sunshine and storm. + He lived with the sokha,[23] +And when God would take him + He'd drop from beneath it +Just like a black clod. + + An accident happened +One year to old Jacob: + He bought some small pictures +To hang in the cottage 390 + For his little son; +The old man himself, too, + Was fond of the pictures. +God's curse had then fallen; + The village was burnt, +And the old fellow's money, + The fruit of a life-time +(Some thirty-five roubles),[24] + Was lost in the flames. +He ought to have saved it, 400 + But, to his misfortune, +He thought of the pictures + And seized them instead. +His wife in the meantime + Was saving the icons.[25] +And so, when the cottage + Fell in, all the roubles +Were melted together + In one lump of silver. +Old Jacob was offered 410 + Eleven such roubles +For that silver lump. + + "O old brother Jacob, +You paid for them dearly, + The little chap's pictures! +I warrant you've hung them + Again in the new hut." + +"I've hung them--and more," +He replied, and was silent. + + The Barin was looking, 420 +Examining Jacob, + The toiler, the earth-worm, +His chest thin and meagre, + His stomach as shrunk +As though something had crushed it, + His eyes and mouth circled +By numberless wrinkles, + Like drought-shrivelled earth. +And he altogether + Resembled the earth, 430 +Thought the Barin, while noting + His throat, like a dry lump +Of clay, brown and hardened; + His brick-coloured face; +His hands--black and horny, + Like bark on the tree-trunk; +His hair--stiff and sandy.... + + The peasants, remarking +That old Jacob's speech + Had not angered the Barin, 440 +Themselves took his words up: + "Yes, yes, he speaks truly, +We must drink, it saves us, + It makes us feel strong. +Why, if we did not drink + Black gloom would engulf us. +If work does not kill us + Or trouble destroy us, +We shan't die from drink!" + + "That's so. Is it not, sir?" 450 + + "Yes, God will protect us!" + +"Come, drink with us, Barin!" + + They go to buy vodka +And drink it together. + To Jacob the Barin +Has offered two cups. + "Ah, Barin," says Jacob, +"I see you're not angry. + A wise little head, yours, +And how could a wise head 460 + Judge falsely of peasants? +Why, only the pig + Glues his nose to the garbage +And never sees Heaven!" + + Then suddenly singing +Is heard in a chorus + Harmonious and bold. +A row of young fellows, + Half drunk, but not falling, +Come staggering onwards, 470 + All lustily singing; +They sing of the Volga, + The daring of youths +And the beauty of maidens ... + A hush falls all over +The road, and it listens; + And only the singing +Is heard, broadly rolling + In waves, sweet and tuneful, +Like wind-ruffled corn. 480 + The hearts of the peasants +Are touched with wild anguish, + And one little woman +Grows pensive and mournful, + And then begins weeping +And sobs forth her grief: + "My life is like day-time +With no sun to warm it! + My life is like night +With no glimmer of moon! 490 + And I--the young woman-- + Am like the swift steed +On the curb, like the swallow + With wings crushed and broken; +My jealous old husband + Is drunken and snoring, +But even while snoring + He keeps one eye open, +And watches me always, + Me--poor little wife!" 500 + + And so she lamented, +The sad little woman; + Then all of a sudden +Springs down from the waggon! + "Where now?" cries her husband, +The jealous old man. + And just as one lifts +By the tail a plump radish, + He clutches her pig-tail, +And pulls her towards him. 510 + + O night wild and drunken, +Not bright--and yet star-lit, + Not hot--but fanned softly +By tender spring breezes, + You've not left our peasants + Untouched by your sweetness; +They're thinking and longing + For their little women. +And they are quite right too; + Still sweeter 'twould be 520 +With a nice little wife! + Cries Ivan, "I love you," +And Mariushka, "I you!" + Cries Ivan, "Press closer!" +And Mariushka, "Kiss me!" + Cries Ivan, "The night's cold," +And Mariushka, "Warm me!" + + They think of this song now, +And all make their minds up + To shorten the journey. 530 + + A birch-tree is growing +Alone by the roadside, + God knows why so lonely! +And under it spreading + The magic white napkin, +The peasants sit round it: + + "Hey! Napkin enchanted! +Give food to the peasants!" + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, 540 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread, + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + + The peasants feel strengthened, +And leaving Roman there + On guard near the vodka, +They mix with the people, + To try to discover +The one who is happy. 550 + + They're all in a hurry +To turn towards home. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +THE HAPPY ONES + + In crowds gay and noisy +Our peasants are mixing, + Proclaiming their mission: +"Let any man here + Who esteems himself happy +Stand forth! If he prove it + A pailful of vodka +Is at his disposal; + As much as he wishes +So much he shall have!" 10 + + This fabulous promise +Sets sober folk smiling; + The tipsy and wise ones +Are ready to spit + In the beards of the pushing +Impertinent strangers! + But many are willing +To drink without payment, +And so when our peasants + Go back to the birch-tree 20 +A crowd presses round them. + The first to come forward, +A lean discharged deacon, + With legs like two matches, +Lets forth a great mouthful + Of indistinct maxims: +That happiness lies not + In broad lands, in jewels, +In gold, and in sables-- + + "In what, then?" 30 + + A peaceful +And undisturbed conscience. + That all the dominions +Of land-owners, nobles, + And Tsars are but earthly +And limited treasures; + But he who is godly +Has part in Christ's kingdom + Of boundless extent: +"When warm in the sun, 40 + With a cupful of vodka, + I'm perfectly happy, +I ask nothing more!" + + "And who'll give you vodka?" +"Why, you! You have promised." + + "Be off, you lean scamp!" + + A one-eyed old woman +Comes next, bent and pock-marked, + And bowing before them +She says she is happy; 50 + That in her allotment +A thousand fine turnips + Have grown, this last autumn. +"Such turnips, I tell you! + Such monsters! and tasty! +In such a small plot, too, + In length only one yard, +And three yards in width!" + + They laugh at the woman, +But give her no vodka; 60 + "Go, get you home, Mother! +You've vodka enough there + To flavour the turnips!" + + A soldier with medals, + Quite drunk but still thirsty, +Says firmly, "I'm happy!" + + "Then tell us, old fellow, +In what he is happy-- + The soldier? Take care, though, +To keep nothing back!" 70 + + "Well, firstly, I've been +Through at least twenty battles, + And yet I'm alive. +And, secondly, mark you + (It's far more important), +In times of peace, too, + Though I'm always half-famished, +Death never has conquered! + And, third, though they flogged me +For every offence, 80 + Great or small, I've survived it!" + + "Here, drink, little soldier! +With you one can't argue; + You're happy indeed!" + + Then comes a young mason, + A huge, weighty hammer +Swung over his shoulder: + "I live in content," +He declares, "with my wife + And beloved old mother; 90 +We've nought to complain of." + "In what are you happy?" +"In this!"--like a feather + He swings the great hammer. +"Beginning at sunrise + And setting my back straight +As midnight draws near, + I can shatter a mountain! +Before now, it's happened + That, working one day, 100 +I've piled enough stones up + To earn my five roubles!" + + Pakhom tries to lift it-- +The "happiness." After + Prodigiously straining +And cracking all over, + He sets it down, gladly, +And pours out some vodka. + + "Well, weighty it is, man! +But will you be able 110 +To bear in old age + Such a 'happiness,' think you?" + +"Don't boast of your strength!" + Gasped a wheezing old peasant, +Half stifled with asthma. + (His nose pinched and shrivelled +Like that of a dead man, + His eyes bright and sunken, +His hands like a rake-- + Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120 +His legs long and narrow + Like spokes of a wheel, +A human mosquito.) + + "I was not a worse man +Than he, the young mason, + And boasted of _my_ strength. +God punished me for it! + The manager knew +I was simple--the villain! + He flattered and praised me. 130 +I was but a youngster, + And pleased at his notice +I laboured like four men. + One day I had mounted +Some bricks to my shoulder, + When, just then, the devil +Must bring him in sight. + + "'What's that!' he said laughing, +'Tis surely not Trifon + With such a light burden? 140 +Ho, does it not shame + Such a strapping young fellow?' +'Then put some more bricks on, + I'll carry them, master,' +Said I, sore offended. + For full half an hour +I stood while he piled them, + He piled them--the dog! +I felt my back breaking, + But would not give way, 150 +And that devilish burden + I carried right up +To the high second story! + He stood and looked on, +He himself was astounded, + And cried from beneath me: +'Well done, my brave fellow! + You don't know yourself, man, +What you have been doing! + It's forty stone, Trifon, 160 +You've carried up there!' + + "I _did_ know; my heart +Struck my breast like a hammer, + The blood stood in circles +Round both of my eyeballs; +My back felt disjointed, +My legs weak and trembling ... + 'Twas then that I withered. +Come, treat me, my friends!" + + "But why should we treat you? +In what are you happy? 171 + In what you have told us?" + + "No, listen--that's coming, +It's this: I have also, + Like each of us peasants, +Besought God to let me + Return to the village +To die. And when coming + From Petersburg, after +The illness I suffered 180 + Through what I have told you, +Exhausted and weakened, + Half-dazed, half-unconscious, +I got to the station. + And all in the carriage +Were workmen, as I was, + And ill of the fever; +And all yearned for one thing: + To reach their own homes +Before death overcame them. 190 + 'Twas then I was lucky; +The heat then was stifling, + And so many sick heads +Made Hell of the waggon. + Here one man was groaning, +There, rolling all over + The floor, like a lunatic, +Shouting and raving + Of wife or of mother. +And many such fellows 200 + Were put out and left +At the stations we came to. + I looked at them, thinking, +Shall I be left too? + I was burning and shaking, +The blood began starting + All over my eyeballs, +And I, in my fever, + Half-waking, was dreaming +Of cutting of cocks' throats 210 + (We once were cock-farmers, +And one year it happened + We fattened a thousand). +They came to my thoughts, now, + The damnable creatures, +I tried to start praying, + But no!--it was useless. +And, would you believe me? + I saw the whole party +In that hellish waggon 220 + Come quivering round me, +Their throats cut, and spurting +With blood, and still crowing, + And I, with the knife, shrieked: +'Enough of your noise!' + And yet, by God's mercy, +Made no sound at all. + I sat there and struggled +To keep myself silent. + At last the day ended, 230 +And with it the journey, + And God had had pity +Upon His poor orphan; + I crawled to the village. +And now, by His mercy, + I'm better again." + + "Is that what you boast of-- +Your happiness, peasant?" + Exclaims an old lackey +With legs weak and gouty. 240 + "Treat me, little brothers, +I'm happy, God sees it! + For I was the chief serf +Of Prince Peremeteff, + A rich prince, and mighty, +My wife, the most favoured + By him, of the women; +My daughter, together + With his, the young lady, +Was taught foreign languages, 250 + French and some others; +And she was permitted + To _sit_, and not stand, +In her mistress's presence. + Good Lord! How it bites!" +(He stoops down to rub it, + The gouty right knee-cap.) +The peasants laugh loudly! + "What laugh you at, stupids?" +He cries, getting angry, 260 + "I'm ill, I thank God, +And at waking and sleeping + I pray, 'Leave me ever +My honoured complaint, Lord! + For that makes me noble!' +I've none of your low things, + Your peasants' diseases, +My illness is lofty, + And only acquired +By the most elevated, 270 + The first in the Empire; +I suffer, you villains, + From gout, gout its name is! +It's only brought on + By the drinking of claret, +Of Burgundy, champagne, + Hungarian syrup, +By thirty years' drinking! + For forty years, peasants, +I've stood up behind it-- 280 + The chair of His Highness, +The Prince Peremeteff, + And swallowed the leavings +In plates and in glasses, + The finest French truffles, +The dregs of the liquors. + Come, treat me, you peasants!" + + "Excuse us, your Lordship, +Our wine is but simple, + The drink of the peasants! 290 +It wouldn't suit _you_!" + A bent, yellow-haired man +Steals up to the peasants, + A man from White Russia. +He yearns for the vodka. + "Oh, give me a taste!" +He implores, "I am happy!" + + "But wait! You must tell us +In what you are happy." + + "In bread I am happy; 300 +At home, in White Russia, + The bread is of barley, +All gritty and weedy. + At times, I can tell you, +I've howled out aloud, + Like a woman in labour, +With pains in my stomach! + But now, by God's mercy, +I work for Gubonine, + And there they give rye-bread, 310 +I'm happy in that." + + A dark-looking peasant, +With jaw turned and twisted, + Which makes him look sideways, +Says next, "I am happy. + A bear-hunter I am, +And six of my comrades + Were killed by old Mishka;[26] +On me God has mercy." + +"Look round to the left side." 320 + He tries to, but cannot, +For all his grimaces! + + "A bear knocked my jaw round, +A savage young female." + + "Go, look for another, +And give her the left cheek, + She'll soon put it straight!" + +They laugh, but, however, + They give him some vodka. +Some ragged old beggars 330 + Come up to the peasants, +Drawn near by the smell + Of the froth on the vodka; +They say they are happy. + + "Why, right on his threshold +The shopman will meet us! + We go to a house-door, +From there they conduct us + Right back to the gate! +When we begin singing 340 + The housewife runs quickly +And brings to the window + A loaf and a knife. +And then we sing loudly, + 'Oh, give us the whole loaf, +It cannot be cut + And it cannot be crumbled, +For you it is quicker, + For us it is better!'" + +The peasants observe 350 + That their vodka is wasted, +The pail's nearly empty. + They say to the people, +"Enough of your chatter, + You, shabby and ragged, +You, humpbacked and corny, + Go, get you all home!" + +"In your place, good strangers," + The peasant, Fedocy, +From "Swallow-Smoke" village, 360 + Said, sitting beside them, +"I'd ask Ermil Girin. + If he will not suit you, +If he is not happy, + Then no one can help you." + + "But who is this Ermil, +A noble--a prince?" + + "No prince--not a noble, +But simply a peasant." + + "Well, tell us about him." 370 + + "I'll tell you; he rented +The mill of an orphan, + Until the Court settled +To sell it at auction. + Then Ermil, with others, +Went into the sale-room. + The small buyers quickly +Dropped out of the bidding; + Till Ermil alone, +With a merchant, Alternikoff, 380 + Kept up the fight. +The merchant outbid him, + Each time by a farthing, +Till Ermil grew angry + And added five roubles; +The merchant a farthing + And Ermil a rouble. +The merchant gave in then, + When suddenly something +Unlooked for occurred: 390 + The sellers demanded +A third of the money + Paid down on the spot; +'Twas one thousand roubles, + And Ermil had not brought +So much money with him; + 'Twas either his error, +Or else they deceived him. + The merchant said gaily, +'The mill comes to me, then?' 400 + 'Not so,' replied Ermil; +He went to the sellers; + 'Good sirs, will you wait +Thirty minutes?' he asked. + + "'But how will that help you?' +'I'll bring you the money.' + + "'But where will you find it? +You're out of your senses! + It's thirty-five versts +To the mill; in an hour now 410 + The sales will be finished.' + + "'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?' +'An hour, if you wish.' + Then Ermil departed, +The sellers exchanging +Sly looks with the merchant, + And grinning--the foxes! +But Ermil went out + And made haste to the market-place +Crowded with people 420 + ('Twas market-day, then), +And he mounted a waggon, + And there he stood crossing +Himself, and low bowing + In all four directions. +He cried to the people, + 'Be silent a moment, +I've something to ask you!' + The place became still +And he told them the story: 430 + +"'Since long has the merchant + Been wooing the mill, +But I'm not such a dullard. + Five times have I been here +To ask if there _would_ be + A second day's bidding, +They answered, 'There will.' + You know that the peasant +Won't carry his money + All over the by-ways 440 + Without a good reason, +So I have none with me; +And look--now they tell me +There's no second bidding + And ask for the money! +The cunning ones tricked me + And laughed--the base heathens! +And said to me sneering: + 'But, what can you do +In an hour? Where find money?' 450 + + "'They're crafty and strong, +But the people are stronger! + The merchant is rich-- +But the people are richer! + Hey! What is _his_ worth +To _their_ treasury, think you? + Like fish in the ocean +The wealth of the people; + You'll draw it and draw it-- +But not see its end! 460 + Now, brother, God hears me, +Come, give me this money! + Next Friday I'll pay you +The very last farthing. + It's not that I care +For the mill--it's the insult! + Whoever knows Ermil, +Whoever believes him, + Will give what he can.' + + "A miracle happened; 470 +The coat of each peasant + Flew up on the left +As though blown by a wind! + The peasants are bringing +Their money to Ermil, + Each gives what he can. +Though Ermil's well lettered + He writes nothing down; +It's well he can count it + So great is his hurry. 480 +They gather his hat full + Of all kinds of money, +From farthings to bank-notes, + The notes of the peasant +All crumpled and torn. + He has the whole sum now, +But still the good people + Are bringing him more. + + "'Here, take this, too, Ermil, +You'll pay it back later!' 490 + + "He bows to the people +In all four directions, + Gets down from the waggon, +And pressing the hat + Full of money against him, +Runs back to the sale-room + As fast as he can. + + "The sellers are speechless +And stare in amazement, + The merchant turns green 500 +As the money is counted + And laid on the table. + + "The sellers come round him +All craftily praising + His excellent bargain. +But Ermil sees through them; + He gives not a farthing, +He speaks not a word. + + "The whole town assembles +At market next Friday, 510 + When Ermil is paying +His debt to the people. + How can he remember +To whom he must pay it? + No murmur arises, +No sound of discussion, + As each man tells quietly +The sum to be paid him. + + "And Ermil himself said, +That when it was finished 520 + A rouble was lying +With no one to claim it; + And though till the evening +He went, with purse open, + Demanding the owner, +It still was unclaimed. + The sun was just setting +When Ermil, the last one + To go from the market, +Assembled the beggars 530 + And gave them the rouble." ... + + "'Tis strange!" say the peasants, +"By what kind of magic + Can one single peasant +Gain such a dominion + All over the country?" + + "No magic he uses +Save truthfulness, brothers! + But say, have you ever +Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540 + Estate, Adovshina?" + + "We have. What about it?" + "The manager there +Was a Colonel, with stars, + Of the Corps of Gendarmes. +He had six or seven + Assistants beneath him, +And Ermil was chosen + As principal clerk. +He was but a boy, then, 550 + Of nineteen or twenty; +And though 'tis no fine post, + The clerk's--to the peasants +The clerk is a great man; + To him they will go +For advice and with questions. + Though Ermil had power to, +He asked nothing from them; + And if they should offer +He never accepted. 560 + (He bears a poor conscience, +The peasant who covets + The mite of his brother!) +Well, five years went by, + And they trusted in Ermil, +When all of a sudden + The master dismissed him +For sake of another. + And sadly they felt it. +The new clerk was grasping; 570 + He moved not a finger +Unless it was paid for; + A letter--three farthings! +A question--five farthings! + Well, he was a pope's son +And God placed him rightly! + But still, by God's mercy, +He did not stay long: + + "The old Prince soon died, +And the young Prince was master. 580 + He came and dismissed them-- +The manager-colonel, + The clerk and assistants, +And summoned the peasants + To choose them an Elder. +They weren't long about it! + And eight thousand voices +Cried out, 'Ermil Girin!' + As though they were one. +Then Ermil was sent for 590 + To speak with the Barin, +And after some minutes + The Barin came out +On the balcony, standing + In face of the people; +He cried, 'Well, my brothers, + Your choice is elected +With my princely sanction! + But answer me this: +Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600 + + "'No, no, little Father! +He's young, but he's wise!' + + "So Ermil was Elder, +For seven years ruled + In the Prince's dominion. +Not once in that time + Did a coin of the peasants +Come under his nail, + Did the innocent suffer, +The guilty escape him, 610 + He followed his conscience." + +"But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely +A shrivelled grey pope, + Interrupting the speaker, +"The harrow went smoothly + Enough, till it happened +To strike on a stone, + Then it swerved of a sudden. +In telling a story + Don't leave an odd word out 620 + And alter the rhythm! +Now, if you knew Ermil + You knew his young brother, +Knew Mityenka, did you?" + + The speaker considered, +Then said, "I'd forgotten, +I'll tell you about it: + It happened that once +Even Ermil the peasant + Did wrong: his young brother, 630 +Unjustly exempted + From serving his time, +On the day of recruiting; + And we were all silent, +And how could we argue + When even the Barin +Himself would not order + The Elder's own brother +To unwilling service? + And only one woman, 640 +Old Vlasevna, shedding + Wild tears for her son, +Went bewailing and screaming: + 'It wasn't our turn!' +Well, of course she'd be certain + To scream for a time, + Then leave off and be silent. +But what happened then? + The recruiting was finished, +But Ermil had changed; 650 + He was mournful and gloomy; +He ate not, he drank not, + Till one day his father +Went into the stable + And found him there holding +A rope in his hands. + Then at last he unbosomed +His heart to his father: + 'Since Vlasevna's son +Has been sent to the service, 660 + I'm weary of living, +I wish but to die!' + His brothers came also, +And they with the father + Besought him to hear them, +To listen to reason. + But he only answered: +'A villain I am, + And a criminal; bind me, +And bring me to justice!' 670 + And they, fearing worse things, +Obeyed him and bound him. + The commune assembled, +Exclaiming and shouting; + They'd never been summoned +To witness or judge + Such peculiar proceedings. + + "And Ermil's relations +Did not beg for mercy + And lenient treatment, 680 +But rather for firmness: + 'Bring Vlasevna's son back +Or Ermil will hang himself, + Nothing will save him!' +And then appeared Ermil + Himself, pale and bare-foot, +With ropes bound and handcuffed, + And bowing his head +He spoke low to the people: + 'The time was when I was 690 +Your judge; and I judged you, + In all things obeying +My conscience. But I now + Am guiltier far +Than were you. Be my judges!' + He bowed to our feet, +The demented one, sighing, + Then stood up and crossed himself, +Trembling all over; +It pained us to witness 700 + How he, of a sudden, +Fell down on his knees there + At Vlasevna's feet. +Well, all was put right soon, + The nobles have fingers +In every small corner, + The lad was brought back +And young Mityenka started; + They say that his service +Did not weigh too heavy, 710 + The prince saw to that. +And we, as a penance, + Imposed upon Ermil +A fine, and to Vlasevna + One part was given, +To Mitya another, + The rest to the village +For vodka. However, + Not quickly did Ermil +Get over his sorrow: 720 + He went like a lost one +For full a year after, + And--though the whole district +Implored him to keep it-- + He left his position. +He rented the mill, then, + And more than of old +Was beloved by the people. + He took for his grinding +No more than was honest, 730 + His customers never +Kept waiting a moment, + And all men alike: +The rich landlord, the workman. + The master and servant, +The poorest of peasants + Were served as their turn came; +Strict order he kept. + Myself, I have not been +Since long in that district, 740 + But often the people +Have told me about him. + And never could praise him +Enough. So in your place + I'd go and ask Ermil." + +"Your time would be wasted," + The grey-headed pope, +Who'd before interrupted, + Remarked to the peasants, +"I knew Ermil Girin, 750 + I chanced in that district +Some five years ago. + I have often been shifted, +Our bishop loved vastly + To keep us all moving, +So I was his neighbour. + Yes, he was a peasant +Unique, I bear witness, + And all things he owned +That can make a man happy: 760 + Peace, riches, and honour, +And that kind of honour + Most valued and precious, +Which cannot be purchased + By might or by money, +But only by righteousness, + Wisdom and kindness. +But still, I repeat it, + Your time will be wasted +In going to Ermil: 770 + In prison he lies." + + "How's that?" + + "God so willed it. +You've heard how the peasants +Of 'Log' the Pomyeshchick + Of Province 'Affrighted,' +Of District 'Scarce-Breathing,' + Of village 'Dumbfounded,' +Revolted 'for causes +Entirely unknown,' 780 + As they say in the papers. +(I once used to read them.) + And so, too, in this case, +The local Ispravnik,[27] + The Tsar's high officials, +And even the peasants, + 'Dumbfounded' themselves. +Never fathomed the reason + Of all the disturbance. +But things became bad, 790 + And the soldiers were sent for, +The Tsar packed a messenger + Off in a hurry +To speak to the people. + His epaulettes rose +To his ears as he coaxed them +And cursed them together. + But curses they're used to, +And coaxing was lost, + For they don't understand it: 800 + 'Brave orthodox peasants!' +'The Tsar--Little Father!' + 'Our dear Mother Russia!' +He bellowed and shouted + Until he was hoarse, +While the peasants stood round him + And listened in wonder. + + "But when he was tired +Of these peaceable measures + Of calming the riots, 810 +At length he decided + On giving the order +Of 'Fire' to the soldiers; + When all of a sudden +A bright thought occurred + To the clerk of the Volost:[28] +'The people trust Girin, + The people will hear him!' + + "'Then let him be brought!'" [29] + + * * * * * + + A cry has arisen 820 +"Have mercy! Have mercy!" + A check to the story; +They hurry off quickly + To see what has happened; +And there on a bank + Of a ditch near the roadside, +Some peasants are birching + A drunken old lackey, +Just taken in thieving. + A court had been summoned, 830 +The judges deciding + To birch the offender, +That each of the jury + (About three and twenty) +Should give him a stroke + Turn in turn of the rod.... + + The lackey was up +And made off, in a twinkling, + He took to his heels +Without stopping to argue, 840 + On two scraggy legs. + + "How he trips it--the dandy!" +The peasants cry, laughing; + They've soon recognized him; +The boaster who prated + So much of his illness +From drinking strange liquors. + + "Ho! where has it gone to, +Your noble complaint? + Look how nimble he's getting!" 850 + + "Well, well, Little Father, +Now finish the story!" + + "It's time to go home now, +My children,--God willing, + We'll meet again some day +And finish it then...." + + The people disperse +As the dawn is approaching. + Our peasants begin +To bethink them of sleeping, 860 + When all of a sudden +A "troika" [30] comes flying + From no one sees where, +With its silver bells ringing. + Within it is sitting +A plump little Barin, + His little mouth smoking +A little cigar. + The peasants draw up +In a line on the roadway, 870 + Thus barring the passage +In front of the horses; + And, standing bareheaded, +Bow low to the Barin. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE POMYESHCHICK + + The "troika" is drawing +The local Pomyeshchick-- + Gavril Afanasich + Obolt-Oboldooeff. +A portly Pomyeshchick, + With long grey moustaches, +Some sixty years old. + His bearing is stately, +His cheeks very rosy, + He wears a short top-coat, 10 +Tight-fitting and braided, + Hungarian fashion; +And very wide trousers. + Gavril Afanasich +Was probably startled + At seeing the peasants + Unflinchingly barring +The way to his horses; + He promptly produces +A loaded revolver 20 + As bulky and round +As himself; and directs it + Upon the intruders: + + "You brigands! You cut-throats! +Don't move, or I shoot!" + + "How can we be brigands?" +The peasants say, laughing, + "No knives and no pitchforks, +No hatchets have we!" + + "Who are you? And what 30 +Do you want?" said the Barin. + + "A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our wives, from our children, +Away from our work, + Kills our appetites too, +Do give us your promise + To answer us truly, +Consulting your conscience + And searching your knowledge, 40 +Not sneering, nor feigning + The question we put you, + And then we will tell you +The cause of our trouble." + + "I promise. I give you +The oath of a noble." + + "No, don't give us that-- +Not the oath of a noble! + We're better content +With the word of a Christian. 50 + The nobleman's oaths-- +They are given with curses, + With kicks and with blows! +We are better without them!" + + "Eh-heh, that's a new creed! +Well, let it be so, then. + And what is your trouble?" + + "But put up the pistol! +That's right! Now we'll tell you: + We are not assassins, 60 +But peaceable peasants, + From Government 'Hard-pressed,' +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From 'Destitute' Parish, +From neighbouring hamlets,-- + 'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,' +'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.' + From 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway, + And one asked another, 70 +Who is he--the man + Free and happy in Russia? +Luka said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +Demyan, 'The official.' + 'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan; +Pakhom said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80 +And Prov said, 'The Tsar.' + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it, +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly, + And nothing can move them! +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, 90 +While quarrelling fought, + Till at last we decided +That never again +Would we turn our steps homeward + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until we have settled +The subject of discord; + Until we have found +The reply to our question-- 100 + Of who can, in Russia, +Be happy and free? + + "Now tell us, Pomyeshchick, +Is your life a sweet one? + And is the Pomyeshchick +Both happy and free?" + + Gavril Afanasich +Springs out of the "troika" + And comes to the peasants. +He takes--like a doctor-- 110 + The hand of each one, +And carefully feeling + The pulse gazes searchingly +Into their faces, + Then clasps his plump sides +And stands shaking with laughter. + The clear, hearty laugh +Of the healthy Pomyeshchick + Peals out in the pleasant +Cool air of the morning: 120 + "Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" +Till he stops from exhaustion. + And then he addresses +The wondering peasants: + "Put on your hats, _gentlemen_, +Please to be seated!" + + (He speaks with a bitter[31] +And mocking politeness.) + + "But we are not gentry; +We'd rather stand up 130 + In your presence, your worship." + + "Sit down, worthy _citizens_, +Here on the bank." + + The peasants protest, +But, on seeing it useless, + Sit down on the bank. + + "May I sit beside you? +Hey, Proshka! Some sherry, + My rug and a cushion!" + He sits on the rug. 140 +Having finished the sherry, + Thus speaks the Pomyeshchick: + + "I gave you my promise +To answer your question.... + The task is not easy, +For though you are highly + Respectable people, +You're not very learned. + Well, firstly, I'll try +To explain you the meaning 150 + Of Lord, or Pomyeshchick. +Have you, by some chance, + Ever heard the expression + The 'Family Tree'? + Do you know what it means?" + + "The woods are not closed to us. +We have seen all kinds + Of trees," say the peasants. + "Your shot has miscarried! +I'll try to speak clearly; 160 + I come of an ancient, +Illustrious family; + One, Oboldooeff, +My ancestor, is + Amongst those who were mentioned +In old Russian chronicles + Written for certain +Two hundred and fifty + Years back. It is written, + ''Twas given the Tartar, 170 +Obolt-Oboldooeff, + A piece of cloth, value +Two roubles, for having + Amused the Tsaritsa +Upon the Tsar's birthday + By fights of wild beasts, +Wolves and foxes. He also + Permitted his own bear +To fight with a wild one, + Which mauled Oboldooeff, 180 +And hurt him severely.' + And now, gentle peasants, +Did you understand?" + + "Why not? To this day +One can see them--the loafers + Who stroll about leading +A bear!" + + "Be it so, then! +But now, please be silent, + And hark to what follows: 190 +From this Oboldooeff + My family sprang; +And this incident happened + Two hundred and fifty +Years back, as I told you, + But still, on my mother's side, + Even more ancient +The family is: + Says another old writing: +'Prince Schepin, and one 200 + Vaska Gooseff, attempted +To burn down the city + Of Moscow. They wanted +To plunder the Treasury. + They were beheaded.' +And this was, good peasants, + Full three hundred years back! +From these roots it was + That our Family Tree sprang." + +"And you are the ... as one 210 + Might say ... little apple +Which hangs on a branch + Of the tree," say the peasants. + +"Well, apple, then, call it, + So long as it please you. +At least you appear + To have got at my meaning. + And now, you yourselves +Understand--the more ancient + A family is 220 +The more noble its members. + Is that so, good peasants?" + +"That's so," say the peasants. + "The black bone and white bone +Are different, and they must + Be differently honoured." + +"Exactly. I see, friends, +You quite understand me." +The Barin continued: +"In past times we lived, 230 + As they say, 'in the bosom +Of Christ,' and we knew + What it meant to be honoured! +Not only the people + Obeyed and revered us, +But even the earth + And the waters of Russia.... +You knew what it was + To be One, in the centre +Of vast, spreading lands, 240 + Like the sun in the heavens: +The clustering villages + Yours, yours the meadows, +And yours the black depths + Of the great virgin forests! +You pass through a village; + The people will meet you, +Will fall at your feet; + Or you stroll in the forest; +The mighty old trees 250 + Bend their branches before you. +Through meadows you saunter; + The slim golden corn-stems +Rejoicing, will curtsey + With winning caresses, +Will hail you as Master. + The little fish sports +In the cool little river; + Get fat, little fish, +At the will of the Master! 260 + The little hare speeds +Through the green little meadow; + Speed, speed, little hare, +Till the coming of autumn, + The season of hunting, +The sport of the Master. + And all things exist +But to gladden the Master. + Each wee blade of grass +Whispers lovingly to him, 270 + 'I live but for thee....' + + "The joy and the beauty, +The pride of all Russia-- + The Lord's holy churches-- + Which brighten the hill-sides +And gleam like great jewels + On the slopes of the valleys, +Were rivalled by one thing + In glory, and that +Was the nobleman's manor. 280 + Adjoining the manor +Were glass-houses sparkling, + And bright Chinese arbours, +While parks spread around it. + On each of the buildings +Gay banners displaying + Their radiant colours, +And beckoning softly, + Invited the guest +To partake of the pleasures 290 + Of rich hospitality. +Never did Frenchmen + In dreams even picture +Such sumptuous revels + As we used to hold. +Not only for one-day, + Or two, did they last-- +But for whole months together! + We fattened great turkeys, + We brewed our own liquors, 300 +We kept our own actors, + And troupes of musicians, +And legions of servants! + Why, I kept five cooks, +Besides pastry-cooks, working, +Two blacksmiths, three carpenters, + Eighteen musicians, +And twenty-two huntsmen.... + My God!"... + + The afflicted 310 +Pomyeshchick broke down here, + And hastened to bury +His face in the cushion.... + "Hey, Proshka!" he cried, +And then quickly the lackey + Poured out and presented +A glassful of brandy. + The glass was soon empty, +And when the Pomyeshchick + Had rested awhile, 320 +He again began speaking: + "Ah, then, Mother Russia, +How gladly in autumn + Your forests awoke +To the horn of the huntsman! + Their dark, gloomy depths, +Which had saddened and faded, + Were pierced by the clear +Ringing blast, and they listened, + Revived and rejoiced, 330 +To the laugh of the echo. + The hounds and the huntsmen +Are gathered together, + And wait on the skirts +Of the forest; and with them + The Master; and farther +Within the deep forest + The dog-keepers, roaring +And shouting like madmen, + The hounds all a-bubble 340 +Like fast-boiling water. + Hark! There's the horn calling! +You hear the pack yelling? + They're crowding together! +And where's the red beast? +Hoo-loo-loo! Hoo-loo-loo! + And the sly fox is ready; +Fat, furry old Reynard + Is flying before us, +His bushy tail waving! 350 +The knowing hounds crouch, + And each lithe body quivers, +Suppressing the fire + That is blazing within it: +'Dear guests of our hearts, + _Do_ come nearer and greet us, +We're panting to meet you, + We, hale little fellows! +Come nearer to us + And away from the bushes!' 360 + +"They're off! Now, my horse, + Let your swiftness not fail me! +My hounds, you are staunch + And you will not betray me! +Hoo-loo! Faster, faster! + Now, _at him_, my children!"... +Gavril Afanasich + Springs up, wildly shouting, +His arms waving madly, + He dances around them! 370 +He's certainly after + A fox in the forest! + +The peasants observe him + In silent enjoyment, +They smile in their beards.... + + "Eh ... you, mad, merry hunters! +Although he forgets + Many things--the Pomyeshchick-- +Those hunts in the autumn + Will not be forgotten. 380 +'Tis not for our own loss + We grieve, Mother Russia, +But you that we pity; + For you, with the hunting +Have lost the last traces + Of days bold and warlike +That made you majestic.... + + "At times, in the autumn, +A party of fifty + Would start on a hunting tour; 390 +Then each Pomyeshchick + Brought with him a hundred +Fine dogs, and twelve keepers, + And cooks in abundance. +And after the cooks + Came a long line of waggons +Containing provisions. + And as we went forward +With music and singing, + You might have mistaken 400 +Our band for a fine troop + Of cavalry, moving! + The time flew for us +Like a falcon." How lightly + The breast of the nobleman +Rose, while his spirit + Went back to the days +Of Old Russia, and greeted + The gallant Boyarin.[32] ... + +"No whim was denied us. 410 + To whom I desire +I show mercy and favour; + And whom I dislike +I strike dead on the spot. + The law is my wish, +And my fist is my hangman! + My blow makes the sparks crowd, +My blow smashes jaw-bones, + My blow scatters teeth!"... + + Like a string that is broken, 420 +The voice of the nobleman + Suddenly ceases; +He lowers his eyes + To the ground, darkly frowning ... +And then, in a low voice, + He says: + + "You yourselves know +That strictness is needful; + But I, with love, punished. +The chain has been broken, 430 + The links burst asunder; +And though we do not beat + The peasant, no longer +We look now upon him + With fatherly feelings. +Yes, I was severe too + At times, but more often +I turned hearts towards me + With patience and mildness. + +"Upon Easter Sunday 440 + I kissed all the peasants + Within my domain. +A great table, loaded + With 'Paska' and 'Koolich'[33] +And eggs of all colours, + Was spread in the manor. +My wife, my old mother, + My sons, too, and even +My daughters did not scorn + To kiss[34] the last peasant: 450 +'Now Christ has arisen!' + 'Indeed He has risen!' +The peasants broke fast then, + Drank vodka and wine. + Before each great holiday, +In my best staterooms + The All-Night Thanksgiving +Was held by the pope. + My serfs were invited +With every inducement: 460 + 'Pray hard now, my children, +Make use of the chance, + Though you crack all your foreheads!'[35] +The nose suffered somewhat, + But still at the finish +We brought all the women-folk + Out of a village +To scrub down the floors. + You see 'twas a cleansing +Of souls, and a strengthening 470 + Of spiritual union; +Now, isn't that so?" + + "That's so," say the peasants, +But each to himself thinks, + "They needed persuading +With sticks though, I warrant, + To get them to pray +In your Lordship's fine manor!" + + "I'll say, without boasting, +They loved me--my peasants. 480 + In my large Surminsky +Estate, where the peasants + Were mostly odd-jobbers, +Or very small tradesmen, + It happened that they +Would get weary of staying + At home, and would ask +My permission to travel, + To visit strange parts +At the coming of spring. 490 + They'd often be absent +Through summer and autumn. + My wife and the children +Would argue while guessing + The gifts that the peasants +Would bring on returning. + And really, besides +Lawful dues of the 'Barin' + In cloth, eggs, and live stock, +The peasants would gladly 500 + Bring gifts to the family: +Jam, say, from Kiev, + From Astrakhan fish, +And the richer among them + Some silk for the lady. +You see!--as he kisses + Her hand he presents her +A neat little packet! + And then for the children +Are sweetmeats and toys; 510 + For me, the old toper, +Is wine from St. Petersburg-- + Mark you, the rascal +Won't go to the Russian + For that! He knows better-- +He runs to the Frenchman! + And when we have finished +Admiring the presents + I go for a stroll +And a chat with the peasants; 520 + They talk with me freely. +My wife fills their glasses, +My little ones gather + Around us and listen, +While sucking their sweets, + To the tales of the peasants: +Of difficult trading, + Of places far distant, +Of Petersburg, Astrakhan, + Kazan, and Kiev.... 530 + On such terms it was +That I lived with my peasants. + Now, wasn't that nice?" + + "Yes," answer the peasants; +"Yes, well might one envy + The noble Pomyeshchick! +His life was so sweet + There was no need to leave it." + +"And now it is past.... + It has vanished for ever! 540 +Hark! There's the bell tolling!" + + They listen in silence: +In truth, through the stillness + Which settles around them, +The slow, solemn sound + On the breeze of the morning +Is borne from Kusminsky.... + +"Sweet peace to the peasant! +God greet him in Heaven!" + + The peasants say softly, 550 +And cross themselves thrice; + And the mournful Pomyeshchick +Uncovers his head, + As he piously crosses +Himself, and he answers: + "'Tis not for the peasant +The knell is now tolling, + It tolls the lost life +Of the stricken Pomyeshchick. + Farewell to the past, 560 +And farewell to thee, Russia, + The Russia who cradled +The happy Pomyeshchick, + Thy place has been stolen +And filled by another!... + Heh, Proshka!" (The brandy +Is given, and quickly + He empties the glass.) +"Oh, it isn't consoling +To witness the change 570 + In thy face, oh, my Motherland! +Truly one fancies + The whole race of nobles +Has suddenly vanished! + Wherever one goes, now, +One falls over peasants + Who lie about, tipsy, +One meets not a creature + But excise official, + Or stupid 'Posrednik,'[36] 580 +Or Poles who've been banished. + One sees the troops passing, + And then one can guess +That a village has somewhere + Revolted, 'in thankful +And dutiful spirit....' + In old days, these roads +Were made gay by the passing + Of carriage, 'dormeuse,' +And of six-in-hand coaches, 590 + And pretty, light troikas; +And in them were sitting + The family troop +Of the jolly Pomyeshchick: + The stout, buxom mother, +The fine, roguish sons, + And the pretty young daughters; +One heard with enjoyment + The chiming of large bells, +The tinkling of small bells, 600 + Which hung from the harness. +And now?... What distraction + Has life? And what joy +Does it bring the Pomyeshchick? + At each step, you meet +Something new to revolt you; + And when in the air +You can smell a rank graveyard, + You know you are passing +A nobleman's manor! 610 + My Lord!... They have pillaged +The beautiful dwelling! + They've pulled it all down, +Brick by brick, and have fashioned + The bricks into hideously +Accurate columns! + The broad shady park +Of the outraged Pomyeshchick, + The fruit of a hundred years' +Careful attention, 620 + Is falling away +'Neath the axe of a peasant! + The peasant works gladly, +And greedily reckons + The number of logs +Which his labour will bring him. + His dark soul is closed +To refinement of feeling, + And what would it matter +To him, if you told him 630 + That this stately oak +Which his hatchet is felling + My grandfather's hand +Had once planted and tended; +That under this ash-tree + My dear little children, +My Vera and Ganushka, + Echoed my voice + As they played by my side; +That under this linden 640 + My young wife confessed me +That little Gavrioushka, + Our best-beloved first-born, +Lay under her heart, + As she nestled against me +And bashfully hid + Her sweet face in my bosom +As red as a cherry.... + It is to his profit +To ravish the park, 650 + And his mission delights him. +It makes one ashamed now + To pass through a village; +The peasant sits still +And he dreams not of bowing. + One feels in one's breast +Not the pride of a noble + But wrath and resentment. +The axe of the robber + Resounds in the forest, 660 +It maddens your heart, + But you cannot prevent it, +For who can you summon + To rescue your forest? +The fields are half-laboured, + The seeds are half-wasted, +No trace left of order.... + O Mother, my country, +We do not complain + For ourselves--of our sorrows, 670 +Our hearts bleed for thee: + Like a widow thou standest +In helpless affliction + With tresses dishevelled +And grief-stricken face.... + They have blighted the forest, +The noisy low taverns +Have risen and flourished. + They've picked the most worthless +And loose of the people, 680 + And given them power +In the posts of the Zemstvos; + They've seized on the peasant +And taught him his letters-- + Much good may it do him! +Your brow they have branded, + As felons are branded, +As cattle are branded, + With these words they've stamped it: +'To take away with you 690 + Or drink on the premises.' +Was it worth while, pray, + To weary the peasant +With learning his letters + In order to read them? +The land that we keep + Is our mother no longer, +Our stepmother rather. + And then to improve things, +These pert good-for-nothings, 700 + These impudent writers +Must needs shout in chorus: + 'But whose fault, then, is it, +That you thus exhausted + And wasted your country?' +But I say--you duffers! + Who _could_ foresee this? +They babble, 'Enough + Of your lordly pretensions! +It's time that you learnt something, 710 + Lazy Pomyeshchicks! +Get up, now, and work!' + + "Work! To whom, in God's name, +Do you think you are speaking? + I am not a peasant +In 'laputs,' good madman! + I am--by God's mercy-- +A Noble of Russia. + You take us for Germans! +We nobles have tender 720 + And delicate feelings, +Our pride is inborn, + And in Russia our classes +Are not taught to work. + Why, the meanest official + Will not raise a finger +To clear his own table, + Or light his own stove! +I can say, without boasting, + That though I have lived 730 +Forty years in the country, + And scarcely have left it, +I could not distinguish + Between rye and barley. +And they sing of 'work' to me! + + "If we Pomyeshchicks +Have really mistaken + Our duty and calling, +If really our mission + Is not, as in old days, 740 +To keep up the hunting, + To revel in luxury, +Live on forced labour, + Why did they not tell us +Before? Could I learn it? + For what do I see? +I've worn the Tsar's livery, +'Sullied the Heavens,' + And 'squandered the treasury +Gained by the people,' 750 + And fully imagined +To do so for ever, + And now ... God in Heaven!"... +The Barin is sobbing!... + + The kind-hearted peasants +Can hardly help crying + Themselves, and they think: +"Yes, the chain has been broken, + The strong links have snapped, +And the one end recoiling 760 + Has struck the Pomyeshchick, +The other--the peasant." + + + + + +PART II. + +THE LAST POMYESHCHICK + + +PROLOGUE + +The day of St. Peter-- + And very hot weather; +The mowers are all + At their work in the meadows. +The peasants are passing + A tumble-down village, +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Of Government "Know-Nothing.' + They are approaching 10 +The banks of the Volga. + They come to the river, +The sea-gulls are wheeling + And flashing above it; +The sea-hens are walking + About on the sand-banks; +And in the bare hayfields, + Which look just as naked +As any youth's cheek + After yesterday's shaving, 20 +The Princes Volkonsky[37] + Are haughtily standing, +And round them their children, + Who (unlike all others) +Are born at an earlier + Date than their sires. + +"The fields are enormous," +Remarks old Pakhom, + "Why, the folk must be giants." +The two brothers Goobin 30 + Are smiling at something: +For some time they've noticed + A very tall peasant +Who stands with a pitcher + On top of a haystack; +He drinks, and a woman + Below, with a hay-fork, +Is looking at him + With her head leaning back. +The peasants walk on 40 + Till they come to the haystack; +The man is still drinking; + They pass it quite slowly, +Go fifty steps farther, + Then all turn together +And look at the haystack. + Not much has been altered: +The peasant is standing + With body bent back +As before,--but the pitcher 50 + Has turned bottom upwards.... + +The strangers go farther. + The camps are thrown out +On the banks of the river; + And there the old people +And children are gathered, + And horses are waiting +With big empty waggons; + And then, in the fields +Behind those that are finished, 60 + The distance is filled +By the army of workers, + The white shirts of women, +The men's brightly coloured, + And voices and laughter, +With all intermingled + The hum of the scythes.... + + "God help you, good fellows!" +"Our thanks to you, brothers!" + + The peasants stand noting 70 +The long line of mowers, + The poise of the scythes +And their sweep through the sunshine. + The rhythmical swell +Of melodious murmur. + + The timid grass stands +For a moment, and trembles, + Then falls with a sigh.... + + On the banks of the Volga +The grass has grown high 80 +And the mowers work gladly. + The peasants soon feel +That they cannot resist it. +"It's long since we've stretched ourselves, + Come, let us help you!" +And now seven women + Have yielded their places. + The spirit of work +Is devouring our peasants; + Like teeth in a ravenous 90 +Mouth they are working-- + The muscular arms, +And the long grass is falling + To songs that are strange +To this part of the country, + To songs that are taught +By the blizzards and snow-storms, +The wild savage winds + Of the peasants' own homelands: +"Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," 100 + "Patched," "Bare-Foot," and "Shabby," +And "Harvestless," too.... + And when the strong craving +For work is appeased + They sit down by a haystack. + +"From whence have you come?" + A grey-headed old peasant +(The one whom the women + Call Vlasuchka) asks them, +"And where are you going?" 110 + + "We are--" say the peasants, +Then suddenly stop, + There's some music approaching! + +"Oh, that's the Pomyeshchick + Returning from boating!" +Says Vlasuchka, running + To busy the mowers: +"Wake up! Look alive there! + And mind--above all things, +Don't heat the Pomyeshchick 120 + And don't make him angry! +And if he abuse you, + Bow low and say nothing, +And if he should praise you, + Start lustily cheering. +You women, stop cackling! + And get to your forks!" +A big burly peasant +With beard long and bushy + Bestirs himself also 130 +To busy them all, + Then puts on his "kaftan," [38] +And runs away quickly + To meet the Pomyeshchick. + +And now to the bank-side + Three boats are approaching. +In one sit the servants + And band of musicians, +Most busily playing; + The second one groans 140 +'Neath a mountainous wet-nurse, + Who dandles a baby, +A withered old dry-nurse, + A motionless body +Of ancient retainers. + And then in the third +There are sitting the gentry: + Two beautiful ladies +(One slender and fair-haired, + One heavy and black-browed) 150 +And two moustached Barins + And three little Barins, +And last--the Pomyeshchick, + A very old man +Wearing long white moustaches + (He seems to be all white); +His cap, broad and high-crowned, + Is white, with a peak, +In the front, of red satin. + His body is lean 160 +As a hare's in the winter, + His nose like a hawk's beak, +His eyes--well, they differ: + The one sharp and shining, +The other--the left eye-- + Is sightless and blank, +Like a dull leaden farthing. + Some woolly white poodles +With tufts on their ankles + Are in the boat too. 170 + +The old man alighting + Has mounted the bank, +Where for long he reposes + Upon a red carpet +Spread out by the servants. +And then he arises + To visit the mowers, +To pass through the fields + On a tour of inspection. +He leans on the arm-- 180 + Now of one of the Barins, +And now upon those + Of the beautiful ladies. +And so with his suite-- + With the three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles,-- +Along through the hayfields + Proceeds the Pomyeshchick. 190 + +The peasants on all sides + Bow down to the ground; +And the big, burly peasant + (The Elder he is +As the peasants have noticed) + Is cringing and bending +Before the Pomyeshchick, + Just like the Big Devil +Before the high altar: +"Just so! Yes, Your Highness, 200 + It's done, at your bidding!" +I think he will soon fall + Before the Pomyeshchick +And roll in the dust.... + + So moves the procession, +Until it stops short + In the front of a haystack +Of wonderful size, + Only this day erected. +The old man is poking 210 + His forefinger in it, +He thinks it is damp, + And he blazes with fury: +"Is this how you rot + The best goods of your master? +I'll rot you with barschin,[39] + I'll make you repent it! +Undo it--at once!" + + The Elder is writhing +In great agitation: 220 + "I was not quite careful +Enough, and it _is_ damp. + It's my fault, Your Highness!" +He summons the peasants, + Who run with their pitchforks +To punish the monster. + And soon they have spread it +In small heaps around, + At the feet of the master; +His wrath is appeased. 230 + + (In the meantime the strangers +Examine the hay--It's + like tinder--so dry!) + +A lackey comes flying + Along, with a napkin; +He's lame--the poor man! + "Please, the luncheon is served." +And then the procession, +The three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, 240 + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles, + Moves onward to lunch. + +The peasants stand watching; + From one of the boats +Comes an outburst of music +To greet the Pomyeshchick. + + The table is shining +All dazzlingly white + On the bank of the river. 250 +The strangers, astonished, +Draw near to old Vlasuchka; + "Pray, little Uncle," +They say, "what's the meaning + Of all these strange doings? +And who is that curious + Old man?" + + "Our Pomyeshchick, +The great Prince Yutiatin." + +"But why is he fussing 260 + About in that manner? +For things are all changed now, + And he seems to think +They are still as of old. + The hay is quite dry, +Yet he told you to dry it!" + + "But funnier still +That the hay and the hayfields + Are not his at all." + +"Then whose are they?" 270 + "The Commune's." + +"Then why is he poking + His nose into matters +Which do not concern him? + For are you not free?" + +"Why, yes, by God's mercy + The order is changed now +For us as for others; + But ours is a special case." + +"Tell us about it." 280 + The old man lay down +At the foot of the haystack + And answered them--nothing. + + The peasants producing + The magic white napkin +Sit down and say softly, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" +The napkin unfolds, + And two hands, which come floating +From no one sees where, 291 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away.... + + The peasants, still wishing +To question old Vlasuchka, + Wisely present him +A cupful of vodka: + "Now come, little Uncle, 300 +Be gracious to strangers, + And tell us your story." + +"There's nothing to tell you. + You haven't told me yet +Who _you_ are and whence +You have journeyed to these parts, + And whither you go." + +"We will not be surly + Like you. We will tell you. +We've come a great distance, 310 + And seek to discover +A thing of importance. + A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our work, from our homes, +From the love of our food...." + The peasants then tell him +About their chance meeting, + Their argument, quarrel, +Their vow, and decision; 320 + Of how they had sought +In the Government "Tight-Squeeze" + And Government "Shot-Strewn" +The man who, in Russia, + Is happy and free.... + + Old Vlasuchka listens, +Observing them keenly. + "I see," he remarks, +When the story is finished, + "I see you are very 330 +Peculiar people. + We're said to be strange here, +But you are still stranger." + +"Well, drink some more vodka + And tell us your tale." + + And when by the vodka +His tongue becomes loosened, + Old Vlasuchka tells them +The following story. + + +I + +THE DIE-HARD + +"The great prince, Yutiatin, + The ancient Pomyeshchick, +Is very eccentric. + His wealth is untold, +And his titles exalted, + His family ranks +With the first in the Empire. + The whole of his life +He has spent in amusement, + Has known no control 10 +Save his own will and pleasure. + When we were set free +He refused to believe it: + 'They lie! the low scoundrels!' +There came the posrednik + And Chief of Police, +But he would not admit them, + He ordered them out +And went on as before, +And only became 20 + Full of hate and suspicion: +'Bow low, or I'll flog you + To death, without mercy!' +The Governor himself came + To try to explain things, +And long they disputed + And argued together; +The furious voice + Of the prince was heard raging +All over the house, 30 + And he got so excited +That on the same evening + A stroke fell upon him: +His left side went dead, + Black as earth, so they tell us, +And all over nothing! + It wasn't his pocket +That pinched, but his pride + That was touched and enraged him. +He lost but a mite 40 + And would never have missed it." + +"Ah, that's what it means, friends, + To be a Pomyeshchick, +The habit gets into + The blood," says Mitrodor, + "And not the Pomyeshchick's +Alone, for the habit + Is strong in the peasant +As well," old Pakhom said. + "I once on suspicion 50 +Was put into prison, + And met there a peasant +Called Sedor, a strange man, + Arrested for horse-stealing, +If I remember; + And he from the prison +Would send to the Barin + His taxes. (The prisoner's +Income is scanty, + He gets what he begs 60 +Or a trifle for working.) + The others all laughed at him; +'Why should you send them + And you off for life +To hard labour?' they asked him. + But he only said, +'All the same ... it is better.'" + + "Well, now, little Uncle, +Go on with the story." + + "A mite is a small thing, 70 + Except when it happens +To be in the eye! + The Pomyeshchick lay senseless, +And many were sure + That he'd never recover. +His children were sent for, + Those black-moustached footguards +(You saw them just now + With their wives, the fine ladies), +The eldest of them 80 + Was to settle all matters +Concerning his father. + He called the posrednik +To draw up the papers + And sign the agreement, +When suddenly--there + Stands the old man before them! +He springs on them straight + Like a wounded old tiger, +He bellows like thunder. 90 + It was but a short time +Ago, and it happened + That I was then Elder, +And chanced to have entered + The house on some errand, +And I heard myself + How he cursed the Pomyeshchicks; +The words that he spoke + I have never forgotten: +'The Jews are reproached 100 + For betraying their Master; +But what are _you_ doing? + The rights of the nobles +By centuries sanctioned + You fling to the beggars!' +He said to his sons, + 'Oh, you dastardly cowards! +My children no longer! + It is for small reptiles-- +The pope's crawling breed-- 110 + To take bribes from vile traitors, +To purchase base peasants, + And they may be pardoned! +But you!--you have sprung + From the house of Yutiatin, +The Princes Yu-tia-tin + You are! Go!... Go, leave me! +You pitiful puppies!' +The heirs were alarmed; + How to tide matters over 120 +Until he should die? + For they are not small items, +The forests and lands + That belong to our father; +His money-bags are not + So light as to make it +A question of nothing + Whose shoulders shall bear them; +We know that our father + Has three 'private' daughters 130 +In Petersburg living, + To Generals married, +So how do we know + That they may not inherit +His wealth?... The Pomyeshchick + Once more is prostrated, +His death is a question + Of time, and to make it +Run smoothly till then + An agreement was come to, 140 +A plan to deceive him: +So one of the ladies +(The fair one, I fancy, + She used at that time +To attend the old master + And rub his left side +With a brush), well, she told him + That orders had come +From the Government lately + That peasants set free 150 +Should return to their bondage. + And he quite believed it. +(You see, since his illness + The Prince had become +Like a child.) When he heard it + He cried with delight; +And the household was summoned + To prayer round the icons;[40] +And Thanksgiving Service + Was held by his orders 160 +In every small village, + And bells were set ringing. +And little by little + His strength returned partly. +And then as before + It was hunting and music, + The servants were caned +And the peasants were punished. + The heirs had, of course, +Set things right with the servants, 170 + A good understanding +They came to, and one man + (You saw him go running +Just now with the napkin) + Did not need persuading--- +He so loved his Barin. + His name is Ipat, +And when we were made free + He refused to believe it; +'The great Prince Yutiatin 180 + Be left without peasants! +What pranks are you playing?' + At last, when the 'Order +Of Freedom' was shown him, + Ipat said, 'Well, well, +Get you gone to your pleasures, + But I am the slave +Of the Princes Yutiatin!' + He cannot get over +The old Prince's kindness 190 + To him, and he's told us +Some curious stories + Of things that had happened +To him in his childhood, + His youth and old age. +(You see, I had often + To go to the Prince +On some matter or other + Concerning the peasants, +And waited and waited 200 + For hours in the kitchens, +And so I have heard them + A hundred times over.) +'When I was a young man + Our gracious young Prince +Spent his holidays sometimes + At home, and would dip me +(His meanest slave, mind you) + Right under the ice +In the depths of the Winter. 210 + He did it in such +A remarkable way, too! + He first made two holes +In the ice of the river, + In one he would lower +Me down in a net-- + Pull me up through the other!' +And when I began + To grow old, it would happen +That sometimes I drove 220 + With the Prince in the Winter; +The snow would block up + Half the road, and we used +To drive five-in-a-file. + Then the fancy would strike him +(How whimsical, mark you!) + To set me astride +On the horse which was leading, + Me--last of his slaves! +Well, he dearly loved music, 230 + And so he would throw me +A fiddle: 'Here! play now, + Ipat.' Then the driver +Would shout to the horses, +And urge them to gallop. + The snow would half-blind me, +My hands with the music + Were occupied both; +So what with the jolting, + The snow, and the fiddle, 240 +Ipat, like a silly +Old noodle, would tumble. + Of course, if he landed +Right under the horses + The sledge must go over +His ribs,--who could help it? + But that was a trifle; +The cold was the worst thing, + It bites you, and you +Can do nothing against it! 250 + The snow lay all round +On the vast empty desert, + I lay looking up +At the stars and confessing + My sins. But--my friends, +This is true as the Gospel-- + I heard before long +How the sledge-bells came ringing, + Drew nearer and nearer: +The Prince had remembered, 260 + And come back to fetch me!' + + "(The tears began falling +And rolled down his face + At this part of the story. + Whenever he told it +He always would cry + Upon coming to this!) +'He covered me up + With some rugs, and he warmed me, +He lifted me up, 270 + And he placed me beside him, +Me--last of his slaves-- + Beside his Princely Person! +And so we came home.'" + + They're amused at the story. + +Old Vlasuchka, when + He has emptied his fourth cup, +Continues: "The heirs came + And called us together-- +The peasants and servants; 280 + They said, 'We're distressed +On account of our father. + These changes will kill him, +He cannot sustain them. + So humour his weakness: + Keep silent, and act still +As if all this trouble + Had never existed; +Give way to him, bow to him + Just as in old days. 290 +For each stroke of barschin, +For all needless labour, + For every rough word +We will richly reward you. + He cannot live long now, +The doctors have told us + That two or three months +Is the most we may hope for. + Act kindly towards us, +And do as we ask you, 300 + And we as the price +Of your silence will give you + The hayfields which lie +On the banks of the Volga. + Think well of our offer, +And let the posrednik + Be sent for to witness +And settle the matter.' + + "Then gathered the commune +To argue and clamour; 310 + The thought of the hayfields +(In which we are sitting), + With promises boundless +And plenty of vodka, + Decided the question: +The commune would wait + For the death of the Barin. + +"Then came the posrednik, + And laughing, he said: +'It's a capital notion! 320 + The hayfields are fine, too, +You lose nothing by it; + You just play the fool +And the Lord will forgive you. + You know, it's forbidden +To no one in Russia + To bow and be silent.' + +"But I was against it: + I said to the peasants, +'For you it is easy, 330 + But how about me? +Whatever may happen + The Elder must come + To accounts with the Barin, +And how can I answer + His babyish questions? +And how can I do + His nonsensical bidding?' + + "'Just take off your hat +And bow low, and say nothing, 340 + And then you walk out +And the thing's at an end. + The old man is ill, +He is weak and forgetful, + And nothing will stay +In his head for an instant.' + + "Perhaps they were right; +To deceive an old madman + Is not very hard. +But for my part, I don't want 350 + To play at buffoon. +For how many years + Have I stood on the threshold +And bowed to the Barin? + Enough for my pleasure! +I said, 'If the commune + Is pleased to be ruled +By a crazy Pomyeshchick + To ease his last moments +I don't disagree, 360 + I have nothing against it; +But then, set me free + From my duties as Elder.' + +"The whole matter nearly + Fell through at that moment, +But then Klimka Lavin said, + 'Let _me_ be Elder, +I'll please you on both sides, + The master and you. +The Lord will soon take him, 370 + And then the fine hayfields +Will come to the commune. + I swear I'll establish +Such order amongst you + You'll die of the fun!' + +"The commune took long + To consider this offer: +A desperate fellow + Is Klimka the peasant, +A drunkard, a rover, 380 + And not very honest, + No lover of work, +And acquainted with gipsies; + A vagabond, knowing +A lot about horses. + A scoffer at those +Who work hard, he will tell you: + 'At work you will never +Get rich, my fine fellow; + You'll never get rich,-- 390 +But you're sure to get crippled!' + But he, all the same, +Is well up in his letters; + Has been to St. Petersburg. +Yes, and to Moscow, + And once to Siberia, too, +With the merchants. + A pity it was +That he ever returned! + He's clever enough, 400 +But he can't keep a farthing; + He's sharp--but he's always +In some kind of trouble. +He's picked some fine words up + From out of his travels: + 'Our Fatherland dear,' +And 'The soul of great Russia,' + And 'Moscow, the mighty, +Illustrious city!' + 'And I,' he will shout, 410 +'Am a plain Russian peasant!' + And striking his forehead +He'll swallow the vodka. + A bottle at once +He'll consume, like a mouthful. + He'll fall at your feet +For a bottle of vodka. + But if he has money +He'll share with you, freely; + The first man he meets 420 +May partake of his drink. + He's clever at shouting +And cheating and fooling, + At showing the best side +Of goods which are rotten, +At boasting and lying; + And when he is caught +He'll slip out through a cranny, + And throw you a jest, +Or his favourite saying: 430 + 'A crack in the jaw +Will your honesty bring you!' + + "Well, after much thinking +The commune decided + That I must remain +The responsible Elder; + But Klimka might act +In my stead to the Barin + As though he were Elder. +Why, then, let him do it! 440 + The right kind of Elder +He is for his Barin, + They make a fine pair! + Like putty his conscience; +Like Meenin's[41] his beard, + So that looking upon him +You'd think a sedater, + More dutiful peasant +Could never be found. + The heirs made his kaftan, 450 +And he put it on, + And from Klimka the 'scapegrace' +He suddenly changed + Into Klim, Son-of-Jacob,[42] +Most worthy of Elders. +So that's how it is;-- + And to our great misfortune +The Barin is ordered + A carriage-drive daily. +Each day through the village 460 + He drives in a carriage +That's built upon springs. + Then up you jump, quickly, +And whip off your hat, + And, God knows for what reason, +He'll jump down your throat, + He'll upbraid and abuse you; +But you must keep silent. + He watches a peasant +At work in the fields, 470 + And he swears we are lazy +And lie-abed sluggards + (Though never worked peasant +With half such a will + In the time of the Barin). +He has not a notion + That they are not _his_ fields, +But ours. When we gather + We laugh, for each peasant +Has something to tell 480 + Of the crazy Pomyeshchick; +His ears burn, I warrant, + When we come together! +And Klim, Son-of-Jacob, + Will run, with the manner +Of bearing the commune + Some news of importance +(The pig has got proud + Since he's taken to scratching +His sides on the steps 490 + Of the nobleman's manor). +He runs and he shouts: + 'A command to the commune! + I told the Pomyeshchick +That Widow Terentevna's + Cottage had fallen. +And that she is begging + Her bread. He commands you + To marry the widow +To Gabriel Jockoff; 500 + To rebuild the cottage, +And let them reside there + And multiply freely.' + +"The bride will be seventy, + Seven the bridegroom! +Well, who could help laughing? +Another command: + 'The dull-witted cows, +Driven out before sunrise, + Awoke the Pomyeshchick 510 +By foolishly mooing + While passing his courtyard. +The cow-herd is ordered + To see that the cows +Do not moo in that manner!'" + +The peasants laugh loudly. + + "But why do you laugh so? +We all have our fancies. + Yakutsk was once governed, +I heard, by a General; 520 + He had a liking +For sticking live cows + Upon spikes round the city, +And every free spot + Was adorned in that manner, +As Petersburg is, + So they say, with its statues, +Before it had entered + The heads of the people +That he was a madman. 530 + + "Another strict order +Was sent to the commune: + 'The dog which belongs +To Sofronoff the watchman + Does not behave nicely, +It barked at the Barin. + Be therefore Sofronoff +Dismissed. Let Evremka +Be watchman to guard + The estate of the Barin.' 540 +(Another loud laugh, + For Evremka, the 'simple,' +Is known as the deaf-mute + And fool of the village). + But Klimka's delighted: +At last he's found something + That suits him exactly. +He bustles about + And in everything meddles, +And even drinks less. 550 + There's a sharp little woman +Whose name is Orevna, + And she is Klim's gossip, +And finely she helps him + To fool the old Barin. +And as to the women, + They're living in clover: +They run to the manor + With linen and mushrooms +And strawberries, knowing 560 + The ladies will buy them +And pay what they ask them + And feed them besides. +We laughed and made game + Till we fell into danger +And nearly were lost: + There was one man among us, +Petrov, an ungracious + And bitter-tongued peasant; +He never forgave us 570 + Because we'd consented +To humour the Barin. + 'The Tsar,' he would say, +'Has had mercy upon you, + And now, you, yourselves +Lift the load to your backs. + To Hell with the hayfields! + We want no more masters!' +We only could stop him + By giving him vodka 580 +(His weakness was vodka). + The devil must needs +Fling him straight at the Barin. +One morning Petrov + Had set out to the forest +To pilfer some logs + (For the night would not serve him, +It seems, for his thieving, + He must go and do it +In broadest white daylight), 590 + And there comes the carriage, +On springs, with the Barin! + + "'From whence, little peasant, +That beautiful tree-trunk? + From whence has it come?' +He knew, the old fellow, + From whence it had come. +Petrov stood there silent, + And what could he answer? +He'd taken the tree 600 + From the Barin's own forest. + + "The Barin already +Is bursting with anger; + He nags and reproaches, +He can't stop recalling + The rights of the nobles. +The rank of his Fathers, + He winds them all into +Petrov, like a corkscrew. + +"The peasants are patient, 610 + But even their patience +Must come to an end. + Petrov was out early, +Had eaten no breakfast, + Felt dizzy already, +And now with the words + Of the Barin all buzzing +Like flies in his ears-- + Why, he couldn't keep steady, +He laughed in his face! 620 + + "'Have done, you old scarecrow!' +He said to the Barin. + 'You crazy old clown!' + His jaw once unmuzzled +He let enough words out + To stuff the Pomyeshchick +With Fathers and Grandfathers + Into the bargain. +The oaths of the lords + Are like stings of mosquitoes, 630 +But those of the peasant + Like blows of the pick-axe. +The Barin's dumbfounded! + He'd safely encounter +A rain of small shot, + But he cannot face stones. +The ladies are with him, + They, too, are bewildered, +They run to the peasant + And try to restrain him. 640 + +"He bellows, 'I'll kill you! + For what are you swollen +With pride, you old dotard, + You scum of the pig-sty? +Have done with your jabber! + You've lost your strong grip +On the soul of the peasant, + The last one you are. +By the will of the peasant + Because he is foolish 650 +They treat you as master + To-day. But to-morrow +The ball will be ended; + A good kick behind +We will give the Pomyeshchick, + And tail between legs +Send him back to his dwelling + To leave us in peace!' + + "The Barin is gasping, +'You rebel ... you rebel!' 660 + He trembles all over, +Half-dead he has fallen, + And lies on the earth! + + "The end! think the others, +The black-moustached footguards, + The beautiful ladies; +But they are mistaken; + It isn't the end. + + "An order: to summon +The village together 670 + To witness the punishment +Dealt to the rebel + Before the Pomyeshchick.... +The heirs and the ladies + Come running in terror +To Klim, to Petrov, + And to me: 'Only save us!' +Their faces are pale, + 'If the trick is discovered +We're lost!' 680 + It is Klim's place +To deal with the matter: + He drinks with Petrov +All day long, till the evening, + Embracing him fondly. +Together till midnight + They pace round the village, +At midnight start drinking + Again till the morning. +Petrov is as tipsy 690 + As ever man was, +And like that he is brought + To the Barin's large courtyard, +And all is perfection! + The Barin can't move +From the balcony, thanks + To his yesterday's shaking. +And Klim is well pleased. + + "He leads Petrov into +The stable and sets him 700 + In front of a gallon +Of vodka, and tells him: + 'Now, drink and start crying, +''Oh, oh, little Fathers! + Oh, oh, little. Mothers! +Have mercy! Have mercy!''' + + "Petrov does his bidding; +He howls, and the Barin, + Perched up on the balcony, +Listens in rapture. 710 + He drinks in the sound +Like the loveliest music. + And who could help laughing +To hear him exclaiming, + 'Don't spare him, the villain! +The im-pu-dent rascal! + Just teach him a lesson!' +Petrov yells aloud + Till the vodka is finished. +Of course in the end 720 +He is perfectly helpless, + And four peasants carry him +Out of the stable. + His state is so sorry +That even the Barin + Has pity upon him, +And says to him sweetly, + 'Your own fault it is, +Little peasant, you know!'" + +"You see what a kind heart 730 + He has, the Pomyeshchick," +Says Prov, and old Vlasuchka + Answers him quietly, +"A saying there is: + 'Praise the grass--in the haystack, +The lord--in his coffin.' + + "Twere well if God took him. +Petrov is no longer + Alive. That same evening +He started up, raving, 740 +At midnight the pope came, + And just as the day dawned +He died. He was buried, + A cross set above him, +And God alone knows + What he died of. It's certain +That we never touched him, + Nay, not with a finger, +Much less with a stick. + Yet sometimes the thought comes: +Perhaps if that accident 751 + Never had happened +Petrov would be living. + You see, friends, the peasant +Was proud more than others, + He carried his head high, +And never had bent it, + And now of a sudden-- +Lie down for the Barin! + Fall flat for his pleasure! 760 +The thing went off well, + But Petrov had not wished it. +I think he was frightened + To anger the commune +By not giving in, + And the commune is foolish, +It soon will destroy you.... + The ladies were ready +To kiss the old peasant, + They brought fifty roubles 770 +For him, and some dainties. + 'Twas Klimka, the scamp, +The unscrupulous sinner, + Who worked his undoing.... + + "A servant is coming +To us from the Barin, + They've finished their lunch. +Perhaps they have sent him + To summon the Elder. +I'll go and look on 780 + At the comedy there." + + +II + +KLIM, THE ELDER + +With him go the strangers, + And some of the women +And men follow after, + For mid-day has sounded, +Their rest-time it is, + So they gather together +To stare at the gentry, + To whisper and wonder. +They stand in a row + At a dutiful distance 10 +Away from the Prince.... + + At a long snowy table +Quite covered with bottles + And all kinds of dishes +Are sitting the gentry, + The old Prince presiding +In dignified state + At the head of the table; +All white, dressed in white, + With his face shrunk awry, 20 +His dissimilar eyes; + In his button-hole fastened +A little white cross + (It's the cross of St. George, +Some one says in a whisper); +And standing behind him, + Ipat, the domestic, +The faithful old servant, +In white tie and shirt-front + Is brushing the flies off. 30 +Beside the Pomyeshchick + On each hand are sitting +The beautiful ladies: + The one with black tresses, +Her lips red as beetroots, + Each eye like an apple; +The other, the fair-haired, + With yellow locks streaming. +(Oh, you yellow locks, + Like spun gold do you glisten 40 +And glow, in the sunshine!) + Then perched on three high chairs +The three little Barins, + Each wearing his napkin +Tucked under his chin, + With the old nurse beside them, +And further the body + Of ancient retainers; +And facing the Prince + At the foot of the table, 50 +The black-moustached footguards + Are sitting together. +Behind each chair standing + A young girl is serving, +And women are waving + The flies off with branches. +The woolly white poodles + Are under the table, +The three little Barins + Are teasing them slyly. 60 + + Before the Pomyeshchick, +Bare-headed and humble, + The Elder is standing. +"Now tell me, how soon + Will the mowing be finished?" +The Barin says, talking + And eating at once. + + "It soon will be finished. +Three days of the week + Do we work for your Highness; 70 +A man with a horse, + And a youth or a woman, +And half an old woman + From every allotment. +To-day for this week +Is the Barin's term finished." + + "Tut-tut!" says the Barin, +Like one who has noticed + Some crafty intent +On the part of another. 80 + "'The Barin's term,' say you? +Now, what do you mean, pray?" + The eye which is bright +He has fixed on the peasant. + + The Elder is hanging +His head in confusion. + "Of course it must be +As your Highness may order. + In two or three days, +If the weather be gracious, 90 + The hay of your Highness +Can surely be gathered. + That's so,--is it not?" + +(He turns his broad face round + And looks at the peasants.) +And then the sharp woman, + Klim's gossip, Orevna, +Makes answer for them: + "Yes, Klim, Son-of-Jacob, +The hay of the Barin 100 + Is surely more precious +Than ours. We must tend it + As long as the weather lasts; +Ours may come later." + + "A woman she is, +But more clever than you," + The Pomyeshchick says smiling, +And then of a sudden + Is shaken with laughter: +"Ha, ha! Oh, you blockhead! 110 + Ha? ha! fool! fool! fool! +It's the 'Barin's term,' say you? + Ha, ha! fool, ha, ha! +The Barin's term, slave, + Is the whole of your life-time; +And you have forgotten + That I, by God's mercy, +By Tsar's ancient charter, + By birth and by merit, +Am your supreme master!" 120 + + The strangers remark here +That Vlasuchka gently + Slips down to the grass. + + "What's that for?" they ask him. +"We may as well rest now; + He's off. You can't stop him. +For since it was rumoured + That we should be given +Our freedom, the Barin + Takes care to remind us 130 +That till the last hour + Of the world will the peasant +Be clenched in the grip + Of the nobles." And really +An hour slips away + And the Prince is still speaking; +His tongue will not always + Obey him, he splutters +And hisses, falls over + His words, and his right eye 140 +So shares his disquiet + That it trembles and twitches. +The left eye expands, + Grows as round as an owl's eye, +Revolves like a wheel. + The rights of his Fathers +Through ages respected, + His services, merits, +His name and possessions, + The Barin rehearses. 150 + +God's curse, the Tsar's anger, + He hurls at the heads +Of obstreperous peasants. + And strictly gives order +To sweep from the commune + All senseless ideas, +Bids the peasants remember + That they are his slaves +And must honour their master. + + "Our Fathers," cried Klim, 160 +And his voice sounded strangely, + It rose to a squeak +As if all things within him + Leapt up with a passionate +Joy of a sudden + At thought of the mighty +And noble Pomyeshchicks, +"And whom should we serve + Save the Master we cherish? +And whom should we honour? 170 + In whom should we hope? +We feed but on sorrows, + We bathe but in tear-drops, +How can we rebel? + + "Our tumble-down hovels, +Our weak little bodies, + Ourselves, we are yours, +We belong to our Master. + The seeds which we sow +In the earth, and the harvest, 180 + The hair on our heads-- +All belongs to the Master. + Our ancestors fallen +To dust in their coffins, + Our feeble old parents +Who nod on the oven, + Our little ones lying +Asleep in their cradles + Are yours--are our Master's, +And we in our homes 190 +Use our wills but as freely + As fish in a net." + +The words of the Elder + Have pleased the Pomyeshchick, +The right eye is gazing + Benignantly at him, +The left has grown smaller + And peaceful again +Like the moon in the heavens. +He pours out a goblet 200 + Of red foreign wine: +"Drink," he says to the peasant. + The rich wine is burning +Like blood in the sunshine; + Klim drinks without protest. +Again he is speaking: + + "Our Fathers," he says, +"By your mercy we live now + As though in the bosom +Of Christ. Let the peasant 210 + But try to exist +Without grace from the Barin!" +(He sips at the goblet.) + "The whole world would perish +If not for the Barin's + Deep wisdom and learning. +If not for the peasant's + Most humble submission. +By birth, and God's holy + Decree you are bidden 220 + To govern the stupid +And ignorant peasant; + By God's holy will +Is the peasant commanded + To honour and cherish +And work for his lord!" + + And here the old servant, +Ipat, who is standing + Behind the Pomyeshchick +And waving his branches, 230 + Begins to sob loudly, +The tears streaming down + O'er his withered old face: +"Let us pray that the Barin + For many long years +May be spared to his servants!" +The simpleton blubbers, + The loving old servant, +And raising his hand, + Weak and trembling, he crosses 240 +Himself without ceasing. + The black-moustached footguards +Look sourly upon him + With secret displeasure. +But how can they help it? + So off come their hats +And they cross themselves also. + And then the old Prince +And the wrinkled old dry-nurse + Both sign themselves thrice, 250 +And the Elder does likewise. + He winks to the woman, +His sharp little gossip, + And straightway the women, +Who nearer and nearer + Have drawn to the table, +Begin most devoutly + To cross themselves too. +And one begins sobbing + In just such a manner 260 +As had the old servant. +("That's right, now, start whining, + Old Widow Terentevna, +Sill-y old noodle!" + Says Vlasuchka, crossly.) + +The red sun peeps slyly + At them from a cloud, +And the slow, dreamy music + Is heard from the river.... + +The ancient Pomyeshchick 270 + Is moved, and the right eye +Is blinded with tears, + Till the golden-haired lady +Removes them and dries it; + She kisses the other eye +Heartily too. + + "You see!" then remarks +The old man to his children, + The two stalwart sons +And the pretty young ladies; 280 + "I wish that those villains, +Those Petersburg liars + Who say we are tyrants, +Could only be here now + To see and hear this!" + +But then something happened + Which checked of a sudden +The speech of the Barin: + A peasant who couldn't +Control his amusement 290 + Gave vent to his laughter. + +The Barin starts wildly, + He clutches the table, +He fixes his face + In the sinner's direction; +The right eye is fierce, + Like a lynx he is watching +To dart on his prey, + And the left eye is whirling. +"Go, find him!" he hisses, 300 + "Go, fetch him! the scoundrel!" + +The Elder dives straight + In the midst of the people; +He asks himself wildly, + "Now, what's to be done?" +He makes for the edge + Of the crowd, where are sitting +The journeying strangers; + His voice is like honey: +"Come one of you forward; 310 + You see, you are strangers, +He wouldn't touch _you_." + + But they are not anxious +To face the Pomyeshchick, + Although they would gladly +Have helped the poor peasants. + He's mad, the old Barin, +So what's to prevent him + From beating them too? + + "Well, you go, Roman," 320 + Say the two brothers Goobin, +"_You_ love the Pomyeshchicks." + + "I'd rather you went, though!" +And each is quite willing + To offer the other. +Then Klim looses patience; + "Now, Vlasuchka, help us! +Do something to save us! + I'm sick of the thing!" + +"Yes! Nicely you lied there!" 330 + + "Oho!" says Klim sharply, +"What lies did I tell? + And shan't we be choked +In the grip of the Barins + Until our last day +When we lie in our coffins? + When we get to Hell, too, +Won't they be there waiting + To set us to work?" + + "What kind of a job 340 +Would they find for us there, Klim?" + + "To stir up the fire +While they boil in the pots!" + The others laugh loudly. +The sons of the Barin + Come hurrying to them; +"How foolish you are, Klim! + Our father has sent us, +He's terribly angry + That you are so long, 350 +And don't bring the offender." + + "We can't bring him, Barin; +A stranger he is, + From St. Petersburg province, +A very rich peasant; + The devil has sent him +To us, for our sins! + He can't understand us, +And things here amuse him; + He couldn't help laughing." 360 + +"Well, let him alone, then. + Cast lots for a culprit, +We'll pay him. Look here!" + He offers five roubles. +Oh, no. It won't tempt them. + + "Well, run to the Barin, +And say that the fellow + Has hidden himself." + + "But what when to-morrow comes? +Have you forgotten 370 + Petrov, how we punished +The innocent peasant?" + +"Then what's to be done?" + +"Give me the five roubles! + You trust me, I'll save you!" +Exclaims the sharp woman, + The Elder's sly gossip. +She runs from the peasants + Lamenting and groaning, +And flings herself straight 380 + At the feet of the Barin: + +"O red little sun! + O my Father, don't kill me! +I have but one child, + Oh, have pity upon him! +My poor boy is daft, + Without wits the Lord made him, +And sent him so into + The world. He is crazy. +Why, straight from the bath 390 + He at once begins scratching; +His drink he will try + To pour into his laputs +Instead of the jug. + And of work he knows nothing; +He laughs, and that's all + He can do--so God made him! +Our poor little home, + 'Tis small comfort he brings it; +Our hut is in ruins, 400 + Not seldom it happens +We've nothing to eat, + And that sets him laughing-- +The poor crazy loon! + You may give him a farthing, +A crack on the skull, + And at one and the other +He'll laugh--so God made him! + And what can one say? +From a fool even sorrow 410 + Comes pouring in laughter." + +The knowing young woman! + She lies at the feet +Of the Barin, and trembles, + She squeals like a silly +Young girl when you pinch her, + She kisses his feet. + +"Well ... go. God be with you!" + The Barin says kindly, +"I need not be angry 420 + At idiot laughter, +I'll laugh at him too!" + + "How good you are, Father," +The black-eyed young lady + Says sweetly, and strokes +The white head of the Barin. + The black-moustached footguards +At this put their word in: + + "A fool cannot follow +The words of his masters, 430 + Especially those +Like the words of our father, + So noble and clever." + + And Klim--shameless rascal!-- +Is wiping his eyes + On the end of his coat-tails, +Is sniffing and whining; + "Our Fathers! Our Fathers! +The sons of our Father! + They know how to punish, 440 +But better they know + How to pardon and pity!" + + The old man is cheerful +Again, and is asking + For light frothing wine, + And the corks begin popping +And shoot in the air + To fall down on the women, +Who fly from them, shrieking. + The Barin is laughing, 450 +The ladies then laugh, + And at them laugh their husbands, +And next the old servant, + Ipat, begins laughing, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + And then the whole party +Laugh loudly together; + The feast will be merry! +His daughters-in-law + At the old Prince's order 460 +Are pouring out vodka + To give to the peasants, +Hand cakes to the youths, + To the girls some sweet syrup; +The women drink also + A small glass of vodka. +The old Prince is drinking + And toasting the peasants; +And slyly he pinches + The beautiful ladies. 470 + "That's right! That will do him +More good than his physic," + Says Vlasuchka, watching. +"He drinks by the glassful, + Since long he's lost measure +In revel, or wrath...." + + The music comes floating +To them from the Volga, + The girls now already +Are dancing and singing, 480 + The old Prince is watching them, +Snapping his fingers. + He wants to be nearer +The girls, and he rises. + His legs will not bear him, +His two sons support him; + And standing between them +He chuckles and whistles, + And stamps with his feet +To the time of the music; 490 + The left eye begins +On its own account working, + It turns like a wheel. + + "But why aren't you dancing?" +He says to his sons, + And the two pretty ladies. +"Dance! Dance!" They can't help themselves, + There they are dancing! +He laughs at them gaily, + He wishes to show them 500 +How things went in _his_ time; + He's shaking and swaying +Like one on the deck + Of a ship in rough weather. + +"Sing, Luiba!" he orders. + The golden-haired lady +Does not want to sing, + But the old man will have it. +The lady is singing + A song low and tender, 510 +It sounds like the breeze + On a soft summer evening +In velvety grasses + Astray, like spring raindrops +That kiss the young leaves, + And it soothes the Pomyeshchick. +The feeble old man: + He is falling asleep now.... +And gently they carry him + Down to the water, 520 +And into the boat, + And he lies there, still sleeping. +Above him stands, holding + A big green umbrella, +The faithful old servant, + His other hand guarding +The sleeping Pomyeshchick + From gnats and mosquitoes. +The oarsmen are silent, + The faint-sounding music 530 +Can hardly be heard + As the boat moving gently +Glides on through the water.... + + The peasants stand watching: +The bright yellow hair + Of the beautiful lady +Streams out in the breeze + Like a long golden banner.... + +"I managed him finely, +The noble Pomyeshchick," 540 + Said Klim to the peasants. +"Be God with you, Barin! + Go bragging and scolding, +Don't think for a moment + That we are now free +And your servants no longer, + But die as you lived, +The almighty Pomyeshchick, + To sound of our music, +To songs of your slaves; 550 + But only die quickly, +And leave the poor peasants + In peace. And now, brothers, +Come, praise me and thank me! + I've gladdened the commune. +I shook in my shoes there + Before the Pomyeshchick, +For fear I should trip + Or my tongue should betray me; +And worse--I could hardly 560 + Speak plain for my laughter! +That eye! How it spins! + And you look at it, thinking: + 'But whither, my friend, +Do you hurry so quickly? + On some hasty errand +Of yours, or another's? + Perhaps with a pass +From the Tsar--Little Father, + You carry a message 570 +From him.' I was standing + And bursting with laughter! +Well, I am a drunken + And frivolous peasant, +The rats in my corn-loft + Are starving from hunger, +My hut is quite bare, + Yet I call God to witness +That I would not take + Such an office upon me 580 +For ten hundred roubles + Unless I were certain +That he was the last, + That I bore with his bluster +To serve my own ends, + Of my own will and pleasure." + + Old Vlasuchka sadly +And thoughtfully answers, + "How long, though, how long, though, +Have we--not we only 590 + But all Russian peasants-- +Endured the Pomyeshchicks? + And not for our pleasure, +For money or fun, + Not for two or three months, +But for life. What has changed, though? + Of what are we bragging? +For still we are peasants." + + The peasants, half-tipsy, +Congratulate Klimka. 600 + "Hurrah! Let us toss him!" +And now they are placing + Old Widow Terentevna +Next to her bridegroom, + The little child Jockoff, +Saluting them gaily. +They're eating and drinking + What's left on the table. +Then romping and jesting + They stay till the evening, 610 +And only at nightfall + Return to the village. +And here they are met + By some sobering tidings: +The old Prince is dead. + From the boat he was taken, +They thought him asleep, + But they found he was lifeless. +The second stroke--while + He was sleeping--had fallen! 620 + +The peasants are sobered, + They look at each other, +And silently cross themselves. + Then they breathe deeply; +And never before + Did the poor squalid village +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Draw such an intense + And unanimous breath.... 630 +Their pleasure, however, + Was not very lasting, +Because with the death + Of the ancient Pomyeshchick, +The sweet-sounding words + Of his heirs and their bounties +Ceased also. Not even + A pick-me-up after +The yesterday's feast + Did they offer the peasants. 640 +And as to the hayfields-- + Till now is the law-suit +Proceeding between them, + The heirs and the peasants. +Old Vlasuchka was + By the peasants appointed +To plead in their name, + And he lives now in Moscow. +He went to St. Petersburg too, + But I don't think 650 +That much can be done + For the cause of the peasants. + + + + + +PART III. + +THE PEASANT WOMAN + + +PROLOGUE + + "Not only to men +Must we go with our question, + We'll ask of the women," +The peasants decided. + They asked in the village +"Split-up," but the people + Replied to them shortly, +"Not here will you find one. + But go to the village +'Stripped-Naked'--a woman 10 + Lives there who is happy. +She's hardly a woman, + She's more like a cow, +For a woman so healthy, + So smooth and so clever, +Could hardly be found. + You must seek in the village +Matrona Korchagin-- +The people there call her + 'The Governor's Lady.'" 20 +The peasants considered +And went.... + + Now already +The corn-stalks are rising + Like tall graceful columns, +With gilded heads nodding, + And whispering softly + In gentle low voices. + Oh, beautiful summer! +No time is so gorgeous, 30 + So regal, so rich. + +You full yellow cornfields, + To look at you now +One would never imagine + How sorely God's people +Had toiled to array you + Before you arose, +In the sight of the peasant, + And stood before him, +Like a glorious army 40 + n front of a Tsar! +'Tis not by warm dew-drops +That you have been moistened, + The sweat of the peasant +Has fallen upon you. + + The peasants are gladdened +At sight of the oats + And the rye and the barley, +But not by the wheat, + For it feeds but the chosen: 50 +"We love you not, wheat! + But the rye and the barley +We love--they are kind, + They feed all men alike." + +The flax, too, is growing + So sweetly and bravely: +"Ai! you little mite! + You are caught and entangled!" +A poor little lark + In the flax has been captured; 60 +It struggles for freedom. + Pakhom picks it up, +He kisses it tenderly: + "Fly, little birdie!" ... +The lark flies away +To the blue heights of Heaven; + The kind-hearted peasants +Gaze lovingly upwards + To see it rejoice +In the freedom above.... 70 + The peas have come on, too; +Like locusts, the peasants + Attack them and eat them. +They're like a plump maiden-- + The peas--for whoever +Goes by must needs pinch them. + Now peas are being carried +In old hands, in young hands, + They're spreading abroad +Over seventy high-roads. 80 + The vegetables--how +They're flourishing also! + Each toddler is clasping +A radish or carrot, + And many are cracking +The seeds of the sunflower. + The beetroots are dotted +Like little red slippers + All over the earth. + + Our peasants are walking, 90 +Now faster--now slower. + At last they have reached it-- +The village 'Stripped-Naked,' + It's not much to look at: +Each hut is propped up + Like a beggar on crutches; +The thatch from the roofs + Has made food for the cattle; +The huts are like feeble + Old skeletons standing, 100 +Like desolate rooks' nests + When young birds forsake them. +When wild Autumn winds + Have dismantled the birch-trees. +The people are all + In the fields; they are working. +Behind the poor village + A manor is standing; +It's built on the slope + Of a hill, and the peasants 110 +Are making towards it + To look at it close. + +The house is gigantic, +The courtyard is huge, + There's a pond in it too; +A watch-tower arises + From over the house, +With a gallery round it, + A flagstaff upon it. + + They meet with a lackey 120 + Near one of the gates: +He seems to be wearing + A strange kind of mantle; +"Well, what are you up to?" + He says to the friends, +"The Pomyeshchick's abroad now, + The manager's dying." +He shows them his back, + And they all begin laughing: +A tiger is clutching 130 + The edge of his shoulders! +"Heh! here's a fine joke!" + They are hotly discussing +What kind of a mantle + The lackey is wearing, +Till clever Pakhom + Has got hold of the riddle. + "The cunning old rascal, +He's stolen a carpet, + And cut in the middle 140 +A hole for his head!" + + Like weak, straddling beetles +Shut up to be frozen + In cold empty huts +By the pitiless peasants. +The servants are crawling + All over the courtyard. +Their master long since + Has forgotten about them, +And left them to live 150 + As they can. They are hungry, +All old and decrepit, +And dressed in all manners, + They look like a crowd +In a gipsy encampment. + And some are now dragging +A net through the pond: + "God come to your help! +Have you caught something, brothers?" + "One carp--nothing more; 160 +There used once to be many, +But now we have come + To the end of the feast!" + +"Do try to get five!" + Says a pale, pregnant woman, +Who's fervently blowing + A fire near the pond. + +"And what are those pretty + Carved poles you are burning? +They're balcony railings, 170 + I think, are they not?" + +"Yes, balcony railings." + + "See here. They're like tinder; +Don't blow on them, Mother! + I bet they'll burn faster +Than you find the victuals + To cook in the pot!" + + "I'm waiting and waiting, +And Mityenka sickens + Because of the musty 180 +Old bread that I give him. + But what can I do? +This life--it is bitter!" + She fondles the head +Of a half-naked baby + Who sits by her side +In a little brass basin, + A button-nosed mite. + + "The boy will take cold there, +The basin will chill him," 190 + Says Prov; and he wishes +To lift the child up, + But it screams at him, angry. +"No, no! Don't you touch him," + The mother says quickly, +"Why, can you not see + That's his carriage he's driving? +Drive on, little carriage! + Gee-up, little horses! +You see how he drives!" 200 + + The peasants each moment +Observe some new marvel; + And soon they have noticed +A strange kind of labour + Proceeding around them: +One man, it appears, + To the door has got fastened; +He's toiling away + To unscrew the brass handles, +His hands are so weak 210 + He can scarcely control them. +Another is hugging + Some tiles: "See, Yegorshka, +I've dug quite a heap out!" + Some children are shaking +An apple-tree yonder: + "You see, little Uncles, + There aren't many left, +Though the tree was quite heavy." + "But why do you want them? 220 +They're quite hard and green." + "We're thankful to get them!" + +The peasants examine + The park for a long time; +Such wonders are seen here, + Such cunning inventions: +In one place a mountain + Is raised; in another +A ravine yawns deep! + A lake has been made too; 230 +Perhaps at one time +There were swans on the water? + The summer-house has some +Inscriptions upon it, + Demyan begins spelling +Them out very slowly. + A grey-haired domestic +Is watching the peasants; + He sees they have very +Inquisitive natures, 240 + And presently slowly +Goes hobbling towards them, + And holding a book. +He says, "Will you buy it?" + Demyan is a peasant +Acquainted with letters, + He tries for some time +But he can't read a word. + + "Just sit down yourself +On that seat near the linden, 250 + And read the book leisurely +Like a Pomyeshchick!" + + "You think you are clever," +The grey-headed servant +Retorts with resentment, + "Yet books which are learned +Are wasted upon you. + You read but the labels +On public-house windows, + And that which is written 260 +On every odd corner: +'Most strictly forbidden.'" + +The pathways are filthy, + The graceful stone ladies +Bereft of their noses. + "The fruit and the berries, +The geese and the swans + Which were once on the water, +The thieving old rascals + Have stuffed in their maws. 270 +Like church without pastor, + Like fields without peasants, +Are all these fine gardens + Without a Pomyeshchick," +The peasants remark. + For long the Pomyeshchick +Has gathered his treasures, +When all of a sudden.... +(The six peasants laugh, + But the seventh is silent, 280 +He hangs down his head.) + + A song bursts upon them! +A voice is resounding + Like blasts of a trumpet. +The heads of the peasants + Are eagerly lifted, +They gaze at the tower. + On the balcony round it +A man is now standing; + He wears a pope's cassock; 290 +He sings ... on the balmy + Soft air of the evening, +The bass, like a huge + Silver bell, is vibrating, +And throbbing it enters + The hearts of the peasants. +The words are not Russian, + But some foreign language, +But, like Russian songs, + It is full of great sorrow, 300 +Of passionate grief, + Unending, unfathomed; +It wails and laments, + It is bitterly sobbing.... + +"Pray tell us, good woman, + What man is that singing?" +Roman asks the woman + Now feeding her baby +With steaming ukha.[43] + + "A singer, my brothers, 310 +A born Little Russian, + The Barin once brought him +Away from his home, + With a promise to send him +To Italy later. +But long the Pomyeshchick + Has been in strange parts +And forgotten his promise; + And now the poor fellow +Would be but too glad 320 + To get back to his village. +There's nothing to do here, + He hasn't a farthing, +There's nothing before him + And nothing behind him +Excepting his voice. + You have not really heard it; +You will if you stay here + Till sunrise to-morrow: +Some three versts away 330 + There is living a deacon, +And he has a voice too. + They greet one another: +Each morning at sunrise + Will our little singer +Climb up to the watch-tower, + And call to the other, +'Good-morrow to Father + Ipat, and how fares he?' +(The windows all shake 340 +At the sound.) + From the distance + The deacon will answer, +'Good-morrow, good-morrow, + To our little sweet-throat! +I go to drink vodka, + I'm going ... I'm going....' +The voice on the air + Will hang quivering around us +For more than an hour, 350 + Like the neigh of a stallion." + +The cattle are now + Coming home, and the evening +Is filled with the fragrance + Of milk; and the woman, +The mother of Mityenka, + Sighs; she is thinking, +"If only one cow + Would turn into the courtyard!" +But hark! In the distance 360 + Some voices in chorus! +"Good-bye, you poor mourners, + May God send you comfort! +The people are coming, + We're going to meet them." + +The peasants are filled + With relief; because after +The whining old servants + The people who meet them +Returning from work 370 + In the fields seem such healthy +And beautiful people. + The men and the women +And pretty young girls + Are all singing together. + +"Good health to you! Which is + Among you the woman +Matrona Korchagin?" + The peasants demand. + +"And what do you want 380 +With Matrona Korchagin?" + +The woman Matrona + Is tall, finely moulded, +Majestic in bearing, + And strikingly handsome. +Of thirty-eight years + She appears, and her black hair +Is mingled with grey. + Her complexion is swarthy, +Her eyes large and dark 390 + And severe, with rich lashes. +A white shirt, and short + Sarafan[44] she is wearing, +She walks with a hay-fork + Slung over her shoulder. + +"Well, what do you want + With Matrona Korchagin?" +The peasants are silent; + They wait till the others +Have gone in advance, 400 + And then, bowing, they answer: + +"We come from afar, + And a trouble torments us, +A trouble so great + That for it we've forsaken +Our homes and our work, + And our appetites fail. +We're orthodox peasants, + From District 'Most Wretched,' +From 'Destitute Parish,' 410 + From neighbouring hamlets-- +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' +And 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway + And argued about +Who is happy in Russia. +Luka said, 'The pope,' + And Demyan, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 420 + And Roman, 'The official.' +'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan. +Pakhom said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it + Although you should beat them 430 +With stout wooden cudgels, + They stick to their folly +And nothing will move them. + We argued and quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, + And while fighting decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homewards +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, 440 +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Of who can in Russia + Be happy and free? +We've questioned the pope, + We've asked the Pomyeshchick, +And now we ask you. + We'll seek the official, +The Minister, merchant, + We even will go 450 +To the Tsar--Little Father, + Though whether he'll see us +We cannot be sure. + But rumour has told us +That _you're_ free and happy. + Then say, in God's name, +If the rumour be true." + +Matrona Korchagin + Does not seem astonished, +But only a sad look 460 + Creeps into her eyes, +And her face becomes thoughtful. + + "Your errand is surely +A foolish one, brothers," + She says to the peasants, +"For this is the season + Of work, and no peasant +For chatter has time." + +"Till now on our journey + Throughout half the Empire 470 +We've met no denial," + The peasants protest. + +"But look for yourselves, now, + The corn-ears are bursting. +We've not enough hands." + + "And we? What are we for? +Just give us some sickles, + And see if we don't +Get some work done to-morrow!" + The peasants reply. 480 + +Matrona sees clearly + Enough that this offer +Must not be rejected; + "Agreed," she said, smiling, +"To such lusty fellows + As you, we may well look +For ten sheaves apiece." + + "You give us your promise +To open your heart to us?" + + "I will hide nothing." 490 + +Matrona Korchagin + Now enters her cottage, +And while she is working + Within it, the peasants +Discover a very + Nice spot just behind it, +And sit themselves down. + There's a barn close beside them +And two immense haystacks, + A flax-field around them; 500 +And lying just near them + A fine plot of turnips, +And spreading above them + A wonderful oak-tree, +A king among oaks. + They're sitting beneath it, +And now they're producing + The magic white napkin: +"Heh, napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!" 510 +The napkin unfolds, + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, +Place a pailful of vodka, + A large pile of bread +On the magic white napkin, + And dwindle away. +The two brothers Goobin + Are chuckling together, +For they have just pilfered 520 + A very big horse-radish +Out of the garden-- + It's really a monster! + +The skies are dark blue now, + The bright stars are twinkling, +The moon has arisen + And sails high above them; +The woman Matrona + Comes out of the cottage +To tell them her tale. 530 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THE WEDDING + +"My girlhood was happy, + For we were a thrifty +Arid diligent household; + And I, the young maiden, +With Father and Mother + Knew nothing but joy. +My father got up + And went out before sunrise, +He woke me with kisses + And tender caresses; 10 +My brother, while dressing, + Would sing little verses: +'Get up, little Sister, + Get up, little Sister, +In no little beds now +Are people delaying, +In all little churches +The peasants are praying, +Get up, now, get up, +It is time, little Sister. 20 +The shepherd has gone +To the field with the sheep, +And no little maidens +Are lying asleep, +They've gone to pick raspberries, +Merrily singing. +The sound of the axe +In the forest is ringing.' + +"And then my dear mother, + When she had done scouring 30 +The pots and the pans, + When the hut was put tidy, +The bread in the oven, + Would steal to my bedside, +And cover me softly + And whisper to me: + +"'Sleep on, little dove, + Gather strength--you will need it-- +You will not stay always + With Father and Mother, 40 +And when you will leave them + To live among strangers +Not long will you sleep. + You'll slave till past midnight, +And rise before daybreak; + You'll always be weary. +They'll give you a basket + And throw at the bottom +A crust. You will chew it, + My poor little dove, 50 +And start working again....' + + "But, brothers, I did not +Spend much time in sleeping; + And when I was five +On the day of St. Simon, + I mounted a horse +With the help of my father, + And then was no longer +A child. And at six years + I carried my father 60 +His breakfast already, + And tended the ducks, +And at night brought the cow home, + And next--took my rake, +And was off to the hayfields! + And so by degrees +I became a great worker, + And yet best of all +I loved singing and dancing; + The whole day I worked 70 +In the fields, and at nightfall + Returned to the cottage +All covered with grime. + But what's the hot bath for? +And thanks to the bath + And boughs of the birch-tree, +And icy spring water, + Again I was clean +And refreshed, and was ready + To take out my spinning-wheel, 80 +And with companions + To sing half the night. + +"I never ran after + The youths, and the forward +I checked very sharply. +To those who were gentle + And shy, I would whisper: +'My cheeks will grow hot, + And sharp eyes has my mother; +Be wise, now, and leave me 90 + Alone'--and they left me. + +"No matter how clever + I was to avoid them, +The one came at last + I was destined to wed; +And he--to my bitter + Regret--was a stranger: +Young Philip Korchagin, + A builder of ovens. +He came from St. Petersburg. 100 + Oh, how my mother +Did weep: 'Like a fish + In the ocean, my daughter, +You'll plunge and be lost; + Like a nightingale, straying +Away from its nest, + We shall lose you, my daughter! +The walls of the stranger + Are not built of sugar, +Are not spread with honey, 110 + Their dwellings are chilly +And garnished with hunger; + The cold winds will nip you, +The black rooks will scold you, + The savage dogs bite you, +The strangers despise you.' + +"But Father sat talking + And drinking till late +With the 'swat.'[45] I was frightened. + I slept not all night.... 120 + + "Oh, youth, pray you, tell me, +Now what can you find + In the maiden to please you? +And where have you seen her? + Perhaps in the sledges +With merry young friends + Flying down from the mountain? +Then you were mistaken, + O son of your father, +It was but the frost 130 + And the speed and the laughter +That brought the bright tints + To the cheeks of the maiden. +Perhaps at some feast + In the home of a neighbour +You saw her rejoicing + And clad in bright colours? +But then she was plump + From her rest in the winter; +Her rosy face bloomed 140 + Like the scarlet-hued poppy; +But wait!--have you been + To the hut of her father +And seen her at work + Beating flax in the barn? +Ah, what shall I do? + I will take brother falcon +And send him to town: + 'Fly to town, brother falcon, +And bring me some cloth 150 + And six colours of worsted, +And tassels of blue. + I will make a fine curtain, +Embroider each corner + With Tsar and Tsaritsa, +With Moscow and Kiev, + And Constantinople, +And set the great sun + Shining bright in the middle, +And this I will hang 160 + In the front of my window: +Perhaps you will see it, + And, struck by its beauty, +Will stand and admire it, + And will not remember +To seek for the maiden....' + + "And so till the morning +I lay with such thoughts. + 'Now, leave me, young fellow,' +I said to the youth 170 + When he came in the evening; +'I will not be foolish + Enough to abandon +My freedom in order + To enter your service. +God sees me--I will not + Depart from my home!' + + "'Do come,' said young Philip, +'So far have I travelled + To fetch you. Don't fear me-- 180 + I will not ill-treat you.' +I begged him to leave me, + I wept and lamented; +But nevertheless + I was still a young maiden: +I did not forget + Sidelong glances to cast +At the youth who thus wooed me. + And Philip was handsome, +Was rosy and lusty, 190 + Was strong and broad-shouldered, +With fair curling hair, + With a voice low and tender.... +Ah, well ... I was won.... + +"'Come here, pretty fellow, + And stand up against me, +Look deep in my eyes-- + They are clear eyes and truthful; +Look well at my rosy + Young face, and bethink you: 200 +Will you not regret it, + Won't my heart be broken, +And shall I not weep + Day and night if I trust you +And go with you, leaving + My parents forever?' + +"'Don't fear, little pigeon, + We shall not regret it,' +Said Philip, but still + I was timid and doubtful. 210 +'Do go,' murmured I, and he, + 'When you come with me.' +Of course I was fairer + And sweeter and dearer +Than any that lived, + And his arms were about me.... +Then all of a sudden + I made a sharp effort +To wrench myself free. 219 + 'How now? What's the matter? +You're strong, little pigeon!' + Said Philip astonished, +But still held me tight. + 'Ah, Philip, if you had +Not held me so firmly + You would not have won me; +I did it to try you, + To measure your strength; +You were strong, and it pleased me.' +We must have been happy 230 + In those fleeting moments +When softly we whispered + And argued together; +I think that we never + Were happy again.... + +"How well I remember.... + The night was like this night, +Was starlit and silent ... + Was dreamy and tender +Like this...." 240 + + And the woman, +Matrona, sighed deeply, + And softly began-- +Leaning back on the haystack-- + To sing to herself +With her thoughts in the past: + + "'Tell me, young merchant, pray, + Why do you love me so-- + Poor peasant's daughter? + I am not clad in gold, 250 + I am not hung with pearls, + Not decked with silver.' + + "'Silver your chastity, + Golden your beauty shines, + O my beloved, + White pearls are falling now + Out of your weeping eyes, + Falling like tear-drops.' + +"My father gave orders + To bring forth the wine-cups, 260 +To set them all out + On the solid oak table. +My dear mother blessed me: + 'Go, serve them, my daughter, +Bow low to the strangers.' + I bowed for the first time, +My knees shook and trembled; + I bowed for the second-- +My face had turned white; + And then for the third time 270 +I bowed, and forever + The freedom of girlhood +Rolled down from my head...." + +"Ah, that means a wedding," + Cry both brothers Goobin, +"Let's drink to the health + Of the happy young pair!" + +"Well said! We'll begin + With the bride," say the others. + +"Will you drink some vodka, 280 + Matrona Korchagin?" + +"An old woman, brothers, + And not drink some vodka?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +A SONG + +Stand before your judge-- +And your legs will quake! +Stand before the priest +On your wedding-day,-- +How your head will ache! +How your head will ache! +You will call to mind +Songs of long ago, +Songs of gloom and woe: +Telling how the guests 10 +Crowd into the yard, +Run to see the bride +Whom the husband brings +Homeward at his side. +How his parents both +Fling themselves on her; +How his brothers soon +Call her "wasteful one"; +How his sisters next +Call her "giddy one"; 20 +How his father growls, +"Greedy little bear!" +How his mother snarls, +"Cannibal!" at her. +She is "slovenly" +And "disorderly," +She's a "wicked one"! + +"All that's in the song + Happened now to me. +Do you know the song? 30 + Have you heard it sung?" + +"Yes, we know it well; +Gossip, you begin, + We will all join in." + + _Matrona_ + +So sleepy, so weary +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow. +But out in the passage +My Father-in-law +Begins stamping and swearing. 40 + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Stamping and swearing! +Stamping and swearing! + He won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + + _Matrona_ + +So sleepy, so weary 50 +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow; +But out in the passage +My Mother-in-law +Begins scolding and nagging. + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Scolding and nagging! +Scolding and nagging! + She won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! 60 + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + +"A quarrelsome household + It was--that of Philip's +To which I belonged now; + And I from my girlhood +Stepped straight into Hell. + My husband departed 70 +To work in the city, + And leaving, advised me +To work and be silent, + To yield and be patient: +'Don't splash the red iron + With cold water--it hisses!' +With father and mother + And sisters-in-law he +Now left me alone; + Not a soul was among them 80 +To love or to shield me, + But many to scold. +One sister-in-law-- + It was Martha, the eldest,-- +Soon set me to work + Like a slave for her pleasure. +And Father-in-law too + One had to look after, +Or else all his clothes + To redeem from the tavern. 90 +In all that one did + There was need to be careful, +Or Mother-in-law's + Superstitions were troubled +(One never could please her). +Well, some superstitions + Of course may be right; +But they're most of them evil. + And one day it happened +That Mother-in-law 100 + Murmured low to her husband +That corn which is stolen + Grows faster and better. +So Father-in-law + Stole away after midnight.... +It chanced he was caught, + And at daybreak next morning +Brought back and flung down + Like a log in the stable. + + "But I acted always 110 +As Philip had told me: + I worked, with the anger +Hid deep in my bosom, + And never a murmur +Allowed to escape me. + And then with the winter +Came Philip, and brought me + A pretty silk scarf; +And one feast-day he took me + To drive in the sledges; 120 +And quickly my sorrows + Were lost and forgotten: +I sang as in old days + At home, with my father. +For I and my husband + Were both of an age, +And were happy together + When only they left us +Alone, but remember + A husband like Philip 130 +Not often is found." + +"Do you mean to say + That he never once beat you?" + +Matrona was plainly + Confused by the question; + "Once, only, he beat me," + She said, very low. + + "And why?" asked the peasants. + +"Well, you know yourselves, friends, + How quarrels arise 140 +In the homes of the peasants. + A young married sister +Of Philip's one day + Came to visit her parents. +She found she had holes + In her boots, and it vexed her. +Then Philip said, 'Wife, + Fetch some boots for my sister.' +And I did not answer + At once; I was lifting 150 +A large wooden tub, + So, of course, couldn't speak. +But Philip was angry + With me, and he waited +Until I had hoisted + The tub to the oven, +Then struck me a blow +With his fist, on my temple. + +"'We're glad that you came, + But you see that you'd better 160 +Keep out of the way,' + Said the other young sister +To her that was married. + + "Again Philip struck me! + + "'It's long since I've seen you, + My dearly-loved daughter, +But could I have known + How the baggage would treat you!'... +Whined Mother-in-law. + +"And again Philip struck me! 170 + + "Well, that is the story. +'Tis surely not fitting + For wives to sit counting +The blows of their husbands, + But then I had promised +To keep nothing back." + + "Ah, well, with these women-- +The poisonous serpents!-- + A corpse would awaken +And snatch up a horsewhip," 180 + The peasants say, smiling. + +Matrona said nothing. + The peasants, in order +To keep the occasion + In manner befitting, +Are filling the glasses; + And now they are singing +In voices of thunder + A rollicking chorus, +Of husbands' relations, 190 + And wielding the knout. + + ... ... + + "Cruel hated husband, +Hark! he is coming! + Holding the knout...." + + _Chorus_ + + "Hear the lash whistle! +See the blood spurt! + Ai, leli, leli! +See the blood spurt!" + + ... ... + +"Run to his father! + Bowing before him-- 200 +'Save me!' I beg him; + 'Stop my fierce husband-- +Venomous serpent!' + Father-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly! + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" 210 + + ... ... + +"Quick--to his mother! + Bowing before her-- +'Save me!' I beg her; + 'Stop my cruel husband! +Venomous serpent!' + Mother-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly, + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! 220 +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" + + * * * * * + +"On Lady-day Philip + Went back to the city; +A little while later + Our baby was born. +Like a bright-coloured picture + Was he--little Djoma; +The sunbeams had given + Their radiance to him, 230 +The pure snow its whiteness; + The poppies had painted +His lips; by the sable + His brow had been pencilled; +The falcon had fashioned + His eyes, and had lent them +Their wonderful brightness. + At sight of his first +Angel smile, all the anger + And bitterness nursed 240 +In my bosom was melted; + It vanished away +Like the snow on the meadows + At sight of the smiling +Spring sun. And not longer + I worried and fretted; +I worked, and in silence + I let them upbraid. +But soon after that + A misfortune befell me: 250 +The manager by + The Pomyeshchick appointed, +Called Sitnikov, hotly + Began to pursue me. +'My lovely Tsaritsa! + 'My rosy-ripe berry!' +Said he; and I answered, + 'Be off, shameless rascal! +Remember, the berry + Is not in _your_ forest!' 260 +I stayed from the field-work, + And hid in the cottage; +He very soon found me. + I hid in the corn-loft, +But Mother-in-law + Dragged me out to the courtyard; +'Now don't play with fire, girl!' + She said. I besought her +To send him away, + But she answered me roughly, 270 +'And do you want Philip + To serve as a soldier?' +I ran to Savyeli, + The grandfather, begging +His aid and advice. + + "I haven't yet told you +A word of Savyeli, + The only one living +Of Philip's relations + Who pitied and loved me. 280 +Say, friends, shall I tell you + About him as well?" + +"Yes, tell us his tale, +And we'll each throw a couple +Of sheaves in to-morrow, + Above what we promised." + +"Well, well," says Matrona, + "And 'twould be a pity +To give old Savyeli +No place in the story; 290 +For he was a happy one, + Too--the old man...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +SAVYELI + +"A mane grey and bushy + Which covered his shoulders, +A huge grizzled beard + Which had not seen the scissors +For twenty odd years, + Made Savyeli resemble +A shaggy old bear, + Especially when he +Came out of the forest, + So broad and bent double. 10 +The grandfather's shoulders + Were bowed very low, +And at first I was frightened + Whenever he entered +The tiny low cottage: + I thought that were he +To stand straight of a sudden + He'd knock a great hole +With his head in the ceiling. + But Grandfather could not 20 +Stand straight, and they told me +That he was a hundred. + He lived all alone +In his own little cottage, + And never permitted +The others to enter; + He couldn't abide them. +Of course they were angry + And often abused him. +His own son would shout at him, 30 + 'Branded one! Convict!' +But this did not anger + Savyeli, he only +Would go to his cottage + Without making answer, +And, crossing himself, + Begin reading the scriptures; +Then suddenly cry + In a voice loud and joyful, +'Though branded--no slave!' 40 + When too much they annoyed him, +He sometimes would say to them: + 'Look, the swat's[46] coming!' +The unmarried daughter + Would fly to the window; +Instead of the swat there + A beggar she'd find! +And one day he silvered + A common brass farthing, +And left it to lie 50 + On the floor; and then straightway +Did Father-in-law run + In joy to the tavern,-- +He came back, not tipsy, + But beaten half-dead! +At supper that night + We were all very silent, +And Father-in-law had + A cut on his eyebrow, +But Grandfather's face 60 + Wore a smile like a rainbow! + +"Savyeli would gather + The berries and mushrooms +From spring till late autumn, + And snare the wild rabbits; +Throughout the long winter +He lay on the oven + And talked to himself. +He had favourite sayings: +He used to lie thinking 70 + For whole hours together, +And once in an hour + You would hear him exclaiming: + +"'Destroyed ... and subjected!' + Or, 'Ai, you toy heroes! +You're fit but for battles + With old men and women!' + +"'Be patient ... and perish, +Impatient ... and perish!' + +"'Eh, you Russian peasant, 80 + You giant, you strong man, +The whole of your lifetime + You're flogged, yet you dare not +Take refuge in death, + For Hell's torments await you!' + +"'At last the Korojins[47] + Awoke, and they paid him, +They paid him, they paid him, + They paid the whole debt!' +And many such sayings 90 + He had,--I forget them. +When Father-in-law grew + Too noisy I always +Would run to Savyeli, + And we two, together, +Would fasten the door. + Then I began working, +While Djomushka climbed + To the grandfather's shoulder, +And sat there, and looked 100 + Like a bright little apple +That hung on a hoary + Old tree. Once I asked him: + +"'And why do they call you + A convict, Savyeli?' + +"'I was once a convict,' + Said he. + + "'You, Savyeli!' + +"'Yes I, little Grandchild, + Yes, I have been branded. 110 +I buried a German + Alive--Christian Vogel.' + +"'You're joking, Savyeli!' + + "'Oh no, I'm not joking. +I mean it,' he said, + And he told me the story. + +"'The peasants in old days + Were serfs as they now are, +But our race had, somehow, + Not seen its Pomyeshchick; 120 +No manager knew we, + No pert German agent. +And barschin we gave not, + And taxes we paid not +Except when it pleased us,-- + Perhaps once in three years +Our taxes we'd pay.' + +"'But why, little Grandad?' + + "'The times were so blessed,-- +And folk had a saying 130 + That our little village +Was sought by the devil + For more than three years, +But he never could find it. + Great forests a thousand +Years old lay about us; +And treacherous marshes + And bogs spread around us; +No horseman and few men + On foot ever reached us. 140 +It happened that once + By some chance, our Pomyeshchick, +Shalashnikov, wanted + To pay us a visit. +High placed in the army + Was he; and he started +With soldiers to find us. + They soon got bewildered +And lost in the forest, + And had to turn back; 150 +Why, the Zemsky policeman + Would only come once +In a year! They were good times! + In these days the Barin +Lives under your window; + The roadways go spreading +Around, like white napkins-- + The devil destroy them! +We only were troubled + By bears, and the bears too 160 +Were easily managed. + Why, I was a worse foe +By far than old Mishka, + When armed with a dagger +And bear-spear. I wandered + In wild, secret woodpaths, +And shouted, ''_My_ forest!'' + And once, only once, +I was frightened by something: +I stepped on a huge 170 + Female bear that was lying +Asleep in her den + In the heart of the forest. +She flung herself at me, + And straight on my bear-spear +Was fixed. Like a fowl + On the spit she hung twisting +An hour before death. + It was then that my spine snapped. +It often was painful 180 + When I was a young man; +But now I am old, + It is fixed and bent double. +Now, do I not look like +A hook, little Grandchild?' + +"'But finish the story. + You lived and were not much +Afflicted. What further?' + +"'At last our Pomyeshchick + Invented a new game: 190 +He sent us an order, + ''Appear!'' We appeared not. +Instead, we lay low + In our dens, hardly breathing. +A terrible drought + Had descended that summer, +The bogs were all dry; + So he sent a policeman, +Who managed to reach us, + To gather our taxes, 200 +In honey and fish; + A second time came he, +We gave him some bear-skins; + And when for the third time +He came, we gave nothing,-- + We said we had nothing. +We put on our laputs, + We put our old caps on, +Our oldest old coats, + And we went to Korojin 210 +(For there was our master now, + Stationed with soldiers). +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none, + We cannot pay taxes, +The corn has not grown, + And the fish have escaped us.'' +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none.'' + He waited no longer; +''Hey! Give them the first round!'' + He said, and they flogged us. 220 + +"'Our pockets were not + Very easily opened; +Shalashnikov, though, was + A master at flogging. +Our tongues became parched, + And our brains were set whirling, +And still he continued. + He flogged not with birch-rods, +With whips or with sticks, + But with knouts made for giants. 230 +At last we could stand it + No longer; we shouted, +''Enough! Let us breathe!'' + We unwound our foot-rags +And took out our money, + And brought to the Barin +A ragged old bonnet + With roubles half filled. + +"'The Barin grew calm, + He was pleased with the money; 240 +He gave us a glass each + Of strong, bitter brandy, +And drank some himself + With the vanquished Korojins, +And gaily clinked glasses. + ''It's well that you yielded,'' +Said he, ''For I swear + I was fully decided +To strip off the last shred + Of skins from your bodies 250 +And use it for making + A drum for my soldiers! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'' + (He was pleased with the notion.) +''A fine drum indeed!'' + + "'In silence we left; +But two stalwart old peasants + Were chuckling together; +They'd two hundred roubles + In notes, the old rascals! 260 +Safe hidden away + In the end of their coat-tails. +They both had been yelling, + ''We're beggars! We're beggars!'' +So carried them home. + ''Well, well, you may cackle!'' + I thought to myself, +''But the next time, be certain, + You won't laugh at me!'' +The others were also 270 + Ashamed of their weakness, +And so by the ikons + We swore all together + That next time we rather +Would die of the beating + Than feebly give way. +It seems the Pomyeshchick + Had taken a fancy +At once to our roubles, + Because after that 280 +Every year we were summoned + To go to Korojin, +We went, and were flogged. + + "'Shalashnikov flogged like +A prince, but be certain +The treasures he thrashed from + The doughty Korojins +Were not of much weight. + The weak yielded soon, +But the strong stood like iron 290 + For the commune. I also +Bore up, and I thought: + ''Though never so stoutly +You flog us, you dog's son, + You won't drag the whole soul +From out of the peasant; + Some trace will be left.'' + +"'When the Barin was sated + We went from the town, +But we stopped on the outskirts 300 + To share what was over. +And plenty there was, too! + Shalashnikov, heh, +You're a fool! It was our turn + To laugh at the Barin; +Ah, they were proud peasants-- + The plucky Korojins! +But nowadays show them + The tail of a knout, +And they'll fly to the Barin, 310 + And beg him to take +The last coin from their pockets. + Well, that's why we all lived +Like merchants in those days. + One summer came tidings +To us that our Barin + Now owned us no longer, +That he had, at Varna, + Been killed. We weren't sorry, +But somehow we thought then: 320 + ''The peasants' good fortune +Has come to an end!'' + The heir made a new move: +He sent us a German.[48] + Through vast, savage forests, +Through sly sucking bogs + And on foot came the German, +As bare as a finger. + + "'As melting as butter +At first was the German: 330 + ''Just give what you can, then,'' +He'd say to the peasants. + +"'''We've nothing to give!'' + +"'''I'll explain to the Barin.'' + +"'''Explain,'' we replied, + And were troubled no more. +It seemed he was going + To live in the village; +He soon settled down. + On the banks of the river, 340 +For hour after hour + He sat peacefully fishing, +And striking his nose + Or his cheek or his forehead. +We laughed: ''You don't like + The Korojin mosquitoes?'' +He'd boat near the bankside + And shout with enjoyment, +Like one in the bath-house + Who's got to the roof.[49] 350 + + "'With youths and young maidens +He strolled in the forest + (They were not for nothing +Those strolls in the forest!)-- + ''Well, if you can't pay +You should work, little peasants.'' + +"'''What work should we do?'' + + "'''You should dig some deep ditches +To drain off the bog-lands.'' + We dug some deep ditches. 360 + +"'''And now trim the forest.'' + + "'''Well, well, trim the forest....'' +We hacked and we hewed + As the German directed, +And when we look round + There's a road through the forest! + +"'The German went driving +To town with three horses; +Look! now he is coming + With boxes and bedding, 370 +And God knows wherefrom + Has this bare-footed German +Raised wife and small children! + And now he's established +A village ispravnik,[50] + They live like two brothers. +His courtyard at all times + Is teeming with strangers, +And woe to the peasants-- + The fallen Korojins! 380 +He sucked us all dry + To the very last farthing; +And flog!--like the soul + Of Shalashnikov flogged he! +Shalashnikov stopped + When he got what he wanted; +He clung to our backs + Till he'd glutted his stomach, +And then he dropped down + Like a leech from a dog's ear. 390 +But he had the grip + Of a corpse--had this German; +Until he had left you + Stripped bare like a beggar +You couldn't escape.' + + "'But how could you bear it?' + + "'Ah, how could we bear it? +Because we were giants-- + Because by their patience +The people of Russia + Are great, little Grandchild. 400 +You think, then, Matrona, + That we Russian peasants +No warriors are? + Why, truly the peasant +Does not live in armour, + Does not die in warfare, +But nevertheless + He's a warrior, child. +His hands are bound tight, 410 + And his feet hung with fetters; +His back--mighty forests + Have broken across it; +His breast--I will tell you, +The Prophet Elijah + In chariot fiery +Is thundering within it; + And these things the peasant +Can suffer in patience. + He bends--but he breaks not; 420 +He reels--but he falls not; + Then is he not truly +A warrior, say?' + + "'You joke, little Grandad; +Such warriors, surely, + A tiny mouse nibbling +Could crumble to atoms,' + I said to Savyeli. + +"'I know not, Matrona, + But up till to-day 430 +He has stood with his burden; + He's sunk in the earth +'Neath its weight to his shoulders; + His face is not moistened +With sweat, but with heart's blood. + I don't know what may +Come to pass in the future, + I can't think what will +Come to pass--only God knows. + For my part, I know 440 +When the storm howls in winter, + When old bones are painful, +I lie on the oven, + I lie, and am thinking: +''Eh, you, strength of giants, + On what have they spent you? +On what are you wasted? + With whips and with rods +They will pound you to dust!''' + +"'But what of the German, 450 +Savyeli?' + + "'The German? +Well, well, though he lived + Like a lord in his glory +For eighteen long years, + We were waiting our day. + Then the German considered +A factory needful, + And wanted a pit dug. +'Twas work for nine peasants. 460 + We started at daybreak +And laboured till mid-day, +And then we were going + To rest and have dinner, +When up comes the German: + ''Eh, you, lazy devils! +So little work done?'' + He started to nag us, +Quite coolly and slowly, + Without heat or hurry; 470 +For that was his way. + +"'And we, tired and hungry, + Stood listening in silence. +He kicked the wet earth + With his boot while he scolded, +Not far from the edge + Of the pit. I stood near him. +And happened to give him + A push with my shoulder; +Then somehow a second 480 + And third pushed him gently.... +We spoke not a word, + Gave no sign to each other, +But silently, slowly, + Drew closer together, +And edging the German +Respectfully forward, + We brought him at last +To the brink of the hollow.... + He tumbled in headlong! 490 +''A ladder!'' he bellows; + Nine shovels reply. +''Naddai!''[51]--the word fell + From my lips on the instant, +The word to which people + Work gaily in Russia; +''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!'' + And we laboured so bravely +That soon not a trace + Of the pit was remaining, 500 + The earth was as smooth +As before we had touched it; + And then we stopped short +And we looked at each other....' + + "The old man was silent. +'What further, Savyeli?' + + "'What further? Ah, bad times: +The prison in Buy-Town + (I learnt there my letters), +Until we were sentenced; 510 + The convict-mines later; +And plenty of lashes. + But I never frowned +At the lash in the prison; + They flogged us but poorly. +And later I nearly + Escaped to the forest; +They caught me, however. + Of course they did not +Pat my head for their trouble; 520 + The Governor was through +Siberia famous + For flogging. But had not +Shalashnikov flogged us? + I spit at the floggings +I got in the prison! + Ah, he was a Master! +He knew how to flog you! + He toughened my hide so +You see it has served me 530 + For one hundred years, +And 'twill serve me another. + But life was not easy, +I tell you, Matrona: +First twenty years prison, + Then twenty years exile. +I saved up some money, + And when I came home, +Built this hut for myself. + And here I have lived 540 +For a great many years now. + They loved the old grandad +So long as he'd money, + But now it has gone +They would part with him gladly, + They spit in his face. +Eh, you plucky toy heroes! + You're fit to make war +Upon old men and women!' + + "And that was as much 550 +As the grandfather told me." + + "And now for your story," +They answer Matrona. + + "'Tis not very bright. +From one trouble God + In His goodness preserved me; +For Sitnikov died + Of the cholera. Soon, though, +Another arose, + I will tell you about it." 560 + +"Naddai!" say the peasants + (They love the word well), +They are filling the glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +DJOMUSHKA + +"The little tree burns + For the lightning has struck it. +The nightingale's nest + Has been built in its branches. +The little tree burns, + It is sighing and groaning; +The nightingale's children + Are crying and calling: +'Oh, come, little Mother! + Oh, come, little Mother! 10 +Take care of us, Mother, + Until we can fly, +Till our wings have grown stronger, +Until we can fly + To the peaceful green forest, +Until we can fly + To the far silent valleys....' +The poor little tree-- + It is burnt to grey ashes; +The poor little fledgelings 20 + Are burnt to grey ashes. +The mother flies home, + But the tree ... and the fledgelings ... +The nest.... She is calling, + Lamenting and calling; +She circles around, + She is sobbing and moaning; +She circles so quickly, + She circles so quickly, +Her tiny wings whistle. 30 + The dark night has fallen, +The dark world is silent, + But one little creature +Is helplessly grieving + And cannot find comfort;-- +The nightingale only + Laments for her children.... +She never will see them + Again, though she call them +Till breaks the white day.... 40 +I carried my baby + Asleep in my bosom +To work in the meadows. + But Mother-in-law cried, +'Come, leave him behind you, + At home with Savyeli, +You'll work better then.' + And I was so timid, +So tired of her scolding, + I left him behind. 50 + +"That year it so happened + The harvest was richer +Than ever we'd known it; + The reaping was hard, +But the reapers were merry, + I sang as I mounted +The sheaves on the waggon. + (The waggons are loaded +To laughter and singing; + The sledges in silence, 60 +With thoughts sad and bitter; + The waggons convey the corn +Home to the peasants, + The sledges will bear it + Away to the market.) + +"But as I was working + I heard of a sudden +A deep groan of anguish: + I saw old Savyeli +Creep trembling towards me, 70 + His face white as death: +'Forgive me, Matrona! + Forgive me, Matrona! +I sinned....I was careless.' + He fell at my feet. + +"Oh, stay, little swallow! + Your nest build not there! +Not there 'neath the leafless + Bare bank of the river: +The water will rise, 80 + And your children will perish. +Oh, poor little woman, + Young wife and young mother, +The daughter-in-law + And the slave of the household, +Bear blows and abuse, + Suffer all things in silence, +But let not your baby + Be torn from your bosom.... +Savyeli had fallen 90 + Asleep in the sunshine, +And Djoma--the pigs + Had attacked him and killed him. + +"I fell to the ground + And lay writhing in torture; +I bit the black earth + And I shrieked in wild anguish; +I called on his name, + And I thought in my madness +My voice must awake him.... 100 + + "Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52] +And harness-bells jangling-- + Another misfortune! +The children are frightened, + They run to the houses; +And outside the window + The old men and women +Are talking in whispers + And nodding together. +The Elder is running 110 + And tapping each window +In turn with his staff; +Then he runs to the hayfields, + He runs to the pastures, +To summon the people. + They come, full of sorrow-- +Another misfortune! + And God in His wrath +Has sent guests that are hateful, + Has sent unjust judges. 120 +Perhaps they want money? + Their coats are worn threadbare? +Perhaps they are hungry? + + "Without greeting Christ +They sit down at the table, + They've set up an icon +And cross in the middle; + Our pope, Father John, +Swears the witnesses singly. + + "They question Savyeli, 130 +And then a policeman + Is sent to find me, +While the officer, swearing, + Is striding about +Like a beast in the forest.... + 'Now, woman, confess it,' +He cries when I enter, + 'You lived with the peasant +Savyeli in sin?' + +"I whisper in answer, 140 +'Kind sir, you are joking. + I am to my husband +A wife without stain, + And the peasant Savyeli +Is more than a hundred + Years old;--you can see it.' + +"He's stamping about + Like a horse in the stable; +In fury he's thumping + His fist on the table. 150 +'Be silent! Confess, then, + That you with Savyeli +Had plotted to murder + Your child!' + + "Holy Mother! +What horrible ravings! + My God, give me patience, +And let me not strangle + The wicked blasphemer! +I looked at the doctor 160 + And shuddered in terror: +Before him lay lancets, + Sharp scissors, and knives. +I conquered myself, + For I knew why they lay there. +I answer him trembling, + 'I loved little Djoma, +I would not have harmed him.' + +"'And did you not poison him. + Give him some powder?' 170 + +"'Oh, Heaven forbid!' +I kneel to him crying, + 'Be gentle! Have mercy! +And grant that my baby + In honour be buried, +Forbid them to thrust + The cruel knives in his body! +Oh, I am his mother!' + + "Can anything move them? +No hearts they possess, 180 + In their eyes is no conscience, +No cross at their throats.... + + "They have lifted the napkin +Which covered my baby; + His little white body +With scissors and lancets + They worry and torture ... +The room has grown darker, + I'm struggling and screaming, +'You butchers! You fiends! 190 + Not on earth, not on water, +And not on God's temple + My tears shall be showered; +But straight on the souls + Of my hellish tormentors! +Oh, hear me, just God! + May Thy curse fall and strike them! +Ordain that their garments + May rot on their bodies! +Their eyes be struck blind, 200 + And their brains scorch in madness! +Their wives be unfaithful, + Their children be crippled! +Oh, hear me, just God! + Hear the prayers of a mother, +And look on her tears,-- + Strike these pitiless devils!' + +"'She's crazy, the woman!' + The officer shouted, +'Why did you not tell us 210 + Before? Stop this fooling! +Or else I shall order + My men, here, to bind you.' + +"I sank on the bench, + I was trembling all over; +I shook like a leaf + As I gazed at the doctor; +His sleeves were rolled backwards, + A knife was in one hand, +A cloth in the other, 220 + And blood was upon it; +His glasses were fixed + On his nose. All was silent. +The officer's pen + Began scratching on paper; +The motionless peasants + Stood gloomy and mournful; +The pope lit his pipe + And sat watching the doctor. +He said, 'You are reading 230 + A heart with a knife.' +I started up wildly; + I knew that the doctor +Was piercing the heart + Of my little dead baby. + +"'Now, bind her, the vixen!' +The officer shouted;-- + She's mad!' He began +To inquire of the peasants, + 'Have none of you noticed 240 +Before that the woman + Korchagin is crazy?' + +"'No,' answered the peasants. + And then Philip's parents +He asked, and their children; + They answered, 'Oh, no, sir! +We never remarked it.' + He asked old Savyeli,-- +There's one thing,' he answered, + 'That might make one think 250 +That Matrona is crazy: + She's come here this morning +Without bringing with her + A present of money +Or cloth to appease you.' + + "And then the old man +Began bitterly crying. + The officer frowning +Sat down and said nothing. + And then I remembered: 260 +In truth it was madness-- + The piece of new linen +Which I had made ready + Was still in my box-- +I'd forgotten to bring it; + And now I had seen them +Seize Djomushka's body + And tear it to pieces. +I think at that moment + I turned into marble: 270 +I watched while the doctor + Was drinking some vodka +And washing his hands; + I saw how he offered +The glass to the pope, + And I heard the pope answer, +'Why ask me? We mortals + Are pitiful sinners,-- +We don't need much urging + To empty a glass!' 280 + +"The peasants are standing + In fear, and are thinking: +'Now, how did these vultures + Get wind of the matter? +Who told them that here + There was chance of some profit? +They dashed in like wolves, +Seized the beards of the peasants, + And snarled in their faces +Like savage hyenas!' 290 + + "And now they are feasting, +Are eating and drinking; + They chat with the pope, +He is murmuring to them, + 'The people in these parts +Are beggars and drunken; + They owe me for countless +Confessions and weddings; + They'll take their last farthing +To spend in the tavern; 300 + And nothing but sins +Do they bring to their priest.' + + "And then I hear singing +In clear, girlish voices-- + I know them all well: +There's Natasha and Glasha, + And Dariushka,--Jesus +Have mercy upon them! +Hark! steps and accordion; + Then there is silence. 310 +I think I had fallen + Asleep; then I fancied +That somebody entering + Bent over me, saying, +'Sleep, woman of sorrows, + Exhausted by sorrow,' +And making the sign + Of the cross on my forehead. +I felt that the ropes + On my body were loosened, 320 +And then I remembered + No more. In black darkness +I woke, and astonished + I ran to the window: +Deep night lay around me-- + What's happened? Where am I? +I ran to the street,-- + It was empty, in Heaven +No moon and no stars, + And a great cloud of darkness 330 +Spread over the village. + The huts of the peasants +Were dark; only one hut + Was brilliantly lighted, +It shone like a palace-- + The hut of Savyeli. +I ran to the doorway, + And then ... I remembered. + +"The table was gleaming + With yellow wax candles, 340 +And there, in the midst, + Lay a tiny white coffin, +And over it spread + Was a fine coloured napkin, +An icon was placed + At its head.... + O you builders, +For my little son + What a house you have fashioned! +No windows you've made 350 + That the sunshine may enter, +No stove and no bench, + And no soft little pillows.... +Oh, Djomushka will not + Feel happy within it, +He cannot sleep well.... +'Begone!'--I cried harshly + On seeing Savyeli; +He stood near the coffin + And read from the book 360 +In his hand, through his glasses. + I cursed old Savyeli, +Cried--'Branded one! Convict! + Begone! 'Twas you killed him! +You murdered my, Djoma, + Begone from my sight!' + + "He stood without moving; +He crossed himself thrice + And continued his reading. +But when I grew calmer 370 + Savyeli approached me, +And said to me gently, + 'In winter, Matrona, +I told you my story, + But yet there was more. +Our forests were endless, + Our lakes wild and lonely, +Our people were savage; + By cruelty lived we: +By snaring the wood-grouse, 380 +By slaying the bears:-- + You must kill or you perish! +I've told you of Barin + Shalashnikov, also +Of how we were robbed + By the villainous German, +And then of the prison, + The exile, the mines. +My heart was like stone, + I grew wild and ferocious. 390 +My winter had lasted + A century, Grandchild, +But your little Djoma + Had melted its frosts. +One day as I rocked him + He smiled of a sudden, +And I smiled in answer.... + A strange thing befell me +Some days after that: + As I prowled in the forest 400 +I aimed at a squirrel; + But suddenly noticed +How happy and playful + It was, in the branches: +Its bright little face + With its paw it sat washing. +I lowered my gun:-- + 'You shall live, little squirrel!' +I rambled about + In the woods, in the meadows, 410 +And each tiny floweret + I loved. I went home then +And nursed little Djoma, + And played with him, laughing. +God knows how I loved him, + The innocent babe! +And now ... through my folly, + My sin, ... he has perished.... +Upbraid me and kill me, + But nothing can help you, 420 +With God one can't argue.... + Stand up now, Matrona, +And pray for your baby; + God acted with reason: +He's counted the joys + In the life of a peasant!' + +"Long, long did Savyeli + Stand bitterly speaking, +The piteous fate + Of the peasant he painted; 430 +And if a rich Barin, + A merchant or noble, +If even our Father + The Tsar had been listening, +Savyeli could not + Have found words which were truer, +Have spoken them better.... + + "'Now Djoma is happy +And safe, in God's Heaven,' + He said to me later. 440 +His tears began falling.... + + "'I do not complain +That God took him, Savyeli,' + I said,--'but the insult +They did him torments me, + It's racking my heart. +Why did vicious black ravens + Alight on his body +And tear it to pieces? + Will neither our God 450 +Nor our Tsar--Little Father-- + Arise to defend us?' + +"'But God, little Grandchild, + Is high, and the Tsar +Far away,' said Savyeli. + + "I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!' + +"But Grandfather answered, + 'Now hush, little Grandchild, +You woman of sorrow, + Bow down and have patience; 460 +No truth you will find + In the world, and no justice.' + + "'But why then, Savyeli?' + +"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, + You are; and for such +Is no hope,' said Savyeli. + + "For long I sat darkly +And bitterly thinking. + The thunder pealed forth +And the windows were shaken; 470 + I started! Savyeli +Drew nearer and touched me, + And led me to stand +By the little white coffin: + +"'Now pray that the Lord + May have placed little Djoma +Among the bright ranks + Of His angels,' he whispered; +A candle he placed + In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 +The whole of the night + Till the pale dawn of daybreak: +The grandfather stood + Beside Djomushka's coffin +And read from the book + In a measured low voice...." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE SHE-WOLF + +"'Tis twenty years now + Since my Djoma was taken, +Was carried to sleep + 'Neath his little grass blanket; +And still my heart bleeds, + And I pray for him always, +No apple till Spassa[53] + I touch with my lips.... + +"For long I lay ill, + Not a word did I utter, 10 +My eyes could not suffer + The old man, Savyeli. +No work did I do, + And my Father-in-law thought +To give me a lesson + And took down the horse-reins; +I bowed to his feet, + And cried--'Kill me! Oh, kill me! +I pray for the end!' +He hung the reins up, then. 20 + I lived day and night +On the grave of my Djoma, + I dusted it clean +With a soft little napkin + That grass might grow green, +And I prayed for my lost one. + I yearned for my parents: +'Oh, you have forgotten, + Forgotten your daughter!' + +"'We have not forgotten 30 + Our poor little daughter, +But is it worth while, say, + To wear the grey horse out +By such a long journey + To learn about your woes, +To tell you of ours? + Since long, little daughter, +Would father and mother + Have journeyed to see you, +But ever the thought rose: 40 + She'll weep at our coming, +She'll shriek when we leave!' + + "In winter came Philip, +Our sorrow together + We shared, and together +We fought with our grief + In the grandfather's hut." + +"The grandfather died, then?" + + "Oh, no, in his cottage +For seven whole days 50 + He lay still without speaking, +And then he got up + And he went to the forest; +And there old Savyeli + So wept and lamented, + The woods were set throbbing. +In autumn he left us + And went as a pilgrim +On foot to do penance + At some distant convent.... 60 + + "I went with my husband +To visit my parents, + And then began working +Again. Three years followed, + Each week like the other, +As twin to twin brother, +And each year a child. + There was no time for thinking +And no time for grieving; + Praise God if you have time 70 +For getting your work done + And crossing your forehead. +You eat--when there's something + Left over at table, +When elders have eaten, + When children have eaten; +You sleep--when you're ill.... + + "In the fourth year came sorrow +Again; for when sorrow + Once lightens upon you 80 +To death he pursues you; +He circles before you-- + A bright shining falcon; +He hovers behind you-- + An ugly black raven; +He flies in advance-- + But he will not forsake you; +He lingers behind-- + But he will not forget.... + +"I lost my dear parents. 90 +The dark nights alone knew + The grief of the orphan; +No need is there, brothers, + To tell you about it. +With tears did I water + The grave of my baby. +From far once I noticed + A wooden cross standing +Erect at its head, + And a little gilt icon; 100 +A figure is kneeling + Before it--'Savyeli! +From whence have you come?' + + "'I have come from Pesotchna. +I've prayed for the soul + Of our dear little Djoma; +I've prayed for the peasants + Of Russia.... Matrona, +Once more do I pray-- + Oh, Matrona ... Matrona.... 110 +I pray that the heart + Of the mother, at last, +May be softened towards me.... + Forgive me, Matrona!' + +"'Oh, long, long ago + I forgave you, Savyeli.' + + "'Then look at me now +As in old times, Matrona!' + + "I looked as of old. +Then up rose Savyeli, 120 + And gazed in my eyes; +He was trying to straighten + His stiffened old back; +Like the snow was his hair now. + I kissed the old man, +And my new grief I told him; + For long we sat weeping +And mourning together. + He did not live long +After that. In the autumn 130 + A deep wound appeared +In his neck, and he sickened. + He died very hard. +For a hundred days, fully, + No food passed his lips; +To the bone he was shrunken. + He laughed at himself: +'Tell me, truly, Matrona, +Now am I not like + A Korojin mosquito?' 140 + +"At times the old man + Would be gentle and patient; +At times he was angry + And nothing would please him; +He frightened us all + By his outbursts of fury: +'Eh, plough not, and sow not, + You downtrodden peasants! +You women, sit spinning + And weaving no longer! 150 +However you struggle, + You fools, you must perish! +You will not escape + What by fate has been written! +Three roads are spread out + For the peasant to follow-- +They lead to the tavern, + The mines, and the prison! +Three nooses are hung + For the women of Russia: 160 +The one is of white silk, + The second of red silk, +The third is of black silk-- + Choose that which you please!' +And Grandfather laughed + In a manner which caused us +To tremble with fear + And draw nearer together.... +He died in the night, + And we did as he asked us: 170 +We laid him to rest + In the grave beside Djoma. +The Grandfather lived + To a hundred and seven.... + +"Four years passed away then, + The one like the other, +And I was submissive, + The slave of the household, +For Mother-in-law + And her husband the drunkard, 180 +For Sister-in-law + By all suitors rejected. +I'd draw off their boots-- + Only,--touch not my children! +For them I stood firm + Like a rock. Once it happened +A pilgrim arrived + At our village--a holy +And pious-tongued woman; + She spoke to the people 190 +Of how to please God + And of how to reach Heaven. + She said that on fast-days +No woman should offer + The breast to her child. +The women obeyed her: + On Wednesdays and Fridays +The village was filled + By the wailing of babies; +And many a mother 200 + Sat bitterly weeping +To hear her child cry + For its food--full of pity, +But fearing God's anger. + But I did not listen! +I said to myself + That if penance were needful +The mothers must suffer, + But not little children. +I said, 'I am guilty, 210 + My God--not my children!' + +"It seems God was angry + And punished me for it +Through my little son; + My Father-in-law +To the commune had offered + My little Fedotka +As help to the shepherd + When he was turned eight.... +One night I was waiting 220 + To give him his supper; +The cattle already + Were home, but he came not. +I went through the village + And saw that the people +Were gathered together + And talking of something. +I listened, then elbowed + My way through the people; +Fedotka was set 230 + In their midst, pale and trembling, +The Elder was gripping + His ear. 'What has happened? +And why do you hold him?' + I said to the Elder. + +"'I'm going to beat him,-- + He threw a young lamb +To the wolf,' he replied. + + "I snatched my Fedotka +Away from their clutches; 240 + And somehow the Elder +Fell down on the ground! + + "The story was strange: +It appears that the shepherd + Went home for awhile, +Leaving little Fedotka + In charge of the flock. +'I was sitting,' he told me, + 'Alone on the hillside, +When all of a sudden 250 + A wolf ran close by me +And picked Masha's lamb up. + I threw myself at her, +I whistled and shouted, + I cracked with my whip, +Blew my horn for Valetka, +And then I gave chase. + I run fast, little Mother, +But still I could never + Have followed the robber 260 +If not for the traces + She left; because, Mother, +Her breasts hung so low + (She was suckling her children) +They dragged on the earth + And left two tracks of blood. +But further the grey one + Went slower and slower; +And then she looked back + And she saw I was coming. 270 +At last she sat down. + With my whip then I lashed her; +''Come, give me the lamb, + You grey devil!'' She crouched, +But would not give it up. + I said--''I must save it +Although she should kill me.'' + I threw myself on her +And snatched it away, + But she did not attack me. 280 +The lamb was quite dead, + She herself was scarce living. +She gnashed with her teeth + And her breathing was heavy; +And two streams of blood ran +From under her body. + Her ribs could be counted, +Her head was hung down, + But her eyes, little Mother, +Looked straight into mine ... 290 + Then she groaned of a sudden, +She groaned, and it sounded + As if she were crying. +I threw her the lamb....' + + "Well, that was the story. +And foolish Fedotka + Ran back to the village +And told them about it. + And they, in their anger, +Were going to beat him 300 + When I came upon them. +The Elder, because + Of his fall, was indignant, +He shouted--'How dare you! + Do you want a beating +Yourself?' And the woman + Whose lamb had been stolen +Cried, 'Whip the lad soundly, + 'Twill teach him a lesson!' +Fedotka she pulled from 310 + My arms, and he trembled, +He shook like a leaf. + + "Then the horns of the huntsmen +Were heard,--the Pomyeshchick + Returning from hunting. +I ran to him, crying, + 'Oh, save us! Protect us!' + +"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!' + And then, in an instant, + The matter is settled: 320 +'The shepherd is tiny-- + His youth and his folly +May well be forgiven. + The woman's presumption +You'll punish severely!' + + "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!' +I danced with delight! + 'Fedotka is safe now! +Run home, quick, Fedotka.' + + "'Your will shall be done, sir,' 330 +The Elder said, bowing; + 'Now, woman, prepare; +You can dance later on!' + + "A gossip then whispered, +'Fall down at the feet + Of the Elder--beg mercy!' + +"'Fedotka--go home!' + + "Then I kissed him, and told him: +'Remember, Fedotka, + That I shall be angry 340 +If once you look backwards. + Run home!' + + "Well, my brothers, +To leave out a word + Of the song is to spoil it,-- +I lay on the ground...." + + * * * * * + + "I crawled like a cat +To Fedotushka's corner + That night. He was sleeping, +He tossed in his dream. 350 +One hand was hung down, +While the other, clenched tightly, +Was shielding his eyes: + 'You've been crying, my treasure; + Sleep, darling, it's nothing-- +See, Mother is near!' + I'd lost little Djoma +While heavy with this one; + He was but a weakling, +But grew very clever. 360 + He works with his dad now, +And built such a chimney + With him, for his master, +The like of it never + Was seen. Well, I sat there +The whole of the night + By the sweet little shepherd. +At daybreak I crossed him, + I fastened his laputs, +I gave him his wallet, 370 + His horn and his whip. +The rest began stirring, + But nothing I told them +Of all that had happened, + But that day I stayed +From the work in the fields. + +"I went to the banks + Of the swift little river, +I sought for a spot + Which was silent and lonely 380 +Amid the green rushes + That grow by the bank. + +"And on the grey stone + I sat down, sick and weary, +And leaning my head + On my hands, I lamented, + Poor sorrowing orphan. +And loudly I called + On the names of my parents: +'Oh, come, little Father, 390 + My tender protector! +Oh, look at the daughter + You cherished and loved!' + +"In vain do I call him! + The loved one has left me; +The guest without lord, + Without race, without kindred, +Named Death, has appeared, + And has called him away. + +"And wildly I summon 400 + My mother, my mother! +The boisterous wind cries, + The distant hills answer, +But mother is dead, + She can hear me no longer! + + "You grieved day and night, +And you prayed for me always, + But never, beloved, +Shall I see you again; + You cannot turn back now, 410 +And I may not follow. + + "A pathway so strange, +So unknown, you have chosen, + The beasts cannot find it, +The winds cannot reach it, +My voice will be lost + In the terrible distance.... + +"My loving protectors, + If you could but see me! +Could know what your daughter 420 + Must suffer without you! +Could learn of the people + To whom you have left her! + +"By night bathed in tears, + And by day weak and trembling, +I bow like the grass + To the wind, but in secret +A heart full of fury + Is gnawing my breast!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +AN UNLUCKY YEAR + + "Strange stars played that year +On the face of the Heavens; + And some said, 'The Lord rides +Abroad, and His angels + With long flaming brooms sweep +The floor of the Heavens + In front of his carriage.' +But others were frightened,-- + They said, 'It is rather +The Antichrist coming! 10 + It signals misfortune!' +And they read it truly. + A terrible year came, +A terrible famine, + When brother denied +To his brother a morsel. + And then I remembered +The wolf that was hungry, + For I was like her, +Craving food for my children. 20 + Now Mother-in-law found +A new superstition: + She said to the neighbours +That I was the reason + Of all the misfortune; +And why? I had caused it + By changing my shirt +On the day before Christmas! + Well, I escaped lightly, +For I had a husband 30 + To shield and protect me, +But one woman, having + Offended, was beaten +To death by the people. + To play with the starving +Is dangerous, my friends. + + "The famine was scarcely +At end, when another + Misfortune befell us-- +The dreaded recruiting. 40 + But I was not troubled +By that, because Philip + Was safe: one already +Had served of his people. + One night I sat working, +My husband, his brothers, + The family, all had +Been out since the morning. + My Father-in-law +Had been called to take part 50 + In the communal meeting. +The women were standing + And chatting with neighbours. +But I was exhausted, + For then I was heavy +With child. I was ailing, + And hourly expected +My time. When the children + Were fed and asleep +I lay down on the oven. 60 + The women came home soon +And called for their suppers; + But Father-in-law +Had not come, so we waited. + He came, tired and gloomy: +'Eh, wife, we are ruined! + I'm weary with running, +But nothing can save us: +They've taken the eldest-- + Now give them the youngest! 70 +I've counted the years + To a day--I have proved them; +They listen to nothing. + They want to take Philip! +I prayed to the commune-- + But what is it worth? +I ran to the bailiff; + He swore he was sorry, +But couldn't assist us. + I went to the clerk then; 80 +You might just as well + Set to work with a hatchet +To chop out the shadows + Up there, on the ceiling, +As try to get truth + Out of that little rascal! +He's bought. They are all bought,-- + Not one of them honest! +If only he knew it-- + The Governor--he'd teach them! 90 +If he would but order + The commune to show him + The lists of the volost, +And see how they cheat us!' + The mother and daughters +Are groaning and crying; + But I! ... I am cold.... +I am burning in fever! ... + My thoughts ... I have no thoughts! +I think I am dreaming! 100 + My fatherless children +Are standing before me, + And crying with hunger. +The family, frowning, + Looks coldly upon them.... +At home they are 'noisy,' + At play they are 'clumsy,' +At table they're 'gluttons'! + And somebody threatens +To punish my children-- 110 + They slap them and pinch them! +Be silent, you mother! + You wife of a soldier!" + + * * * * * + + "I now have no part +In the village allotments, + No share in the building, +The clothes, and the cattle, + And these are my riches: +Three lakes of salt tear-drops, + Three fields sown with grief!" 120 + + * * * * * + +"And now, like a sinner, + I bow to the neighbours; +I ask their forgiveness; + I hear myself saying, +'Forgive me for being + So haughty and proud! +I little expected + That God, for my pride, +Would have left me forsaken! + I pray you, good people, 130 +To show me more wisdom, + To teach me to live +And to nourish my children, + What food they should have, +And what drink, and what teaching.'" + + * * * * * + +"I'm sending my children + To beg in the village; +'Go, children, beg humbly, + But dare not to steal.' +The children are sobbing, 140 + 'It's cold, little Mother, +Our clothes are in rags; + We are weary of passing +From doorway to doorway; + We stand by the windows +And shiver. We're frightened + To beg of the rich folk; +The poor ones say, ''God will + Provide for the orphans!'' +We cannot come home, 150 + For if we bring nothing +We know you'll be angry!'" + + * * * * * + + "To go to God's church +I have made myself tidy; + I hear how the neighbours +Are laughing around me: + 'Now who is she setting +Her cap at?' they whisper." + + * * * * * + +"Don't wash yourself clean. + And don't dress yourself nicely; 160 +The neighbours are sharp-- + They have eyes like the eagle +And tongues like the serpent. + Walk humbly and slowly, +Don't laugh when you're cheerful, + Don't weep when you're sad." + + * * * * * + +"The dull, endless winter + Has come, and the fields +And the pretty green meadows + Are hidden away 170 +'Neath the snow. Nothing living + Is seen in the folds +Of the gleaming white grave-clothes. + No friend under Heaven +There is for the woman, + The wife of the soldier. +Who knows what her thoughts are? + Who cares for her words? +Who is sad for her sorrow? + And where can she bury 180 +The insults they cast her? +Perhaps in the woods?-- + But the woods are all withered! +Perhaps in the meadows?-- + The meadows are frozen! +The swift little stream?-- + But its waters are sleeping! +No,--carry them with you + To hide in your grave!" + + * * * * * + +"My husband is gone; 190 + There is no one to shield me. +Hark, hark! There's the drum! + And the soldiers are coming! +They halt;--they are forming + A line in the market. +'Attention!' There's Philip! + There's Philip! I see him! +'Attention! Eyes front!' + It's Shalashnikov shouting.... +Oh, Philip has fallen! 200 + Have mercy! Have mercy! +'Try that--try some physic! + You'll soon get to like it! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' + He is striking my husband! +'I flog, not with whips, + But with knouts made for giants!'" + + * * * * * + +"I sprang from the stove, + Though my burden was heavy; +I listen.... All silent.... 210 + The family sleeping. +I creep to the doorway + And open it softly, +I pass down the street + Through the night.... It is frosty. +In Domina's hut, + Where the youths and young maidens +Assemble at night, + They are singing in chorus +My favourite song: 220 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Her father comes to look for her, +He wakens her and coaxes her: +''Eh, Mashenka, come home,'' he cries, +''Efeemovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards.'' 231 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Her mother comes to look for her, +She wakens her and coaxes her: +''Now, Mashenka, come home,'' she says, +''Efeemovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards!'' 242 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Young Peter comes to look for her, +He wakens her, and coaxes her: +''Oh, Mashenka, come home with me! +My little dove, Efeemovna, +Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250 + + "'''I will come, and I will listen, + Fair the night--the moon in Heaven, + Calm the stream with bridge and ferry, + In the wood strong guards.'''" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + + "I'm hurrying blindly, +I've run through the village; + Yet strangely the singing +From Domina's cottage + Pursues me and rings +In my ears. My pace slackens, + I rest for awhile, +And look back at the village: + I see the white snowdrift +O'er valley and meadow, 10 + The moon in the Heavens, +My self, and my shadow.... + + "I do not feel frightened; +A flutter of gladness + Awakes in my bosom, +'You brisk winter breezes, + My thanks for your freshness! +I crave for your breath + As the sick man for water.' +My mind has grown clear, 20 + To my knees I am falling: +'O Mother of Christ! + I beseech Thee to tell me +Why God is so angry + With me. Holy Mother! +No tiniest bone + In my limbs is unbroken; +No nerve in my body + Uncrushed. I am patient,-- +I have not complained. 30 + All the strength that God gave me +I've spent on my work; + All the love on my children. +But Thou seest all things, + And Thou art so mighty; +Oh, succour thy slave!' + + "I love now to pray +On a night clear and frosty; + To kneel on the earth +'Neath the stars in the winter. 40 + Remember, my brothers, +If trouble befall you, + To counsel your women +To pray in that manner; +In no other place + Can one pray so devoutly, +At no other season.... + + "I prayed and grew stronger; +I bowed my hot head + To the cool snowy napkin, 50 +And quickly my fever + Was spent. And when later +I looked at the roadway + I found that I knew it; +I'd passed it before + On the mild summer evenings; +At morning I'd greeted + The sunrise upon it +In haste to be off + To the fair. And I walked now 60 +The whole of the night + Without meeting a soul.... +But now to the cities + The sledges are starting, +Piled high with the hay + Of the peasants. I watch them, +And pity the horses: +Their lawful provision + Themselves they are dragging +Away from the courtyard; 70 + And afterwards they +Will be hungry. I pondered: + The horses that work +Must eat straw, while the idlers + Are fed upon oats. +But when Need comes he hastens + To empty your corn-lofts, +Won't wait to be asked.... + + "I come within sight +Of the town. On the outskirts 80 + The merchants are cheating +And wheedling the peasants, + There's shouting and swearing, +Abusing and coaxing. + + "I enter the town +As the bell rings for matins. + I make for the market +Before the cathedral. + I know that the gates +Of the Governor's courtyard 90 + Are there. It is dark still, +The square is quite empty; + In front of the courtyard +A sentinel paces: + 'Pray tell me, good man, +Does the Governor rise early?' + + "'Don't know. Go away. +I'm forbidden to chatter.' + (I give him some farthings.) +'Well, go to the porter; 100 + He knows all about it.' + +"'Where is he? And what + Is his name, little sentry?' + +"'Makhar Fedosseich, + He stands at the entrance.' +I walk to the entrance, + The doors are not opened. +I sit on the doorsteps + And think.... + +"It grows lighter, 110 + A man with a ladder +Is turning the lamps down. + + "'Heh, what are you doing? +And how did you enter?' + +"I start in confusion, + I see in the doorway +A bald-headed man + In a bed-gown. Then quickly +I come to my senses, + And bowing before him 120 +(Makhar Fedosseich), + I give him a rouble. + +"'I come in great need + To the Governor, and see him +I must, little Uncle!' + + "'You can't see him, woman. +Well, well.... I'll consider.... + Return in two hours.' + + "I see in the market +A pedestal standing, 130 + A peasant upon it, +He's just like Savyeli, + And all made of brass: +It's Susanin's memorial. +While crossing the market + I'm suddenly startled-- +A heavy grey drake + From a cook is escaping; +The fellow pursues + With a knife. It is shrieking. 140 +My God, what a sound! + To the soul it has pierced me. +('Tis only the knife + That can wring such a shriek.) +The cook has now caught it; + It stretches its neck, +Begins angrily hissing, + As if it would frighten +The cook,--the poor creature! + I run from the market, 150 +I'm trembling and thinking, + 'The drake will grow calm +'Neath the kiss of the knife!' + +"The Governor's dwelling + Again is before me, +With balconies, turrets, + And steps which are covered +With beautiful carpets. +I gaze at the windows + All shaded with curtains. 160 +'Now, which is your chamber,' + I think, 'my desired one? +Say, do you sleep sweetly? + Of what are you dreaming?' +I creep up the doorsteps, + And keep to the side +Not to tread on the carpets; + And there, near the entrance, +I wait for the porter. + + "'You're early, my gossip!' 170 +Again I am startled: + A stranger I see,-- +For at first I don't know him; + A livery richly +Embroidered he wears now; + He holds a fine staff; +He's not bald any longer! + He laughs--'You were frightened?' + +"'I'm tired, little Uncle.' + +"'You've plenty of courage, 180 + God's mercy be yours! +Come, give me another, + And I will befriend you.' + + "(I give him a rouble.) +'Now come, I will make you + Some tea in my office.' + +"His den is just under + The stairs. There's a bedstead, +A little iron stove, + And a candlestick in it, 190 +A big samovar, + And a lamp in the corner. +Some pictures are hung + On the wall. 'That's His Highness,' +The porter remarks, + And he points with his finger. +I look at the picture: + A warrior covered +With stars. 'Is he gentle?' + + "'That's just as you happen 200 +To find him. Why, neighbour, + The same is with me: +To-day I'm obliging, + At times I'm as cross +As a dog.' + + "'You are dull here, +Perhaps, little Uncle?' + +"'Oh no, I'm not dull; + I've a task that's exciting: +Ten years have I fought 210 + With a foe: Sleep his name is. +And I can assure you + That when I have taken +An odd cup of vodka, + The stove is red hot, +And the smuts from the candle + Have blackened the air, +It's a desperate struggle!' + + "There's somebody knocking. +Makhar has gone out; 220 + I am sitting alone now. +I go to the door + And look out. In the courtyard +A carriage is waiting. + I ask, 'Is he coming?' +'The lady is coming,' + The porter makes answer, +And hurries away + To the foot of the staircase. +A lady descends, 230 + Wrapped in costliest sables, +A lackey behind her. +I know not what followed + (The Mother of God +Must have come to my aid), +It seems that I fell + At the feet of the lady, +And cried, 'Oh, protect us! + They try to deceive us! +My husband--the only 240 + Support of my children-- +They've taken away-- + Oh, they've acted unjustly!'... + +"'Who are you, my pigeon?' + + "My answer I know not, +Or whether I gave one; + A sudden sharp pang tore +My body in twain." + + * * * * * + +"I opened my eyes + In a beautiful chamber, 250 + In bed I was laid +'Neath a canopy, brothers, + And near me was sitting +A nurse, in a head-dress + All streaming with ribbons. +She's nursing a baby. + 'Who's is it?' I ask her. + +"'It's yours, little Mother.' + I kiss my sweet child. +It seems, when I fell 260 + At the feet of the lady, +I wept so and raved so, + Already so weakened +By grief and exhaustion, + That there, without warning, +My labour had seized me. + I bless the sweet lady, +Elyen Alexandrovna, + Only a mother +Could bless her as I do. 270 + She christened my baby, +Lidorushka called him." + + "And what of your husband?" + +"They sent to the village + And started enquiries, +And soon he was righted. + Elyen Alexandrovna +Brought him herself + To my side. She was tender +And clever and lovely, 280 + And healthy, but childless, +For God would not grant her + A child. While I stayed there +My baby was never + Away from her bosom. +She tended and nursed him + Herself, like a mother. +The spring had set in + And the birch trees were budding, +Before she would let us 290 + Set out to go home. + + "Oh, how fair and bright + In God's world to-day! + Glad my heart and gay! + + "Homewards lies our way, + Near the wood we pause, + See, the meadows green, + Hark! the waters play. + Rivulet so pure, + Little child of Spring, 300 + How you leap and sing, + Rippling in the leaves! + High the little lark + Soars above our heads, + Carols blissfully! + Let us stand and gaze; + Soon our eyes will meet, + I will laugh to thee, + Thou wilt smile at me, + Wee Lidorushka! 310 + + "Look, a beggar comes, + Trembling, weak, old man, + Give him what we can. + 'Do not pray for us,' + Let us to him say, + 'Father, you must pray + For Elyenushka, + For the lady fair, + Alexandrovna!' + + "Look, the church of God! 320 + Sign the cross we twain + Time and time again.... + 'Grant, O blessed Lord, + Thy most fair reward + To the gentle heart + Of Elyenushka, + Alexandrovna!' + + "Green the forest grows, + Green the pretty fields, + In each dip and dell 330 + Bright a mirror gleams. + Oh, how fair it is + In God's world to-day, + Glad my heart and gay! + Like the snowy swan + O'er the lake I sail, + O'er the waving steppes + Speeding like the quail. + + "Here we are at home. + Through the door I fly 340 + Like the pigeon grey; + Low the family + Bow at sight of me, + Nearly to the ground, + Pardon they beseech + For the way in which + They have treated me. + 'Sit you down,' I say, + 'Do not bow to me. + Listen to my words: 350 + You must bow to one + Better far than I, + Stronger far than I, + Sing your praise to her.' + + "'Sing to whom,' you say? + 'To Elyenushka, + To the fairest soul + God has sent on earth: + Alexandrovna!'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + + Matrona is silent. +You see that the peasants + Have seized the occasion-- +They are not forgetting + To drink to the health +Of the beautiful lady! + But noticing soon +That Matrona is silent, + In file they approach her. + +"What more will you tell us?" 10 + + "What more?" says Matrona, +"My fame as the 'lucky one' + Spread through the volost, +Since then they have called me + 'The Governor's Lady.' +You ask me, what further? + I managed the household, +And brought up my children. + You ask, was I happy? +Well, that you can answer 20 +Yourselves. And my children? + Five sons! But the peasant's +Misfortunes are endless: + They've robbed me of one." +She lowers her voice, + And her lashes are trembling, +But turning her head + She endeavours to hide it. +The peasants are rather + Confused, but they linger: 30 +"Well, neighbour," they say, + "Will you tell us no more?" + +"There's one thing: You're foolish + To seek among women +For happiness, brothers." + +"That's all?" + + "I can tell you +That twice we were swallowed + By fire, and that three times +The plague fell upon us; 40 + But such things are common +To all of us peasants. + Like cattle we toiled, +My steps were as easy + As those of a horse +In the plough. But my troubles +Were not very startling: + No mountains have moved +From their places to crush me; + And God did not strike me 50 +With arrows of thunder. + The storm in my soul +Has been silent, unnoticed, + So how can I paint it +To you? O'er the Mother + Insulted and outraged, +The blood of her first-born + As o'er a crushed worm +Has been poured; and unanswered + The deadly offences 60 +That many have dealt her; + The knout has been raised +Unopposed o'er her body. + But one thing I never +Have suffered: I told you + That Sitnikov died, +That the last, irreparable + Shame had been spared me. +You ask me for happiness? + Brothers, you mock me! 70 +Go, ask the official, + The Minister mighty, +The Tsar--Little Father, +But never a woman! + God knows--among women +Your search will be endless, + Will lead to your graves. + +"A pious old woman + Once asked us for shelter; +The whole of her lifetime 80 + The Flesh she had conquered +By penance and fasting; + She'd bathed in the Jordan, +And prayed at the tomb + Of Christ Jesus. She told us +The keys to the welfare + And freedom of women +Have long been mislaid-- + God Himself has mislaid them. +And hermits, chaste women, 90 + And monks of great learning, +Have sought them all over + The world, but not found them. +They're lost, and 'tis thought + By a fish they've been swallowed. +God's knights have been seeking + In towns and in deserts, +Weak, starving, and cold, + Hung with torturing fetters. +They've asked of the seers, 100 + The stars they have counted +To learn;--but no keys! + Through the world they have journeyed; +In underground caverns, + In mountains, they've sought them. +At last they discovered + Some keys. They were precious, +But only--not ours. + Yet the warriors triumphed: +They fitted the lock 110 + On the fetters of serfdom! +A sigh from all over + The world rose to Heaven, +A breath of relief, + Oh, so deep and so joyful! +Our keys were still missing.... + Great champions, though, +Till to-day are still searching, + Deep down in the bed +Of the ocean they wander, 120 + They fly to the skies, +In the clouds they are seeking, + But never the keys. +Do you think they will find them? +Who knows? Who can say? + But I think it is doubtful, +For which fish has swallowed + Those treasures so priceless, +In which sea it swims-- + God Himself has forgotten!" 130 + + + + + +PART IV. + +Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin + +A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + +PROLOGUE + +A very old willow + There is at the end +Of the village of "Earthworms," + Where most of the folk +Have been diggers and delvers +From times very ancient + (Though some produced tar). +This willow had witnessed + The lives of the peasants: +Their holidays, dances, 10 + Their communal meetings, +Their floggings by day, + In the evening their wooing, +And now it looked down + On a wonderful feast. + + The feast was conducted +In Petersburg fashion, + For Klimka, the peasant +(Our former acquaintance), + Had seen on his travels 20 +Some noblemen's banquets, + With toasts and orations, +And he had arranged it. + +The peasants were sitting + On tree-trunks cut newly +For building a hut. + With them, too, our seven +(Who always were ready + To see what was passing) +Were sitting and chatting 30 + With Vlass, the old Elder. +As soon as they fancied + A drink would be welcome, +The Elder called out + To his son, "Run for Trifon!" +With Trifon the deacon, + A jovial fellow, +A chum of the Elder's, + His sons come as well. + +Two pupils they are 40 + Of the clerical college +Named Sava and Grisha. + The former, the eldest, +Is nineteen years old. +He looks like a churchman + Already, while Grisha +Has fine, curly hair, + With a slight tinge of red, +And a thin, sallow face. +Both capital fellows 50 + They are, kind and simple, +They work with the ploughshare, + The scythe, and the sickle, +Drink vodka on feast-days, + And mix with the peasants +Entirely as equals.... + +The village lies close + To the banks of the Volga; +A small town there is + On the opposite side. 60 +(To speak more correctly, + There's now not a trace +Of the town, save some ashes: + A fire has demolished it +Two days ago.) + +Some people are waiting + To cross by the ferry, +While some feed their horses + (All friends of the peasants). +Some beggars have crawled 70 + To the spot; there are pilgrims, +Both women and men; + The women loquacious, +The men very silent. + +The old Prince Yutiatin + Is dead, but the peasants +Are not yet aware + That instead of the hayfields +His heirs have bequeathed them +A long litigation. 80 + So, drinking their vodka, +They first of all argue + Of how they'll dispose +Of the beautiful hayfields. + +You were not all cozened,[54] + You people of Russia, +And robbed of your land. +In some blessed spots + You were favoured by fortune! +By some lucky chance-- 90 + The Pomyeshchick's long absence, +Some slip of posrednik's, +By wiles of the commune, + You managed to capture +A slice of the forest. +How proud are the peasants + In such happy corners! +The Elder may tap + At the window for taxes, +The peasant will bluster,-- 100 + One answer has he: +"Just sell off the forest, + And don't bother me!" + +So now, too, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" decided +To part with the fields + To the Elder for taxes. +They calculate closely: + "They'll pay both the taxes +And dues--with some over, 110 + Heh, Vlasuchka, won't they?" + +"Once taxes are paid + I'll uncover to no man. +I'll work if it please me, + I'll lie with my wife, +Or I'll go to the tavern." +"Bravo!" cry the peasants, + In answer to Klimka, +"Now, Vlasuchka, do you + Agree to our plan?" 120 + +"The speeches of Klimka + Are short, and as plain +As the public-house signboard," + Says Vlasuchka, joking. +"And that is his manner: + To start with a woman +And end in the tavern." + +"Well, where should one end, then? +Perhaps in the prison? + Now--as to the taxes, 130 +Don't croak, but decide." + +But Vlasuchka really + Was far from a croaker. +The kindest soul living + Was he, and he sorrowed +For all in the village, + Not only for one. +His conscience had pricked him +While serving his haughty + And rigorous Barin, 140 +Obeying his orders, + So cruel and oppressive. +While young he had always + Believed in 'improvements,' +But soon he observed + That they ended in nothing, +Or worse--in misfortune. + So now he mistrusted +The new, rich in promise. + The wheels that have passed 150 +O'er the roadways of Moscow +Are fewer by far + Than the injuries done +To the soul of the peasant. + There's nothing to laugh at +In that, so the Elder + Perforce had grown gloomy. +But now, the gay pranks +Of the peasants of "Earthworms" + Affected him too. 160 +His thoughts became brighter: +No taxes ... no barschin ... + No stick held above you, +Dear God, am I dreaming? + Old Vlasuchka smiles.... +A miracle surely! + Like that, when the sun +From the splendour of Heaven +May cast a chance ray + In the depths of the forest: 170 +The dew shines like diamonds, + The mosses are gilded. + +"Drink, drink, little peasants! + Disport yourselves bravely!" +'Twas gay beyond measure. + In each breast awakens +A wondrous new feeling, + As though from the depths +Of a bottomless gulf + On the crest of a wave, 180 +They've been borne to the surface +To find there awaits them + A feast without end. + +Another pail's started, + And, oh, what a clamour +Of voices arises, + And singing begins. + +And just as a dead man's + Relations and friends +Talk of nothing but him 190 + Till the funeral's over, +Until they have finished + The funeral banquet +And started to yawn,-- + So over the vodka, +Beneath the old willow, + One topic prevails: +The "break in the chain" + Of their lords, the Pomyeshchicks. + +The deacon they ask, 200 + And his sons, to oblige them +By singing a song + Called the "Merry Song" to them. + +(This song was not really + A song of the people: +The deacon's son Grisha + Had sung it them first. +But since the great day + When the Tsar, Little Father, +Had broken the chains 210 + Of his suffering children, +They always had danced + To this tune on the feast-days. +The "popes" and the house-serfs + Could sing the words also, +The peasants could not, + But whenever they heard it +They whistled and stamped, + And the "Merry Song" called it.) + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + + +_The Merry Song_ + + * * * * * + +The "Merry Song" finished, + They struck up a chorus, +A song of their own, + A wailing lament +(For, as yet, they've no others). + And is it not strange +That in vast Holy Russia, +With masses and masses + Of people unnumbered, +No song has been born 10 + Overflowing with joy +Like a bright summer morning? + Yes, is it not striking, +And is it not tragic? + O times that are coming, +You, too, will be painted +In songs of the people, + But how? In what colours? +And will there be ever + A smile in their hearts? 20 + +"Eh, that's a fine song! + 'Tis a shame to forget it." +Our peasants regret + That their memories trick them. +And, meanwhile, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" are saying, +"We lived but for 'barschin,' + Pray, how would you like it? +You see, we grew up + 'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30 +Our noses were glued + To the earth. We'd forgotten +The faces of neighbours, + Forgot how to speak. +We got tipsy in silence, + Gave kisses in silence, +Fought silently, too." + +"Eh, who speaks of silence? +We'd more cause to hate it + Than you," said a peasant 40 +Who came from a Volost + Near by, with a waggon +Of hay for the market. + (Some heavy misfortune +Had forced him to sell it.) + "For once our young lady, +Miss Gertrude, decided + That any one swearing +Must soundly be flogged. + Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50 +Until we stopped swearing! + Of course, not to swear +For the peasant means--silence. + We suffered, God knows! +Then freedom was granted, + We feasted it finely, +And then we made up + For our silence, believe me: +We swore in such style + That Pope John was ashamed 60 +For the church-bells to hear us. + (They rang all day long.) +What stories we told then! + We'd no need to seek +For the words. They were written + All over our backs." + +"A funny thing happened + In our parts,--a strange thing," +Remarked a tall fellow + With bushy black whiskers. 70 +(He wore a round hat + With a badge, a red waistcoat +With ten shining buttons, + And stout homespun breeches. +His legs, to contrast + With the smartness above them, +Were tied up in rags! +There are trees very like him, + From which a small shepherd +Has stripped all the bark off 80 + Below, while above +Not a scratch can be noticed! + And surely no raven +Would scorn such a summit +For building a nest.) + +"Well, tell us about it." + +"I'll first have a smoke." + +And while he is smoking + Our peasants are asking, +"And who is this fellow? 90 + What sort of a goose?" + +"An unfortunate footman + Inscribed in our Volost, +A martyr, a house-serf + Of Count Sinegusin's. +His name is Vikenti. + He sprang from the foot-board +Direct to the ploughshare; + We still call him 'Footman.' +He's healthy enough, 100 + But his legs are not strong, +And they're given to trembling. + His lady would drive +In a carriage and four +To go hunting for mushrooms. + He'll tell you some stories: +His memory's splendid; + You'd think he had eaten +The eggs of a magpie." [55] + +Now, setting his hat straight, 110 + Vikenti commences +To tell them the story. + + + +_The Dutiful Serf--Jacob the Faithful_ + +Once an official, of rather low family, + Bought a small village from bribes he had stored, +Lived in it thirty-three years without leaving it, + Feasted and hunted and drank like a lord. +Greedy and miserly, not many friends he made, + Sometimes he'd drive to his sister's to tea. +Cruel was his nature, and not to his serfs alone: + On his own daughter no pity had he, 120 +Horsewhipped her husband, and drove them both penniless + Out of his house; not a soul dare resist. + Jacob, his dutiful servant, + Ever of orders observant, + Often he'd strike in the mouth with his fist. + + Hearts of men born into slavery + Sometimes with dogs' hearts accord: + Crueller the punishments dealt to them + More they will worship their lord. 129 + +Jacob, it seems, had a heart of that quality, + Only two sources of joy he possessed: +Tending and serving his Barin devotedly, + Rocking his own little nephew to rest. +So they lived on till old age was approaching them, + Weak grew the legs of the Barin at last, +Vainly, to cure them, he tried every remedy; + Feast and debauch were delights of the past. + + Plump are his hands and white, + Keen are his eyes and bright, + Rosy his cheek remains, 140 + But on his legs--are chains! + +Helpless the Barin now lies in his dressing-gown, + Bitterly, bitterly cursing his fate. +Jacob, his "brother and friend,"--so the Barin says,-- + Nurses him, humours him early and late. +Winter and summer they pass thus in company, + Mostly at card-games together they play, +Sometimes they drive for a change to the sister's house, + Eight miles or so, on a very fine day. +Jacob himself bears his lord to the carriage then, 150 + Drives him with care at a moderate pace, +Carries him into the old lady's drawing-room.... + So they live peacefully on for a space. + +Grisha, the nephew of Jacob, a youth becomes, + Falls at the feet of his lord: "I would wed." +"Who will the bride be?" "Her name is Arisha, sir." + Thunders the Barin, "You'd better be dead!" +Looking at her he had often bethought himself, + "Oh, for my legs! Would the Lord but relent!" 159 +So, though the uncle entreated his clemency, + Grisha to serve in the army he sent. +Cut to the heart was the slave by this tyranny, + Jacob the Faithful went mad for a spell: +Drank like a fish, and his lord was disconsolate, + No one could please him: "You fools, go to Hell!" +Hate in each bosom since long has been festering: + Now for revenge! Now the Barin must pay, +Roughly they deal with his whims and infirmities, + Two quite unbearable weeks pass away. +Then the most faithful of servants appeared again, 170 + Straight at the feet of his master he fell, +Pity has softened his heart to the legless one, + Who can look after the Barin so well? +"Barin, recall not your pitiless cruelty, + While I am living my cross I'll embrace." +Peacefully now lies the lord in his dressing-gown, + Jacob, once more, is restored to his place. +Brother again the Pomyeshchick has christened him. + "Why do you wince, little Jacob?" says he. +"Barin, there's something that stings ... in my memory...." 180 + Now they thread mushrooms, play cards, and drink tea, +Then they make brandy from cherries and raspberries, + Next for a drive to the sister's they start, +See how the Barin lies smoking contentedly, + Green leaves and sunshine have gladdened his heart. +Jacob is gloomy, converses unwillingly, + Trembling his fingers, the reins are hung slack, +"Spirits unholy!" he murmurs unceasingly, + "Leave me! Begone!" (But again they attack.) +Just on the right lies a deep, wooded precipice, + Known in those parts as "The Devil's Abyss," 191 +Jacob turns into the wood by the side of it. + Queries his lord, "What's the meaning of this?" +Jacob replies not. The path here is difficult, + Branches and ruts make their steps very slow; +Rustling of trees is heard. Spring waters noisily + Cast themselves into the hollow below. +Then there's a halt,--not a step can the horses move: + Straight in their path stand the pines like a wall; +Jacob gets down, and, the horses unharnessing, + Takes of the Barin no notice at all. 201 + +Vainly the Barin's exclaiming and questioning, + Jacob is pale, and he shakes like a leaf, +Evilly smiles at entreaties and promises: + "Am I a murderer, then, or a thief? +No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. There's another way!" + Now he has climbed to the top of a pine, +Fastened the reins to the summit, and crossed himself, + Turning his face to the sun's bright decline. +Thrusting his head in the noose ... he has hanged himself! 210 + Horrible! Horrible! See, how he sways +Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate, + Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. +Twisting his head he is jerking convulsively, + Straining his voice to the utmost he cries, +All is in vain, there is no one to rescue him, + Only the mischievous echo replies. + +Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet, + Black is the night. Hear the owls on the wing, +Striking the earth as they pass, while the horses stand 220 + Chewing the leaves, and their bells faintly ring. +Two eyes are burning like lamps at the train's approach, + Steadily, brightly they gleam in the night, +Strange birds are flitting with movements mysterious, + Somewhere at hand they are heard to alight. +Straight over Jacob a raven exultingly + Hovers and caws. Now a hundred fly round! +Feebly the Barin is waving his crutch at them, + Merciful Heaven, what horrors abound! + +So the poor Barin all night in the carriage lies, + Shouting, from wolves to protect his old bones. 231 +Early next morning a hunter discovers him, + Carries him home, full of penitent groans: +"Oh, I'm a sinner most infamous! Punish me!" + Barin, I think, till you rest in your grave, +One figure surely will haunt you incessantly, + Jacob the Faithful, your dutiful slave. + + "What sinners! What sinners!" + The peasants are saying, + "I'm sorry for Jacob, 240 + Yet pity the Barin, + Indeed he was punished! + Ah, me!" Then they listen + To two or three more tales + As strange and as fearful, + And hotly they argue + On who must be reckoned + The greatest of sinners: + "The publican," one says, + And one, "The Pomyeshchick," 250 + Another, "The peasant." + This last was a carter, + A man of good standing + And sound reputation, + No ignorant babbler. + He'd seen many things + In his life, his own province + Had traversed entirely. + He should have been heard. + The peasants, however, 260 + Were all so indignant + They would not allow him + To speak. As for Klimka, + His wrath is unbounded, + "You fool!" he is shouting. + + "But let me explain." + + "I see you are _all_ fools," + A voice remarks roughly: + The voice of a trader + Who squeezes the peasants 270 + For laputs or berries + Or any spare trifles. + But chiefly he's noted + For seizing occasions + When taxes are gathered, + And peasants' possessions + Are bartered at auction. + "You start a discussion + And miss the chief point. + Why, who's the worst sinner? 280 + Consider a moment." + + "Well, who then? You tell us." + + "The robber, of course." + + "You've not been a serf, man," + Says Klimka in answer; + "The burden was heavy, + But not on your shoulders. + Your pockets are full, + So the robber alarms you; + The robber with this case 290 + Has nothing to do." + + "The case of the robber + Defending the robber," + The other retorts. + + "Now, pray!" bellows Klimka, + And leaping upon him, + He punches his jaw. + The trader repays him + With buffets as hearty, + "Take leave of your carcase!" 300 + He roars. + + "Here's a tussle!" + The peasants are clearing + A space for the battle; + They do not prevent it + Nor do they applaud it. + The blows fall like hail. + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! + Write home to your parents!" + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310 + Heh, send for the pope!" + + The trader, bent double + By Klimka, who, clutching + His hair, drags his head down, + Repeating, "He's bowing!" + Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" + When Klimka has freed him + He sits on a log, + And says, wiping his face + With a broadly-checked muffler, 320 + "No wonder he conquered: + He ploughs not, he reaps not, + Does nothing but doctor + The pigs and the horses; + Of course he gets strong!" + + The peasants are laughing, + And Klimka says, mocking, + "Here, try a bit more!" + + "Come on, then! I'm ready," + The trader says stoutly, 330 + And rolling his sleeves up, + He spits on his palms. + + "The hour has now sounded + For me, though a sinner, + To speak and unite you," + Iona pronounces. + The whole of the evening + That diffident pilgrim + Has sat without speaking, + And crossed himself, sighing. 340 + The trader's delighted, + And Klimka replies not. + The rest, without speaking, + Sit down on the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + +We know that in Russia + Are numbers of people +Who wander at large + Without kindred or home. +They sow not, they reap not, + They feed at the fountain +That's common to all, + That nourishes likewise +The tiniest mouse + And the mightiest army: +The sweat of the peasant. 10 + The peasants will tell you +That whole populations + Of villages sometimes +Turn out in the autumn + To wander like pilgrims. +They beg, and esteem it + A paying profession. +The people consider + That misery drives them 20 +More often than cunning, + And so to the pilgrims +Contribute their mite. + Of course, there are cases +Of downright deception: + One pilgrim's a thief, +Or another may wheedle + Some cloth from the wife +Of a peasant, exchanging + Some "sanctified wafers" 30 +Or "tears of the Virgin" + He's brought from Mount Athos, +And then she'll discover + He's been but as far +As a cloister near Moscow. + One saintly old greybeard +Enraptured the people + By wonderful singing, +And offered to teach + The young girls of the village 40 +The songs of the church + With their mothers' permission. +And all through the winter + He locked himself up +With the girls in a stable. + From thence, sometimes singing +Was heard, but more often + Came laughter and giggles. +Well, what was the upshot? + He taught them no singing, 50 +But ruined them all. + + Some Masters so skilful +There are, they will even + Lay siege to the ladies. +They first to the kitchens + Make sure of admission, +And then through the maids + Gained access to the mistress. +See, there he goes, strutting + Along through the courtyard 60 +And jingling the keys + Of the house like a Barin. +And soon he will spit + In the teeth of the peasants; +The pious old women, + Who always before +At the house have been welcome, + He'll speedily banish. +The people, however, + Can see in these pilgrims 70 +A good side as well. + For, who begs the money +For building the churches? + And who keeps the convent's +Collecting-box full? + And many, though useless, +Are perfectly harmless; + But some are uncanny, +One can't understand them: + The people know Foma, 80 +With chains round his middle + Some six stones in weight; +How summer and winter + He walks about barefoot, +And constantly mutters +Of Heaven knows what. + His life, though, is godly: +A stone for his pillow, + A crust for his dinner. + +The people know also 90 + The old man, Nikifor, +Adherent, most strange, + Of the sect called "The Hiders." +One day he appeared + In Usolovo village +Upbraiding the people + For lack of religion, +And calling them forth + To the great virgin forest +To seek for salvation. 100 + The chief of police +Of the district just happened + To be in the village +And heard his oration: + "Ho! Question the madman!" + +"Thou foe of Christ Jesus! + Thou Antichrist's herald!" +Nikifor retorts. +The Elders are nudging him: + "Now, then, be silent!" 110 +He pays no attention. +They drag him to prison. + He stands in the waggon, +Undauntedly chiding + The chief of police, +And loudly he cries + To the people who follow him: + +"Woe to you! Woe to you! Bondsmen, I mourn for you! + Though you're in rags, e'en the rags shall be torn from you! +Fiercely with knouts in the past did they mangle you: 120 + Clutches of iron in the future will strangle you!" + + The people are crossing + Themselves. The Nachalnik[56] + Is striking the prophet: + "Remember the Judge + Of Jerusalem, sinner!" + The driver's so frightened + The reins have escaped him, + His hair stands on end.... + + And when will the people 130 + Forget Yevressina, + Miraculous widow? + Let cholera only + Break out in a village: + At once like an envoy + Of God she appears. + She nurses and fosters + And buries the peasants. + The women adore her, + They pray to her almost. 140 + + It's evident, then, + That the door of the peasant + Is easily opened: + Just knock, and be certain + He'll gladly admit you. + He's never suspicious + Like wealthier people; + The thought does not strike him + At sight of the humble + And destitute stranger, 150 + "Perhaps he's a thief!" + And as to the women, + They're simply delighted, + They'll welcome you warmly. + + At night, in the Winter, + The family gathered + To work in the cottage + By light of "luchina," [57] + Are charmed by the pilgrim's + Remarkable stories. 160 + He's washed in the steam-bath, + And dipped with his spoon + In the family platter, + First blessing its contents. + His veins have been thawed + By a streamlet of vodka, + His words flow like water. + The hut is as silent + As death. The old father + Was mending the laputs, 170 + But now he has dropped them. + + The song of the shuttle + Is hushed, and the woman + Who sits at the wheel + Is engrossed in the story. + The daughter, Yevgenka, + Her plump little finger + Has pricked with a needle. + The blood has dried up, + But she notices nothing; 180 + Her sewing has fallen, + Her eyes are distended, + Her arms hanging limp. + The children, in bed + On the sleeping-planks, listen, + Their heads hanging down. + They lie on their stomachs + Like snug little seals + Upon Archangel ice-blocks. + Their hair, like a curtain, 190 + Is hiding their faces: + It's yellow, of course! + + But wait. Soon the pilgrim + Will finish his story-- + (It's true)--from Mount Athos. + It tells how that sinner + The Turk had once driven + Some monks in rebellion + Right into the sea,-- + Who meekly submitted, 200 + And perished in hundreds. + + (What murmurs of horror + Arise! Do you notice + The eyes, full of tears?) + And now conies the climax, + The terrible moment, + And even the mother + Has loosened her hold + On the corpulent bobbin, + It rolls to the ground.... 210 + And see how cat Vaska + At once becomes active + And pounces upon it. + At times less enthralling + The antics of Vaska + Would meet their deserts; + But now he is patting + And touching the bobbin + And leaping around it + With flexible movements, 220 + And no one has noticed. + It rolls to a distance, + The thread is unwound. + + Whoever has witnessed + The peasant's delight + At the tales of the pilgrims + Will realise this: + Though never so crushing + His labours and worries, + Though never so pressing 230 + The call of the tavern, + Their weight will not deaden + The soul of the peasant + And will not benumb it. + The road that's before him + Is broad and unending.... + When old fields, exhausted, + Play false to the reaper, + He'll seek near the forest + For soil more productive. 240 + The work may be hard, + But the new plot repays him: + It yields a rich harvest + Without being manured. + A soil just as fertile + Lies hid in the soul + Of the people of Russia: + O Sower, then come! + + The pilgrim Iona + Since long is well known 250 + In the village of "Earthworms." + The peasants contend + For the honour of giving + The holy man shelter. + At last, to appease them, + He'd say to the women, + "Come, bring out your icons!" + They'd hurry to fetch them. + Iona, prostrating + Himself to each icon, 260 + Would say to the people, + "Dispute not! Be patient, + And God will decide: + The saint who looks kindest + At me I will follow." + And often he'd follow + The icon most poor + To the lowliest hovel. + That hut would become then + A Cup overflowing; 270 + The women would run there + With baskets and saucepans, + All thanks to Iona. + + And now, without hurry + Or noise, he's beginning + To tell them a story, + "Two Infamous Sinners," + But first, most devoutly, + He crosses himself. + + + +_Two Infamous Sinners_ + +Come, let us praise the Omnipotent! 280 + Let us the legend relate +Told by a monk in the Priory. + Thus did I hear him narrate: + +Once were twelve brigands notorious, + One, Kudear, at their head; +Torrents of blood of good Christians + Foully the miscreants shed. + +Deep in the forest their hiding-place, + Rich was their booty and rare; +Once Kudear from near Kiev Town 290 + Stole a young maiden most fair. + +Days Kudear with his mistress spent, + Nights on the road with his horde; +Suddenly, conscience awoke in him, + Stirred by the grace of the Lord. + +Sleep left his couch. Of iniquity + Sickened his spirit at last; +Shades of his victims appeared to him, + Crowding in multitudes vast. + +Long was this monster most obdurate, 300 + Blind to the light from above, +Then flogged to death his chief satellite, + Cut off the head of his love,-- + +Scattered his gang in his penitence, + And to the churches of God +All his great riches distributed, + Buried his knife in the sod, + +Journeyed on foot to the Sepulchre, + Filled with repentance and grief; +Wandered and prayed, but the pilgrimage + Brought to his soul no relief. 311 + +When he returned to his Fatherland + Clad like a monk, old and bent, +'Neath a great oak, as an anchorite, + Life in the forest he spent. + +There, from the Maker Omnipotent, + Grace day and night did he crave: +"Lord, though my body thou castigate, + Grant that my soul I may save!" + +Pity had God on the penitent, 320 + Showed him the pathway to take, +Sent His own messenger unto him + During his prayers, who thus spake: + +"Know, for this oak sprang thy preference, + Not without promptings divine; +Lo! take the knife thou hast slaughtered with, + Fell it, and grace shall be thine. + +"Yea, though the task prove laborious, + Great shall the recompense be, +Let but the tree fall, and verily 330 + Thou from thy load shalt be free." + +Vast was the giant's circumference; + Praying, his task he begins, +Works with the tool of atrociousness, + Offers amends for his sins. + +Glory he sang to the Trinity, + Scraped the hard wood with his blade. +Years passed away. Though he tarried not, + Slow was the progress he made. + +'Gainst such a mighty antagonist 340 + How could he hope to prevail? +Only a Samson could vanquish it, + Not an old man, spent and frail. + +Doubt, as he worked, began plaguing him: + Once of a voice came the sound, +"Heh, old man, say what thy purpose is?" + Crossing himself he looked round. + +There, Pan[58] Glukhovsky was watching him + On his brave Arab astride, +Rich was the Pan, of high family, 350 + Known in the whole countryside. + +Many cruel deeds were ascribed to him, + Filled were his subjects with hate, +So the old hermit to caution him + Told him his own sorry fate. + +"Ho!" laughed Glukhovsky, derisively, + "Hope of salvation's not mine; +These are the things that I estimate-- + Women, gold, honour, and wine. + +"My life, old man, is the only one; 360 + Many the serfs that I keep; +What though I waste, hang, and torture them-- + You should but see how I sleep!" + +Lo! to the hermit, by miracle, + Wrath a great strength did impart, +Straight on Glukhovsky he flung himself, + Buried the knife in his heart. + +Scarce had the Pan, in his agony, + Sunk to the blood-sodden ground, +Crashed the great tree, and lay subjugate, + Trembled the earth at the sound. 371 + +Lo! and the sins of the anchorite + Passed from his soul like a breath. +"Let us pray God to incline to us, + Slaves in the shadow of Death...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +OLD AND NEW + +Iona has finished. + He crosses himself, +And the people are silent. + And then of a sudden + +The trader cries loudly + In great irritation, +"What's wrong with the ferry? + A plague on the sluggards! +Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +"You won't get the ferry 10 + Till sunrise, for even +In daytime they're frightened + To cross: the boat's rotten! + About Kudear, now--" + +"Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +He strides to his waggon. + A cow is there tethered; +He churlishly kicks her. + His hens begin clucking; +He shouts at them, "Silence!" 20 + The calf, which is shifting +About in the cart. + Gets a crack on the forehead. +He strikes the roan mare + With the whip, and departing +He makes for the Volga. + The moon is now shining, +It casts on the roadway + A comical shadow, +Which trots by his side. 30 + +"Oho!" says the Elder, + "He thought himself able +To fight, but discussion + Is not in his line.... +My brothers, how grievous + The sins of the nobles!" + +"And yet not as great + As the sin of the peasant," +The carter cannot here + Refrain from remarking. 40 + +"A plaguey old croaker!" + Says Klim, spitting crossly; +"Whatever arises + The raven must fly +To his own little brood! + What is it, then, tell us, +The sin of the peasant?" + + + +_The Sin of Gleb the Peasant_ + +A'miral Widower sailed on the sea, + Steering his vessels a-sailing went he. 49 +Once with the Turk a great battle he fought, + His was the victory, gallantly bought. +So to the hero as valour's reward + Eight thousand souls[59] did the Empress award. +A'miral Widower lived on his land + Rich and content, till his end was at hand. +As he lay dying this A'miral bold + Handed his Elder a casket of gold. +"See that thou cherish this casket," he said, + "Keep it and open it when I am dead. +There lies my will, and by it you will see + Eight thousand souls are from serfdom set free." 61 +Dead, on the table, the A'miral lies, + A kinsman remote to the funeral hies. +Buried! Forgotten! His relative soon + Calls Gleb, the Elder, with him to commune. +And, in a trice, by his cunning and skill, + Learns of the casket, and terms of the will. +Offers him riches and bliss unalloyed, + Gives him his freedom,--the will is destroyed! +Thus, by Gleb's longing for criminal gains, + Eight thousand souls were left rotting in chains, 71 +Aye, and their sons and their grandsons as well, + Think, what a crowd were thrown back into Hell! +God forgives all. Yes, but Judas's crime + Ne'er will be pardoned till end of all time. +Peasant, most infamous sinner of all, + Endlessly grieve to atone for thy fall! + + Wrathful, relentless, + The carter thus finished + The tale of the peasant 80 + In thunder-like tones. + The others sigh deeply + And rise. They're exclaiming, + "So, that's what it is, then, + The sin of the peasant. + He's right. 'Tis indeed + A most terrible sin!" + + "The story speaks truly; + Our grief shall be endless, + Ah, me!" says the Elder. 90 + (His faith in improvements + Has vanished again.) + And Klimka, who always + Is swayed in an instant + By joy or by sorrow, + Despondingly echoes, + "A terrible sin!" + + The green by the Volga, + Now flooded with moonlight, + Has changed of a sudden: 100 + The peasants no longer + Seem men independent + With self-assured movements, + They're "Earthworms" again-- + Those "Earthworms" whose victuals + Are never sufficient, + Who always are threatened + With drought, blight, or famine, + Who yield to the trader + The fruits of extortion 110 + Their tears, shed in tar. + The miserly haggler + Not only ill-pays them, + But bullies as well: + "For what do I pay you? + The tar costs you nothing. + The sun brings it oozing + From out of your bodies + As though from a pine." + + Again the poor peasants 120 + Are sunk in the depths + Of the bottomless gulf! + Dejected and silent, + They lie on their stomachs + Absorbed in reflection. + But then they start singing; + And slowly the song, + Like a ponderous cloud-bank, + Rolls mournfully onwards. + They sing it so clearly 130 + That quickly our seven + Have learnt it as well. + + +_The Hungry One_ + + The peasant stands +With haggard gaze, + He pants for breath, +He reels and sways; + + From famine food, +From bread of bark, + His form has swelled, +His face is dark. 140 + + Through endless grief +Suppressed and dumb + His eyes are glazed, +His soul is numb. + + As though in sleep, +With footsteps slow, + He creeps to where +The rye doth grow. + + Upon his field +He gazes long, 150 + He stands and sings +A voiceless song: + + "Grow ripe, grow ripe, +O Mother rye, + I fostered thee, +Thy lord am I. + + "Yield me a loaf +Of monstrous girth, + A cake as vast +As Mother-Earth. 160 + + "I'll eat the whole-- +No crumb I'll spare; + With wife, with child, +I will not share." + +"Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!" + A voice exclaims feebly. +It's one of the peasants. + He fetches a loaf +From his bag, and devours it. + +"They sing without voices, 170 + And yet when you listen +Your hair begins rising," + Another remarks. + +It's true. Not with voices + They sing of the famine-- +But something within them. + One, during the singing, +Has risen, to show them + The gait of the peasant +Exhausted by hunger, 180 + And swayed by the wind. +Restrained are his movements + And slow. After singing +"The Hungry One," thirsting + They make for the bucket, +One after another + Like geese in a file. +They stagger and totter + As people half-famished, +A drink will restore them. 190 +"Come, let us be joyful!" + The deacon is saying. +His youngest son, Grisha, +Approaches the peasants. + "Some vodka?" they ask him. + +"No, thank you. I've had some. + But what's been the matter? +You look like drowned kittens." + +"What should be the matter?" +(And making an effort 200 + They bear themselves bravely.) +And Vlass, the old Elder, + Has placed his great palm +On the head of his godson. + +"Is serfdom revived? + Will they drive you to barschin +Or pilfer your hayfields?" + Says Grisha in jest. + +"The hay-fields? You're joking!" + +"Well, what has gone wrong, then? + And why were you singing 211 +'The Hungry One,' brothers? + To summon the famine?" + +"Yes, what's all the pother?" + Here Klimka bursts out +Like a cannon exploding. + The others are scratching +Their necks, and reflecting: +"It's true! What's amiss?" +"Come, drink, little 'Earthworms,' + Come, drink and be merry! 221 +All's well--as we'd have it, + Aye, just as we wished it. +Come, hold up your noddles! + But what about Gleb?" + +A lengthy discussion + Ensues; and it's settled +That they're not to blame +For the deed of the traitor: + 'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230 +For just as the big snake + Gives birth to the small ones, +So serfdom gave birth + To the sins of the nobles, +To Jacob the Faithful's + And also to Gleb's. +For, see, without serfdom + Had been no Pomyeshchick +To drive his true servant + To death by the noose, 240 +No terrible vengeance + Of slave upon master +By suicide fearful, + No treacherous Gleb. + +'Twas Prov of all others + Who listened to Grisha +With deepest attention +And joy most apparent. + And when he had finished +He cried to the others 250 + In accents of triumph, +Delightedly smiling, + "Now, brothers, mark _that_!" +"So now, there's an end + Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" +Cries Klimka, with glee. +The words about serfdom + Were quickly caught up +By the crowd, and went passing + From one to another: 260 +"Yes, if there's no big snake + There cannot be small ones!" +And Klimka is swearing + Again at the carter: +"You ignorant fool!" +They're ready to grapple! + The deacon is sobbing +And kissing his Grisha: + "Just see what a headpiece +The Lord is creating! 270 + No wonder he longs +For the college in Moscow!" + Old Vlass, too, is patting +His shoulder and saying, + "May God send thee silver +And gold, and a healthy + And diligent wife!" + +"I wish not for silver + Or gold," replies Grisha. +"But one thing I wish: 280 + I wish that my comrades, +Yes, all the poor peasants + In Russia so vast, +Could be happy and free!" + Thus, earnestly speaking, +And blushing as shyly + As any young maiden, +He walks from their midst. + +The dawn is approaching. + The peasants make ready 290 +To cross by the ferry. +"Eh, Vlass," says the carter, + As, stooping, he raises +The span of his harness, + "Who's this on the ground?" + +The Elder approaches, + And Klimka behind him, +Our seven as well. + (They're always most anxious +To see what is passing.) 300 + +Some fellow is lying + Exhausted, dishevelled, +Asleep, with the beggars + Behind some big logs. +His clothing is new, + But it's hanging in ribbons. +A crimson silk scarf + On his neck he is wearing; +A watch and a waistcoat; + His blouse, too, is red. 310 +Now Klimka is stooping +To look at the sleeper, + Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly +Stamps straight on his mouth. + +The fellow springs up, + Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep, +And old Vlasuchka strikes him. + He squeals like a rat +'Neath the heel of your slipper, + And makes for the forest 320 +On long, lanky legs. + Four peasants pursue him, +The others cry, "Beat him!" + Until both the man +And the band of pursuers + Are lost in the forest. + +"Who is he?" our seven + Are asking the Elder, +"And why do they beat him?" + +"We don't know the reason, 330 + But we have been told +By the people of Tiskov + To punish this Shutov +Whenever we catch him, + And so we obey. +When people from Tiskov + Pass by, they'll explain it. +What luck? Did you catch him?" + He asks of the others +Returned from the chase. 340 + +"We caught him, I warrant, + And gave him a lesson. +He's run to Demyansky, + For there he'll be able +To cross by the ferry." + +"Strange people, to beat him + Without any cause!" +"And why? If the commune + Has told us to do it +There must be some reason!" 350 + Shouts Klim at the seven. +"D'you think that the people +Of Tiskov are fools? + It isn't long since, mind, +That many were flogged there, +One man in each ten. + Ah, Shutov, you rendered +A dastardly service, + Your duties are evil, +You damnable wretch! 360 + And who deserves beating +As richly as Shutov? + Not we alone beat him: +From Tiskov, you know, + Fourteen villages lie +On the banks of the Volga; + I warrant through each +He's been driven with blows." + +The seven are silent. + They're longing to get 370 +At the root of the matter. + But even the Elder +Is now growing angry. + +It's daylight. The women + Are bringing their husbands +Some breakfast, of rye-cakes + And--goose! (For a peasant +Had driven some geese + Through the village to market, +And three were grown weary, 380 + And had to be carried.) +"See here, will you sell them? + They'll die ere you get there." +And so, for a trifle, + The geese had been bought. + +We've often been told + How the peasant loves drinking; +Not many there are, though, + Who know how he eats. +He's greedier far 390 + For his food than for vodka, +So one man to-day +(A teetotaller mason) + Gets perfectly drunk +On his breakfast of goose! +A shout! "Who is coming? + Who's this?" Here's another +Excuse for rejoicing + And noise! There's a hay-cart +With hay, now approaching, 400 + And high on its summit +A soldier is sitting. + He's known to the peasants +For twenty versts round. + And, cosy beside him, +Justinutchka sits + (His niece, and an orphan, +His prop in old age). +He now earns his living + By means of his peep-show, 410 +Where, plainly discerned, + Are the Kremlin and Moscow, +While music plays too. + The instrument once +Had gone wrong, and the soldier, + No capital owning, +Bought three metal spoons, +Which he beat to make music; + But the words that he knew +Did not suit the new music, 420 +And folk did not laugh. + The soldier was sly, though: +He made some new words up + That went with the music. + +They hail him with rapture! + "Good-health to you, Grandad! +Jump down, drink some vodka, + And give us some music." + +"It's true I got _up_ here, + But how to get-down?" 430 + +"You're going, I see, + To the town for your pension, +But look what has happened: + It's burnt to the ground." + +"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly! + What then? Then I'll go + To St. Petersburg for it; +For all my old comrades + Are there with their pensions, +They'll show me the way." 440 + +"You'll go by the train, then?" + +The old fellow whistles: + "Not long you've been serving +Us, orthodox Christians, + You, infidel railway! +And welcome you were + When you carried us cheaply +From Peters to Moscow. + (It cost but three roubles.) +But now you want seven, 450 + So, go to the devil! + +"Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! +Hiss like a snake as you glide! +_Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!_ +Puff at the whole countryside! +Crushing and maiming your toll you extort, +Straight in the face of the peasant you snort, +Soon all the people of Russia you may +Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!" + +"Come, give us some music," 460 + Says Vlass to the soldier, +"For here there are plenty + Of holiday people, +'Twill be to your profit. + You see to it, Klimka!" +(Though Vlass doesn't like him, + Whenever there's something +That calls for arranging + He leaves it to Klimka: +"You see to it, Klimka!" 470 + And Klimka is pleased.) + +And soon the old soldier + Is helped from the hay-cart: +He's weak on his legs,--tall, + And strikingly thin. +His uniform seems + To be hung from a pole; +There are medals upon it. + +It cannot be said + That his face is attractive, 480 +Especially when + It's distorted by _tic_: +His mouth opens wide + And his eyes burn like charcoal,-- +A regular demon! + +The music is started, + The people run back +From the banks of the Volga. +He sings to the music. + + * * * * * + +A spasm has seized him: 490 + He leans on his niece, +And his left leg upraising + He twirls it around +In the air like a weight. + His right follows suit then, +And murmuring, "Curse it!" + He suddenly masters +And stands on them both. + +"You see to it, Klimka!" + Of course he'll arrange it 500 +In Petersburg fashion: + He stands them together, +The niece and the uncle; + Takes two wooden dishes +And gives them one each, + Then springs on a tree-trunk +To make an oration. + +(The soldier can't help + Adding apt little words +To the speech of the peasant, 510 + And striking his spoons.) + + * * * * * + +The soldier is stamping + His feet. One can hear +His dry bones knock together. + When Klimka has finished +The peasants come crowding, + Surrounding the soldier, +And some a kopeck give, + And others give half: +In no time a rouble 520 + Is piled on the dishes. + + + +EPILOGUE + +GRISHA DOBROSKLONOW + + +A CHEERFUL SEASON--CHEERFUL SONGS + +The feast was continued + Till morning--a splendid, +A wonderful feast! + Then the people dispersing +Went home, and our peasants + Lay down 'neath the willow; +Iona--meek pilgrim + Of God--slept there too. +And Sava and Grisha, + The sons of the deacon, 10 +Went home, with their parent + Unsteady between them. +They sang; and their voices, + Like bells on the Volga, +So loud and so tuneful, + Came chiming together: + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "That which will surely 20 + Banish the night + He[60] has awarded-- + Freedom and Light! + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "Blessings from Heaven, + Grace from above, + Rained on the battle, + Conquered by Love. 30 + + "Little we ask Thee-- + Grant us, O Lord, + Strength to be honest, + Fearing Thy word! + + "Brotherly living, + Sharing in part, + That is the roadway + Straight to the heart. + + "Turn from that teaching + Tender and wise-- 40 + Cowards and traitors + Soon will arise. + + "People of Russia, + Banish the night! + You have been granted + That which is needful-- + Freedom and Light!" + +The deacon was poor + As the poorest of peasants: +A mean little cottage 50 + Like two narrow cages, +The one with an oven + Which smoked, and the other +For use in the summer,-- + Such was his abode. +No horse he possessed + And no cow. He had once had +A dog and a cat, + But they'd both of them left him. + +His sons put him safely 60 + To bed, snoring loudly; +Then Savushka opened + A book, while his brother +Went out, and away + To the fields and the forest. + +A broad-shouldered youth + Was this Grisha; his face, though, +Was terribly thin. + In the clerical college +The students got little 70 + To eat. Sometimes Grisha +Would lie the whole night + Without sleep; only longing +For morning and breakfast,-- + The coarse piece of bread +And the glassful of sbeeten.[61] +The village was poor + And the food there was scanty, +But still, the two brothers + Grew certainly plumper 80 +When home for the holidays-- + Thanks to the peasants. + +The boys would repay them + By all in their power, +By work, or by doing + Their little commissions +In town. Though the deacon + Was proud of his children, +He never had given + Much thought to their feeding. 90 +Himself, the poor deacon, + Was endlessly hungry, +His principal thought + Was the manner of getting +The next piece of food. + He was rather light-minded +And vexed himself little; + But Dyomna, his wife, +Had been different entirely: + She worried and counted, 100 +So God took her soon. + The whole of her life +She by salt[62] had been troubled: + If bread has run short +One can ask of the neighbours; + But salt, which means money, +Is hard to obtain. + The village with Dyomna +Had shared its bread freely; + And long, long ago 110 +Would her two little children + Have lain in the churchyard +If not for the peasants. + +And Dyomna was ready + To work without ceasing +For all who had helped her; + But salt was her trouble, +Her thought, ever present. + She dreamt of it, sang of it, +Sleeping and waking, 120 + While washing, while spinning, +At work in the fields, + While rocking her darling +Her favourite, Grisha. + And many years after +The death of his mother, + His heart would grow heavy +And sad, when the peasants + Remembered one song, +And would sing it together 130 + As Dyomna had sung it; +They called it "The Salt Song." + + + +_The Salt Song_ + + Now none but God + Can save my son: + He's dying fast, + My little one.... + + I give him bread--- + He looks at it, + He cries to me, + "Put salt on it." 140 + I have no salt-- + No tiny grain; + "Take flour," God whispers, + "Try again...." + + He tastes it once, + Once more he tries; + "That's not enough, + More salt!" he cries. + + The flour again.... + My tears fall fast 150 + Upon the bread,-- + He eats at last! + + The mother smiles + In pride and joy: + Her tears so salt + Have saved the boy. + + * * * * * + +Young Grisha remembered + This song; he would sing it +Quite low to himself + In the clerical college. 160 +The college was cheerless, +And singing this song + He would yearn for his mother, +For home, for the peasants, + His friends and protectors. +And soon, with the love + Which he bore to his mother, +His love for the people + Grew wider and stronger.... +At fifteen years old 170 + He was firmly decided +To spend his whole life + In promoting their welfare, +In striving to succour + The poor and afflicted. +The demon of malice + Too long over Russia +Has scattered its hate; + The shadow of serfdom +Has hidden all paths 180 + Save corruption and lying. +Another song now + Will arise throughout Russia; +The angel of freedom + And mercy is flying +Unseen o'er our heads, + And is calling strong spirits +To follow the road + Which is honest and clean. + +Oh, tread not the road 190 +So shining and broad: +Along it there speed +With feverish tread +The multitudes led +By infamous greed. + +There lives which are spent +With noble intent +Are mocked at in scorn; +There souls lie in chains, +And bodies and brains 200 +By passions are torn, + +By animal thirst +For pleasures accurst +Which pass in a breath. +There hope is in vain, +For there is the reign +Of darkness and death. + + * * * * * + +In front of your eyes +Another road lies-- +'Tis honest and clean. 210 +Though steep it appears +And sorrow and tears +Upon it are seen: + +It leads to the door +Of those who are poor, +Who hunger and thirst, +Who pant without air. +Who die in despair-- +Oh, there be the first! + +The song of the angel 220 + Of Mercy not vainly +Was sung to our Grisha. + The years of his study +Being passed, he developed + In thought and in feeling; +A passionate singer + Of Freedom became he, +Of all who are grieving, + Down-trodden, afflicted, +In Russia so vast. 230 + + * * * * * + +The bright sun was shining, + The cool, fragrant morning +Was filled with the sweetness + Of newly-mown hay. +Young Grisha was thoughtful, + He followed the first road +He met--an old high-road, + An avenue, shaded +By tall curling birch trees. + The youth was now gloomy, 240 +Now gay; the effect + Of the feast was still with him; +His thoughts were at work, + And in song he expressed them: + +"I know that you suffer, +O Motherland dear, +The thought of it fills me with woe: +And Fate has much sorrow +In store yet, I fear, +But you will not perish, I know. 250 + +"How long since your children +As playthings were used, +As slaves to base passions and lust; +Were bartered like cattle, +Were vilely abused +By masters most cruel and unjust? + +"How long since young maidens +Were dragged to their shame, +Since whistle of whips filled the land, +Since 'Service' possessed 260 +A more terrible fame +Than death by the torturer's hand? + +"Enough! It is finished, +This tale of the past; +'Tis ended, the masters' long sway; +The strength of the people +Is stirring at last, +To freedom 'twill point them the way. + +"Your burden grows lighter, +O Motherland dear, 270 +Your wounds less appalling to see. +Your fathers were slaves, +Smitten helpless by fear, +But, Mother, your children are free!" + + * * * * * + +A small winding footpath + Now tempted young Grisha, +And guided his steps + To a very broad hayfield. +The peasants were cutting + The hay, and were singing 280 +His favourite song. + Young Grisha was saddened +By thoughts of his mother, + And nearly in anger +He hurried away + From the field to the forest. +Bright echoes are darting + About in the forest; +Like quails in the wheat + Little children are romping 290 +(The elder ones work + In the hay fields already). +He stopped awhile, seeking + For horse-chestnuts with them. +The sun was now hot; + To the river went Grisha +To bathe, and he had + A good view of the ruins +That three days before + Had been burnt. What a picture! +No house is left standing; 301 + And only the prison +Is saved; just a few days + Ago it was whitewashed; + It stands like a little +White cow in the pastures. + The guards and officials +Have made it their refuge; + But all the poor peasants +Are strewn by the river 310 + Like soldiers in camp. +Though they're mostly asleep now, + A few are astir, +And two under-officials + Are picking their way +To the tent for some vodka + 'Mid tables and cupboards +And waggons and bundles. + A tailor approaches +The vodka tent also; 320 + A shrivelled old fellow. + His irons and his scissors +He holds in his hands, + Like a leaf he is shaking. +The pope has arisen + From sleep, full of prayers. +He is combing his hair; + Like a girl he is holding +His long shining plait. + Down the Volga comes floating 330 +Some wood-laden rafts, + And three ponderous barges +Are anchored beneath + The right bank of the river. +The barge-tower yesterday + Evening had dragged them +With songs to their places, +And there he is standing, + The poor harassed man! +He is looking quite gay though, 340 + As if on a holiday, +Has a clean shirt on; + Some farthings are jingling +Aloud in his pocket. + Young Grisha observes him +For long from the river, + And, half to himself, +Half aloud, begins singing: + + + +_The Barge-Tower_ + +With shoulders back and breast astrain, +And bathed in sweat which falls like rain, +Through midday heat with gasping song, +He drags the heavy barge along. 352 +He falls and rises with a groan, +His song becomes a husky moan.... +But now the barge at anchor lies, +A giant's sleep has sealed his eyes; +And in the bath at break of day +He drives the clinging sweat away. +Then leisurely along the quay +He strolls refreshed, and roubles three 360 +Are sewn into his girdle wide; +Some coppers jingle at his side. +He thinks awhile, and then he goes +Towards the tavern. There he throws +Some hard-earned farthings on the seat; +He drinks, and revels in the treat, +The sense of perfect ease and rest. +Soon with the cross he signs his breast: +The journey home begins to-day. +And cheerfully he goes away; 370 +On presents spends a coin or so: +For wife some scarlet calico, +A scarf for sister, tinsel toys +For eager little girls and boys. +God guide him home--'tis many a mile-- +And let him rest a little while.... + + * * * * * + + The barge-tower's fate + Lead the thoughts of young Grisha + To dwell on the whole + Of mysterious Russia-- 380 + The fate of her people. + For long he was roving + About on the bank, + Feeling hot and excited, + His brain overflowing + With new and new verses. + + _Russia_ + +"The Tsar was in mood +To dabble in blood: +To wage a great war. +Shall we have gold enough? 390 +Shall we have strength enough? +Questioned the Tsar. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet thou art powerful, +Thy wealth is plentiful, +Russia, my Mother!) + +"By misery chastened, +By serfdom of old, +The heart of thy people, 400 +O Tsar, is of gold. + +"And strong were the nation, +Unyielding its might, +If standing for conscience, +For justice and right. + +"But summon the country +To valueless strife, +And no man will hasten +To offer his life. + +"So Russia lies sleeping 410 +In obstinate rest;-- +But should the spark kindle +That's hid in her breast-- + +"She'll rise without summons, +Go forth without call, +With sacrifice boundless, +Each giving his all! + +"A host she will gather +Of strength unsurpassed, +With infinite courage 420 +Will fight to the last. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet of great treasure full, +Mighty, all-powerful, +Russia, my Mother!)" + + * * * * * + +Young Grisha was pleased + With his song; and he murmured. +"Its message is true; + I will sing it to-morrow 430 +Aloud to the peasants. + Their songs are so mournful, +It's well they should hear + Something joyful,--God help them! +For just as with running + The cheeks begin burning, +So acts a good song + On the spirit despairing, +Brings comfort and strength." + But first to his brother 440 +He sang the new song, +And his brother said, "Splendid!" + + Then Grisha tried vainly +To sleep; but half dreaming + New songs he composed. +They grew brighter and stronger.... + + Our peasants would soon +Have been home from their travels + If they could have known +What was happening to Grisha: 450 + With what exaltation +His bosom was burning; + What beautiful strains +In his ears began chiming; + How blissfully sang he +The wonderful anthem + Which tells of the freedom +And peace of the people. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Many years later, after his mother's death, Nekrassov found this +letter among her papers. It was a letter written to her by her own +mother after her flight and subsequent marriage. It announced to her her +father's curse, and was filled with sad and bitter reproaches: "To whom +have you entrusted your fate? For what country have you abandoned +Poland, your Motherland? You, whose hand was sought, a priceless gift, +by princes, have chosen a savage, ignorant, uncultured.... Forgive +me, but my heart is bleeding...." + +[2] Priest. + +[3] Landowner. + +[4] The peasants assert that the cuckoo chokes himself with young ears +of corn. + +[5] A kind of home-brewed cider. + +[6] _Laput_ is peasants' footgear made of bark of saplings. + +[7] Priest + +[8] New huts are built only when the village has been destroyed by fire. + +[9] The lines of asterisks throughout the poem represent passages that +were censored in the original. + +[10] There is a superstition among the Russian peasants that it is an +ill omen to meet the "pope" when going upon an errand. + +[11] Landowners + +[12] Dissenters in Russia are subjected to numerous religious +restrictions. Therefore they are obliged to bribe the local orthodox +pope, in order that he should not denounce them to the police. + +[13] There is a Russian superstition that a round rainbow is sent as a +sign of coming dry weather. + +[14] _Kasha_ and _stchee_ are two national dishes. + +[15] The mud and water from the high lands on both sides descend and +collect in the villages so situated, which are often nearly transformed +into swamps during the rainy season. + +[16] On feast days the peasants often pawn their clothes for drink. + +[17] Well-known popular characters in Russia. + +[18] Each landowner kept his own band of musicians. + +[19] The halting-place for prisoners on their way to Siberia. + +[20] The tax collector, the landlord, and the priest. + +[21] Fire. + +[22] Popular name for Petrograd. + +[23] The primitive wooden plough still used by the peasants in Russia. + +[24] Three pounds. + +[25] Holy pictures of the saints. + +[26] The Russian nickname for the bear. + +[27] Chief of police. + +[28] An administrative unit consisting of a group of villages. + +[29] The end of the story is omitted because of the interference of the +Censor. + +[30] A three-horsed carriage. + +[31] The Pomyeshchick is still bitter because his serfs have been set +free by the Government. + +[32] The Russian warriors of olden times. + +[33] Russian Easter dishes. + +[34] Russians embrace one another on Easter Sunday, recalling the +resurrection of Christ. + +[35] The Russians press their foreheads to the ground while worshipping. + +[36] The official appointed to arrange terms between the Pomyeshchicks +and their emancipated serfs. + +[37] The haystacks. + +[38] A long-skirted coat. + +[39] The forced labour of the serfs for their owners. + +[40] Holy images. + +[41] Meenin--a famous Russian patriot in the beginning of the +seventeenth century. He is always represented with an immense beard. + +[42] It is a sign of respect to address a person by his own name and +the name of his father. + +[43] Ukha--fish soup. + +[44] A national loose sleeveless dress worn with a separate shirt +or blouse. + +[45] The marriage agent. + +[46] The marriage agent. + +[47] Inhabitants of the village Korojin. + +[48] Germans were often employed as managers of the Pomyeshchicks' +estates. + +[49] In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls +for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the +atmosphere. + +[50] Police-official. + +[51] Heave-to! + +[52] This paragraph refers to the custom of the country police in +Russia, who, on hearing of the accidental death of anybody in a village, +will, in order to extract bribes from the villagers, threaten to hold an +inquest on the corpse. The peasants are usually ready to part with +nearly all they possess in order to save their dead from what they +consider desecration. + +[53] The Saviour's day. + +[54] A reference to the arranging of terms between the Pomyeshchicks +and peasants with regard to land at the time of the emancipation of +the serfs. + +[55] There is a Russian superstition that a good memory is gained by +eating magpies' eggs. + +[56] Chief of Police. + +[57] A wooden splinter prepared and used for lighting purposes. + +[58] Polish title for nobleman or gentleman. + +[59] Serfs. + +[60] Alexander II., who gave emancipation to the peasants. + +[61] A popular Russian drink composed of hot water +and honey. + +[62] There was a very heavy tax laid upon salt at the time. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia?, by +Nicholas Nekrassov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + +***** This file should be named 9619.txt or 9619.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/1/9619/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b44659d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #9619 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9619) diff --git a/old/7whrs10.txt b/old/7whrs10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d536ad2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7whrs10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12722 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? +by Nicholas Nekrassov + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? + +Author: Nicholas Nekrassov + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9619] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +WHO CAN BE HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? + +BY + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV + + +Translated by Juliet M. Soskice + +With an Introduction by Dr. David Soskice + + +1917 + + + +[Illustration: Nicholas Nekrassov] + + + +NICHOLAS ALEXEIEVITCH NEKRASSOV + +Born, near the town Vinitza, province of Podolia, November 22, 1821 + +Died, St. Petersburg, December 27, 1877. + + +_'Who can be Happy and Free in Russia?' was first published in Russia +in 1879. In 'The World's Classics' this translation was first published +in 1917._ + + + + +CONTENTS: + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + +PROLOGUE + +PART I. + + CHAP. + + I. THE POPE + II. THE VILLAGE FAIR + III. THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + IV. THE HAPPY ONES + V. THE POMYESHCHICK + +PART II.--THE LAST POMYESHCHICK + + PROLOGUE + I. THE DIE-HARD + II. KLIM, THE ELDER + +PART III.--THE PEASANT WOMAN + + PROLOGUE + I. THE WEDDING + II. A SONG + III. SAVYELI + IV. DJOMUSHKA + V. THE SHE-WOLF + VI. AN UNLUCKY YEAR + VII. THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + VIII. THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + +PART IV.--A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + PROLOGUE + I. BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + II. PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + III. OLD AND NEW + +EPILOGUE + + + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + + +Western Europe has only lately begun to explore the rich domain of +Russian literature, and is not yet acquainted with all even of its +greatest figures. Treasures of untold beauty and priceless value, which +for many decades have been enlarging and elevating the Russian mind, +still await discovery here. Who in England, for instance, has heard the +names of Saltykov, Uspensky, or Nekrassov? Yet Saltykov is the greatest +of Russian satirists; Uspensky the greatest story-writer of the lives of +the Russian toiling masses; while Nekrassov, "the poet of the people's +sorrow," whose muse "of grief and vengeance" has supremely dominated the +minds of the Russian educated classes for the last half century, is the +sole and rightful heir of his two great predecessors, Pushkin and +Lermontov. + +Russia is a country still largely mysterious to the denizen +of Western Europe, and the Russian peasant, the _moujik_, an +impenetrable riddle to him. Of all the great Russian writers not one has +contributed more to the interpretation of the enigmatical soul of the +_moujik_ than Russia's great poet, Nekrassov, in his life-work the +national epic, _Who can be Happy in Russia?_ + +There are few literate persons in Russia who do not know whole pages of +this poem by heart. It will live as long as Russian literature exists; +and its artistic value as an instrument for the depiction of Russian +nature and the soul of the Russian people can be compared only with that +of the great epics of Homer with regard to the legendary life of +ancient Greece. + +Nekrassov seemed destined to dwell from his birth amid such surroundings +as are necessary for the creation of a great national poet. + +Nicholas Alexeievitch Nekrassov was the descendant of a noble family, +which in former years had been very wealthy, but subsequently had lost +the greater part of its estates. His father was an officer in the army, +and in the course of his peregrinations from one end of the country to +the other in the fulfilment of his military duties he became acquainted +with a young Polish girl, the daughter of a wealthy Polish aristocrat. +She was seventeen, a type of rare Polish beauty, and the handsome, +dashing Russian officer at once fell madly in love with her. The parents +of the girl, however, were horrified at the notion of marrying their +daughter to a "Muscovite savage," and her father threatened her with his +curse if ever again she held communication with her lover. So the matter +was secretly arranged between the two, and during a ball which the young +Polish beauty was attending she suddenly disappeared. Outside the house +the lover waited with his sledge. They sped away, and were married at +the first church they reached. + +The bride, with her father's curse upon her, passed straight from her +sheltered existence in her luxurious home to all the unsparing rigours +of Russian camp-life. Bred in an atmosphere of maternal tenderness and +Polish refinement she had now to share the life of her rough, uncultured +Russian husband, to content herself with the shallow society of the +wives of the camp officers, and soon to be crushed by the knowledge that +the man for whom she had sacrificed everything was not even faithful +to her. + +During their travels, in 1821, Nicholas Nekrassov the future poet was +born, and three years later his father left military service and settled +in his estate in the Yaroslav Province, on the banks of the great river +Volga, and close to the Vladimirsky highway, famous in Russian history +as the road along which, for centuries, chained convicts had been driven +from European Russia to the mines in Siberia. The old park of the manor, +with its seven rippling brooklets and mysterious shadowy linden avenues +more than a century old, filled with a dreamy murmur at the slightest +stir of the breeze, stretched down to the mighty Volga, along the banks +of which, during the long summer days, were heard the piteous, panting +songs of the _burlaki_, the barge-towers, who drag the heavy, loaded +barges up and down the river. + +The rattling of the convicts' chains as they passed; the songs of the +_burlaki_; the pale, sorrowful face of his mother as she walked alone in +the linden avenues of the garden, often shedding tears over a letter she +read, which was headed by a coronet and written in a fine, delicate +hand; the spreading green fields, the broad mighty river, the deep blue +skies of Russia,--such were the reminiscences which Nekrassov retained +from his earliest childhood. He loved his sad young mother with a +childish passion, and in after years he was wont to relate how jealous +he had been of that letter[1] she read so often, which always seemed to +fill her with a sorrow he could not understand, making her at moments +even forget that he was near her. + +The sight and knowledge of deep human suffering, framed in the soft +voluptuous beauty of nature in central Russia, could not fail to sow the +seed of future poetical powers in the soul of an emotional child. His +mother, who had been bred on Shakespeare, Milton, and the other great +poets and writers of the West, devoted her solitary life to the +development of higher intellectual tendencies in her gifted little son. +And from an early age he made attempts at verse. His mother has +preserved for the world his first little poem, which he presented to her +when he was seven years of age, with a little heading, roughly to the +following effect: + + My darling Mother, look at this, + I did the best I could in it, + Please read it through and tell me if + You think there's any good in it. + +The early life of the little Nekrassov was passed amid a series of +contrasting pictures. His father, when he had abandoned his military +calling and settled upon his estate, became the Chief of the district +police. He would take his son Nicholas with him in his trap as he drove +from village to village in the fulfilment of his new duties. The +continual change of scenery during their frequent journeys along country +roads, through forests and valleys, past meadows and rivers, the various +types of people they met with, broadened and developed the mind of +little Nekrassov, just as the mind of the child Ruskin was formed and +expanded during his journeys with his father. But Ruskin's education +lacked features with which young Nekrassov on his journeys soon became +familiar. While acquiring knowledge of life and accumulating impressions +of the beauties of nature, Nekrassov listened, perforce, to the brutal, +blustering speeches addressed by his father to the helpless, trembling +peasants, and witnessed the cruel, degrading corporal punishments he +inflicted upon them, while his eyes were speedily opened to his father's +addiction to drinking, gambling, and debauchery. These experiences would +most certainly have demoralised and depraved his childish mind had it +not been for the powerful influence the refined and cultured mother had +from the first exercised upon her son. The contrast between his parents +was so startling that it could not fail to awaken the better side of the +child's nature, and to imbue him with pure and healthy notions of the +truer and higher ideals of humanity. In his poetical works of later +years Nekrassov repeatedly returns to and dwells upon the memory of the +sorrowful, sweet image of his mother. The gentle, beautiful lady, with +her wealth of golden hair, with an expression of divine tenderness in +her blue eyes and of infinite suffering upon her sensitive lips, +remained for ever her son's ideal of womanhood. Later on, during years +of manhood, in moments of the deepest moral suffering and despondency, +it was always of her that he thought, her tenderness and spiritual +consolation he recalled and for which he craved. + +When Nekrassov was eleven years of age his father one day drove him to +the town nearest their estate and placed him in the local +grammar-school. Here he remained for six years, gradually, though +without distinction, passing upwards from one class to another, devoting +a moderate amount of time to school studies and much energy to the +writing of poetry, mostly of a satirical nature, in which his teachers +figured with unfortunate conspicuity. + +One day a copy-book containing the most biting of these productions fell +into the hands of the headmaster, and young Nekrassov was summarily +ejected from the school. + +His angry father, deciding in his own mind that the boy was good for +nothing, despatched him to St. Petersburg to embark upon a military +career. The seventeen-year-old boy arrived in the capital with a +copy-book of his poems and a few roubles in his pocket, and with a +letter of introduction to an influential general. He was filled with +good intentions and fully prepared to obey his father's orders, but +before he had taken the final step of entering the nobleman's regiment +he met a young student, a former school-mate, who captivated his +imagination by glowing descriptions of the marvellous sciences to be +studied in the university, and the surpassing interest of student life. +The impressionable boy decided to abandon the idea of his military +career, and to prepare for his matriculation in the university. He wrote +to his father to this effect, and received the stern and laconic reply: + +"If you disobey me, not another farthing shall you receive from me." + +The youth had made his mind up, however, and entered the university as +an unmatriculated student. And that was the beginning of his long +acquaintance with the hardships of poverty. + +"For three years," said Nekrassov in after life, "I was hungry all day, +and every day. It was not only that I ate bad food and not enough of +that, but some days I did not eat at all. I often went to a certain +restaurant in the Morskaya, where one is allowed to read the paper +without ordering food. You can hold the paper in front of you and nibble +at a piece of bread behind it...." + +While sunk in this state of poverty, however, Nekrassov got into touch +with some of the richest and most aristocratic families in St. +Petersburg; for at that time there existed a complete comradeship and +equality among the students, whether their budget consisted of a few +farthings or unlimited wealth. Thus here again Nekrassov was given the +opportunity of studying the contrasts of life. + +For several years after his arrival in St. Petersburg the true gifts of +the poet were denied expression. The young man was confronted with a +terrible uphill fight to conquer the means of bare subsistence. He had +no time to devote to the working out of his poems, and it would not have +"paid" him. He was obliged to accept any literary job that was offered +him, and to execute it with a promptitude necessitated by the +requirements of his daily bill of fare. During the first years of his +literary career he wrote an amazing number of prose reviews, essays, +short stories, novels, comedies and tragedies, alphabets and children's +stories, which, put together, would fill thirty or forty volumes. He +also issued a volume of his early poems, but he was so ashamed of them +that he would not put his name upon the fly-leaf. Soon, however, his +poems, "On the Road" and "My Motherland," attracted the attention of +Byelinsky, when the young poet brought some of his work to show the +great critic. With tears in his eyes Byelinsky embraced Nekrassov and +said to him: + +"Do you know that you are a poet, a true poet?" + +This decree of Byelinsky brought fame to Nekrassov, for Byelinsky's word +was law in Russia then, and his judgement was never known to fail. His +approval gave Nekrassov the confidence he lacked, and he began to devote +most of his time to poetry. + +The epoch in which Nekrassov began his literary career in St. +Petersburg, the early forties of last century, was one of a great +revival of idealism in Russia. The iron reaction of the then Emperor +Nicholas I. made independent political activity an impossibility. But +the horrible and degrading conditions of serfdom which existed at that +time, and which cast a blight upon the energy and dignity of the Russian +nation, nourished feelings of grief and indignation in the noblest minds +of the educated classes, and, unable to struggle for their principles in +the field of practical politics, they strove towards abstract idealism. +They devoted their energies to philosophy, literature, and art. It was +then that Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Dostoyevsky embarked upon their +phenomenal careers in fiction. It was then that the impetuous essayist, +Byelinsky, with his fiery and eloquent pen, taught the true meaning and +objects of literature. Nekrassov soon joined the circles of literary +people dominated by the spirit of Byelinsky, and he too drank at the +fountain of idealism and imbibed the gospel of altruistic toil for his +country and its people, that gospel of perfect citizenship expounded by +Byelinsky, Granovsky, and their friends. It was at this period that his +poetry became impregnated with the sadness which, later on, was embodied +in the lines: + +My verses! Living witnesses of tears Shed for the world, and born In +moments of the soul's dire agony, Unheeded and forlorn, Like waves that +beat against the rocks, You plead to hearts that scorn. + +Nekrassov's material conditions meanwhile began to improve, and he +actually developed business capacities, and soon the greatest writers of +the time were contributing to the monthly review _Sovremenik_ (the +Contemporary) which Nekrassov bought in 1847. Turgenieff, Herzen, +Byelinsky, Dostoyevsky gladly sent their works to him, and Nekrassov +soon became the intellectual leader of his time. His influence became +enormous, but he had to cope with all the rigours of the censorship +which had become almost insupportable in Russia, as the effect of the +Tsar's fears aroused by the events of the French Revolution of 1848. + +Byelinsky died in that year from consumption in the very presence of the +gendarmes who had come to arrest him for some literary offence. +Dostoyevsky was seized, condemned to death, and when already on the +scaffold, with the rope around his neck, reprieved and sent for life to +the Siberian mines. The rigours still increased during the Crimean War, +and it was only after the death of Nicholas I., the termination of the +war, and the accession of the liberal Tsar, Alexander II., that +Nekrassov and Russian literature in general began to breathe more +freely. The decade which followed upon 1855 was one of the bright +periods of Russian history. Serfdom was abolished and many great reforms +were passed. It was then that Nekrassov's activity was at its height. +His review _Sovremenik_ was a stupendous success, and brought him great +fame and wealth. During that year some of his finest poems appeared in +it: "The Peasant Children," "Orina, the Mother of a Soldier," "The +Gossips," "The Pedlars," "The Rail-way," and many others. + +Nekrassov became the idol of Russia. The literary evenings at which he +used to read his poems aloud were besieged by fervent devotees, and the +most brilliant orations were addressed to him on all possible occasions. +His greatest work, however, the national epic, _Who can be Happy in +Russia?_ was written towards the latter end of his life, between +1873 and 1877. + +Here he suffered from the censor more cruelly than ever. Long extracts +from the poem were altogether forbidden, and only after his death it was +allowed, in 1879, to appear in print more or less in its entirety. + +When gripped in the throes of his last painful illness, and practically +on his deathbed, he would still have found consolation in work, in the +dictation of his poems. But even then his sufferings were aggravated by +the harassing coercions of the censor. His last great poem was written +on his deathbed, and the censor peremptorily forbade its publication. +Nekrassov one day greeted his doctor with the following remark: + +"Now you see what our profession, literature, means. When I wrote my +first lines they were hacked to pieces by the censor's scissors--that +was thirty-seven years ago; and now, when I am dying, and have written +my last lines, I am again confronted by the scissors." + +For many months he lay in appalling suffering. His disease was the +outcome, he declared, of the privations he had suffered in his youth. +The whole of Russia seemed to be standing at his bedside, watching with +anguish his terrible struggle with death. Hundreds of letters and +telegrams arrived daily from every corner of the immense empire, and the +dying poet, profoundly touched by these tokens of love and sympathy, +said to the literary friends who visited him: + +"You see! We wonder all our lives what our readers think of us, whether +they love us and are our friends. We learn in moments like this...." + +It was a bright, frosty December day when Nekrassov's coffin was carried +to the grave on the shoulders of friends who had loved and admired him. +The orations delivered above it were full of passionate emotion called +forth by the knowledge that the speakers were expressing not only their +own sentiments, but those of a whole nation. + +Nekrassov is dead. But all over Russia young and old repeat and love his +poetry, so full of tenderness and grief and pity for the Russian people +and their endless woe. Quotations from the works of Nekrassov are as +abundant and widely known in Russia as those from Shakespeare in +England, and no work of his is so familiar and so widely quoted as the +national epic, now presented to the English public, _Who can be Happy +in Russia?_ + +DAVID SOSKICE. + + + + +PROLOGUE + +The year doesn't matter, + The land's not important, +But seven good peasants + Once met on a high-road. +From Province "Hard-Battered," + From District "Most Wretched," +From "Destitute" Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets-- +"Patched," "Barefoot," and "Shabby," + "Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," +From "Harvestless" also, 11 + They met and disputed +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luka said, "The pope," [2] + And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick," [3] +Demyan, "The official," + "The round-bellied merchant," + Said both brothers Goobin, +Mitrodor and Ivan. 20 + Pakhom, who'd been lost +In profoundest reflection, + Exclaimed, looking down +At the earth, "'Tis his Lordship, + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser," + And Prov said, "The Tsar." + +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it 30 + Although you should beat them +With stout wooden cudgels: + They stick to their folly, +And nothing can move them. + They raised such a clamour +That those who were passing + Thought, "Surely the fellows +Have found a great treasure + And share it amongst them!" + +They all had set out 40 + On particular errands: +The one to the blacksmith's, + Another in haste +To fetch Father Prokoffy + To christen his baby. +Pakhom had some honey + To sell in the market; +The two brothers Goobin + Were seeking a horse +Which had strayed from their herd. 50 + +Long since should the peasants + Have turned their steps homewards, +But still in a row + They are hurrying onwards +As quickly as though + The grey wolf were behind them. +Still further, still faster + They hasten, contending. +Each shouts, nothing hearing, + And time does not wait. 60 +In quarrel they mark not +The fiery-red sunset + Which blazes in Heaven +As evening is falling, + And all through the night +They would surely have wandered + If not for the woman, +The pox-pitted "Blank-wits," + Who met them and cried: + +"Heh, God-fearing peasants, 70 + Pray, what is your mission? +What seek ye abroad + In the blackness of midnight?" + +So shrilled the hag, mocking, + And shrieking with laughter +She slashed at her horses + And galloped away. + +The peasants are startled, + Stand still, in confusion, +Since long night has fallen, 80 + The numberless stars +Cluster bright in the heavens, +The moon gliding onwards. + Black shadows are spread +On the road stretched before + The impetuous walkers. +Oh, shadows, black shadows, + Say, who can outrun you, +Or who can escape you? + Yet no one can catch you, 90 +Entice, or embrace you! + +Pakhom, the old fellow, + Gazed long at the wood, +At the sky, at the roadway, + Gazed, silently searching +His brain for some counsel, + And then spake in this wise: +"Well, well, the wood-devil + Has finely bewitched us! +We've wandered at least 100 + Thirty versts from our homes. +We all are too weary + To think of returning +To-night; we must wait + Till the sun rise to-morrow." + +Thus, blaming the devil, + The peasants make ready +To sleep by the roadside. + They light a large fire, +And collecting some farthings 110 + Send two of their number +To buy them some vodka, + The rest cutting cups +From the bark of a birch-tree. +The vodka's provided, + Black bread, too, besides, +And they all begin feasting: + Each munches some bread +And drinks three cups of vodka-- + But then comes the question 120 +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luka cries, "The pope!" + And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick!" +And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" +And Demyan, "The official!" + "The round-bellied merchant!" +Bawl both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan. +Pakhom shrieks, "His Lordship, 130 + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser!" + +The obstinate peasants + Grow more and more heated, +Cry louder and louder, + Swear hard at each other; +I really believe + They'll attack one another! +Look! now they are fighting! + Roman and Pakhom close, 140 +Demyan clouts Luka, + While the two brothers Goobin +Are drubbing fat Prov, + And they all shout together. +Then wakes the clear echo, + Runs hither and thither, +Runs calling and mocking +As if to encourage + The wrath of the peasants. +The trees of the forest 150 + Throw furious words back: + +"The Tsar!" "The Pomyeshchick!" + "The pope!" "The official!" +Until the whole coppice + Awakes in confusion; +The birds and the insects, + The swift-footed beasts +And the low crawling reptiles + Are chattering and buzzing +And stirring all round. 160 + The timid grey hare +Springing out of the bushes + Speeds startled away; +The hoarse little jackdaw + Flies off to the top +Of a birch-tree, and raises + A harsh, grating shriek, +A most horrible clamour. + A weak little peewit +Falls headlong in terror 170 +From out of its nest, + And the mother comes flying +In search of her fledgeling. + She twitters in anguish. +Alas! she can't find it. + The crusty old cuckoo +Awakes and bethinks him + To call to a neighbour: +Ten times he commences + And gets out of tune, 180 +But he won't give it up.... + +Call, call, little cuckoo, + For all the young cornfields +Will shoot into ear soon, + And then it will choke you-- +The ripe golden grain, + And your day will be ended![4] + +From out the dark forest + Fly seven brown owls, +And on seven tall pine-trees 190 + They settle themselves +To enjoy the disturbance. + They laugh--birds of night-- +And their huge yellow eyes gleam + Like fourteen wax candles. +The raven--the wise one-- + Sits perched on a tree +In the light of the fire, + Praying hard to the devil +That one of the wranglers, 200 + At least, should be beaten +To death in the tumult. + A cow with a bell +Which had strayed from its fellows + The evening before, +Upon hearing men's voices + Comes out of the forest +And into the firelight, + And fixing its eyes, +Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 + Stands listening in silence +Some time to their raving, + And then begins mooing, +Most heartily moos. +The silly cow moos, + The jackdaw is screeching, +The turbulent peasants + Still shout, and the echo +Maliciously mocks them-- + The impudent echo 220 +Who cares but for mocking + And teasing good people, +For scaring old women + And innocent children: +Though no man has seen it + We've all of us heard it; +It lives--without body; + It speaks--without tongue. + + The pretty white owl +Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 + Comes plunging about +In the midst of the peasants, +Now circling above them, + Now striking the bushes +And earth with her body. +And even the fox, too, + The cunning old creature, +With woman's determined + And deep curiosity, +Creeps to the firelight 240 + And stealthily listens; +At last, quite bewildered, + She goes; she is thinking, +"The devil himself + Would be puzzled, I know!" + +And really the wranglers + Themselves have forgotten +The cause of the strife. + +But after awhile + Having pummelled each other 250 +Sufficiently soundly, + They come to their senses; +They drink from a rain-pool + And wash themselves also, +And then they feel sleepy. +And, meanwhile, the peewit, + The poor little fledgeling, +With short hops and flights + Had come fluttering towards them. +Pakhom took it up 260 + In his palm, held it gently +Stretched out to the firelight, + And looked at it, saying, +"You are but a mite, + Yet how sharp is your claw; +If I breathed on you once + You'd be blown to a distance, +And if I should sneeze + You would straightway be wafted +Right into the flames. 270 + One flick from my finger +Would kill you entirely. + Yet you are more powerful, +More free than the peasant: + Your wings will grow stronger, +And then, little birdie, + You'll fly where it please you. +Come, give us your wings, now, + You frail little creature, +And we will go flying 280 + All over the Empire, +To seek and inquire, + To search and discover +The man who in Russia-- + Is happy and free." + +"No wings would be needful + If we could be certain +Of bread every day; + For then we could travel +On foot at our leisure," 290 + Said Prov, of a sudden +Grown weary and sad. + +"But not without vodka, + A bucket each morning," +Cried both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan, +Who dearly loved vodka. + +"Salt cucumbers, also, + Each morning a dozen!" +The peasants cry, jesting. 300 + +"Sour qwass,[5] too, a jug + To refresh us at mid-day!" + +"A can of hot tea + Every night!" they say, laughing. + +But while they were talking + The little bird's mother +Was flying and wheeling + In circles above them; +She listened to all, + And descending just near them 310 +She chirruped, and making + A brisk little movement +She said to Pakhom + In a voice clear and human: +"Release my poor child, + I will pay a great ransom." + +"And what is your offer?" + +"A loaf each a day + And a bucket of vodka, +Salt cucumbers also, 320 + Each morning a dozen. +At mid-day sour qwass + And hot tea in the evening." + +"And where, little bird," + Asked the two brothers Goobin, +"And where will you find + Food and drink for all seven?" + +"Yourselves you will find it, + But I will direct you +To where you will find it." 330 + "Well, speak. We will listen." + +"Go straight down the road, + Count the poles until thirty: +Then enter the forest +And walk for a verst. + By then you'll have come +To a smooth little lawn + With two pine-trees upon it. +Beneath these two pine-trees + Lies buried a casket 340 +Which you must discover. + The casket is magic, +And in it there lies + An enchanted white napkin. +Whenever you wish it + This napkin will serve you +With food and with vodka: + You need but say softly, +'O napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!' 350 +At once, at your bidding, + Through my intercession +The napkin will serve you. + And now, free my child." + +"But wait. We are poor, + And we're thinking of making +A very long journey," + Pakhom said. "I notice +That you are a bird + Of remarkable talent. 360 +So charm our old clothing + To keep it upon us." + +"Our coats, that they fall not + In tatters," Roman said. + +"Our laputs,[6] that they too + May last the whole journey," +Demyan next demanded. + +"Our shirts, that the fleas + May not breed and annoy us," +Luka added lastly. 370 + +The little bird answered, + "The magic white napkin +Will mend, wash, and dry for you. + Now free my child." + +Pakhom then spread open + His palm, wide and spacious, +Releasing the fledgeling, + Which fluttered away +To a hole in a pine-tree. + The mother who followed it 380 +Added, departing: + "But one thing remember: +Food, summon at pleasure + As much as you fancy, +But vodka, no more + Than a bucket a day. +If once, even twice + You neglect my injunction +Your wish shall be granted; + The third time, take warning: 390 +Misfortune will follow." + +The peasants set off + In a file, down the road, +Count the poles until thirty + And enter the forest, +And, silently counting +Each footstep, they measure + A verst as directed. +They find the smooth lawn + With the pine-trees upon it, 400 +They dig all together + And soon reach the casket; +They open it--there lies + The magic white napkin! +They cry in a chorus, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" + +Look, look! It's unfolding! + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where; 410 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + +"The cucumbers, tea, + And sour qwass--where are they then?" +At once they appear! + +The peasants unloosen + Their waistbelts, and gather +Around the white napkin 420 + To hold a great banquet. +In joy, they embrace + One another, and promise +That never again + Will they beat one another +Without sound reflection, + But settle their quarrels +In reason and honour + As God has commanded; +That nought shall persuade them 430 +To turn their steps homewards + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until they have settled +For once and forever + The subject of discord: +Until they've discovered + The man who, in Russia, +Is happy and free. + +They swear to each other 440 + To keep this, their promise, +And daybreak beholds them + Embosomed in slumber +As deep and as dreamless + As that of the dead. + + + + + +PART I. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE POPE[7] + +The broad sandy high-road + With borders of birch-trees +Winds sadly and drearily + Into the distance; +On either hand running + Low hills and young cornfields, +Green pastures, and often-- + More often than any-- +Lands sterile and barren. +And near to the rivers 10 + And ponds are the hamlets +And villages standing-- + The old and the new ones. +The forests and meadows + And rivers of Russia + Are lovely in springtime, +But O you spring cornfields, + Your growth thin and scanty +Is painful to see. + + "'Twas not without meaning 20 +That daily the snow fell + Throughout the long winter," +Said one to another + The journeying peasants:-- +"The spring has now come + And the snow tells its story: +At first it is silent-- + 'Tis silent in falling, +Lies silently sleeping, + But when it is dying 30 +Its voice is uplifted: + The fields are all covered +With loud, rushing waters, + No roads can be traversed +For bringing manure + To the aid of the cornfields; +The season is late + For the sweet month of May +Is already approaching." + The peasant is saddened 40 +At sight of the dirty + And squalid old village; +But sadder the new ones: + The new huts are pretty, +But they are the token + Of heartbreaking ruin.[8] + +As morning sets in + They begin to meet people, +But mostly small people: + Their brethren, the peasants, 50 +And soldiers and waggoners, + Workmen and beggars. +The soldiers and beggars + They pass without speaking. +Not asking if happy + Or grievous their lot: +The soldier, we know, + Shaves his beard with a gimlet, +Has nothing but smoke + In the winter to warm him,-- 60 +What joy can be his? + +As evening is falling + Appears on the high-road +A pope in his cart. + The peasants uncover +Their heads, and draw up + In a line on the roadway, +Thus barring the passage + In front of the gelding. + The pope raised his head, 70 +Looked inquiringly at them. + "Fear not, we won't harm you," +Luka said in answer. + (Luka was thick-bearded, +Was heavy and stolid, + Was obstinate, stupid, +And talkative too; + He was like to the windmill +Which differs in one thing + Alone from an eagle: 80 +No matter how boldly + It waves its broad pinions +It rises no higher.) + + "We, orthodox peasants, +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From Province 'Hard Battered,' +From 'Destitute' Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets, +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 +From 'Harvestless' also, + Are striving to settle +A thing of importance; +A trouble torments us, + It draws us away +From our wives and our children, + Away from our work, +Kills our appetites too. + Pray, give us your promise +To answer us truly, 100 + Consulting your conscience +And searching your knowledge, +Not feigning nor mocking + The question we put you. +If not, we will go + Further on." + + "I will promise +If you will but put me + A serious question +To answer it gravely, 110 + With truth and with reason, +Not feigning nor mocking, + Amen!" + + "We are grateful, +And this is our story: + We all had set out +On particular errands, + And met in the roadway. +Then one asked another: +Who is he,--the man 120 + Free and happy in Russia? +And I said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' + And Demyan, 'The official'; +'The round-bellied merchant,' + Said both brothers Goobin, +Mitrodor and Ivan; + Pakhom said, 'His Lordship, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly + And nothing can move them. +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, 140 + Till at last we decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homeward +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Until we've discovered + For once and forever +The man who, in Russia, 150 + Is happy and free. +Then say, in God's truth, + Is the pope's life a sweet one? +Would you, honoured father, + Proclaim yourself happy?" + +The pope in his cart + Cast his eyes on the roadway, +Fell thoughtful and answered: + + "Then, Christians, come, hear me: +I will not complain 160 + Of the cross that I carry, +But bear it in silence. + I'll tell you my story, +And you try to follow + As well as you can." + +"Begin." + + "But first tell me +The gifts you consider + As true earthly welfare; +Peace, honour, and riches,-- 170 + Is that so, my children?" + +They answer, "It is so." + + "And now let us see, friends, +What peace does the pope get? + In truth, then, I ought +To begin from my childhood, + For how does the son +Of the pope gain his learning, + And what is the price +That he pays for the priesthood? 180 + 'Tis best to be silent." [9] + + * * * * * + + "Our roadways are poor +And our parishes large, + And the sick and the dying, +The new-born that call us, + Do not choose their season: +In harvest and hay-time, + In dark nights of autumn, +Through frosts in the winter, +Through floods in the springtime, 190 + Go--where they may call you. +You go without murmur, + If only the body +Need suffer alone! + But no,--every moment +The heart's deepest feelings + Are strained and tormented. +Believe me, my children, + Some things on this earth +One can never get used to: 200 + No heart there exists +That can bear without anguish + The rattle of death, +The lament for the lost one, + The sorrow of orphans, +Amen! Now you see, friends, + The peace that the pope gets." + +Not long did the peasants + Stand thinking. They waited +To let the pope rest, 210 + Then enquired with a bow: +"And what more will you tell us?" + "Well, now let us see +If the pope is much honoured; + And that, O my friends, +Is a delicate question-- + I fear to offend you.... +But answer me, Christians, + Whom call you, 'The cursed +Stallion breed?' Can you tell me?" + + The peasants stand silent 221 +In painful confusion; + The pope, too, is silent. + +"Who is it you tremble + To meet in the roadway[10] +For fear of misfortune?" + + The peasants stand shuffling +Their feet in confusion. + + "Of whom do you make +Little scandalous stories? 230 + Of whom do you sing +Rhymes and songs most indecent? + The pope's honoured wife, +And his innocent daughters, + Come, how do you treat them? +At whom do you shout + Ho, ho, ho, in derision +When once you are past him?" + +The peasants cast downwards + Their eyes and keep silent. 240 +The pope too is silent. + The peasants stand musing; +The pope fans his face + With his hat, high and broad-rimmed, +And looks at the heavens.... + + The cloudlets in springtime +Play round the great sun + Like small grandchildren frisking +Around a hale grandsire, + And now, on his right side 250 +A bright little cloud + Has grown suddenly dismal, +Begins to shed tears. + The grey thread is hanging +In rows to the earth, + While the red sun is laughing +And beaming upon it + Through torn fleecy clouds, +Like a merry young girl + Peeping out from the corn. 260 +The cloud has moved nearer, + The rain begins here, +And the pope puts his hat on. + But on the sun's right side +The joy and the brightness +Again are established. + The rain is now ceasing.... +It stops altogether, + And God's wondrous miracle, +Long golden sunbeams, 270 + Are streaming from Heaven +In radiant splendour. + + * * * * * + + "It isn't our own fault; +It comes from our parents," + Say, after long silence, +The two brothers Goobin. + The others approve him: +"It isn't our own fault, + It comes from our parents." + +The pope said, "So be it! 280 + But pardon me, Christians, +It is not my meaning + To censure my neighbours; +I spoke but desiring + To tell you the truth. +You see how the pope + Is revered by the peasants; +The gentry--" + "Pass over them, +Father--we know them." 290 + "Then let us consider +From whence the pope's riches. + In times not far distant +The great Russian Empire + Was filled with estates +Of wealthy Pomyeshchicks.[11] + They lived and increased, +And they let us live too. + What weddings were feasted! +What numbers and numbers 300 + Of children were born +In each rich, merry life-time! + Although they were haughty +And often oppressive, + What liberal masters! +They never deserted + The parish, they married, +Were baptized within it, + To us they confessed, +And by us they were buried. 310 + And if a Pomyeshchick +Should chance for some reason + To live in a city, +He cherished one longing, + To die in his birthplace; +But did the Lord will it + That he should die suddenly +Far from the village, + An order was found +In his papers, most surely, 320 + That he should be buried +At home with his fathers. + Then see--the black car +With the six mourning horses,-- + The heirs are conveying +The dead to the graveyard; + And think--what a lift +For the pope, and what feasting + All over the village! +But now that is ended, 330 + Pomyeshchicks are scattered +Like Jews over Russia + And all foreign countries. + They seek not the honour +Of lying with fathers + And mothers together. +How many estates + Have passed into the pockets +Of rich speculators! + O you, bones so pampered 340 +Of great Russian gentry, + Where are you not buried, +What far foreign graveyard + Do you not repose in? + + "Myself from dissenters[12] +(A source of pope's income) + I never take money, +I've never transgressed, + For I never had need to; +Because in my parish 350 + Two-thirds of the people +Are Orthodox churchmen. + But districts there are +Where the whole population + Consists of dissenters-- +Then how can the pope live? + + "But all in this world +Is subjected to changes: + The laws which in old days +Applied to dissenters 360 + Have now become milder; +And that in itself + Is a check to pope's income. +I've said the Pomyeshchicks +Are gone, and no longer + They seek to return +To the home of their childhood; + And then of their ladies +(Rich, pious old women), + How many have left us 370 +To live near the convents! + And nobody now + Gives the pope a new cassock +Or church-work embroidered. + He lives on the peasants, +Collects their brass farthings, + Their cakes on the feast-days, + At Easter their eggs. +The peasants are needy + Or they would give freely-- 380 +Themselves they have nothing; + And who can take gladly +The peasant's last farthing? + + "Their lands are so poor, +They are sand, moss, or boggy, + Their cattle half-famished, +Their crops yield but twofold; + And should Mother Earth +Chance at times to be kinder, +That too is misfortune: 390 + The market is crowded, + They sell for a trifle +To pay off the taxes. + Again comes a bad crop--- +Then pay for your bread + Three times higher than ever, +And sell all your cattle! + Now, pray to God, Christians, +For this year again + A great misery threatens: 400 +We ought to have sown + For a long time already; +But look you--the fields + Are all deluged and useless.... +O God, have Thou pity + And send a round[13] rainbow +To shine in Thy heavens!" + + Then taking his hat off +He crossed himself thrice, + And the peasants did likewise. + +"Our village is poor 411 + And the people are sickly, +The women are sad + And are scantily nourished, +But pious and laborious; + God give them courage! +Like slaves do they toil; + 'Tis hard to lay hands +On the fruits of such labour. + + "At times you are sent for 420 +To pray by the dying, + But Death is not really +The awful thing present, + But rather the living-- +The family losing + Their only support. +You pray by the dead. + Words of comfort you utter, +To calm the bereaved ones; + And then the old mother 430 +Comes tottering towards you, + And stretching her bony +And toil-blistered hand out; + You feel your heart sicken, +For there in the palm + Lie the precious brass farthings! +Of course it is only + The price of your praying. +You take it, because + It is what you must live on; 440 +Your words of condolence + Are frozen, and blindly, +Like one deep insulted, + You make your way homeward. +Amen...." + + * * * * * + + The pope finished +His speech, and touched lightly + The back of the gelding. +The peasants make way, + And they bow to him deeply. 450 + The cart moves on slowly, +Then six of the comrades + As though by agreement +Attack poor Luka + With indignant reproaches. + +"Now, what have you got?-- + You great obstinate blockhead, +You log of the village! + You too must needs argue; +Pray what did you tell us? 460 + 'The popes live like princes, +The lords of the belfry, + Their palaces rising +As high as the heavens, + Their bells set a-chiming +All over God's world. + + "'Three years,' you declared, +'Did I work as pope's servant. + It wasn't a life-- +'Twas a strawberry, brethren; 470 + Pope's kasha[14] is made +And served up with fresh butter. + Pope's stchee[14] made with fish, +And pope's pie stuffed to bursting; + The pope's wife is fat too, + And white the pope's daughter, +His horse like a barrel, + His bees are all swollen +And booming like church bells.' + + "Well, there's your pope's life,-- 480 +There's your 'strawberry,' boaster! + For that you've been shouting +And making us quarrel, + You limb of the Devil! +Pray is it because + Of your beard like a shovel +You think you're so clever? + If so, let me tell you +The goat walked in Eden + With just such another 490 +Before Father Adam, + And yet down to our time +The goat is considered + The greatest of duffers!" + +The culprit was silent, + Afraid of a beating; +And he would have got it + Had not the pope's face, +Turning sadly upon them, + Looked over a hedge 500 +At a rise in the road. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE VILLAGE FAIR + + No wonder the peasants +Dislike a wet spring-tide: + The peasant needs greatly +A spring warm and early. + This year, though he howl +Like a wolf, I'm afraid + That the sun will not gladden +The earth with his brightness. + The clouds wander heavily, +Dropping the rain down 10 + Like cows with full udders. +The snow has departed, + Yet no blade of grass, +Not a tiny green leaflet, + Is seen in the meadows. +The earth has not ventured + To don its new mantle + Of brightest green velvet, +But lies sad and bare + Like a corpse without grave-clothes +Beneath the dull heavens. 21 + One pities the peasant; +Still more, though, his cattle: + For when they have eaten +The scanty reserves + Which remain from the winter, +Their master will drive them + To graze in the meadows, +And what will they find there + But bare, inky blackness? 30 +Nor settled the weather + Until it was nearing +The feast of St. Nichol, + And then the poor cattle +Enjoyed the green pastures. + + The day is a hot one, +The peasants are strolling + Along 'neath the birch-trees. +They say to each other, + "We passed through one village, 40 +We passed through another, + And both were quite empty; +To-day is a feast-day, + But where are the people?" + + They reach a large village; +The street is deserted + Except for small children, +And inside the houses + Sit only the oldest +Of all the old women. 50 + The wickets are fastened +Securely with padlocks; + The padlock's a loyal +And vigilant watch-dog; + It barks not, it bites not, +But no one can pass it. + + They walk through the village +And see a clear mirror + Beset with green framework-- +A pond full of water; 60 + And over its surface +Are hovering swallows + And all kinds of insects; +The gnats quick and meagre + Skip over the water +As though on dry land; + And in the laburnums +Which grow on the banksides + The landrails are squeaking. + +A raft made of tree-trunks 70 + Floats near, and upon it +The pope's heavy daughter + Is wielding her beetle, +She looks like a hay-stack, + Unsound and dishevelled, +Her skirts gathered round her. + Upon the raft, near her, +A duck and some ducklings + Are sleeping together. + + And hark! from the water 80 +The neigh of a horse comes; + The peasants are startled, + They turn all together: +Two heads they see, moving + Along through the water-- +The one is a peasant's, + A black head and curly, +In one ear an ear-ring + Which gleams in the sunlight; +A horse's the other, 90 + To which there is fastened +A rope of some yards length, + Held tight in the teeth +Of the peasant beside it. + The man swims, the horse swims; +The horse neighs, the man neighs; + They make a fine uproar! +The raft with the woman + And ducklings upon it +Is tossing and heaving. 100 + + The horse with the peasant +Astride has come panting + From out of the water, +The man with white body + And throat black with sunburn; +The water is streaming + From horse and from rider. + +"Say, why is your village + So empty of people? +Are all dead and buried?" 110 + + "They've gone to Kousminsky; +A fair's being held there + Because it's a saint's day." + +"How far is Kousminsky?" + "Three versts, I should fancy." +"We'll go to Kousminsky," + The peasants decided, +And each to himself thought, + "Perhaps we shall find there +The happy, the free one." 120 + + The village Kousminsky +Is rich and commercial + And terribly dirty. +It's built on a hill-side, + And slopes down the valley, +Then climbs again upwards,-- + So how could one ask of it +Not to be dirty?[15] + It boasts of two churches. +The one is "dissenting," 130 + The other "Established." +The house with inscription, + "The School-House," is empty, +In ruins and deserted; + And near stands the barber's, +A hut with one window, + From which hangs the sign-board +Of "Barber and Bleeder." + A dirty inn also +There is, with its sign-board 140 + Adorned by a picture: +A great nosy tea-pot + With plump little tea-cups +Held out by a waiter, + Suggesting a fat goose +Surrounded by goslings. + A row of small shops, too, +There is in the village. + + The peasants go straight +To the market-place, find there 150 + A large crowd of people +And goods in profusion. + How strange!--notwithstanding +There's no church procession + The men have no hats on, +Are standing bare-headed, + As though in the presence +Of some holy Image: + Look, how they're being swallowed-- +The hoods of the peasants.[16] 160 + +The beer-shop and tavern + Are both overflowing; +All round are erected + Large tents by the roadside +For selling of vodka. + And though in each tent +There are five agile waiters, + All young and most active, +They find it quite hopeless + To try to get change right. 170 +Just look how the peasants + Are stretching their hands out, +With hoods, shirts, and waistcoats! + +Oh, you, thirst of Russia, + Unquenchable, endless +You are! But the peasant, + When once he is sated, +Will soon get a new hood + At close of the fair.... + +The spring sun is playing 180 + On heads hot and drunken, +On boisterous revels, + On bright mixing colours; +The men wear wide breeches + Of corduroy velvet, + With gaudy striped waistcoats +And shirts of all colours; + The women wear scarlet; +The girls' plaited tresses + Are decked with bright ribbons; 190 +They glide about proudly, + Like swans on the water. +Some beauties are even + Attired in the fashion +Of Petersburg ladies; + Their dresses spread stiffly +On wide hoops around them; + But tread on their skirts-- +They will turn and attack you, + Will gobble like turkeys! 200 + +Blame rather the fashion + Which fastens upon you +Great fishermen's baskets! + + A woman dissenter +Looks darkly upon them, + And whispers with malice: +"A famine, a famine + Most surely will blight us. +The young growths are sodden, + The floods unabated; 210 +Since women have taken + To red cotton dresses +The forests have withered, + And wheat--but no wonder!" + + "But why, little Mother, +Are red cotton dresses + To blame for the trouble? +I don't understand you." + "The cotton is _French_, +And it's reddened in dog's blood! 220 + D'you understand now?" + +The peasants still linger + Some time in the market, +Then go further upward, + To where on the hill-side +Are piled ploughs and harrows, + With rakes, spades, and hatchets, +And all kinds of iron-ware, + And pliable wood +To make rims for the cart-wheels. 230 + And, oh, what a hubbub +Of bargaining, swearing, + Of jesting and laughter! +And who could help laughing? + + A limp little peasant +Is bending and testing + The wood for the wheel-rims. +One piece does not please him; + He takes up another +And bends it with effort; 240 + It suddenly straightens, +And whack!--strikes his forehead. + The man begins roaring, +Abusing the bully, + The duffer, the block-head. +Another comes driving + A cart full of wood-ware, +As tipsy as can be; + He turns it all over! +The axle is broken, 250 + And, trying to mend it, +He smashes the hatchet. + + He gazes upon it, +Abusing, reproaching: + "A villain, a villain, +You are--not a hatchet. + You see, you can't do me +The least little service. + The whole of your life +You spend bowing before me, 260 + And yet you insult me!" + + Our peasants determine +To see the shop windows, + The handkerchiefs, ribbons, +And stuffs of bright colour; + And near to the boot-shop +Is fresh cause for laughter; + For here an old peasant +Most eagerly bargains + For small boots of goat-skin 270 +To give to his grandchild. + He asks the price five times; + Again and again +He has turned them all over; + He finds they are faultless. + + "Well, Uncle, pay up now, +Or else be off quickly," + The seller says sharply. +But wait! The old fellow + Still gazes, and fondles 280 +The tiny boots softly, + And then speaks in this wise: + + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild. + She clung to my neck, +And she said, 'Little Grandfather, 290 + Buy me a present.' +Her soft little ringlets + Were tickling my cheek, +And she kissed the old Grand-dad. + You wait, little bare-foot, +Wee spinning-top, wait then, + Some boots I will buy you, +Some boots made of goat-skin." + And then must old Vavil +Begin to boast grandly, 300 + To promise a present +To old and to young. + But now his last farthing +Is swallowed in vodka, + And how can he dare +Show his eyes in the village? + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. 310 + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild." + + And then he commences +The story again +Of the poor little grandchild. + He's very dejected. +A crowd listens round him, + Not laughing, but troubled +At sight of his sorrow. + +If they could have helped him 320 +With bread or by labour + They soon would have done so, +But money is money, + And who has got tenpence +To spare? Then came forward + Pavloosha Varenko, +The "gentleman" nicknamed. + (His origin, past life, +Or calling they knew not, + But called him the 'Barin'.) 330 +He listened with pleasure + To talk and to jesting; +His blouse, coat, and top-boots + Were those of a peasant; +He sang Russian folk-songs, + Liked others to sing them, +And often was met with + At taverns and inns. +He now rescued Vavil, + And bought him the boots 340 +To take home to his grandchild. + +The old man fled blindly, + But clasping them tightly, +Forgetting to thank him, + Bewildered with joy. +The crowd was as pleased, too, + As if had been given +To each one a rouble. + +The peasants next visit + The picture and book stall; 350 +The pedlars are buying + Their stock of small pictures, +And books for their baskets + To sell on the road. + + "'Tis generals, _you_ want!" +The merchant is saying. + + "Well, give us some generals; +But look--on your conscience-- + Now let them be real ones, +Be fat and ferocious." 360 + +"Your notions are funny," + The merchant says, smiling; +"It isn't a question + Of looks...." + + "Well, of what, then? +You want to deceive us, + To palm off your rubbish, +You swindling impostor! + D'you think that the peasants +Know one from another? 370 + A shabby one--he wants +An expert to sell him, + But trust me to part with +The fat and the fierce." + +"You don't want officials?" + +"To Hell with officials!" + +However they took one + Because he was cheap: +A minister, striking + In view of his stomach 380 +As round as a barrel, + And seventeen medals. + +The merchant is serving + With greatest politeness, +Displaying and praising, + With patience unyielding,-- +A thief of the first-class + He is, come from Moscow. +Of Bluecher he sells them + A hundred small pictures, 390 +As many of Fotyi[17] + The archimandrite, +And of Sipko[17] the brigand; + A book of the sayings +Of droll Balakireff[17] + The "English Milord," too. +The books were put into + The packs of the pedlars; +The pictures will travel + All over great Russia, 400 +Until they find rest + On the wall of some peasant-- +The devil knows why! + +Oh, may it come quickly + The time when the peasant +Will make some distinction + Between book and book, +Between picture and picture; + Will bring from the market, +Not picture of Bluecher, 410 + Not stupid "Milord," +But Belinsky and Gogol! +Oh, say, Russian people, + These names--have you heard them? +They're great. They were borne + By your champions, who loved you, +Who strove in your cause, + 'Tis _their_ little portraits +Should hang in your houses! + + "I'd walk into Heaven 420 +But can't find the doorway!" + Is suddenly shouted +By some merry blade. + "What door do you want, man?" +"The puppet-show, brothers!" + "I'll show you the way!" + +The puppet-show tempted + The journeying peasants; +They go to inspect it. + A farce is being acted, 430 +A goat for the drummer; + Real music is playing-- +No common accordion. + The play is not too deep, +But not stupid, either. + A bullet shot deftly +Right into the eye + Of the hated policeman. +The tent is quite crowded, + The audience cracking 440 +Their nuts, and exchanging + Remarks with each other. +And look--there's the vodka! + They're drinking and looking, +And looking and drinking, + Enjoying it highly, +With jubilant faces, + From time to time throwing +A right witty word + Into Peterkin's speeches, 450 +Which _you'd_ never hit on, + Although you should swallow +Your pen and your pad!... + + Some folk there are always +Who crowd on the platform + (The comedy ended), +To greet the performers, + To gossip and chat. + +"How now, my fine fellows, + And where do you come from?" 460 + +"As serfs we used only + To play for the masters,[18] +But now we are free, + And the man who will treat us +Alone is our Master!" + "Well spoken, my brothers; + Enough time you've wasted +Amusing the nobles; + Now play for the peasants! +Here, waiter, bring vodka, 470 + Sweet wine, tea, and syrup, +And see you make haste!" + + The sweet sparkling river +Comes rolling to meet them; + They'll treat the musicians +More handsomely, far, + Than their masters of old. + +It is not the rushing + Of furious whirlwinds, +Not Mother Earth shaking-- 480 + 'Tis shouting and singing +And swearing and fighting +And falling and kissing-- + The people's carouse! +It seems to the peasants + That all in the village +Was reeling around them! + That even the church +With the very tall, steeple + Had swayed once or twice! 490 + +When things are in this state, + A man who is sober +Feels nearly as awkward + As one who is naked.... + +The peasants recrossing + The market-place, quitted +The turbulent village + At evening's approach. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + +This village did not end, +As many in Russia, + In windmill or tavern, +In corn-loft or barn, + But in a large building +Of wood, with iron gratings + In small narrow windows. +The broad, sandy high-road, + With borders of birch-trees, +Spread out straight behind it-- 10 + The grim etape--prison.[19] +On week-days deserted + It is, dull and silent, +But now it is not so. + All over the high-road, +In neighbouring pathways, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are lying and crawling, + Are driving and climbing, +The numberless drunkards; 20 + Their shout fills the skies. + + The cart-wheels are screeching, +And like slaughtered calves' heads + Are nodding and wagging +The pates limp and helpless + Of peasants asleep. + + They're dropping on all sides, +As if from some ambush + An enemy firing +Is shooting them wholesale. 30 + The quiet night is falling, +The moon is in Heaven, + And God is commencing +To write His great letter + Of gold on blue velvet; +Mysterious message, + Which neither the wise man +Nor foolish can read. + +The high-road is humming + Just like a great bee-hive; 40 +The people's loud clamour + Is swelling and falling +Like waves in the ocean. + + "We paid him a rouble-- +The clerk, and he gave us + A written petition +To send to the Governor." + + "Hi, you with the waggon, +Look after your corn!" + + "But where are you off to, 50 +Olyenushka? Wait now-- + I've still got some cakes. +You're like a black flea, girl, + You eat all you want to +And hop away quickly + Before one can stroke you!" + + "It's all very fine talk, +This Tsar's precious Charter, + It's not writ for us!" + + "Give way there, you people!" 60 +The exciseman dashes + Amongst them, his brass plate +Attached to his coat-front, + And bells all a-jangle. + +"God save us, Parasha, + Don't go to St. Petersburg! +_I_ know the gentry: + By day you're a maid, +And by night you're a mistress. + You spit at it, love...." 70 + +"Now, where are you running?" + The pope bellows loudly +To busy Pavloosha, + The village policeman. + +"An accident's happened + Down here, and a man's killed." + +"God pardon our sins!" + +"How thin you've got, Dashka!" + +"The spinning-wheel fattens + By turning forever; 80 +I work just as hard, + But I never get fatter." + +"Heh, you, silly fellow, + Come hither and love me! +The dirty, dishevelled, + And tipsy old woman. +The f--i--ilthy o--l--d woman!" + + Our peasants, observing, +Are still walking onwards. + They see just before them 90 +A meek little fellow + Most busily digging +A hole in the road. + + "Now, what are you doing?" +"A grave I am digging + To bury my mother!" + + "You fool!--Where's your mother? +Your new coat you've buried! + Roll into the ditch, +Dip your snout in the water. 100 + 'Twill cool you, perhaps." + + "Let's see who'll pull hardest!" +Two peasants are squatting, + And, feet to feet pressing, +Are straining and groaning, + And tugging away +At a stick held between them. + This soon fails to please them: +"Let's try with our beards!" + And each man then clutches 110 +The jaw of the other, + And tugs at his beard! +Red, panting, and writhing, + And gasping and yelping, +But pulling and pulling! + "Enough there, you madmen!"... +Cold water won't part them! + + And in the ditch near them +Two women are squabbling; + One cries, "To go home now 120 +Were worse than to prison!" + The other, "You braggart! +In my house, I tell you, + It's worse than in yours. +One son-in-law punched me + And left a rib broken; +The second made off + With my big ball of cotton; +The cotton don't matter, + But in it was hidden 130 +My rouble in silver. + The youngest--he always +Is up with his knife out. + He'll kill me for sure!" + +"Enough, enough, darling! +Now don't you be angry!" + Is heard not far distant +From over a hillock-- + "Come on, I'm all right!" + + A mischievous night, this; 140 +On right hand, on left hand, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are sauntering couples. + The wood seems to please them; +They all stroll towards it, + The wood--which is thrilling +With nightingales' voices. + And later, the high-road +Gets more and more ugly, + And more and more often 150 +The people are falling, + Are staggering, crawling, +Or lying like corpses. + As always it happens +On feast days in Russia-- + No word can be uttered +Without a great oath. + And near to the tavern +Is quite a commotion; + Some wheels get entangled 160 +And terrified horses + Rush off without drivers. +Here children are crying, + And sad wives and mothers +Are anxiously waiting; + And is the task easy +Of getting the peasant + Away from his drink? + + Just near to the sign-post +A voice that's familiar 170 + Is heard by the peasants; +They see there the Barin + (The same that helped Vavil, +And bought him the boots + To take home to his grandchild). +He chats with the men. + The peasants all open +Their hearts to the Barin; + If some song should please him +They'll sing it through five times; 180 + "Just write the song down, sir!" +If some saying strike him; + "Take note of the words!" +And when he has written + Enough, he says quietly, +"The peasants are clever, +But one thing is bad: + They drink till they're helpless +And lie about tipsy, + It's painful to see." 190 + +They listen in silence. + The Barin commences +To write something down + In the little black note-book +When, all of a sudden, + A small, tipsy peasant, +Who up to that moment + Has lain on his stomach +And gazed at the speaker, + Springs up straight before him 200 +And snatches his pencil + Right out of his hand: +"Wait, wait!" cries the fellow, + "Stop writing your stories, +Dishonest and heartless, + About the poor peasant. +Say, what's your complaint? + That sometimes the heart +Of the peasant rejoices? + At times we drink hard, 210 +But we work ten times harder; + Among us are drunkards, +But many more sober. + Go, take through a village + A pailful of vodka; +Go into the huts-- + In one, in another, +They'll swallow it gladly. + But go to a third +And you'll find they won't touch it! + One family drinks, 221 +While another drinks nothing, + Drinks nothing--and suffers +As much as the drunkards: + They, wisely or foolishly, +Follow their conscience; + And see how misfortune, +The peasants' misfortune, + Will swallow that household +Hard-working and sober! 230 + Pray, have you seen ever +The time of the harvest + In some Russian village? +Well, where were the people? + At work in the tavern? +Our fields may be broad, + But they don't give too freely. +Who robes them in spring-time, + And strips them in autumn? +You've met with a peasant 240 + At nightfall, perchance, + When the work has been finished? +He's piled up great mountains + Of corn in the meadows, +He'll sup off a pea! + Hey, you mighty monster! +You builder of mountains, + I'll knock you flat down +With the stroke of a feather! + + "Sweet food is the peasant's! 250 +But stomachs aren't mirrors, + And so we don't whimper +To see what we've eaten. + + "We work single-handed, +But when we have finished + Three partners[20] are waiting +To share in the profits; + A fourth[21] one there is, too, +Who eats like a Tartar-- +Leaves nothing behind. 260 + The other day, only, +A mean little fellow + Like you, came from Moscow +And clung to our backs. + 'Oh, please sing him folk-songs' +And 'tell him some proverbs,' + 'Some riddles and rhymes.' +And then came another + To put us his questions: +How much do we work for? 270 + How much and how little +We stuff in our bellies? + To count all the people +That live in the village + Upon his five fingers. +He did not _ask how much + The fire feeds the wind with +Of peasants' hard work_. + Our drunkenness, maybe, +Can never be measured, 280 + But look at our labour-- +Can that then be measured? + Our cares or our woes? + +"The vodka prostrates us; + But does not our labour, +Our trouble, prostrate us? + The peasant won't grumble +At each of his burdens, + He'll set out to meet it, +And struggle to bear it; 290 + The peasant does not flinch +At life-wasting labour, + And tremble for fear +That his health may be injured. + Then why should he number +Each cupful of vodka + For fear that an odd one +May topple him over? + You say that it's painful +To see him lie tipsy?-- 300 + Then go to the bog; +You'll see how the peasant + Is squeezing the corn out, +Is wading and crawling + Where no horse or rider, +No man, though unloaded, + Would venture to tread. +You'll see how the army + Of profligate peasants +Is toiling in danger, 310 + Is springing from one clod +Of earth to another, + Is pushing through bog-slime + With backs nearly breaking! +The sun's beating down + On the peasants' bare heads, +They are sweating and covered + With mud to the eyebrows, +Their limbs torn and bleeding + By sharp, prickly bog-grass! 320 + + "Does this picture please you? +You say that you suffer; + At least suffer wisely. +Don't use for a peasant + A gentleman's judgement; +We are not white-handed + And tender-skinned creatures, +But men rough and lusty + In work and in play. + + "The heart of each peasant 330 +Is black as a storm-cloud, + Its thunder should peal +And its blood rain in torrents; + But all ends in drink-- +For after one cupful + The soul of the peasant +Is kindly and smiling; + But don't let that hurt you! +Look round and be joyful! + Hey, fellows! Hey, maidens! 340 + You know how to foot it! +Their bones may be aching, + Their limbs have grown weary, +But youth's joy and daring + Is not quite extinguished, +It lives in them yet!" + + The peasant is standing +On top of a hillock, + And stamping his feet, +And after being silent 350 + A moment, and gazing +With glee at the masses + Of holiday people, +He roars to them hoarsely. + + "Hey you, peasant kingdom! +You, hatless and drunken! + More racket! More noise!" +"Come, what's your name, uncle?" + "To write in the note-book? +Why not? Write it down: 360 + 'In Barefoot the village +Lives old Jacob Naked, + He'll work till he's taken, +He drinks till he's crazed.'" + The peasants are laughing, +And telling the Barin + The old fellow's story: +How shabby old Jacob + Had lived once in Peter,[22] +And got into prison 370 + Because he bethought him +To get him to law + With a very rich merchant; +How after the prison + He'd come back amongst them +All stripped, like a linden, + And taken to ploughing. +For thirty years since + On his narrow allotment +He'd worked in all weathers, 380 + The harrow his shelter +From sunshine and storm. + He lived with the sokha,[23] +And when God would take him + He'd drop from beneath it +Just like a black clod. + + An accident happened +One year to old Jacob: + He bought some small pictures +To hang in the cottage 390 + For his little son; +The old man himself, too, + Was fond of the pictures. +God's curse had then fallen; + The village was burnt, +And the old fellow's money, + The fruit of a life-time +(Some thirty-five roubles),[24] + Was lost in the flames. +He ought to have saved it, 400 + But, to his misfortune, +He thought of the pictures + And seized them instead. +His wife in the meantime + Was saving the icons.[25] +And so, when the cottage + Fell in, all the roubles +Were melted together + In one lump of silver. +Old Jacob was offered 410 + Eleven such roubles +For that silver lump. + + "O old brother Jacob, +You paid for them dearly, + The little chap's pictures! +I warrant you've hung them + Again in the new hut." + +"I've hung them--and more," +He replied, and was silent. + + The Barin was looking, 420 +Examining Jacob, + The toiler, the earth-worm, +His chest thin and meagre, + His stomach as shrunk +As though something had crushed it, + His eyes and mouth circled +By numberless wrinkles, + Like drought-shrivelled earth. +And he altogether + Resembled the earth, 430 +Thought the Barin, while noting + His throat, like a dry lump +Of clay, brown and hardened; + His brick-coloured face; +His hands--black and horny, + Like bark on the tree-trunk; +His hair--stiff and sandy.... + + The peasants, remarking +That old Jacob's speech + Had not angered the Barin, 440 +Themselves took his words up: + "Yes, yes, he speaks truly, +We must drink, it saves us, + It makes us feel strong. +Why, if we did not drink + Black gloom would engulf us. +If work does not kill us + Or trouble destroy us, +We shan't die from drink!" + + "That's so. Is it not, sir?" 450 + + "Yes, God will protect us!" + +"Come, drink with us, Barin!" + + They go to buy vodka +And drink it together. + To Jacob the Barin +Has offered two cups. + "Ah, Barin," says Jacob, +"I see you're not angry. + A wise little head, yours, +And how could a wise head 460 + Judge falsely of peasants? +Why, only the pig + Glues his nose to the garbage +And never sees Heaven!" + + Then suddenly singing +Is heard in a chorus + Harmonious and bold. +A row of young fellows, + Half drunk, but not falling, +Come staggering onwards, 470 + All lustily singing; +They sing of the Volga, + The daring of youths +And the beauty of maidens ... + A hush falls all over +The road, and it listens; + And only the singing +Is heard, broadly rolling + In waves, sweet and tuneful, +Like wind-ruffled corn. 480 + The hearts of the peasants +Are touched with wild anguish, + And one little woman +Grows pensive and mournful, + And then begins weeping +And sobs forth her grief: + "My life is like day-time +With no sun to warm it! + My life is like night +With no glimmer of moon! 490 + And I--the young woman-- + Am like the swift steed +On the curb, like the swallow + With wings crushed and broken; +My jealous old husband + Is drunken and snoring, +But even while snoring + He keeps one eye open, +And watches me always, + Me--poor little wife!" 500 + + And so she lamented, +The sad little woman; + Then all of a sudden +Springs down from the waggon! + "Where now?" cries her husband, +The jealous old man. + And just as one lifts +By the tail a plump radish, + He clutches her pig-tail, +And pulls her towards him. 510 + + O night wild and drunken, +Not bright--and yet star-lit, + Not hot--but fanned softly +By tender spring breezes, + You've not left our peasants + Untouched by your sweetness; +They're thinking and longing + For their little women. +And they are quite right too; + Still sweeter 'twould be 520 +With a nice little wife! + Cries Ivan, "I love you," +And Mariushka, "I you!" + Cries Ivan, "Press closer!" +And Mariushka, "Kiss me!" + Cries Ivan, "The night's cold," +And Mariushka, "Warm me!" + + They think of this song now, +And all make their minds up + To shorten the journey. 530 + + A birch-tree is growing +Alone by the roadside, + God knows why so lonely! +And under it spreading + The magic white napkin, +The peasants sit round it: + + "Hey! Napkin enchanted! +Give food to the peasants!" + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, 540 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread, + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + + The peasants feel strengthened, +And leaving Roman there + On guard near the vodka, +They mix with the people, + To try to discover +The one who is happy. 550 + + They're all in a hurry +To turn towards home. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +THE HAPPY ONES + + In crowds gay and noisy +Our peasants are mixing, + Proclaiming their mission: +"Let any man here + Who esteems himself happy +Stand forth! If he prove it + A pailful of vodka +Is at his disposal; + As much as he wishes +So much he shall have!" 10 + + This fabulous promise +Sets sober folk smiling; + The tipsy and wise ones +Are ready to spit + In the beards of the pushing +Impertinent strangers! + But many are willing +To drink without payment, +And so when our peasants + Go back to the birch-tree 20 +A crowd presses round them. + The first to come forward, +A lean discharged deacon, + With legs like two matches, +Lets forth a great mouthful + Of indistinct maxims: +That happiness lies not + In broad lands, in jewels, +In gold, and in sables-- + + "In what, then?" 30 + + A peaceful +And undisturbed conscience. + That all the dominions +Of land-owners, nobles, + And Tsars are but earthly +And limited treasures; + But he who is godly +Has part in Christ's kingdom + Of boundless extent: +"When warm in the sun, 40 + With a cupful of vodka, + I'm perfectly happy, +I ask nothing more!" + + "And who'll give you vodka?" +"Why, you! You have promised." + + "Be off, you lean scamp!" + + A one-eyed old woman +Comes next, bent and pock-marked, + And bowing before them +She says she is happy; 50 + That in her allotment +A thousand fine turnips + Have grown, this last autumn. +"Such turnips, I tell you! + Such monsters! and tasty! +In such a small plot, too, + In length only one yard, +And three yards in width!" + + They laugh at the woman, +But give her no vodka; 60 + "Go, get you home, Mother! +You've vodka enough there + To flavour the turnips!" + + A soldier with medals, + Quite drunk but still thirsty, +Says firmly, "I'm happy!" + + "Then tell us, old fellow, +In what he is happy-- + The soldier? Take care, though, +To keep nothing back!" 70 + + "Well, firstly, I've been +Through at least twenty battles, + And yet I'm alive. +And, secondly, mark you + (It's far more important), +In times of peace, too, + Though I'm always half-famished, +Death never has conquered! + And, third, though they flogged me +For every offence, 80 + Great or small, I've survived it!" + + "Here, drink, little soldier! +With you one can't argue; + You're happy indeed!" + + Then comes a young mason, + A huge, weighty hammer +Swung over his shoulder: + "I live in content," +He declares, "with my wife + And beloved old mother; 90 +We've nought to complain of." + "In what are you happy?" +"In this!"--like a feather + He swings the great hammer. +"Beginning at sunrise + And setting my back straight +As midnight draws near, + I can shatter a mountain! +Before now, it's happened + That, working one day, 100 +I've piled enough stones up + To earn my five roubles!" + + Pakhom tries to lift it-- +The "happiness." After + Prodigiously straining +And cracking all over, + He sets it down, gladly, +And pours out some vodka. + + "Well, weighty it is, man! +But will you be able 110 +To bear in old age + Such a 'happiness,' think you?" + +"Don't boast of your strength!" + Gasped a wheezing old peasant, +Half stifled with asthma. + (His nose pinched and shrivelled +Like that of a dead man, + His eyes bright and sunken, +His hands like a rake-- + Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120 +His legs long and narrow + Like spokes of a wheel, +A human mosquito.) + + "I was not a worse man +Than he, the young mason, + And boasted of _my_ strength. +God punished me for it! + The manager knew +I was simple--the villain! + He flattered and praised me. 130 +I was but a youngster, + And pleased at his notice +I laboured like four men. + One day I had mounted +Some bricks to my shoulder, + When, just then, the devil +Must bring him in sight. + + "'What's that!' he said laughing, +'Tis surely not Trifon + With such a light burden? 140 +Ho, does it not shame + Such a strapping young fellow?' +'Then put some more bricks on, + I'll carry them, master,' +Said I, sore offended. + For full half an hour +I stood while he piled them, + He piled them--the dog! +I felt my back breaking, + But would not give way, 150 +And that devilish burden + I carried right up +To the high second story! + He stood and looked on, +He himself was astounded, + And cried from beneath me: +'Well done, my brave fellow! + You don't know yourself, man, +What you have been doing! + It's forty stone, Trifon, 160 +You've carried up there!' + + "I _did_ know; my heart +Struck my breast like a hammer, + The blood stood in circles +Round both of my eyeballs; +My back felt disjointed, +My legs weak and trembling ... + 'Twas then that I withered. +Come, treat me, my friends!" + + "But why should we treat you? +In what are you happy? 171 + In what you have told us?" + + "No, listen--that's coming, +It's this: I have also, + Like each of us peasants, +Besought God to let me + Return to the village +To die. And when coming + From Petersburg, after +The illness I suffered 180 + Through what I have told you, +Exhausted and weakened, + Half-dazed, half-unconscious, +I got to the station. + And all in the carriage +Were workmen, as I was, + And ill of the fever; +And all yearned for one thing: + To reach their own homes +Before death overcame them. 190 + 'Twas then I was lucky; +The heat then was stifling, + And so many sick heads +Made Hell of the waggon. + Here one man was groaning, +There, rolling all over + The floor, like a lunatic, +Shouting and raving + Of wife or of mother. +And many such fellows 200 + Were put out and left +At the stations we came to. + I looked at them, thinking, +Shall I be left too? + I was burning and shaking, +The blood began starting + All over my eyeballs, +And I, in my fever, + Half-waking, was dreaming +Of cutting of cocks' throats 210 + (We once were cock-farmers, +And one year it happened + We fattened a thousand). +They came to my thoughts, now, + The damnable creatures, +I tried to start praying, + But no!--it was useless. +And, would you believe me? + I saw the whole party +In that hellish waggon 220 + Come quivering round me, +Their throats cut, and spurting +With blood, and still crowing, + And I, with the knife, shrieked: +'Enough of your noise!' + And yet, by God's mercy, +Made no sound at all. + I sat there and struggled +To keep myself silent. + At last the day ended, 230 +And with it the journey, + And God had had pity +Upon His poor orphan; + I crawled to the village. +And now, by His mercy, + I'm better again." + + "Is that what you boast of-- +Your happiness, peasant?" + Exclaims an old lackey +With legs weak and gouty. 240 + "Treat me, little brothers, +I'm happy, God sees it! + For I was the chief serf +Of Prince Peremeteff, + A rich prince, and mighty, +My wife, the most favoured + By him, of the women; +My daughter, together + With his, the young lady, +Was taught foreign languages, 250 + French and some others; +And she was permitted + To _sit_, and not stand, +In her mistress's presence. + Good Lord! How it bites!" +(He stoops down to rub it, + The gouty right knee-cap.) +The peasants laugh loudly! + "What laugh you at, stupids?" +He cries, getting angry, 260 + "I'm ill, I thank God, +And at waking and sleeping + I pray, 'Leave me ever +My honoured complaint, Lord! + For that makes me noble!' +I've none of your low things, + Your peasants' diseases, +My illness is lofty, + And only acquired +By the most elevated, 270 + The first in the Empire; +I suffer, you villains, + From gout, gout its name is! +It's only brought on + By the drinking of claret, +Of Burgundy, champagne, + Hungarian syrup, +By thirty years' drinking! + For forty years, peasants, +I've stood up behind it-- 280 + The chair of His Highness, +The Prince Peremeteff, + And swallowed the leavings +In plates and in glasses, + The finest French truffles, +The dregs of the liquors. + Come, treat me, you peasants!" + + "Excuse us, your Lordship, +Our wine is but simple, + The drink of the peasants! 290 +It wouldn't suit _you_!" + A bent, yellow-haired man +Steals up to the peasants, + A man from White Russia. +He yearns for the vodka. + "Oh, give me a taste!" +He implores, "I am happy!" + + "But wait! You must tell us +In what you are happy." + + "In bread I am happy; 300 +At home, in White Russia, + The bread is of barley, +All gritty and weedy. + At times, I can tell you, +I've howled out aloud, + Like a woman in labour, +With pains in my stomach! + But now, by God's mercy, +I work for Gubonine, + And there they give rye-bread, 310 +I'm happy in that." + + A dark-looking peasant, +With jaw turned and twisted, + Which makes him look sideways, +Says next, "I am happy. + A bear-hunter I am, +And six of my comrades + Were killed by old Mishka;[26] +On me God has mercy." + +"Look round to the left side." 320 + He tries to, but cannot, +For all his grimaces! + + "A bear knocked my jaw round, +A savage young female." + + "Go, look for another, +And give her the left cheek, + She'll soon put it straight!" + +They laugh, but, however, + They give him some vodka. +Some ragged old beggars 330 + Come up to the peasants, +Drawn near by the smell + Of the froth on the vodka; +They say they are happy. + + "Why, right on his threshold +The shopman will meet us! + We go to a house-door, +From there they conduct us + Right back to the gate! +When we begin singing 340 + The housewife runs quickly +And brings to the window + A loaf and a knife. +And then we sing loudly, + 'Oh, give us the whole loaf, +It cannot be cut + And it cannot be crumbled, +For you it is quicker, + For us it is better!'" + +The peasants observe 350 + That their vodka is wasted, +The pail's nearly empty. + They say to the people, +"Enough of your chatter, + You, shabby and ragged, +You, humpbacked and corny, + Go, get you all home!" + +"In your place, good strangers," + The peasant, Fedocy, +From "Swallow-Smoke" village, 360 + Said, sitting beside them, +"I'd ask Ermil Girin. + If he will not suit you, +If he is not happy, + Then no one can help you." + + "But who is this Ermil, +A noble--a prince?" + + "No prince--not a noble, +But simply a peasant." + + "Well, tell us about him." 370 + + "I'll tell you; he rented +The mill of an orphan, + Until the Court settled +To sell it at auction. + Then Ermil, with others, +Went into the sale-room. + The small buyers quickly +Dropped out of the bidding; + Till Ermil alone, +With a merchant, Alternikoff, 380 + Kept up the fight. +The merchant outbid him, + Each time by a farthing, +Till Ermil grew angry + And added five roubles; +The merchant a farthing + And Ermil a rouble. +The merchant gave in then, + When suddenly something +Unlooked for occurred: 390 + The sellers demanded +A third of the money + Paid down on the spot; +'Twas one thousand roubles, + And Ermil had not brought +So much money with him; + 'Twas either his error, +Or else they deceived him. + The merchant said gaily, +'The mill comes to me, then?' 400 + 'Not so,' replied Ermil; +He went to the sellers; + 'Good sirs, will you wait +Thirty minutes?' he asked. + + "'But how will that help you?' +'I'll bring you the money.' + + "'But where will you find it? +You're out of your senses! + It's thirty-five versts +To the mill; in an hour now 410 + The sales will be finished.' + + "'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?' +'An hour, if you wish.' + Then Ermil departed, +The sellers exchanging +Sly looks with the merchant, + And grinning--the foxes! +But Ermil went out + And made haste to the market-place +Crowded with people 420 + ('Twas market-day, then), +And he mounted a waggon, + And there he stood crossing +Himself, and low bowing + In all four directions. +He cried to the people, + 'Be silent a moment, +I've something to ask you!' + The place became still +And he told them the story: 430 + +"'Since long has the merchant + Been wooing the mill, +But I'm not such a dullard. + Five times have I been here +To ask if there _would_ be + A second day's bidding, +They answered, 'There will.' + You know that the peasant +Won't carry his money + All over the by-ways 440 + Without a good reason, +So I have none with me; +And look--now they tell me +There's no second bidding + And ask for the money! +The cunning ones tricked me + And laughed--the base heathens! +And said to me sneering: + 'But, what can you do +In an hour? Where find money?' 450 + + "'They're crafty and strong, +But the people are stronger! + The merchant is rich-- +But the people are richer! + Hey! What is _his_ worth +To _their_ treasury, think you? + Like fish in the ocean +The wealth of the people; + You'll draw it and draw it-- +But not see its end! 460 + Now, brother, God hears me, +Come, give me this money! + Next Friday I'll pay you +The very last farthing. + It's not that I care +For the mill--it's the insult! + Whoever knows Ermil, +Whoever believes him, + Will give what he can.' + + "A miracle happened; 470 +The coat of each peasant + Flew up on the left +As though blown by a wind! + The peasants are bringing +Their money to Ermil, + Each gives what he can. +Though Ermil's well lettered + He writes nothing down; +It's well he can count it + So great is his hurry. 480 +They gather his hat full + Of all kinds of money, +From farthings to bank-notes, + The notes of the peasant +All crumpled and torn. + He has the whole sum now, +But still the good people + Are bringing him more. + + "'Here, take this, too, Ermil, +You'll pay it back later!' 490 + + "He bows to the people +In all four directions, + Gets down from the waggon, +And pressing the hat + Full of money against him, +Runs back to the sale-room + As fast as he can. + + "The sellers are speechless +And stare in amazement, + The merchant turns green 500 +As the money is counted + And laid on the table. + + "The sellers come round him +All craftily praising + His excellent bargain. +But Ermil sees through them; + He gives not a farthing, +He speaks not a word. + + "The whole town assembles +At market next Friday, 510 + When Ermil is paying +His debt to the people. + How can he remember +To whom he must pay it? + No murmur arises, +No sound of discussion, + As each man tells quietly +The sum to be paid him. + + "And Ermil himself said, +That when it was finished 520 + A rouble was lying +With no one to claim it; + And though till the evening +He went, with purse open, + Demanding the owner, +It still was unclaimed. + The sun was just setting +When Ermil, the last one + To go from the market, +Assembled the beggars 530 + And gave them the rouble." ... + + "'Tis strange!" say the peasants, +"By what kind of magic + Can one single peasant +Gain such a dominion + All over the country?" + + "No magic he uses +Save truthfulness, brothers! + But say, have you ever +Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540 + Estate, Adovshina?" + + "We have. What about it?" + "The manager there +Was a Colonel, with stars, + Of the Corps of Gendarmes. +He had six or seven + Assistants beneath him, +And Ermil was chosen + As principal clerk. +He was but a boy, then, 550 + Of nineteen or twenty; +And though 'tis no fine post, + The clerk's--to the peasants +The clerk is a great man; + To him they will go +For advice and with questions. + Though Ermil had power to, +He asked nothing from them; + And if they should offer +He never accepted. 560 + (He bears a poor conscience, +The peasant who covets + The mite of his brother!) +Well, five years went by, + And they trusted in Ermil, +When all of a sudden + The master dismissed him +For sake of another. + And sadly they felt it. +The new clerk was grasping; 570 + He moved not a finger +Unless it was paid for; + A letter--three farthings! +A question--five farthings! + Well, he was a pope's son +And God placed him rightly! + But still, by God's mercy, +He did not stay long: + + "The old Prince soon died, +And the young Prince was master. 580 + He came and dismissed them-- +The manager-colonel, + The clerk and assistants, +And summoned the peasants + To choose them an Elder. +They weren't long about it! + And eight thousand voices +Cried out, 'Ermil Girin!' + As though they were one. +Then Ermil was sent for 590 + To speak with the Barin, +And after some minutes + The Barin came out +On the balcony, standing + In face of the people; +He cried, 'Well, my brothers, + Your choice is elected +With my princely sanction! + But answer me this: +Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600 + + "'No, no, little Father! +He's young, but he's wise!' + + "So Ermil was Elder, +For seven years ruled + In the Prince's dominion. +Not once in that time + Did a coin of the peasants +Come under his nail, + Did the innocent suffer, +The guilty escape him, 610 + He followed his conscience." + +"But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely +A shrivelled grey pope, + Interrupting the speaker, +"The harrow went smoothly + Enough, till it happened +To strike on a stone, + Then it swerved of a sudden. +In telling a story + Don't leave an odd word out 620 + And alter the rhythm! +Now, if you knew Ermil + You knew his young brother, +Knew Mityenka, did you?" + + The speaker considered, +Then said, "I'd forgotten, +I'll tell you about it: + It happened that once +Even Ermil the peasant + Did wrong: his young brother, 630 +Unjustly exempted + From serving his time, +On the day of recruiting; + And we were all silent, +And how could we argue + When even the Barin +Himself would not order + The Elder's own brother +To unwilling service? + And only one woman, 640 +Old Vlasevna, shedding + Wild tears for her son, +Went bewailing and screaming: + 'It wasn't our turn!' +Well, of course she'd be certain + To scream for a time, + Then leave off and be silent. +But what happened then? + The recruiting was finished, +But Ermil had changed; 650 + He was mournful and gloomy; +He ate not, he drank not, + Till one day his father +Went into the stable + And found him there holding +A rope in his hands. + Then at last he unbosomed +His heart to his father: + 'Since Vlasevna's son +Has been sent to the service, 660 + I'm weary of living, +I wish but to die!' + His brothers came also, +And they with the father + Besought him to hear them, +To listen to reason. + But he only answered: +'A villain I am, + And a criminal; bind me, +And bring me to justice!' 670 + And they, fearing worse things, +Obeyed him and bound him. + The commune assembled, +Exclaiming and shouting; + They'd never been summoned +To witness or judge + Such peculiar proceedings. + + "And Ermil's relations +Did not beg for mercy + And lenient treatment, 680 +But rather for firmness: + 'Bring Vlasevna's son back +Or Ermil will hang himself, + Nothing will save him!' +And then appeared Ermil + Himself, pale and bare-foot, +With ropes bound and handcuffed, + And bowing his head +He spoke low to the people: + 'The time was when I was 690 +Your judge; and I judged you, + In all things obeying +My conscience. But I now + Am guiltier far +Than were you. Be my judges!' + He bowed to our feet, +The demented one, sighing, + Then stood up and crossed himself, +Trembling all over; +It pained us to witness 700 + How he, of a sudden, +Fell down on his knees there + At Vlasevna's feet. +Well, all was put right soon, + The nobles have fingers +In every small corner, + The lad was brought back +And young Mityenka started; + They say that his service +Did not weigh too heavy, 710 + The prince saw to that. +And we, as a penance, + Imposed upon Ermil +A fine, and to Vlasevna + One part was given, +To Mitya another, + The rest to the village +For vodka. However, + Not quickly did Ermil +Get over his sorrow: 720 + He went like a lost one +For full a year after, + And--though the whole district +Implored him to keep it-- + He left his position. +He rented the mill, then, + And more than of old +Was beloved by the people. + He took for his grinding +No more than was honest, 730 + His customers never +Kept waiting a moment, + And all men alike: +The rich landlord, the workman. + The master and servant, +The poorest of peasants + Were served as their turn came; +Strict order he kept. + Myself, I have not been +Since long in that district, 740 + But often the people +Have told me about him. + And never could praise him +Enough. So in your place + I'd go and ask Ermil." + +"Your time would be wasted," + The grey-headed pope, +Who'd before interrupted, + Remarked to the peasants, +"I knew Ermil Girin, 750 + I chanced in that district +Some five years ago. + I have often been shifted, +Our bishop loved vastly + To keep us all moving, +So I was his neighbour. + Yes, he was a peasant +Unique, I bear witness, + And all things he owned +That can make a man happy: 760 + Peace, riches, and honour, +And that kind of honour + Most valued and precious, +Which cannot be purchased + By might or by money, +But only by righteousness, + Wisdom and kindness. +But still, I repeat it, + Your time will be wasted +In going to Ermil: 770 + In prison he lies." + + "How's that?" + + "God so willed it. +You've heard how the peasants +Of 'Log' the Pomyeshchick + Of Province 'Affrighted,' +Of District 'Scarce-Breathing,' + Of village 'Dumbfounded,' +Revolted 'for causes +Entirely unknown,' 780 + As they say in the papers. +(I once used to read them.) + And so, too, in this case, +The local Ispravnik,[27] + The Tsar's high officials, +And even the peasants, + 'Dumbfounded' themselves. +Never fathomed the reason + Of all the disturbance. +But things became bad, 790 + And the soldiers were sent for, +The Tsar packed a messenger + Off in a hurry +To speak to the people. + His epaulettes rose +To his ears as he coaxed them +And cursed them together. + But curses they're used to, +And coaxing was lost, + For they don't understand it: 800 + 'Brave orthodox peasants!' +'The Tsar--Little Father!' + 'Our dear Mother Russia!' +He bellowed and shouted + Until he was hoarse, +While the peasants stood round him + And listened in wonder. + + "But when he was tired +Of these peaceable measures + Of calming the riots, 810 +At length he decided + On giving the order +Of 'Fire' to the soldiers; + When all of a sudden +A bright thought occurred + To the clerk of the Volost:[28] +'The people trust Girin, + The people will hear him!' + + "'Then let him be brought!'" [29] + + * * * * * + + A cry has arisen 820 +"Have mercy! Have mercy!" + A check to the story; +They hurry off quickly + To see what has happened; +And there on a bank + Of a ditch near the roadside, +Some peasants are birching + A drunken old lackey, +Just taken in thieving. + A court had been summoned, 830 +The judges deciding + To birch the offender, +That each of the jury + (About three and twenty) +Should give him a stroke + Turn in turn of the rod.... + + The lackey was up +And made off, in a twinkling, + He took to his heels +Without stopping to argue, 840 + On two scraggy legs. + + "How he trips it--the dandy!" +The peasants cry, laughing; + They've soon recognized him; +The boaster who prated + So much of his illness +From drinking strange liquors. + + "Ho! where has it gone to, +Your noble complaint? + Look how nimble he's getting!" 850 + + "Well, well, Little Father, +Now finish the story!" + + "It's time to go home now, +My children,--God willing, + We'll meet again some day +And finish it then...." + + The people disperse +As the dawn is approaching. + Our peasants begin +To bethink them of sleeping, 860 + When all of a sudden +A "troika" [30] comes flying + From no one sees where, +With its silver bells ringing. + Within it is sitting +A plump little Barin, + His little mouth smoking +A little cigar. + The peasants draw up +In a line on the roadway, 870 + Thus barring the passage +In front of the horses; + And, standing bareheaded, +Bow low to the Barin. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE POMYESHCHICK + + The "troika" is drawing +The local Pomyeshchick-- + Gavril Afanasich + Obolt-Oboldooeff. +A portly Pomyeshchick, + With long grey moustaches, +Some sixty years old. + His bearing is stately, +His cheeks very rosy, + He wears a short top-coat, 10 +Tight-fitting and braided, + Hungarian fashion; +And very wide trousers. + Gavril Afanasich +Was probably startled + At seeing the peasants + Unflinchingly barring +The way to his horses; + He promptly produces +A loaded revolver 20 + As bulky and round +As himself; and directs it + Upon the intruders: + + "You brigands! You cut-throats! +Don't move, or I shoot!" + + "How can we be brigands?" +The peasants say, laughing, + "No knives and no pitchforks, +No hatchets have we!" + + "Who are you? And what 30 +Do you want?" said the Barin. + + "A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our wives, from our children, +Away from our work, + Kills our appetites too, +Do give us your promise + To answer us truly, +Consulting your conscience + And searching your knowledge, 40 +Not sneering, nor feigning + The question we put you, + And then we will tell you +The cause of our trouble." + + "I promise. I give you +The oath of a noble." + + "No, don't give us that-- +Not the oath of a noble! + We're better content +With the word of a Christian. 50 + The nobleman's oaths-- +They are given with curses, + With kicks and with blows! +We are better without them!" + + "Eh-heh, that's a new creed! +Well, let it be so, then. + And what is your trouble?" + + "But put up the pistol! +That's right! Now we'll tell you: + We are not assassins, 60 +But peaceable peasants, + From Government 'Hard-pressed,' +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From 'Destitute' Parish, +From neighbouring hamlets,-- + 'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,' +'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.' + From 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway, + And one asked another, 70 +Who is he--the man + Free and happy in Russia? +Luka said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +Demyan, 'The official.' + 'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan; +Pakhom said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80 +And Prov said, 'The Tsar.' + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it, +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly, + And nothing can move them! +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, 90 +While quarrelling fought, + Till at last we decided +That never again +Would we turn our steps homeward + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until we have settled +The subject of discord; + Until we have found +The reply to our question-- 100 + Of who can, in Russia, +Be happy and free? + + "Now tell us, Pomyeshchick, +Is your life a sweet one? + And is the Pomyeshchick +Both happy and free?" + + Gavril Afanasich +Springs out of the "troika" + And comes to the peasants. +He takes--like a doctor-- 110 + The hand of each one, +And carefully feeling + The pulse gazes searchingly +Into their faces, + Then clasps his plump sides +And stands shaking with laughter. + The clear, hearty laugh +Of the healthy Pomyeshchick + Peals out in the pleasant +Cool air of the morning: 120 + "Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" +Till he stops from exhaustion. + And then he addresses +The wondering peasants: + "Put on your hats, _gentlemen_, +Please to be seated!" + + (He speaks with a bitter[31] +And mocking politeness.) + + "But we are not gentry; +We'd rather stand up 130 + In your presence, your worship." + + "Sit down, worthy _citizens_, +Here on the bank." + + The peasants protest, +But, on seeing it useless, + Sit down on the bank. + + "May I sit beside you? +Hey, Proshka! Some sherry, + My rug and a cushion!" + He sits on the rug. 140 +Having finished the sherry, + Thus speaks the Pomyeshchick: + + "I gave you my promise +To answer your question.... + The task is not easy, +For though you are highly + Respectable people, +You're not very learned. + Well, firstly, I'll try +To explain you the meaning 150 + Of Lord, or Pomyeshchick. +Have you, by some chance, + Ever heard the expression + The 'Family Tree'? + Do you know what it means?" + + "The woods are not closed to us. +We have seen all kinds + Of trees," say the peasants. + "Your shot has miscarried! +I'll try to speak clearly; 160 + I come of an ancient, +Illustrious family; + One, Oboldooeff, +My ancestor, is + Amongst those who were mentioned +In old Russian chronicles + Written for certain +Two hundred and fifty + Years back. It is written, + ''Twas given the Tartar, 170 +Obolt-Oboldooeff, + A piece of cloth, value +Two roubles, for having + Amused the Tsaritsa +Upon the Tsar's birthday + By fights of wild beasts, +Wolves and foxes. He also + Permitted his own bear +To fight with a wild one, + Which mauled Oboldooeff, 180 +And hurt him severely.' + And now, gentle peasants, +Did you understand?" + + "Why not? To this day +One can see them--the loafers + Who stroll about leading +A bear!" + + "Be it so, then! +But now, please be silent, + And hark to what follows: 190 +From this Oboldooeff + My family sprang; +And this incident happened + Two hundred and fifty +Years back, as I told you, + But still, on my mother's side, + Even more ancient +The family is: + Says another old writing: +'Prince Schepin, and one 200 + Vaska Gooseff, attempted +To burn down the city + Of Moscow. They wanted +To plunder the Treasury. + They were beheaded.' +And this was, good peasants, + Full three hundred years back! +From these roots it was + That our Family Tree sprang." + +"And you are the ... as one 210 + Might say ... little apple +Which hangs on a branch + Of the tree," say the peasants. + +"Well, apple, then, call it, + So long as it please you. +At least you appear + To have got at my meaning. + And now, you yourselves +Understand--the more ancient + A family is 220 +The more noble its members. + Is that so, good peasants?" + +"That's so," say the peasants. + "The black bone and white bone +Are different, and they must + Be differently honoured." + +"Exactly. I see, friends, +You quite understand me." +The Barin continued: +"In past times we lived, 230 + As they say, 'in the bosom +Of Christ,' and we knew + What it meant to be honoured! +Not only the people + Obeyed and revered us, +But even the earth + And the waters of Russia.... +You knew what it was + To be One, in the centre +Of vast, spreading lands, 240 + Like the sun in the heavens: +The clustering villages + Yours, yours the meadows, +And yours the black depths + Of the great virgin forests! +You pass through a village; + The people will meet you, +Will fall at your feet; + Or you stroll in the forest; +The mighty old trees 250 + Bend their branches before you. +Through meadows you saunter; + The slim golden corn-stems +Rejoicing, will curtsey + With winning caresses, +Will hail you as Master. + The little fish sports +In the cool little river; + Get fat, little fish, +At the will of the Master! 260 + The little hare speeds +Through the green little meadow; + Speed, speed, little hare, +Till the coming of autumn, + The season of hunting, +The sport of the Master. + And all things exist +But to gladden the Master. + Each wee blade of grass +Whispers lovingly to him, 270 + 'I live but for thee....' + + "The joy and the beauty, +The pride of all Russia-- + The Lord's holy churches-- + Which brighten the hill-sides +And gleam like great jewels + On the slopes of the valleys, +Were rivalled by one thing + In glory, and that +Was the nobleman's manor. 280 + Adjoining the manor +Were glass-houses sparkling, + And bright Chinese arbours, +While parks spread around it. + On each of the buildings +Gay banners displaying + Their radiant colours, +And beckoning softly, + Invited the guest +To partake of the pleasures 290 + Of rich hospitality. +Never did Frenchmen + In dreams even picture +Such sumptuous revels + As we used to hold. +Not only for one-day, + Or two, did they last-- +But for whole months together! + We fattened great turkeys, + We brewed our own liquors, 300 +We kept our own actors, + And troupes of musicians, +And legions of servants! + Why, I kept five cooks, +Besides pastry-cooks, working, +Two blacksmiths, three carpenters, + Eighteen musicians, +And twenty-two huntsmen.... + My God!"... + + The afflicted 310 +Pomyeshchick broke down here, + And hastened to bury +His face in the cushion.... + "Hey, Proshka!" he cried, +And then quickly the lackey + Poured out and presented +A glassful of brandy. + The glass was soon empty, +And when the Pomyeshchick + Had rested awhile, 320 +He again began speaking: + "Ah, then, Mother Russia, +How gladly in autumn + Your forests awoke +To the horn of the huntsman! + Their dark, gloomy depths, +Which had saddened and faded, + Were pierced by the clear +Ringing blast, and they listened, + Revived and rejoiced, 330 +To the laugh of the echo. + The hounds and the huntsmen +Are gathered together, + And wait on the skirts +Of the forest; and with them + The Master; and farther +Within the deep forest + The dog-keepers, roaring +And shouting like madmen, + The hounds all a-bubble 340 +Like fast-boiling water. + Hark! There's the horn calling! +You hear the pack yelling? + They're crowding together! +And where's the red beast? +Hoo-loo-loo! Hoo-loo-loo! + And the sly fox is ready; +Fat, furry old Reynard + Is flying before us, +His bushy tail waving! 350 +The knowing hounds crouch, + And each lithe body quivers, +Suppressing the fire + That is blazing within it: +'Dear guests of our hearts, + _Do_ come nearer and greet us, +We're panting to meet you, + We, hale little fellows! +Come nearer to us + And away from the bushes!' 360 + +"They're off! Now, my horse, + Let your swiftness not fail me! +My hounds, you are staunch + And you will not betray me! +Hoo-loo! Faster, faster! + Now, _at him_, my children!"... +Gavril Afanasich + Springs up, wildly shouting, +His arms waving madly, + He dances around them! 370 +He's certainly after + A fox in the forest! + +The peasants observe him + In silent enjoyment, +They smile in their beards.... + + "Eh ... you, mad, merry hunters! +Although he forgets + Many things--the Pomyeshchick-- +Those hunts in the autumn + Will not be forgotten. 380 +'Tis not for our own loss + We grieve, Mother Russia, +But you that we pity; + For you, with the hunting +Have lost the last traces + Of days bold and warlike +That made you majestic.... + + "At times, in the autumn, +A party of fifty + Would start on a hunting tour; 390 +Then each Pomyeshchick + Brought with him a hundred +Fine dogs, and twelve keepers, + And cooks in abundance. +And after the cooks + Came a long line of waggons +Containing provisions. + And as we went forward +With music and singing, + You might have mistaken 400 +Our band for a fine troop + Of cavalry, moving! + The time flew for us +Like a falcon." How lightly + The breast of the nobleman +Rose, while his spirit + Went back to the days +Of Old Russia, and greeted + The gallant Boyarin.[32] ... + +"No whim was denied us. 410 + To whom I desire +I show mercy and favour; + And whom I dislike +I strike dead on the spot. + The law is my wish, +And my fist is my hangman! + My blow makes the sparks crowd, +My blow smashes jaw-bones, + My blow scatters teeth!"... + + Like a string that is broken, 420 +The voice of the nobleman + Suddenly ceases; +He lowers his eyes + To the ground, darkly frowning ... +And then, in a low voice, + He says: + + "You yourselves know +That strictness is needful; + But I, with love, punished. +The chain has been broken, 430 + The links burst asunder; +And though we do not beat + The peasant, no longer +We look now upon him + With fatherly feelings. +Yes, I was severe too + At times, but more often +I turned hearts towards me + With patience and mildness. + +"Upon Easter Sunday 440 + I kissed all the peasants + Within my domain. +A great table, loaded + With 'Paska' and 'Koolich'[33] +And eggs of all colours, + Was spread in the manor. +My wife, my old mother, + My sons, too, and even +My daughters did not scorn + To kiss[34] the last peasant: 450 +'Now Christ has arisen!' + 'Indeed He has risen!' +The peasants broke fast then, + Drank vodka and wine. + Before each great holiday, +In my best staterooms + The All-Night Thanksgiving +Was held by the pope. + My serfs were invited +With every inducement: 460 + 'Pray hard now, my children, +Make use of the chance, + Though you crack all your foreheads!'[35] +The nose suffered somewhat, + But still at the finish +We brought all the women-folk + Out of a village +To scrub down the floors. + You see 'twas a cleansing +Of souls, and a strengthening 470 + Of spiritual union; +Now, isn't that so?" + + "That's so," say the peasants, +But each to himself thinks, + "They needed persuading +With sticks though, I warrant, + To get them to pray +In your Lordship's fine manor!" + + "I'll say, without boasting, +They loved me--my peasants. 480 + In my large Surminsky +Estate, where the peasants + Were mostly odd-jobbers, +Or very small tradesmen, + It happened that they +Would get weary of staying + At home, and would ask +My permission to travel, + To visit strange parts +At the coming of spring. 490 + They'd often be absent +Through summer and autumn. + My wife and the children +Would argue while guessing + The gifts that the peasants +Would bring on returning. + And really, besides +Lawful dues of the 'Barin' + In cloth, eggs, and live stock, +The peasants would gladly 500 + Bring gifts to the family: +Jam, say, from Kiev, + From Astrakhan fish, +And the richer among them + Some silk for the lady. +You see!--as he kisses + Her hand he presents her +A neat little packet! + And then for the children +Are sweetmeats and toys; 510 + For me, the old toper, +Is wine from St. Petersburg-- + Mark you, the rascal +Won't go to the Russian + For that! He knows better-- +He runs to the Frenchman! + And when we have finished +Admiring the presents + I go for a stroll +And a chat with the peasants; 520 + They talk with me freely. +My wife fills their glasses, +My little ones gather + Around us and listen, +While sucking their sweets, + To the tales of the peasants: +Of difficult trading, + Of places far distant, +Of Petersburg, Astrakhan, + Kazan, and Kiev.... 530 + On such terms it was +That I lived with my peasants. + Now, wasn't that nice?" + + "Yes," answer the peasants; +"Yes, well might one envy + The noble Pomyeshchick! +His life was so sweet + There was no need to leave it." + +"And now it is past.... + It has vanished for ever! 540 +Hark! There's the bell tolling!" + + They listen in silence: +In truth, through the stillness + Which settles around them, +The slow, solemn sound + On the breeze of the morning +Is borne from Kusminsky.... + +"Sweet peace to the peasant! +God greet him in Heaven!" + + The peasants say softly, 550 +And cross themselves thrice; + And the mournful Pomyeshchick +Uncovers his head, + As he piously crosses +Himself, and he answers: + "'Tis not for the peasant +The knell is now tolling, + It tolls the lost life +Of the stricken Pomyeshchick. + Farewell to the past, 560 +And farewell to thee, Russia, + The Russia who cradled +The happy Pomyeshchick, + Thy place has been stolen +And filled by another!... + Heh, Proshka!" (The brandy +Is given, and quickly + He empties the glass.) +"Oh, it isn't consoling +To witness the change 570 + In thy face, oh, my Motherland! +Truly one fancies + The whole race of nobles +Has suddenly vanished! + Wherever one goes, now, +One falls over peasants + Who lie about, tipsy, +One meets not a creature + But excise official, + Or stupid 'Posrednik,'[36] 580 +Or Poles who've been banished. + One sees the troops passing, + And then one can guess +That a village has somewhere + Revolted, 'in thankful +And dutiful spirit....' + In old days, these roads +Were made gay by the passing + Of carriage, 'dormeuse,' +And of six-in-hand coaches, 590 + And pretty, light troikas; +And in them were sitting + The family troop +Of the jolly Pomyeshchick: + The stout, buxom mother, +The fine, roguish sons, + And the pretty young daughters; +One heard with enjoyment + The chiming of large bells, +The tinkling of small bells, 600 + Which hung from the harness. +And now?... What distraction + Has life? And what joy +Does it bring the Pomyeshchick? + At each step, you meet +Something new to revolt you; + And when in the air +You can smell a rank graveyard, + You know you are passing +A nobleman's manor! 610 + My Lord!... They have pillaged +The beautiful dwelling! + They've pulled it all down, +Brick by brick, and have fashioned + The bricks into hideously +Accurate columns! + The broad shady park +Of the outraged Pomyeshchick, + The fruit of a hundred years' +Careful attention, 620 + Is falling away +'Neath the axe of a peasant! + The peasant works gladly, +And greedily reckons + The number of logs +Which his labour will bring him. + His dark soul is closed +To refinement of feeling, + And what would it matter +To him, if you told him 630 + That this stately oak +Which his hatchet is felling + My grandfather's hand +Had once planted and tended; +That under this ash-tree + My dear little children, +My Vera and Ganushka, + Echoed my voice + As they played by my side; +That under this linden 640 + My young wife confessed me +That little Gavrioushka, + Our best-beloved first-born, +Lay under her heart, + As she nestled against me +And bashfully hid + Her sweet face in my bosom +As red as a cherry.... + It is to his profit +To ravish the park, 650 + And his mission delights him. +It makes one ashamed now + To pass through a village; +The peasant sits still +And he dreams not of bowing. + One feels in one's breast +Not the pride of a noble + But wrath and resentment. +The axe of the robber + Resounds in the forest, 660 +It maddens your heart, + But you cannot prevent it, +For who can you summon + To rescue your forest? +The fields are half-laboured, + The seeds are half-wasted, +No trace left of order.... + O Mother, my country, +We do not complain + For ourselves--of our sorrows, 670 +Our hearts bleed for thee: + Like a widow thou standest +In helpless affliction + With tresses dishevelled +And grief-stricken face.... + They have blighted the forest, +The noisy low taverns +Have risen and flourished. + They've picked the most worthless +And loose of the people, 680 + And given them power +In the posts of the Zemstvos; + They've seized on the peasant +And taught him his letters-- + Much good may it do him! +Your brow they have branded, + As felons are branded, +As cattle are branded, + With these words they've stamped it: +'To take away with you 690 + Or drink on the premises.' +Was it worth while, pray, + To weary the peasant +With learning his letters + In order to read them? +The land that we keep + Is our mother no longer, +Our stepmother rather. + And then to improve things, +These pert good-for-nothings, 700 + These impudent writers +Must needs shout in chorus: + 'But whose fault, then, is it, +That you thus exhausted + And wasted your country?' +But I say--you duffers! + Who _could_ foresee this? +They babble, 'Enough + Of your lordly pretensions! +It's time that you learnt something, 710 + Lazy Pomyeshchicks! +Get up, now, and work!' + + "Work! To whom, in God's name, +Do you think you are speaking? + I am not a peasant +In 'laputs,' good madman! + I am--by God's mercy-- +A Noble of Russia. + You take us for Germans! +We nobles have tender 720 + And delicate feelings, +Our pride is inborn, + And in Russia our classes +Are not taught to work. + Why, the meanest official + Will not raise a finger +To clear his own table, + Or light his own stove! +I can say, without boasting, + That though I have lived 730 +Forty years in the country, + And scarcely have left it, +I could not distinguish + Between rye and barley. +And they sing of 'work' to me! + + "If we Pomyeshchicks +Have really mistaken + Our duty and calling, +If really our mission + Is not, as in old days, 740 +To keep up the hunting, + To revel in luxury, +Live on forced labour, + Why did they not tell us +Before? Could I learn it? + For what do I see? +I've worn the Tsar's livery, +'Sullied the Heavens,' + And 'squandered the treasury +Gained by the people,' 750 + And fully imagined +To do so for ever, + And now ... God in Heaven!"... +The Barin is sobbing!... + + The kind-hearted peasants +Can hardly help crying + Themselves, and they think: +"Yes, the chain has been broken, + The strong links have snapped, +And the one end recoiling 760 + Has struck the Pomyeshchick, +The other--the peasant." + + + + + +PART II. + +THE LAST POMYESHCHICK + + +PROLOGUE + +The day of St. Peter-- + And very hot weather; +The mowers are all + At their work in the meadows. +The peasants are passing + A tumble-down village, +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Of Government "Know-Nothing.' + They are approaching 10 +The banks of the Volga. + They come to the river, +The sea-gulls are wheeling + And flashing above it; +The sea-hens are walking + About on the sand-banks; +And in the bare hayfields, + Which look just as naked +As any youth's cheek + After yesterday's shaving, 20 +The Princes Volkonsky[37] + Are haughtily standing, +And round them their children, + Who (unlike all others) +Are born at an earlier + Date than their sires. + +"The fields are enormous," +Remarks old Pakhom, + "Why, the folk must be giants." +The two brothers Goobin 30 + Are smiling at something: +For some time they've noticed + A very tall peasant +Who stands with a pitcher + On top of a haystack; +He drinks, and a woman + Below, with a hay-fork, +Is looking at him + With her head leaning back. +The peasants walk on 40 + Till they come to the haystack; +The man is still drinking; + They pass it quite slowly, +Go fifty steps farther, + Then all turn together +And look at the haystack. + Not much has been altered: +The peasant is standing + With body bent back +As before,--but the pitcher 50 + Has turned bottom upwards.... + +The strangers go farther. + The camps are thrown out +On the banks of the river; + And there the old people +And children are gathered, + And horses are waiting +With big empty waggons; + And then, in the fields +Behind those that are finished, 60 + The distance is filled +By the army of workers, + The white shirts of women, +The men's brightly coloured, + And voices and laughter, +With all intermingled + The hum of the scythes.... + + "God help you, good fellows!" +"Our thanks to you, brothers!" + + The peasants stand noting 70 +The long line of mowers, + The poise of the scythes +And their sweep through the sunshine. + The rhythmical swell +Of melodious murmur. + + The timid grass stands +For a moment, and trembles, + Then falls with a sigh.... + + On the banks of the Volga +The grass has grown high 80 +And the mowers work gladly. + The peasants soon feel +That they cannot resist it. +"It's long since we've stretched ourselves, + Come, let us help you!" +And now seven women + Have yielded their places. + The spirit of work +Is devouring our peasants; + Like teeth in a ravenous 90 +Mouth they are working-- + The muscular arms, +And the long grass is falling + To songs that are strange +To this part of the country, + To songs that are taught +By the blizzards and snow-storms, +The wild savage winds + Of the peasants' own homelands: +"Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," 100 + "Patched," "Bare-Foot," and "Shabby," +And "Harvestless," too.... + And when the strong craving +For work is appeased + They sit down by a haystack. + +"From whence have you come?" + A grey-headed old peasant +(The one whom the women + Call Vlasuchka) asks them, +"And where are you going?" 110 + + "We are--" say the peasants, +Then suddenly stop, + There's some music approaching! + +"Oh, that's the Pomyeshchick + Returning from boating!" +Says Vlasuchka, running + To busy the mowers: +"Wake up! Look alive there! + And mind--above all things, +Don't heat the Pomyeshchick 120 + And don't make him angry! +And if he abuse you, + Bow low and say nothing, +And if he should praise you, + Start lustily cheering. +You women, stop cackling! + And get to your forks!" +A big burly peasant +With beard long and bushy + Bestirs himself also 130 +To busy them all, + Then puts on his "kaftan," [38] +And runs away quickly + To meet the Pomyeshchick. + +And now to the bank-side + Three boats are approaching. +In one sit the servants + And band of musicians, +Most busily playing; + The second one groans 140 +'Neath a mountainous wet-nurse, + Who dandles a baby, +A withered old dry-nurse, + A motionless body +Of ancient retainers. + And then in the third +There are sitting the gentry: + Two beautiful ladies +(One slender and fair-haired, + One heavy and black-browed) 150 +And two moustached Barins + And three little Barins, +And last--the Pomyeshchick, + A very old man +Wearing long white moustaches + (He seems to be all white); +His cap, broad and high-crowned, + Is white, with a peak, +In the front, of red satin. + His body is lean 160 +As a hare's in the winter, + His nose like a hawk's beak, +His eyes--well, they differ: + The one sharp and shining, +The other--the left eye-- + Is sightless and blank, +Like a dull leaden farthing. + Some woolly white poodles +With tufts on their ankles + Are in the boat too. 170 + +The old man alighting + Has mounted the bank, +Where for long he reposes + Upon a red carpet +Spread out by the servants. +And then he arises + To visit the mowers, +To pass through the fields + On a tour of inspection. +He leans on the arm-- 180 + Now of one of the Barins, +And now upon those + Of the beautiful ladies. +And so with his suite-- + With the three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles,-- +Along through the hayfields + Proceeds the Pomyeshchick. 190 + +The peasants on all sides + Bow down to the ground; +And the big, burly peasant + (The Elder he is +As the peasants have noticed) + Is cringing and bending +Before the Pomyeshchick, + Just like the Big Devil +Before the high altar: +"Just so! Yes, Your Highness, 200 + It's done, at your bidding!" +I think he will soon fall + Before the Pomyeshchick +And roll in the dust.... + + So moves the procession, +Until it stops short + In the front of a haystack +Of wonderful size, + Only this day erected. +The old man is poking 210 + His forefinger in it, +He thinks it is damp, + And he blazes with fury: +"Is this how you rot + The best goods of your master? +I'll rot you with barschin,[39] + I'll make you repent it! +Undo it--at once!" + + The Elder is writhing +In great agitation: 220 + "I was not quite careful +Enough, and it _is_ damp. + It's my fault, Your Highness!" +He summons the peasants, + Who run with their pitchforks +To punish the monster. + And soon they have spread it +In small heaps around, + At the feet of the master; +His wrath is appeased. 230 + + (In the meantime the strangers +Examine the hay--It's + like tinder--so dry!) + +A lackey comes flying + Along, with a napkin; +He's lame--the poor man! + "Please, the luncheon is served." +And then the procession, +The three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, 240 + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles, + Moves onward to lunch. + +The peasants stand watching; + From one of the boats +Comes an outburst of music +To greet the Pomyeshchick. + + The table is shining +All dazzlingly white + On the bank of the river. 250 +The strangers, astonished, +Draw near to old Vlasuchka; + "Pray, little Uncle," +They say, "what's the meaning + Of all these strange doings? +And who is that curious + Old man?" + + "Our Pomyeshchick, +The great Prince Yutiatin." + +"But why is he fussing 260 + About in that manner? +For things are all changed now, + And he seems to think +They are still as of old. + The hay is quite dry, +Yet he told you to dry it!" + + "But funnier still +That the hay and the hayfields + Are not his at all." + +"Then whose are they?" 270 + "The Commune's." + +"Then why is he poking + His nose into matters +Which do not concern him? + For are you not free?" + +"Why, yes, by God's mercy + The order is changed now +For us as for others; + But ours is a special case." + +"Tell us about it." 280 + The old man lay down +At the foot of the haystack + And answered them--nothing. + + The peasants producing + The magic white napkin +Sit down and say softly, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" +The napkin unfolds, + And two hands, which come floating +From no one sees where, 291 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away.... + + The peasants, still wishing +To question old Vlasuchka, + Wisely present him +A cupful of vodka: + "Now come, little Uncle, 300 +Be gracious to strangers, + And tell us your story." + +"There's nothing to tell you. + You haven't told me yet +Who _you_ are and whence +You have journeyed to these parts, + And whither you go." + +"We will not be surly + Like you. We will tell you. +We've come a great distance, 310 + And seek to discover +A thing of importance. + A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our work, from our homes, +From the love of our food...." + The peasants then tell him +About their chance meeting, + Their argument, quarrel, +Their vow, and decision; 320 + Of how they had sought +In the Government "Tight-Squeeze" + And Government "Shot-Strewn" +The man who, in Russia, + Is happy and free.... + + Old Vlasuchka listens, +Observing them keenly. + "I see," he remarks, +When the story is finished, + "I see you are very 330 +Peculiar people. + We're said to be strange here, +But you are still stranger." + +"Well, drink some more vodka + And tell us your tale." + + And when by the vodka +His tongue becomes loosened, + Old Vlasuchka tells them +The following story. + + +I + +THE DIE-HARD + +"The great prince, Yutiatin, + The ancient Pomyeshchick, +Is very eccentric. + His wealth is untold, +And his titles exalted, + His family ranks +With the first in the Empire. + The whole of his life +He has spent in amusement, + Has known no control 10 +Save his own will and pleasure. + When we were set free +He refused to believe it: + 'They lie! the low scoundrels!' +There came the posrednik + And Chief of Police, +But he would not admit them, + He ordered them out +And went on as before, +And only became 20 + Full of hate and suspicion: +'Bow low, or I'll flog you + To death, without mercy!' +The Governor himself came + To try to explain things, +And long they disputed + And argued together; +The furious voice + Of the prince was heard raging +All over the house, 30 + And he got so excited +That on the same evening + A stroke fell upon him: +His left side went dead, + Black as earth, so they tell us, +And all over nothing! + It wasn't his pocket +That pinched, but his pride + That was touched and enraged him. +He lost but a mite 40 + And would never have missed it." + +"Ah, that's what it means, friends, + To be a Pomyeshchick, +The habit gets into + The blood," says Mitrodor, + "And not the Pomyeshchick's +Alone, for the habit + Is strong in the peasant +As well," old Pakhom said. + "I once on suspicion 50 +Was put into prison, + And met there a peasant +Called Sedor, a strange man, + Arrested for horse-stealing, +If I remember; + And he from the prison +Would send to the Barin + His taxes. (The prisoner's +Income is scanty, + He gets what he begs 60 +Or a trifle for working.) + The others all laughed at him; +'Why should you send them + And you off for life +To hard labour?' they asked him. + But he only said, +'All the same ... it is better.'" + + "Well, now, little Uncle, +Go on with the story." + + "A mite is a small thing, 70 + Except when it happens +To be in the eye! + The Pomyeshchick lay senseless, +And many were sure + That he'd never recover. +His children were sent for, + Those black-moustached footguards +(You saw them just now + With their wives, the fine ladies), +The eldest of them 80 + Was to settle all matters +Concerning his father. + He called the posrednik +To draw up the papers + And sign the agreement, +When suddenly--there + Stands the old man before them! +He springs on them straight + Like a wounded old tiger, +He bellows like thunder. 90 + It was but a short time +Ago, and it happened + That I was then Elder, +And chanced to have entered + The house on some errand, +And I heard myself + How he cursed the Pomyeshchicks; +The words that he spoke + I have never forgotten: +'The Jews are reproached 100 + For betraying their Master; +But what are _you_ doing? + The rights of the nobles +By centuries sanctioned + You fling to the beggars!' +He said to his sons, + 'Oh, you dastardly cowards! +My children no longer! + It is for small reptiles-- +The pope's crawling breed-- 110 + To take bribes from vile traitors, +To purchase base peasants, + And they may be pardoned! +But you!--you have sprung + From the house of Yutiatin, +The Princes Yu-tia-tin + You are! Go!... Go, leave me! +You pitiful puppies!' +The heirs were alarmed; + How to tide matters over 120 +Until he should die? + For they are not small items, +The forests and lands + That belong to our father; +His money-bags are not + So light as to make it +A question of nothing + Whose shoulders shall bear them; +We know that our father + Has three 'private' daughters 130 +In Petersburg living, + To Generals married, +So how do we know + That they may not inherit +His wealth?... The Pomyeshchick + Once more is prostrated, +His death is a question + Of time, and to make it +Run smoothly till then + An agreement was come to, 140 +A plan to deceive him: +So one of the ladies +(The fair one, I fancy, + She used at that time +To attend the old master + And rub his left side +With a brush), well, she told him + That orders had come +From the Government lately + That peasants set free 150 +Should return to their bondage. + And he quite believed it. +(You see, since his illness + The Prince had become +Like a child.) When he heard it + He cried with delight; +And the household was summoned + To prayer round the icons;[40] +And Thanksgiving Service + Was held by his orders 160 +In every small village, + And bells were set ringing. +And little by little + His strength returned partly. +And then as before + It was hunting and music, + The servants were caned +And the peasants were punished. + The heirs had, of course, +Set things right with the servants, 170 + A good understanding +They came to, and one man + (You saw him go running +Just now with the napkin) + Did not need persuading--- +He so loved his Barin. + His name is Ipat, +And when we were made free + He refused to believe it; +'The great Prince Yutiatin 180 + Be left without peasants! +What pranks are you playing?' + At last, when the 'Order +Of Freedom' was shown him, + Ipat said, 'Well, well, +Get you gone to your pleasures, + But I am the slave +Of the Princes Yutiatin!' + He cannot get over +The old Prince's kindness 190 + To him, and he's told us +Some curious stories + Of things that had happened +To him in his childhood, + His youth and old age. +(You see, I had often + To go to the Prince +On some matter or other + Concerning the peasants, +And waited and waited 200 + For hours in the kitchens, +And so I have heard them + A hundred times over.) +'When I was a young man + Our gracious young Prince +Spent his holidays sometimes + At home, and would dip me +(His meanest slave, mind you) + Right under the ice +In the depths of the Winter. 210 + He did it in such +A remarkable way, too! + He first made two holes +In the ice of the river, + In one he would lower +Me down in a net-- + Pull me up through the other!' +And when I began + To grow old, it would happen +That sometimes I drove 220 + With the Prince in the Winter; +The snow would block up + Half the road, and we used +To drive five-in-a-file. + Then the fancy would strike him +(How whimsical, mark you!) + To set me astride +On the horse which was leading, + Me--last of his slaves! +Well, he dearly loved music, 230 + And so he would throw me +A fiddle: 'Here! play now, + Ipat.' Then the driver +Would shout to the horses, +And urge them to gallop. + The snow would half-blind me, +My hands with the music + Were occupied both; +So what with the jolting, + The snow, and the fiddle, 240 +Ipat, like a silly +Old noodle, would tumble. + Of course, if he landed +Right under the horses + The sledge must go over +His ribs,--who could help it? + But that was a trifle; +The cold was the worst thing, + It bites you, and you +Can do nothing against it! 250 + The snow lay all round +On the vast empty desert, + I lay looking up +At the stars and confessing + My sins. But--my friends, +This is true as the Gospel-- + I heard before long +How the sledge-bells came ringing, + Drew nearer and nearer: +The Prince had remembered, 260 + And come back to fetch me!' + + "(The tears began falling +And rolled down his face + At this part of the story. + Whenever he told it +He always would cry + Upon coming to this!) +'He covered me up + With some rugs, and he warmed me, +He lifted me up, 270 + And he placed me beside him, +Me--last of his slaves-- + Beside his Princely Person! +And so we came home.'" + + They're amused at the story. + +Old Vlasuchka, when + He has emptied his fourth cup, +Continues: "The heirs came + And called us together-- +The peasants and servants; 280 + They said, 'We're distressed +On account of our father. + These changes will kill him, +He cannot sustain them. + So humour his weakness: + Keep silent, and act still +As if all this trouble + Had never existed; +Give way to him, bow to him + Just as in old days. 290 +For each stroke of barschin, +For all needless labour, + For every rough word +We will richly reward you. + He cannot live long now, +The doctors have told us + That two or three months +Is the most we may hope for. + Act kindly towards us, +And do as we ask you, 300 + And we as the price +Of your silence will give you + The hayfields which lie +On the banks of the Volga. + Think well of our offer, +And let the posrednik + Be sent for to witness +And settle the matter.' + + "Then gathered the commune +To argue and clamour; 310 + The thought of the hayfields +(In which we are sitting), + With promises boundless +And plenty of vodka, + Decided the question: +The commune would wait + For the death of the Barin. + +"Then came the posrednik, + And laughing, he said: +'It's a capital notion! 320 + The hayfields are fine, too, +You lose nothing by it; + You just play the fool +And the Lord will forgive you. + You know, it's forbidden +To no one in Russia + To bow and be silent.' + +"But I was against it: + I said to the peasants, +'For you it is easy, 330 + But how about me? +Whatever may happen + The Elder must come + To accounts with the Barin, +And how can I answer + His babyish questions? +And how can I do + His nonsensical bidding?' + + "'Just take off your hat +And bow low, and say nothing, 340 + And then you walk out +And the thing's at an end. + The old man is ill, +He is weak and forgetful, + And nothing will stay +In his head for an instant.' + + "Perhaps they were right; +To deceive an old madman + Is not very hard. +But for my part, I don't want 350 + To play at buffoon. +For how many years + Have I stood on the threshold +And bowed to the Barin? + Enough for my pleasure! +I said, 'If the commune + Is pleased to be ruled +By a crazy Pomyeshchick + To ease his last moments +I don't disagree, 360 + I have nothing against it; +But then, set me free + From my duties as Elder.' + +"The whole matter nearly + Fell through at that moment, +But then Klimka Lavin said, + 'Let _me_ be Elder, +I'll please you on both sides, + The master and you. +The Lord will soon take him, 370 + And then the fine hayfields +Will come to the commune. + I swear I'll establish +Such order amongst you + You'll die of the fun!' + +"The commune took long + To consider this offer: +A desperate fellow + Is Klimka the peasant, +A drunkard, a rover, 380 + And not very honest, + No lover of work, +And acquainted with gipsies; + A vagabond, knowing +A lot about horses. + A scoffer at those +Who work hard, he will tell you: + 'At work you will never +Get rich, my fine fellow; + You'll never get rich,-- 390 +But you're sure to get crippled!' + But he, all the same, +Is well up in his letters; + Has been to St. Petersburg. +Yes, and to Moscow, + And once to Siberia, too, +With the merchants. + A pity it was +That he ever returned! + He's clever enough, 400 +But he can't keep a farthing; + He's sharp--but he's always +In some kind of trouble. +He's picked some fine words up + From out of his travels: + 'Our Fatherland dear,' +And 'The soul of great Russia,' + And 'Moscow, the mighty, +Illustrious city!' + 'And I,' he will shout, 410 +'Am a plain Russian peasant!' + And striking his forehead +He'll swallow the vodka. + A bottle at once +He'll consume, like a mouthful. + He'll fall at your feet +For a bottle of vodka. + But if he has money +He'll share with you, freely; + The first man he meets 420 +May partake of his drink. + He's clever at shouting +And cheating and fooling, + At showing the best side +Of goods which are rotten, +At boasting and lying; + And when he is caught +He'll slip out through a cranny, + And throw you a jest, +Or his favourite saying: 430 + 'A crack in the jaw +Will your honesty bring you!' + + "Well, after much thinking +The commune decided + That I must remain +The responsible Elder; + But Klimka might act +In my stead to the Barin + As though he were Elder. +Why, then, let him do it! 440 + The right kind of Elder +He is for his Barin, + They make a fine pair! + Like putty his conscience; +Like Meenin's[41] his beard, + So that looking upon him +You'd think a sedater, + More dutiful peasant +Could never be found. + The heirs made his kaftan, 450 +And he put it on, + And from Klimka the 'scapegrace' +He suddenly changed + Into Klim, Son-of-Jacob,[42] +Most worthy of Elders. +So that's how it is;-- + And to our great misfortune +The Barin is ordered + A carriage-drive daily. +Each day through the village 460 + He drives in a carriage +That's built upon springs. + Then up you jump, quickly, +And whip off your hat, + And, God knows for what reason, +He'll jump down your throat, + He'll upbraid and abuse you; +But you must keep silent. + He watches a peasant +At work in the fields, 470 + And he swears we are lazy +And lie-abed sluggards + (Though never worked peasant +With half such a will + In the time of the Barin). +He has not a notion + That they are not _his_ fields, +But ours. When we gather + We laugh, for each peasant +Has something to tell 480 + Of the crazy Pomyeshchick; +His ears burn, I warrant, + When we come together! +And Klim, Son-of-Jacob, + Will run, with the manner +Of bearing the commune + Some news of importance +(The pig has got proud + Since he's taken to scratching +His sides on the steps 490 + Of the nobleman's manor). +He runs and he shouts: + 'A command to the commune! + I told the Pomyeshchick +That Widow Terentevna's + Cottage had fallen. +And that she is begging + Her bread. He commands you + To marry the widow +To Gabriel Jockoff; 500 + To rebuild the cottage, +And let them reside there + And multiply freely.' + +"The bride will be seventy, + Seven the bridegroom! +Well, who could help laughing? +Another command: + 'The dull-witted cows, +Driven out before sunrise, + Awoke the Pomyeshchick 510 +By foolishly mooing + While passing his courtyard. +The cow-herd is ordered + To see that the cows +Do not moo in that manner!'" + +The peasants laugh loudly. + + "But why do you laugh so? +We all have our fancies. + Yakutsk was once governed, +I heard, by a General; 520 + He had a liking +For sticking live cows + Upon spikes round the city, +And every free spot + Was adorned in that manner, +As Petersburg is, + So they say, with its statues, +Before it had entered + The heads of the people +That he was a madman. 530 + + "Another strict order +Was sent to the commune: + 'The dog which belongs +To Sofronoff the watchman + Does not behave nicely, +It barked at the Barin. + Be therefore Sofronoff +Dismissed. Let Evremka +Be watchman to guard + The estate of the Barin.' 540 +(Another loud laugh, + For Evremka, the 'simple,' +Is known as the deaf-mute + And fool of the village). + But Klimka's delighted: +At last he's found something + That suits him exactly. +He bustles about + And in everything meddles, +And even drinks less. 550 + There's a sharp little woman +Whose name is Orevna, + And she is Klim's gossip, +And finely she helps him + To fool the old Barin. +And as to the women, + They're living in clover: +They run to the manor + With linen and mushrooms +And strawberries, knowing 560 + The ladies will buy them +And pay what they ask them + And feed them besides. +We laughed and made game + Till we fell into danger +And nearly were lost: + There was one man among us, +Petrov, an ungracious + And bitter-tongued peasant; +He never forgave us 570 + Because we'd consented +To humour the Barin. + 'The Tsar,' he would say, +'Has had mercy upon you, + And now, you, yourselves +Lift the load to your backs. + To Hell with the hayfields! + We want no more masters!' +We only could stop him + By giving him vodka 580 +(His weakness was vodka). + The devil must needs +Fling him straight at the Barin. +One morning Petrov + Had set out to the forest +To pilfer some logs + (For the night would not serve him, +It seems, for his thieving, + He must go and do it +In broadest white daylight), 590 + And there comes the carriage, +On springs, with the Barin! + + "'From whence, little peasant, +That beautiful tree-trunk? + From whence has it come?' +He knew, the old fellow, + From whence it had come. +Petrov stood there silent, + And what could he answer? +He'd taken the tree 600 + From the Barin's own forest. + + "The Barin already +Is bursting with anger; + He nags and reproaches, +He can't stop recalling + The rights of the nobles. +The rank of his Fathers, + He winds them all into +Petrov, like a corkscrew. + +"The peasants are patient, 610 + But even their patience +Must come to an end. + Petrov was out early, +Had eaten no breakfast, + Felt dizzy already, +And now with the words + Of the Barin all buzzing +Like flies in his ears-- + Why, he couldn't keep steady, +He laughed in his face! 620 + + "'Have done, you old scarecrow!' +He said to the Barin. + 'You crazy old clown!' + His jaw once unmuzzled +He let enough words out + To stuff the Pomyeshchick +With Fathers and Grandfathers + Into the bargain. +The oaths of the lords + Are like stings of mosquitoes, 630 +But those of the peasant + Like blows of the pick-axe. +The Barin's dumbfounded! + He'd safely encounter +A rain of small shot, + But he cannot face stones. +The ladies are with him, + They, too, are bewildered, +They run to the peasant + And try to restrain him. 640 + +"He bellows, 'I'll kill you! + For what are you swollen +With pride, you old dotard, + You scum of the pig-sty? +Have done with your jabber! + You've lost your strong grip +On the soul of the peasant, + The last one you are. +By the will of the peasant + Because he is foolish 650 +They treat you as master + To-day. But to-morrow +The ball will be ended; + A good kick behind +We will give the Pomyeshchick, + And tail between legs +Send him back to his dwelling + To leave us in peace!' + + "The Barin is gasping, +'You rebel ... you rebel!' 660 + He trembles all over, +Half-dead he has fallen, + And lies on the earth! + + "The end! think the others, +The black-moustached footguards, + The beautiful ladies; +But they are mistaken; + It isn't the end. + + "An order: to summon +The village together 670 + To witness the punishment +Dealt to the rebel + Before the Pomyeshchick.... +The heirs and the ladies + Come running in terror +To Klim, to Petrov, + And to me: 'Only save us!' +Their faces are pale, + 'If the trick is discovered +We're lost!' 680 + It is Klim's place +To deal with the matter: + He drinks with Petrov +All day long, till the evening, + Embracing him fondly. +Together till midnight + They pace round the village, +At midnight start drinking + Again till the morning. +Petrov is as tipsy 690 + As ever man was, +And like that he is brought + To the Barin's large courtyard, +And all is perfection! + The Barin can't move +From the balcony, thanks + To his yesterday's shaking. +And Klim is well pleased. + + "He leads Petrov into +The stable and sets him 700 + In front of a gallon +Of vodka, and tells him: + 'Now, drink and start crying, +''Oh, oh, little Fathers! + Oh, oh, little. Mothers! +Have mercy! Have mercy!''' + + "Petrov does his bidding; +He howls, and the Barin, + Perched up on the balcony, +Listens in rapture. 710 + He drinks in the sound +Like the loveliest music. + And who could help laughing +To hear him exclaiming, + 'Don't spare him, the villain! +The im-pu-dent rascal! + Just teach him a lesson!' +Petrov yells aloud + Till the vodka is finished. +Of course in the end 720 +He is perfectly helpless, + And four peasants carry him +Out of the stable. + His state is so sorry +That even the Barin + Has pity upon him, +And says to him sweetly, + 'Your own fault it is, +Little peasant, you know!'" + +"You see what a kind heart 730 + He has, the Pomyeshchick," +Says Prov, and old Vlasuchka + Answers him quietly, +"A saying there is: + 'Praise the grass--in the haystack, +The lord--in his coffin.' + + "Twere well if God took him. +Petrov is no longer + Alive. That same evening +He started up, raving, 740 +At midnight the pope came, + And just as the day dawned +He died. He was buried, + A cross set above him, +And God alone knows + What he died of. It's certain +That we never touched him, + Nay, not with a finger, +Much less with a stick. + Yet sometimes the thought comes: +Perhaps if that accident 751 + Never had happened +Petrov would be living. + You see, friends, the peasant +Was proud more than others, + He carried his head high, +And never had bent it, + And now of a sudden-- +Lie down for the Barin! + Fall flat for his pleasure! 760 +The thing went off well, + But Petrov had not wished it. +I think he was frightened + To anger the commune +By not giving in, + And the commune is foolish, +It soon will destroy you.... + The ladies were ready +To kiss the old peasant, + They brought fifty roubles 770 +For him, and some dainties. + 'Twas Klimka, the scamp, +The unscrupulous sinner, + Who worked his undoing.... + + "A servant is coming +To us from the Barin, + They've finished their lunch. +Perhaps they have sent him + To summon the Elder. +I'll go and look on 780 + At the comedy there." + + +II + +KLIM, THE ELDER + +With him go the strangers, + And some of the women +And men follow after, + For mid-day has sounded, +Their rest-time it is, + So they gather together +To stare at the gentry, + To whisper and wonder. +They stand in a row + At a dutiful distance 10 +Away from the Prince.... + + At a long snowy table +Quite covered with bottles + And all kinds of dishes +Are sitting the gentry, + The old Prince presiding +In dignified state + At the head of the table; +All white, dressed in white, + With his face shrunk awry, 20 +His dissimilar eyes; + In his button-hole fastened +A little white cross + (It's the cross of St. George, +Some one says in a whisper); +And standing behind him, + Ipat, the domestic, +The faithful old servant, +In white tie and shirt-front + Is brushing the flies off. 30 +Beside the Pomyeshchick + On each hand are sitting +The beautiful ladies: + The one with black tresses, +Her lips red as beetroots, + Each eye like an apple; +The other, the fair-haired, + With yellow locks streaming. +(Oh, you yellow locks, + Like spun gold do you glisten 40 +And glow, in the sunshine!) + Then perched on three high chairs +The three little Barins, + Each wearing his napkin +Tucked under his chin, + With the old nurse beside them, +And further the body + Of ancient retainers; +And facing the Prince + At the foot of the table, 50 +The black-moustached footguards + Are sitting together. +Behind each chair standing + A young girl is serving, +And women are waving + The flies off with branches. +The woolly white poodles + Are under the table, +The three little Barins + Are teasing them slyly. 60 + + Before the Pomyeshchick, +Bare-headed and humble, + The Elder is standing. +"Now tell me, how soon + Will the mowing be finished?" +The Barin says, talking + And eating at once. + + "It soon will be finished. +Three days of the week + Do we work for your Highness; 70 +A man with a horse, + And a youth or a woman, +And half an old woman + From every allotment. +To-day for this week +Is the Barin's term finished." + + "Tut-tut!" says the Barin, +Like one who has noticed + Some crafty intent +On the part of another. 80 + "'The Barin's term,' say you? +Now, what do you mean, pray?" + The eye which is bright +He has fixed on the peasant. + + The Elder is hanging +His head in confusion. + "Of course it must be +As your Highness may order. + In two or three days, +If the weather be gracious, 90 + The hay of your Highness +Can surely be gathered. + That's so,--is it not?" + +(He turns his broad face round + And looks at the peasants.) +And then the sharp woman, + Klim's gossip, Orevna, +Makes answer for them: + "Yes, Klim, Son-of-Jacob, +The hay of the Barin 100 + Is surely more precious +Than ours. We must tend it + As long as the weather lasts; +Ours may come later." + + "A woman she is, +But more clever than you," + The Pomyeshchick says smiling, +And then of a sudden + Is shaken with laughter: +"Ha, ha! Oh, you blockhead! 110 + Ha? ha! fool! fool! fool! +It's the 'Barin's term,' say you? + Ha, ha! fool, ha, ha! +The Barin's term, slave, + Is the whole of your life-time; +And you have forgotten + That I, by God's mercy, +By Tsar's ancient charter, + By birth and by merit, +Am your supreme master!" 120 + + The strangers remark here +That Vlasuchka gently + Slips down to the grass. + + "What's that for?" they ask him. +"We may as well rest now; + He's off. You can't stop him. +For since it was rumoured + That we should be given +Our freedom, the Barin + Takes care to remind us 130 +That till the last hour + Of the world will the peasant +Be clenched in the grip + Of the nobles." And really +An hour slips away + And the Prince is still speaking; +His tongue will not always + Obey him, he splutters +And hisses, falls over + His words, and his right eye 140 +So shares his disquiet + That it trembles and twitches. +The left eye expands, + Grows as round as an owl's eye, +Revolves like a wheel. + The rights of his Fathers +Through ages respected, + His services, merits, +His name and possessions, + The Barin rehearses. 150 + +God's curse, the Tsar's anger, + He hurls at the heads +Of obstreperous peasants. + And strictly gives order +To sweep from the commune + All senseless ideas, +Bids the peasants remember + That they are his slaves +And must honour their master. + + "Our Fathers," cried Klim, 160 +And his voice sounded strangely, + It rose to a squeak +As if all things within him + Leapt up with a passionate +Joy of a sudden + At thought of the mighty +And noble Pomyeshchicks, +"And whom should we serve + Save the Master we cherish? +And whom should we honour? 170 + In whom should we hope? +We feed but on sorrows, + We bathe but in tear-drops, +How can we rebel? + + "Our tumble-down hovels, +Our weak little bodies, + Ourselves, we are yours, +We belong to our Master. + The seeds which we sow +In the earth, and the harvest, 180 + The hair on our heads-- +All belongs to the Master. + Our ancestors fallen +To dust in their coffins, + Our feeble old parents +Who nod on the oven, + Our little ones lying +Asleep in their cradles + Are yours--are our Master's, +And we in our homes 190 +Use our wills but as freely + As fish in a net." + +The words of the Elder + Have pleased the Pomyeshchick, +The right eye is gazing + Benignantly at him, +The left has grown smaller + And peaceful again +Like the moon in the heavens. +He pours out a goblet 200 + Of red foreign wine: +"Drink," he says to the peasant. + The rich wine is burning +Like blood in the sunshine; + Klim drinks without protest. +Again he is speaking: + + "Our Fathers," he says, +"By your mercy we live now + As though in the bosom +Of Christ. Let the peasant 210 + But try to exist +Without grace from the Barin!" +(He sips at the goblet.) + "The whole world would perish +If not for the Barin's + Deep wisdom and learning. +If not for the peasant's + Most humble submission. +By birth, and God's holy + Decree you are bidden 220 + To govern the stupid +And ignorant peasant; + By God's holy will +Is the peasant commanded + To honour and cherish +And work for his lord!" + + And here the old servant, +Ipat, who is standing + Behind the Pomyeshchick +And waving his branches, 230 + Begins to sob loudly, +The tears streaming down + O'er his withered old face: +"Let us pray that the Barin + For many long years +May be spared to his servants!" +The simpleton blubbers, + The loving old servant, +And raising his hand, + Weak and trembling, he crosses 240 +Himself without ceasing. + The black-moustached footguards +Look sourly upon him + With secret displeasure. +But how can they help it? + So off come their hats +And they cross themselves also. + And then the old Prince +And the wrinkled old dry-nurse + Both sign themselves thrice, 250 +And the Elder does likewise. + He winks to the woman, +His sharp little gossip, + And straightway the women, +Who nearer and nearer + Have drawn to the table, +Begin most devoutly + To cross themselves too. +And one begins sobbing + In just such a manner 260 +As had the old servant. +("That's right, now, start whining, + Old Widow Terentevna, +Sill-y old noodle!" + Says Vlasuchka, crossly.) + +The red sun peeps slyly + At them from a cloud, +And the slow, dreamy music + Is heard from the river.... + +The ancient Pomyeshchick 270 + Is moved, and the right eye +Is blinded with tears, + Till the golden-haired lady +Removes them and dries it; + She kisses the other eye +Heartily too. + + "You see!" then remarks +The old man to his children, + The two stalwart sons +And the pretty young ladies; 280 + "I wish that those villains, +Those Petersburg liars + Who say we are tyrants, +Could only be here now + To see and hear this!" + +But then something happened + Which checked of a sudden +The speech of the Barin: + A peasant who couldn't +Control his amusement 290 + Gave vent to his laughter. + +The Barin starts wildly, + He clutches the table, +He fixes his face + In the sinner's direction; +The right eye is fierce, + Like a lynx he is watching +To dart on his prey, + And the left eye is whirling. +"Go, find him!" he hisses, 300 + "Go, fetch him! the scoundrel!" + +The Elder dives straight + In the midst of the people; +He asks himself wildly, + "Now, what's to be done?" +He makes for the edge + Of the crowd, where are sitting +The journeying strangers; + His voice is like honey: +"Come one of you forward; 310 + You see, you are strangers, +He wouldn't touch _you_." + + But they are not anxious +To face the Pomyeshchick, + Although they would gladly +Have helped the poor peasants. + He's mad, the old Barin, +So what's to prevent him + From beating them too? + + "Well, you go, Roman," 320 + Say the two brothers Goobin, +"_You_ love the Pomyeshchicks." + + "I'd rather you went, though!" +And each is quite willing + To offer the other. +Then Klim looses patience; + "Now, Vlasuchka, help us! +Do something to save us! + I'm sick of the thing!" + +"Yes! Nicely you lied there!" 330 + + "Oho!" says Klim sharply, +"What lies did I tell? + And shan't we be choked +In the grip of the Barins + Until our last day +When we lie in our coffins? + When we get to Hell, too, +Won't they be there waiting + To set us to work?" + + "What kind of a job 340 +Would they find for us there, Klim?" + + "To stir up the fire +While they boil in the pots!" + The others laugh loudly. +The sons of the Barin + Come hurrying to them; +"How foolish you are, Klim! + Our father has sent us, +He's terribly angry + That you are so long, 350 +And don't bring the offender." + + "We can't bring him, Barin; +A stranger he is, + From St. Petersburg province, +A very rich peasant; + The devil has sent him +To us, for our sins! + He can't understand us, +And things here amuse him; + He couldn't help laughing." 360 + +"Well, let him alone, then. + Cast lots for a culprit, +We'll pay him. Look here!" + He offers five roubles. +Oh, no. It won't tempt them. + + "Well, run to the Barin, +And say that the fellow + Has hidden himself." + + "But what when to-morrow comes? +Have you forgotten 370 + Petrov, how we punished +The innocent peasant?" + +"Then what's to be done?" + +"Give me the five roubles! + You trust me, I'll save you!" +Exclaims the sharp woman, + The Elder's sly gossip. +She runs from the peasants + Lamenting and groaning, +And flings herself straight 380 + At the feet of the Barin: + +"O red little sun! + O my Father, don't kill me! +I have but one child, + Oh, have pity upon him! +My poor boy is daft, + Without wits the Lord made him, +And sent him so into + The world. He is crazy. +Why, straight from the bath 390 + He at once begins scratching; +His drink he will try + To pour into his laputs +Instead of the jug. + And of work he knows nothing; +He laughs, and that's all + He can do--so God made him! +Our poor little home, + 'Tis small comfort he brings it; +Our hut is in ruins, 400 + Not seldom it happens +We've nothing to eat, + And that sets him laughing-- +The poor crazy loon! + You may give him a farthing, +A crack on the skull, + And at one and the other +He'll laugh--so God made him! + And what can one say? +From a fool even sorrow 410 + Comes pouring in laughter." + +The knowing young woman! + She lies at the feet +Of the Barin, and trembles, + She squeals like a silly +Young girl when you pinch her, + She kisses his feet. + +"Well ... go. God be with you!" + The Barin says kindly, +"I need not be angry 420 + At idiot laughter, +I'll laugh at him too!" + + "How good you are, Father," +The black-eyed young lady + Says sweetly, and strokes +The white head of the Barin. + The black-moustached footguards +At this put their word in: + + "A fool cannot follow +The words of his masters, 430 + Especially those +Like the words of our father, + So noble and clever." + + And Klim--shameless rascal!-- +Is wiping his eyes + On the end of his coat-tails, +Is sniffing and whining; + "Our Fathers! Our Fathers! +The sons of our Father! + They know how to punish, 440 +But better they know + How to pardon and pity!" + + The old man is cheerful +Again, and is asking + For light frothing wine, + And the corks begin popping +And shoot in the air + To fall down on the women, +Who fly from them, shrieking. + The Barin is laughing, 450 +The ladies then laugh, + And at them laugh their husbands, +And next the old servant, + Ipat, begins laughing, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + And then the whole party +Laugh loudly together; + The feast will be merry! +His daughters-in-law + At the old Prince's order 460 +Are pouring out vodka + To give to the peasants, +Hand cakes to the youths, + To the girls some sweet syrup; +The women drink also + A small glass of vodka. +The old Prince is drinking + And toasting the peasants; +And slyly he pinches + The beautiful ladies. 470 + "That's right! That will do him +More good than his physic," + Says Vlasuchka, watching. +"He drinks by the glassful, + Since long he's lost measure +In revel, or wrath...." + + The music comes floating +To them from the Volga, + The girls now already +Are dancing and singing, 480 + The old Prince is watching them, +Snapping his fingers. + He wants to be nearer +The girls, and he rises. + His legs will not bear him, +His two sons support him; + And standing between them +He chuckles and whistles, + And stamps with his feet +To the time of the music; 490 + The left eye begins +On its own account working, + It turns like a wheel. + + "But why aren't you dancing?" +He says to his sons, + And the two pretty ladies. +"Dance! Dance!" They can't help themselves, + There they are dancing! +He laughs at them gaily, + He wishes to show them 500 +How things went in _his_ time; + He's shaking and swaying +Like one on the deck + Of a ship in rough weather. + +"Sing, Luiba!" he orders. + The golden-haired lady +Does not want to sing, + But the old man will have it. +The lady is singing + A song low and tender, 510 +It sounds like the breeze + On a soft summer evening +In velvety grasses + Astray, like spring raindrops +That kiss the young leaves, + And it soothes the Pomyeshchick. +The feeble old man: + He is falling asleep now.... +And gently they carry him + Down to the water, 520 +And into the boat, + And he lies there, still sleeping. +Above him stands, holding + A big green umbrella, +The faithful old servant, + His other hand guarding +The sleeping Pomyeshchick + From gnats and mosquitoes. +The oarsmen are silent, + The faint-sounding music 530 +Can hardly be heard + As the boat moving gently +Glides on through the water.... + + The peasants stand watching: +The bright yellow hair + Of the beautiful lady +Streams out in the breeze + Like a long golden banner.... + +"I managed him finely, +The noble Pomyeshchick," 540 + Said Klim to the peasants. +"Be God with you, Barin! + Go bragging and scolding, +Don't think for a moment + That we are now free +And your servants no longer, + But die as you lived, +The almighty Pomyeshchick, + To sound of our music, +To songs of your slaves; 550 + But only die quickly, +And leave the poor peasants + In peace. And now, brothers, +Come, praise me and thank me! + I've gladdened the commune. +I shook in my shoes there + Before the Pomyeshchick, +For fear I should trip + Or my tongue should betray me; +And worse--I could hardly 560 + Speak plain for my laughter! +That eye! How it spins! + And you look at it, thinking: + 'But whither, my friend, +Do you hurry so quickly? + On some hasty errand +Of yours, or another's? + Perhaps with a pass +From the Tsar--Little Father, + You carry a message 570 +From him.' I was standing + And bursting with laughter! +Well, I am a drunken + And frivolous peasant, +The rats in my corn-loft + Are starving from hunger, +My hut is quite bare, + Yet I call God to witness +That I would not take + Such an office upon me 580 +For ten hundred roubles + Unless I were certain +That he was the last, + That I bore with his bluster +To serve my own ends, + Of my own will and pleasure." + + Old Vlasuchka sadly +And thoughtfully answers, + "How long, though, how long, though, +Have we--not we only 590 + But all Russian peasants-- +Endured the Pomyeshchicks? + And not for our pleasure, +For money or fun, + Not for two or three months, +But for life. What has changed, though? + Of what are we bragging? +For still we are peasants." + + The peasants, half-tipsy, +Congratulate Klimka. 600 + "Hurrah! Let us toss him!" +And now they are placing + Old Widow Terentevna +Next to her bridegroom, + The little child Jockoff, +Saluting them gaily. +They're eating and drinking + What's left on the table. +Then romping and jesting + They stay till the evening, 610 +And only at nightfall + Return to the village. +And here they are met + By some sobering tidings: +The old Prince is dead. + From the boat he was taken, +They thought him asleep, + But they found he was lifeless. +The second stroke--while + He was sleeping--had fallen! 620 + +The peasants are sobered, + They look at each other, +And silently cross themselves. + Then they breathe deeply; +And never before + Did the poor squalid village +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Draw such an intense + And unanimous breath.... 630 +Their pleasure, however, + Was not very lasting, +Because with the death + Of the ancient Pomyeshchick, +The sweet-sounding words + Of his heirs and their bounties +Ceased also. Not even + A pick-me-up after +The yesterday's feast + Did they offer the peasants. 640 +And as to the hayfields-- + Till now is the law-suit +Proceeding between them, + The heirs and the peasants. +Old Vlasuchka was + By the peasants appointed +To plead in their name, + And he lives now in Moscow. +He went to St. Petersburg too, + But I don't think 650 +That much can be done + For the cause of the peasants. + + + + + +PART III. + +THE PEASANT WOMAN + + +PROLOGUE + + "Not only to men +Must we go with our question, + We'll ask of the women," +The peasants decided. + They asked in the village +"Split-up," but the people + Replied to them shortly, +"Not here will you find one. + But go to the village +'Stripped-Naked'--a woman 10 + Lives there who is happy. +She's hardly a woman, + She's more like a cow, +For a woman so healthy, + So smooth and so clever, +Could hardly be found. + You must seek in the village +Matrona Korchagin-- +The people there call her + 'The Governor's Lady.'" 20 +The peasants considered +And went.... + + Now already +The corn-stalks are rising + Like tall graceful columns, +With gilded heads nodding, + And whispering softly + In gentle low voices. + Oh, beautiful summer! +No time is so gorgeous, 30 + So regal, so rich. + +You full yellow cornfields, + To look at you now +One would never imagine + How sorely God's people +Had toiled to array you + Before you arose, +In the sight of the peasant, + And stood before him, +Like a glorious army 40 + n front of a Tsar! +'Tis not by warm dew-drops +That you have been moistened, + The sweat of the peasant +Has fallen upon you. + + The peasants are gladdened +At sight of the oats + And the rye and the barley, +But not by the wheat, + For it feeds but the chosen: 50 +"We love you not, wheat! + But the rye and the barley +We love--they are kind, + They feed all men alike." + +The flax, too, is growing + So sweetly and bravely: +"Ai! you little mite! + You are caught and entangled!" +A poor little lark + In the flax has been captured; 60 +It struggles for freedom. + Pakhom picks it up, +He kisses it tenderly: + "Fly, little birdie!" ... +The lark flies away +To the blue heights of Heaven; + The kind-hearted peasants +Gaze lovingly upwards + To see it rejoice +In the freedom above.... 70 + The peas have come on, too; +Like locusts, the peasants + Attack them and eat them. +They're like a plump maiden-- + The peas--for whoever +Goes by must needs pinch them. + Now peas are being carried +In old hands, in young hands, + They're spreading abroad +Over seventy high-roads. 80 + The vegetables--how +They're flourishing also! + Each toddler is clasping +A radish or carrot, + And many are cracking +The seeds of the sunflower. + The beetroots are dotted +Like little red slippers + All over the earth. + + Our peasants are walking, 90 +Now faster--now slower. + At last they have reached it-- +The village 'Stripped-Naked,' + It's not much to look at: +Each hut is propped up + Like a beggar on crutches; +The thatch from the roofs + Has made food for the cattle; +The huts are like feeble + Old skeletons standing, 100 +Like desolate rooks' nests + When young birds forsake them. +When wild Autumn winds + Have dismantled the birch-trees. +The people are all + In the fields; they are working. +Behind the poor village + A manor is standing; +It's built on the slope + Of a hill, and the peasants 110 +Are making towards it + To look at it close. + +The house is gigantic, +The courtyard is huge, + There's a pond in it too; +A watch-tower arises + From over the house, +With a gallery round it, + A flagstaff upon it. + + They meet with a lackey 120 + Near one of the gates: +He seems to be wearing + A strange kind of mantle; +"Well, what are you up to?" + He says to the friends, +"The Pomyeshchick's abroad now, + The manager's dying." +He shows them his back, + And they all begin laughing: +A tiger is clutching 130 + The edge of his shoulders! +"Heh! here's a fine joke!" + They are hotly discussing +What kind of a mantle + The lackey is wearing, +Till clever Pakhom + Has got hold of the riddle. + "The cunning old rascal, +He's stolen a carpet, + And cut in the middle 140 +A hole for his head!" + + Like weak, straddling beetles +Shut up to be frozen + In cold empty huts +By the pitiless peasants. +The servants are crawling + All over the courtyard. +Their master long since + Has forgotten about them, +And left them to live 150 + As they can. They are hungry, +All old and decrepit, +And dressed in all manners, + They look like a crowd +In a gipsy encampment. + And some are now dragging +A net through the pond: + "God come to your help! +Have you caught something, brothers?" + "One carp--nothing more; 160 +There used once to be many, +But now we have come + To the end of the feast!" + +"Do try to get five!" + Says a pale, pregnant woman, +Who's fervently blowing + A fire near the pond. + +"And what are those pretty + Carved poles you are burning? +They're balcony railings, 170 + I think, are they not?" + +"Yes, balcony railings." + + "See here. They're like tinder; +Don't blow on them, Mother! + I bet they'll burn faster +Than you find the victuals + To cook in the pot!" + + "I'm waiting and waiting, +And Mityenka sickens + Because of the musty 180 +Old bread that I give him. + But what can I do? +This life--it is bitter!" + She fondles the head +Of a half-naked baby + Who sits by her side +In a little brass basin, + A button-nosed mite. + + "The boy will take cold there, +The basin will chill him," 190 + Says Prov; and he wishes +To lift the child up, + But it screams at him, angry. +"No, no! Don't you touch him," + The mother says quickly, +"Why, can you not see + That's his carriage he's driving? +Drive on, little carriage! + Gee-up, little horses! +You see how he drives!" 200 + + The peasants each moment +Observe some new marvel; + And soon they have noticed +A strange kind of labour + Proceeding around them: +One man, it appears, + To the door has got fastened; +He's toiling away + To unscrew the brass handles, +His hands are so weak 210 + He can scarcely control them. +Another is hugging + Some tiles: "See, Yegorshka, +I've dug quite a heap out!" + Some children are shaking +An apple-tree yonder: + "You see, little Uncles, + There aren't many left, +Though the tree was quite heavy." + "But why do you want them? 220 +They're quite hard and green." + "We're thankful to get them!" + +The peasants examine + The park for a long time; +Such wonders are seen here, + Such cunning inventions: +In one place a mountain + Is raised; in another +A ravine yawns deep! + A lake has been made too; 230 +Perhaps at one time +There were swans on the water? + The summer-house has some +Inscriptions upon it, + Demyan begins spelling +Them out very slowly. + A grey-haired domestic +Is watching the peasants; + He sees they have very +Inquisitive natures, 240 + And presently slowly +Goes hobbling towards them, + And holding a book. +He says, "Will you buy it?" + Demyan is a peasant +Acquainted with letters, + He tries for some time +But he can't read a word. + + "Just sit down yourself +On that seat near the linden, 250 + And read the book leisurely +Like a Pomyeshchick!" + + "You think you are clever," +The grey-headed servant +Retorts with resentment, + "Yet books which are learned +Are wasted upon you. + You read but the labels +On public-house windows, + And that which is written 260 +On every odd corner: +'Most strictly forbidden.'" + +The pathways are filthy, + The graceful stone ladies +Bereft of their noses. + "The fruit and the berries, +The geese and the swans + Which were once on the water, +The thieving old rascals + Have stuffed in their maws. 270 +Like church without pastor, + Like fields without peasants, +Are all these fine gardens + Without a Pomyeshchick," +The peasants remark. + For long the Pomyeshchick +Has gathered his treasures, +When all of a sudden.... +(The six peasants laugh, + But the seventh is silent, 280 +He hangs down his head.) + + A song bursts upon them! +A voice is resounding + Like blasts of a trumpet. +The heads of the peasants + Are eagerly lifted, +They gaze at the tower. + On the balcony round it +A man is now standing; + He wears a pope's cassock; 290 +He sings ... on the balmy + Soft air of the evening, +The bass, like a huge + Silver bell, is vibrating, +And throbbing it enters + The hearts of the peasants. +The words are not Russian, + But some foreign language, +But, like Russian songs, + It is full of great sorrow, 300 +Of passionate grief, + Unending, unfathomed; +It wails and laments, + It is bitterly sobbing.... + +"Pray tell us, good woman, + What man is that singing?" +Roman asks the woman + Now feeding her baby +With steaming ukha.[43] + + "A singer, my brothers, 310 +A born Little Russian, + The Barin once brought him +Away from his home, + With a promise to send him +To Italy later. +But long the Pomyeshchick + Has been in strange parts +And forgotten his promise; + And now the poor fellow +Would be but too glad 320 + To get back to his village. +There's nothing to do here, + He hasn't a farthing, +There's nothing before him + And nothing behind him +Excepting his voice. + You have not really heard it; +You will if you stay here + Till sunrise to-morrow: +Some three versts away 330 + There is living a deacon, +And he has a voice too. + They greet one another: +Each morning at sunrise + Will our little singer +Climb up to the watch-tower, + And call to the other, +'Good-morrow to Father + Ipat, and how fares he?' +(The windows all shake 340 +At the sound.) + From the distance + The deacon will answer, +'Good-morrow, good-morrow, + To our little sweet-throat! +I go to drink vodka, + I'm going ... I'm going....' +The voice on the air + Will hang quivering around us +For more than an hour, 350 + Like the neigh of a stallion." + +The cattle are now + Coming home, and the evening +Is filled with the fragrance + Of milk; and the woman, +The mother of Mityenka, + Sighs; she is thinking, +"If only one cow + Would turn into the courtyard!" +But hark! In the distance 360 + Some voices in chorus! +"Good-bye, you poor mourners, + May God send you comfort! +The people are coming, + We're going to meet them." + +The peasants are filled + With relief; because after +The whining old servants + The people who meet them +Returning from work 370 + In the fields seem such healthy +And beautiful people. + The men and the women +And pretty young girls + Are all singing together. + +"Good health to you! Which is + Among you the woman +Matrona Korchagin?" + The peasants demand. + +"And what do you want 380 +With Matrona Korchagin?" + +The woman Matrona + Is tall, finely moulded, +Majestic in bearing, + And strikingly handsome. +Of thirty-eight years + She appears, and her black hair +Is mingled with grey. + Her complexion is swarthy, +Her eyes large and dark 390 + And severe, with rich lashes. +A white shirt, and short + Sarafan[44] she is wearing, +She walks with a hay-fork + Slung over her shoulder. + +"Well, what do you want + With Matrona Korchagin?" +The peasants are silent; + They wait till the others +Have gone in advance, 400 + And then, bowing, they answer: + +"We come from afar, + And a trouble torments us, +A trouble so great + That for it we've forsaken +Our homes and our work, + And our appetites fail. +We're orthodox peasants, + From District 'Most Wretched,' +From 'Destitute Parish,' 410 + From neighbouring hamlets-- +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' +And 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway + And argued about +Who is happy in Russia. +Luka said, 'The pope,' + And Demyan, 'The Pomyeshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 420 + And Roman, 'The official.' +'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goobin, + Mitrodor and Ivan. +Pakhom said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it + Although you should beat them 430 +With stout wooden cudgels, + They stick to their folly +And nothing will move them. + We argued and quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, + And while fighting decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homewards +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, 440 +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Of who can in Russia + Be happy and free? +We've questioned the pope, + We've asked the Pomyeshchick, +And now we ask you. + We'll seek the official, +The Minister, merchant, + We even will go 450 +To the Tsar--Little Father, + Though whether he'll see us +We cannot be sure. + But rumour has told us +That _you're_ free and happy. + Then say, in God's name, +If the rumour be true." + +Matrona Korchagin + Does not seem astonished, +But only a sad look 460 + Creeps into her eyes, +And her face becomes thoughtful. + + "Your errand is surely +A foolish one, brothers," + She says to the peasants, +"For this is the season + Of work, and no peasant +For chatter has time." + +"Till now on our journey + Throughout half the Empire 470 +We've met no denial," + The peasants protest. + +"But look for yourselves, now, + The corn-ears are bursting. +We've not enough hands." + + "And we? What are we for? +Just give us some sickles, + And see if we don't +Get some work done to-morrow!" + The peasants reply. 480 + +Matrona sees clearly + Enough that this offer +Must not be rejected; + "Agreed," she said, smiling, +"To such lusty fellows + As you, we may well look +For ten sheaves apiece." + + "You give us your promise +To open your heart to us?" + + "I will hide nothing." 490 + +Matrona Korchagin + Now enters her cottage, +And while she is working + Within it, the peasants +Discover a very + Nice spot just behind it, +And sit themselves down. + There's a barn close beside them +And two immense haystacks, + A flax-field around them; 500 +And lying just near them + A fine plot of turnips, +And spreading above them + A wonderful oak-tree, +A king among oaks. + They're sitting beneath it, +And now they're producing + The magic white napkin: +"Heh, napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!" 510 +The napkin unfolds, + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, +Place a pailful of vodka, + A large pile of bread +On the magic white napkin, + And dwindle away. +The two brothers Goobin + Are chuckling together, +For they have just pilfered 520 + A very big horse-radish +Out of the garden-- + It's really a monster! + +The skies are dark blue now, + The bright stars are twinkling, +The moon has arisen + And sails high above them; +The woman Matrona + Comes out of the cottage +To tell them her tale. 530 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THE WEDDING + +"My girlhood was happy, + For we were a thrifty +Arid diligent household; + And I, the young maiden, +With Father and Mother + Knew nothing but joy. +My father got up + And went out before sunrise, +He woke me with kisses + And tender caresses; 10 +My brother, while dressing, + Would sing little verses: +'Get up, little Sister, + Get up, little Sister, +In no little beds now +Are people delaying, +In all little churches +The peasants are praying, +Get up, now, get up, +It is time, little Sister. 20 +The shepherd has gone +To the field with the sheep, +And no little maidens +Are lying asleep, +They've gone to pick raspberries, +Merrily singing. +The sound of the axe +In the forest is ringing.' + +"And then my dear mother, + When she had done scouring 30 +The pots and the pans, + When the hut was put tidy, +The bread in the oven, + Would steal to my bedside, +And cover me softly + And whisper to me: + +"'Sleep on, little dove, + Gather strength--you will need it-- +You will not stay always + With Father and Mother, 40 +And when you will leave them + To live among strangers +Not long will you sleep. + You'll slave till past midnight, +And rise before daybreak; + You'll always be weary. +They'll give you a basket + And throw at the bottom +A crust. You will chew it, + My poor little dove, 50 +And start working again....' + + "But, brothers, I did not +Spend much time in sleeping; + And when I was five +On the day of St. Simon, + I mounted a horse +With the help of my father, + And then was no longer +A child. And at six years + I carried my father 60 +His breakfast already, + And tended the ducks, +And at night brought the cow home, + And next--took my rake, +And was off to the hayfields! + And so by degrees +I became a great worker, + And yet best of all +I loved singing and dancing; + The whole day I worked 70 +In the fields, and at nightfall + Returned to the cottage +All covered with grime. + But what's the hot bath for? +And thanks to the bath + And boughs of the birch-tree, +And icy spring water, + Again I was clean +And refreshed, and was ready + To take out my spinning-wheel, 80 +And with companions + To sing half the night. + +"I never ran after + The youths, and the forward +I checked very sharply. +To those who were gentle + And shy, I would whisper: +'My cheeks will grow hot, + And sharp eyes has my mother; +Be wise, now, and leave me 90 + Alone'--and they left me. + +"No matter how clever + I was to avoid them, +The one came at last + I was destined to wed; +And he--to my bitter + Regret--was a stranger: +Young Philip Korchagin, + A builder of ovens. +He came from St. Petersburg. 100 + Oh, how my mother +Did weep: 'Like a fish + In the ocean, my daughter, +You'll plunge and be lost; + Like a nightingale, straying +Away from its nest, + We shall lose you, my daughter! +The walls of the stranger + Are not built of sugar, +Are not spread with honey, 110 + Their dwellings are chilly +And garnished with hunger; + The cold winds will nip you, +The black rooks will scold you, + The savage dogs bite you, +The strangers despise you.' + +"But Father sat talking + And drinking till late +With the 'swat.'[45] I was frightened. + I slept not all night.... 120 + + "Oh, youth, pray you, tell me, +Now what can you find + In the maiden to please you? +And where have you seen her? + Perhaps in the sledges +With merry young friends + Flying down from the mountain? +Then you were mistaken, + O son of your father, +It was but the frost 130 + And the speed and the laughter +That brought the bright tints + To the cheeks of the maiden. +Perhaps at some feast + In the home of a neighbour +You saw her rejoicing + And clad in bright colours? +But then she was plump + From her rest in the winter; +Her rosy face bloomed 140 + Like the scarlet-hued poppy; +But wait!--have you been + To the hut of her father +And seen her at work + Beating flax in the barn? +Ah, what shall I do? + I will take brother falcon +And send him to town: + 'Fly to town, brother falcon, +And bring me some cloth 150 + And six colours of worsted, +And tassels of blue. + I will make a fine curtain, +Embroider each corner + With Tsar and Tsaritsa, +With Moscow and Kiev, + And Constantinople, +And set the great sun + Shining bright in the middle, +And this I will hang 160 + In the front of my window: +Perhaps you will see it, + And, struck by its beauty, +Will stand and admire it, + And will not remember +To seek for the maiden....' + + "And so till the morning +I lay with such thoughts. + 'Now, leave me, young fellow,' +I said to the youth 170 + When he came in the evening; +'I will not be foolish + Enough to abandon +My freedom in order + To enter your service. +God sees me--I will not + Depart from my home!' + + "'Do come,' said young Philip, +'So far have I travelled + To fetch you. Don't fear me-- 180 + I will not ill-treat you.' +I begged him to leave me, + I wept and lamented; +But nevertheless + I was still a young maiden: +I did not forget + Sidelong glances to cast +At the youth who thus wooed me. + And Philip was handsome, +Was rosy and lusty, 190 + Was strong and broad-shouldered, +With fair curling hair, + With a voice low and tender.... +Ah, well ... I was won.... + +"'Come here, pretty fellow, + And stand up against me, +Look deep in my eyes-- + They are clear eyes and truthful; +Look well at my rosy + Young face, and bethink you: 200 +Will you not regret it, + Won't my heart be broken, +And shall I not weep + Day and night if I trust you +And go with you, leaving + My parents forever?' + +"'Don't fear, little pigeon, + We shall not regret it,' +Said Philip, but still + I was timid and doubtful. 210 +'Do go,' murmured I, and he, + 'When you come with me.' +Of course I was fairer + And sweeter and dearer +Than any that lived, + And his arms were about me.... +Then all of a sudden + I made a sharp effort +To wrench myself free. 219 + 'How now? What's the matter? +You're strong, little pigeon!' + Said Philip astonished, +But still held me tight. + 'Ah, Philip, if you had +Not held me so firmly + You would not have won me; +I did it to try you, + To measure your strength; +You were strong, and it pleased me.' +We must have been happy 230 + In those fleeting moments +When softly we whispered + And argued together; +I think that we never + Were happy again.... + +"How well I remember.... + The night was like this night, +Was starlit and silent ... + Was dreamy and tender +Like this...." 240 + + And the woman, +Matrona, sighed deeply, + And softly began-- +Leaning back on the haystack-- + To sing to herself +With her thoughts in the past: + + "'Tell me, young merchant, pray, + Why do you love me so-- + Poor peasant's daughter? + I am not clad in gold, 250 + I am not hung with pearls, + Not decked with silver.' + + "'Silver your chastity, + Golden your beauty shines, + O my beloved, + White pearls are falling now + Out of your weeping eyes, + Falling like tear-drops.' + +"My father gave orders + To bring forth the wine-cups, 260 +To set them all out + On the solid oak table. +My dear mother blessed me: + 'Go, serve them, my daughter, +Bow low to the strangers.' + I bowed for the first time, +My knees shook and trembled; + I bowed for the second-- +My face had turned white; + And then for the third time 270 +I bowed, and forever + The freedom of girlhood +Rolled down from my head...." + +"Ah, that means a wedding," + Cry both brothers Goobin, +"Let's drink to the health + Of the happy young pair!" + +"Well said! We'll begin + With the bride," say the others. + +"Will you drink some vodka, 280 + Matrona Korchagin?" + +"An old woman, brothers, + And not drink some vodka?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +A SONG + +Stand before your judge-- +And your legs will quake! +Stand before the priest +On your wedding-day,-- +How your head will ache! +How your head will ache! +You will call to mind +Songs of long ago, +Songs of gloom and woe: +Telling how the guests 10 +Crowd into the yard, +Run to see the bride +Whom the husband brings +Homeward at his side. +How his parents both +Fling themselves on her; +How his brothers soon +Call her "wasteful one"; +How his sisters next +Call her "giddy one"; 20 +How his father growls, +"Greedy little bear!" +How his mother snarls, +"Cannibal!" at her. +She is "slovenly" +And "disorderly," +She's a "wicked one"! + +"All that's in the song + Happened now to me. +Do you know the song? 30 + Have you heard it sung?" + +"Yes, we know it well; +Gossip, you begin, + We will all join in." + + _Matrona_ + +So sleepy, so weary +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow. +But out in the passage +My Father-in-law +Begins stamping and swearing. 40 + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Stamping and swearing! +Stamping and swearing! + He won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + + _Matrona_ + +So sleepy, so weary 50 +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow; +But out in the passage +My Mother-in-law +Begins scolding and nagging. + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Scolding and nagging! +Scolding and nagging! + She won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! 60 + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + +"A quarrelsome household + It was--that of Philip's +To which I belonged now; + And I from my girlhood +Stepped straight into Hell. + My husband departed 70 +To work in the city, + And leaving, advised me +To work and be silent, + To yield and be patient: +'Don't splash the red iron + With cold water--it hisses!' +With father and mother + And sisters-in-law he +Now left me alone; + Not a soul was among them 80 +To love or to shield me, + But many to scold. +One sister-in-law-- + It was Martha, the eldest,-- +Soon set me to work + Like a slave for her pleasure. +And Father-in-law too + One had to look after, +Or else all his clothes + To redeem from the tavern. 90 +In all that one did + There was need to be careful, +Or Mother-in-law's + Superstitions were troubled +(One never could please her). +Well, some superstitions + Of course may be right; +But they're most of them evil. + And one day it happened +That Mother-in-law 100 + Murmured low to her husband +That corn which is stolen + Grows faster and better. +So Father-in-law + Stole away after midnight.... +It chanced he was caught, + And at daybreak next morning +Brought back and flung down + Like a log in the stable. + + "But I acted always 110 +As Philip had told me: + I worked, with the anger +Hid deep in my bosom, + And never a murmur +Allowed to escape me. + And then with the winter +Came Philip, and brought me + A pretty silk scarf; +And one feast-day he took me + To drive in the sledges; 120 +And quickly my sorrows + Were lost and forgotten: +I sang as in old days + At home, with my father. +For I and my husband + Were both of an age, +And were happy together + When only they left us +Alone, but remember + A husband like Philip 130 +Not often is found." + +"Do you mean to say + That he never once beat you?" + +Matrona was plainly + Confused by the question; + "Once, only, he beat me," + She said, very low. + + "And why?" asked the peasants. + +"Well, you know yourselves, friends, + How quarrels arise 140 +In the homes of the peasants. + A young married sister +Of Philip's one day + Came to visit her parents. +She found she had holes + In her boots, and it vexed her. +Then Philip said, 'Wife, + Fetch some boots for my sister.' +And I did not answer + At once; I was lifting 150 +A large wooden tub, + So, of course, couldn't speak. +But Philip was angry + With me, and he waited +Until I had hoisted + The tub to the oven, +Then struck me a blow +With his fist, on my temple. + +"'We're glad that you came, + But you see that you'd better 160 +Keep out of the way,' + Said the other young sister +To her that was married. + + "Again Philip struck me! + + "'It's long since I've seen you, + My dearly-loved daughter, +But could I have known + How the baggage would treat you!'... +Whined Mother-in-law. + +"And again Philip struck me! 170 + + "Well, that is the story. +'Tis surely not fitting + For wives to sit counting +The blows of their husbands, + But then I had promised +To keep nothing back." + + "Ah, well, with these women-- +The poisonous serpents!-- + A corpse would awaken +And snatch up a horsewhip," 180 + The peasants say, smiling. + +Matrona said nothing. + The peasants, in order +To keep the occasion + In manner befitting, +Are filling the glasses; + And now they are singing +In voices of thunder + A rollicking chorus, +Of husbands' relations, 190 + And wielding the knout. + + ... ... + + "Cruel hated husband, +Hark! he is coming! + Holding the knout...." + + _Chorus_ + + "Hear the lash whistle! +See the blood spurt! + Ai, leli, leli! +See the blood spurt!" + + ... ... + +"Run to his father! + Bowing before him-- 200 +'Save me!' I beg him; + 'Stop my fierce husband-- +Venomous serpent!' + Father-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly! + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" 210 + + ... ... + +"Quick--to his mother! + Bowing before her-- +'Save me!' I beg her; + 'Stop my cruel husband! +Venomous serpent!' + Mother-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly, + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! 220 +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" + + * * * * * + +"On Lady-day Philip + Went back to the city; +A little while later + Our baby was born. +Like a bright-coloured picture + Was he--little Djoma; +The sunbeams had given + Their radiance to him, 230 +The pure snow its whiteness; + The poppies had painted +His lips; by the sable + His brow had been pencilled; +The falcon had fashioned + His eyes, and had lent them +Their wonderful brightness. + At sight of his first +Angel smile, all the anger + And bitterness nursed 240 +In my bosom was melted; + It vanished away +Like the snow on the meadows + At sight of the smiling +Spring sun. And not longer + I worried and fretted; +I worked, and in silence + I let them upbraid. +But soon after that + A misfortune befell me: 250 +The manager by + The Pomyeshchick appointed, +Called Sitnikov, hotly + Began to pursue me. +'My lovely Tsaritsa! + 'My rosy-ripe berry!' +Said he; and I answered, + 'Be off, shameless rascal! +Remember, the berry + Is not in _your_ forest!' 260 +I stayed from the field-work, + And hid in the cottage; +He very soon found me. + I hid in the corn-loft, +But Mother-in-law + Dragged me out to the courtyard; +'Now don't play with fire, girl!' + She said. I besought her +To send him away, + But she answered me roughly, 270 +'And do you want Philip + To serve as a soldier?' +I ran to Savyeli, + The grandfather, begging +His aid and advice. + + "I haven't yet told you +A word of Savyeli, + The only one living +Of Philip's relations + Who pitied and loved me. 280 +Say, friends, shall I tell you + About him as well?" + +"Yes, tell us his tale, +And we'll each throw a couple +Of sheaves in to-morrow, + Above what we promised." + +"Well, well," says Matrona, + "And 'twould be a pity +To give old Savyeli +No place in the story; 290 +For he was a happy one, + Too--the old man...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +SAVYELI + +"A mane grey and bushy + Which covered his shoulders, +A huge grizzled beard + Which had not seen the scissors +For twenty odd years, + Made Savyeli resemble +A shaggy old bear, + Especially when he +Came out of the forest, + So broad and bent double. 10 +The grandfather's shoulders + Were bowed very low, +And at first I was frightened + Whenever he entered +The tiny low cottage: + I thought that were he +To stand straight of a sudden + He'd knock a great hole +With his head in the ceiling. + But Grandfather could not 20 +Stand straight, and they told me +That he was a hundred. + He lived all alone +In his own little cottage, + And never permitted +The others to enter; + He couldn't abide them. +Of course they were angry + And often abused him. +His own son would shout at him, 30 + 'Branded one! Convict!' +But this did not anger + Savyeli, he only +Would go to his cottage + Without making answer, +And, crossing himself, + Begin reading the scriptures; +Then suddenly cry + In a voice loud and joyful, +'Though branded--no slave!' 40 + When too much they annoyed him, +He sometimes would say to them: + 'Look, the swat's[46] coming!' +The unmarried daughter + Would fly to the window; +Instead of the swat there + A beggar she'd find! +And one day he silvered + A common brass farthing, +And left it to lie 50 + On the floor; and then straightway +Did Father-in-law run + In joy to the tavern,-- +He came back, not tipsy, + But beaten half-dead! +At supper that night + We were all very silent, +And Father-in-law had + A cut on his eyebrow, +But Grandfather's face 60 + Wore a smile like a rainbow! + +"Savyeli would gather + The berries and mushrooms +From spring till late autumn, + And snare the wild rabbits; +Throughout the long winter +He lay on the oven + And talked to himself. +He had favourite sayings: +He used to lie thinking 70 + For whole hours together, +And once in an hour + You would hear him exclaiming: + +"'Destroyed ... and subjected!' + Or, 'Ai, you toy heroes! +You're fit but for battles + With old men and women!' + +"'Be patient ... and perish, +Impatient ... and perish!' + +"'Eh, you Russian peasant, 80 + You giant, you strong man, +The whole of your lifetime + You're flogged, yet you dare not +Take refuge in death, + For Hell's torments await you!' + +"'At last the Korojins[47] + Awoke, and they paid him, +They paid him, they paid him, + They paid the whole debt!' +And many such sayings 90 + He had,--I forget them. +When Father-in-law grew + Too noisy I always +Would run to Savyeli, + And we two, together, +Would fasten the door. + Then I began working, +While Djomushka climbed + To the grandfather's shoulder, +And sat there, and looked 100 + Like a bright little apple +That hung on a hoary + Old tree. Once I asked him: + +"'And why do they call you + A convict, Savyeli?' + +"'I was once a convict,' + Said he. + + "'You, Savyeli!' + +"'Yes I, little Grandchild, + Yes, I have been branded. 110 +I buried a German + Alive--Christian Vogel.' + +"'You're joking, Savyeli!' + + "'Oh no, I'm not joking. +I mean it,' he said, + And he told me the story. + +"'The peasants in old days + Were serfs as they now are, +But our race had, somehow, + Not seen its Pomyeshchick; 120 +No manager knew we, + No pert German agent. +And barschin we gave not, + And taxes we paid not +Except when it pleased us,-- + Perhaps once in three years +Our taxes we'd pay.' + +"'But why, little Grandad?' + + "'The times were so blessed,-- +And folk had a saying 130 + That our little village +Was sought by the devil + For more than three years, +But he never could find it. + Great forests a thousand +Years old lay about us; +And treacherous marshes + And bogs spread around us; +No horseman and few men + On foot ever reached us. 140 +It happened that once + By some chance, our Pomyeshchick, +Shalashnikov, wanted + To pay us a visit. +High placed in the army + Was he; and he started +With soldiers to find us. + They soon got bewildered +And lost in the forest, + And had to turn back; 150 +Why, the Zemsky policeman + Would only come once +In a year! They were good times! + In these days the Barin +Lives under your window; + The roadways go spreading +Around, like white napkins-- + The devil destroy them! +We only were troubled + By bears, and the bears too 160 +Were easily managed. + Why, I was a worse foe +By far than old Mishka, + When armed with a dagger +And bear-spear. I wandered + In wild, secret woodpaths, +And shouted, ''_My_ forest!'' + And once, only once, +I was frightened by something: +I stepped on a huge 170 + Female bear that was lying +Asleep in her den + In the heart of the forest. +She flung herself at me, + And straight on my bear-spear +Was fixed. Like a fowl + On the spit she hung twisting +An hour before death. + It was then that my spine snapped. +It often was painful 180 + When I was a young man; +But now I am old, + It is fixed and bent double. +Now, do I not look like +A hook, little Grandchild?' + +"'But finish the story. + You lived and were not much +Afflicted. What further?' + +"'At last our Pomyeshchick + Invented a new game: 190 +He sent us an order, + ''Appear!'' We appeared not. +Instead, we lay low + In our dens, hardly breathing. +A terrible drought + Had descended that summer, +The bogs were all dry; + So he sent a policeman, +Who managed to reach us, + To gather our taxes, 200 +In honey and fish; + A second time came he, +We gave him some bear-skins; + And when for the third time +He came, we gave nothing,-- + We said we had nothing. +We put on our laputs, + We put our old caps on, +Our oldest old coats, + And we went to Korojin 210 +(For there was our master now, + Stationed with soldiers). +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none, + We cannot pay taxes, +The corn has not grown, + And the fish have escaped us.'' +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none.'' + He waited no longer; +''Hey! Give them the first round!'' + He said, and they flogged us. 220 + +"'Our pockets were not + Very easily opened; +Shalashnikov, though, was + A master at flogging. +Our tongues became parched, + And our brains were set whirling, +And still he continued. + He flogged not with birch-rods, +With whips or with sticks, + But with knouts made for giants. 230 +At last we could stand it + No longer; we shouted, +''Enough! Let us breathe!'' + We unwound our foot-rags +And took out our money, + And brought to the Barin +A ragged old bonnet + With roubles half filled. + +"'The Barin grew calm, + He was pleased with the money; 240 +He gave us a glass each + Of strong, bitter brandy, +And drank some himself + With the vanquished Korojins, +And gaily clinked glasses. + ''It's well that you yielded,'' +Said he, ''For I swear + I was fully decided +To strip off the last shred + Of skins from your bodies 250 +And use it for making + A drum for my soldiers! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'' + (He was pleased with the notion.) +''A fine drum indeed!'' + + "'In silence we left; +But two stalwart old peasants + Were chuckling together; +They'd two hundred roubles + In notes, the old rascals! 260 +Safe hidden away + In the end of their coat-tails. +They both had been yelling, + ''We're beggars! We're beggars!'' +So carried them home. + ''Well, well, you may cackle!'' + I thought to myself, +''But the next time, be certain, + You won't laugh at me!'' +The others were also 270 + Ashamed of their weakness, +And so by the ikons + We swore all together + That next time we rather +Would die of the beating + Than feebly give way. +It seems the Pomyeshchick + Had taken a fancy +At once to our roubles, + Because after that 280 +Every year we were summoned + To go to Korojin, +We went, and were flogged. + + "'Shalashnikov flogged like +A prince, but be certain +The treasures he thrashed from + The doughty Korojins +Were not of much weight. + The weak yielded soon, +But the strong stood like iron 290 + For the commune. I also +Bore up, and I thought: + ''Though never so stoutly +You flog us, you dog's son, + You won't drag the whole soul +From out of the peasant; + Some trace will be left.'' + +"'When the Barin was sated + We went from the town, +But we stopped on the outskirts 300 + To share what was over. +And plenty there was, too! + Shalashnikov, heh, +You're a fool! It was our turn + To laugh at the Barin; +Ah, they were proud peasants-- + The plucky Korojins! +But nowadays show them + The tail of a knout, +And they'll fly to the Barin, 310 + And beg him to take +The last coin from their pockets. + Well, that's why we all lived +Like merchants in those days. + One summer came tidings +To us that our Barin + Now owned us no longer, +That he had, at Varna, + Been killed. We weren't sorry, +But somehow we thought then: 320 + ''The peasants' good fortune +Has come to an end!'' + The heir made a new move: +He sent us a German.[48] + Through vast, savage forests, +Through sly sucking bogs + And on foot came the German, +As bare as a finger. + + "'As melting as butter +At first was the German: 330 + ''Just give what you can, then,'' +He'd say to the peasants. + +"'''We've nothing to give!'' + +"'''I'll explain to the Barin.'' + +"'''Explain,'' we replied, + And were troubled no more. +It seemed he was going + To live in the village; +He soon settled down. + On the banks of the river, 340 +For hour after hour + He sat peacefully fishing, +And striking his nose + Or his cheek or his forehead. +We laughed: ''You don't like + The Korojin mosquitoes?'' +He'd boat near the bankside + And shout with enjoyment, +Like one in the bath-house + Who's got to the roof.[49] 350 + + "'With youths and young maidens +He strolled in the forest + (They were not for nothing +Those strolls in the forest!)-- + ''Well, if you can't pay +You should work, little peasants.'' + +"'''What work should we do?'' + + "'''You should dig some deep ditches +To drain off the bog-lands.'' + We dug some deep ditches. 360 + +"'''And now trim the forest.'' + + "'''Well, well, trim the forest....'' +We hacked and we hewed + As the German directed, +And when we look round + There's a road through the forest! + +"'The German went driving +To town with three horses; +Look! now he is coming + With boxes and bedding, 370 +And God knows wherefrom + Has this bare-footed German +Raised wife and small children! + And now he's established +A village ispravnik,[50] + They live like two brothers. +His courtyard at all times + Is teeming with strangers, +And woe to the peasants-- + The fallen Korojins! 380 +He sucked us all dry + To the very last farthing; +And flog!--like the soul + Of Shalashnikov flogged he! +Shalashnikov stopped + When he got what he wanted; +He clung to our backs + Till he'd glutted his stomach, +And then he dropped down + Like a leech from a dog's ear. 390 +But he had the grip + Of a corpse--had this German; +Until he had left you + Stripped bare like a beggar +You couldn't escape.' + + "'But how could you bear it?' + + "'Ah, how could we bear it? +Because we were giants-- + Because by their patience +The people of Russia + Are great, little Grandchild. 400 +You think, then, Matrona, + That we Russian peasants +No warriors are? + Why, truly the peasant +Does not live in armour, + Does not die in warfare, +But nevertheless + He's a warrior, child. +His hands are bound tight, 410 + And his feet hung with fetters; +His back--mighty forests + Have broken across it; +His breast--I will tell you, +The Prophet Elijah + In chariot fiery +Is thundering within it; + And these things the peasant +Can suffer in patience. + He bends--but he breaks not; 420 +He reels--but he falls not; + Then is he not truly +A warrior, say?' + + "'You joke, little Grandad; +Such warriors, surely, + A tiny mouse nibbling +Could crumble to atoms,' + I said to Savyeli. + +"'I know not, Matrona, + But up till to-day 430 +He has stood with his burden; + He's sunk in the earth +'Neath its weight to his shoulders; + His face is not moistened +With sweat, but with heart's blood. + I don't know what may +Come to pass in the future, + I can't think what will +Come to pass--only God knows. + For my part, I know 440 +When the storm howls in winter, + When old bones are painful, +I lie on the oven, + I lie, and am thinking: +''Eh, you, strength of giants, + On what have they spent you? +On what are you wasted? + With whips and with rods +They will pound you to dust!''' + +"'But what of the German, 450 +Savyeli?' + + "'The German? +Well, well, though he lived + Like a lord in his glory +For eighteen long years, + We were waiting our day. + Then the German considered +A factory needful, + And wanted a pit dug. +'Twas work for nine peasants. 460 + We started at daybreak +And laboured till mid-day, +And then we were going + To rest and have dinner, +When up comes the German: + ''Eh, you, lazy devils! +So little work done?'' + He started to nag us, +Quite coolly and slowly, + Without heat or hurry; 470 +For that was his way. + +"'And we, tired and hungry, + Stood listening in silence. +He kicked the wet earth + With his boot while he scolded, +Not far from the edge + Of the pit. I stood near him. +And happened to give him + A push with my shoulder; +Then somehow a second 480 + And third pushed him gently.... +We spoke not a word, + Gave no sign to each other, +But silently, slowly, + Drew closer together, +And edging the German +Respectfully forward, + We brought him at last +To the brink of the hollow.... + He tumbled in headlong! 490 +''A ladder!'' he bellows; + Nine shovels reply. +''Naddai!''[51]--the word fell + From my lips on the instant, +The word to which people + Work gaily in Russia; +''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!'' + And we laboured so bravely +That soon not a trace + Of the pit was remaining, 500 + The earth was as smooth +As before we had touched it; + And then we stopped short +And we looked at each other....' + + "The old man was silent. +'What further, Savyeli?' + + "'What further? Ah, bad times: +The prison in Buy-Town + (I learnt there my letters), +Until we were sentenced; 510 + The convict-mines later; +And plenty of lashes. + But I never frowned +At the lash in the prison; + They flogged us but poorly. +And later I nearly + Escaped to the forest; +They caught me, however. + Of course they did not +Pat my head for their trouble; 520 + The Governor was through +Siberia famous + For flogging. But had not +Shalashnikov flogged us? + I spit at the floggings +I got in the prison! + Ah, he was a Master! +He knew how to flog you! + He toughened my hide so +You see it has served me 530 + For one hundred years, +And 'twill serve me another. + But life was not easy, +I tell you, Matrona: +First twenty years prison, + Then twenty years exile. +I saved up some money, + And when I came home, +Built this hut for myself. + And here I have lived 540 +For a great many years now. + They loved the old grandad +So long as he'd money, + But now it has gone +They would part with him gladly, + They spit in his face. +Eh, you plucky toy heroes! + You're fit to make war +Upon old men and women!' + + "And that was as much 550 +As the grandfather told me." + + "And now for your story," +They answer Matrona. + + "'Tis not very bright. +From one trouble God + In His goodness preserved me; +For Sitnikov died + Of the cholera. Soon, though, +Another arose, + I will tell you about it." 560 + +"Naddai!" say the peasants + (They love the word well), +They are filling the glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +DJOMUSHKA + +"The little tree burns + For the lightning has struck it. +The nightingale's nest + Has been built in its branches. +The little tree burns, + It is sighing and groaning; +The nightingale's children + Are crying and calling: +'Oh, come, little Mother! + Oh, come, little Mother! 10 +Take care of us, Mother, + Until we can fly, +Till our wings have grown stronger, +Until we can fly + To the peaceful green forest, +Until we can fly + To the far silent valleys....' +The poor little tree-- + It is burnt to grey ashes; +The poor little fledgelings 20 + Are burnt to grey ashes. +The mother flies home, + But the tree ... and the fledgelings ... +The nest.... She is calling, + Lamenting and calling; +She circles around, + She is sobbing and moaning; +She circles so quickly, + She circles so quickly, +Her tiny wings whistle. 30 + The dark night has fallen, +The dark world is silent, + But one little creature +Is helplessly grieving + And cannot find comfort;-- +The nightingale only + Laments for her children.... +She never will see them + Again, though she call them +Till breaks the white day.... 40 +I carried my baby + Asleep in my bosom +To work in the meadows. + But Mother-in-law cried, +'Come, leave him behind you, + At home with Savyeli, +You'll work better then.' + And I was so timid, +So tired of her scolding, + I left him behind. 50 + +"That year it so happened + The harvest was richer +Than ever we'd known it; + The reaping was hard, +But the reapers were merry, + I sang as I mounted +The sheaves on the waggon. + (The waggons are loaded +To laughter and singing; + The sledges in silence, 60 +With thoughts sad and bitter; + The waggons convey the corn +Home to the peasants, + The sledges will bear it + Away to the market.) + +"But as I was working + I heard of a sudden +A deep groan of anguish: + I saw old Savyeli +Creep trembling towards me, 70 + His face white as death: +'Forgive me, Matrona! + Forgive me, Matrona! +I sinned....I was careless.' + He fell at my feet. + +"Oh, stay, little swallow! + Your nest build not there! +Not there 'neath the leafless + Bare bank of the river: +The water will rise, 80 + And your children will perish. +Oh, poor little woman, + Young wife and young mother, +The daughter-in-law + And the slave of the household, +Bear blows and abuse, + Suffer all things in silence, +But let not your baby + Be torn from your bosom.... +Savyeli had fallen 90 + Asleep in the sunshine, +And Djoma--the pigs + Had attacked him and killed him. + +"I fell to the ground + And lay writhing in torture; +I bit the black earth + And I shrieked in wild anguish; +I called on his name, + And I thought in my madness +My voice must awake him.... 100 + + "Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52] +And harness-bells jangling-- + Another misfortune! +The children are frightened, + They run to the houses; +And outside the window + The old men and women +Are talking in whispers + And nodding together. +The Elder is running 110 + And tapping each window +In turn with his staff; +Then he runs to the hayfields, + He runs to the pastures, +To summon the people. + They come, full of sorrow-- +Another misfortune! + And God in His wrath +Has sent guests that are hateful, + Has sent unjust judges. 120 +Perhaps they want money? + Their coats are worn threadbare? +Perhaps they are hungry? + + "Without greeting Christ +They sit down at the table, + They've set up an icon +And cross in the middle; + Our pope, Father John, +Swears the witnesses singly. + + "They question Savyeli, 130 +And then a policeman + Is sent to find me, +While the officer, swearing, + Is striding about +Like a beast in the forest.... + 'Now, woman, confess it,' +He cries when I enter, + 'You lived with the peasant +Savyeli in sin?' + +"I whisper in answer, 140 +'Kind sir, you are joking. + I am to my husband +A wife without stain, + And the peasant Savyeli +Is more than a hundred + Years old;--you can see it.' + +"He's stamping about + Like a horse in the stable; +In fury he's thumping + His fist on the table. 150 +'Be silent! Confess, then, + That you with Savyeli +Had plotted to murder + Your child!' + + "Holy Mother! +What horrible ravings! + My God, give me patience, +And let me not strangle + The wicked blasphemer! +I looked at the doctor 160 + And shuddered in terror: +Before him lay lancets, + Sharp scissors, and knives. +I conquered myself, + For I knew why they lay there. +I answer him trembling, + 'I loved little Djoma, +I would not have harmed him.' + +"'And did you not poison him. + Give him some powder?' 170 + +"'Oh, Heaven forbid!' +I kneel to him crying, + 'Be gentle! Have mercy! +And grant that my baby + In honour be buried, +Forbid them to thrust + The cruel knives in his body! +Oh, I am his mother!' + + "Can anything move them? +No hearts they possess, 180 + In their eyes is no conscience, +No cross at their throats.... + + "They have lifted the napkin +Which covered my baby; + His little white body +With scissors and lancets + They worry and torture ... +The room has grown darker, + I'm struggling and screaming, +'You butchers! You fiends! 190 + Not on earth, not on water, +And not on God's temple + My tears shall be showered; +But straight on the souls + Of my hellish tormentors! +Oh, hear me, just God! + May Thy curse fall and strike them! +Ordain that their garments + May rot on their bodies! +Their eyes be struck blind, 200 + And their brains scorch in madness! +Their wives be unfaithful, + Their children be crippled! +Oh, hear me, just God! + Hear the prayers of a mother, +And look on her tears,-- + Strike these pitiless devils!' + +"'She's crazy, the woman!' + The officer shouted, +'Why did you not tell us 210 + Before? Stop this fooling! +Or else I shall order + My men, here, to bind you.' + +"I sank on the bench, + I was trembling all over; +I shook like a leaf + As I gazed at the doctor; +His sleeves were rolled backwards, + A knife was in one hand, +A cloth in the other, 220 + And blood was upon it; +His glasses were fixed + On his nose. All was silent. +The officer's pen + Began scratching on paper; +The motionless peasants + Stood gloomy and mournful; +The pope lit his pipe + And sat watching the doctor. +He said, 'You are reading 230 + A heart with a knife.' +I started up wildly; + I knew that the doctor +Was piercing the heart + Of my little dead baby. + +"'Now, bind her, the vixen!' +The officer shouted;-- + She's mad!' He began +To inquire of the peasants, + 'Have none of you noticed 240 +Before that the woman + Korchagin is crazy?' + +"'No,' answered the peasants. + And then Philip's parents +He asked, and their children; + They answered, 'Oh, no, sir! +We never remarked it.' + He asked old Savyeli,-- +There's one thing,' he answered, + 'That might make one think 250 +That Matrona is crazy: + She's come here this morning +Without bringing with her + A present of money +Or cloth to appease you.' + + "And then the old man +Began bitterly crying. + The officer frowning +Sat down and said nothing. + And then I remembered: 260 +In truth it was madness-- + The piece of new linen +Which I had made ready + Was still in my box-- +I'd forgotten to bring it; + And now I had seen them +Seize Djomushka's body + And tear it to pieces. +I think at that moment + I turned into marble: 270 +I watched while the doctor + Was drinking some vodka +And washing his hands; + I saw how he offered +The glass to the pope, + And I heard the pope answer, +'Why ask me? We mortals + Are pitiful sinners,-- +We don't need much urging + To empty a glass!' 280 + +"The peasants are standing + In fear, and are thinking: +'Now, how did these vultures + Get wind of the matter? +Who told them that here + There was chance of some profit? +They dashed in like wolves, +Seized the beards of the peasants, + And snarled in their faces +Like savage hyenas!' 290 + + "And now they are feasting, +Are eating and drinking; + They chat with the pope, +He is murmuring to them, + 'The people in these parts +Are beggars and drunken; + They owe me for countless +Confessions and weddings; + They'll take their last farthing +To spend in the tavern; 300 + And nothing but sins +Do they bring to their priest.' + + "And then I hear singing +In clear, girlish voices-- + I know them all well: +There's Natasha and Glasha, + And Dariushka,--Jesus +Have mercy upon them! +Hark! steps and accordion; + Then there is silence. 310 +I think I had fallen + Asleep; then I fancied +That somebody entering + Bent over me, saying, +'Sleep, woman of sorrows, + Exhausted by sorrow,' +And making the sign + Of the cross on my forehead. +I felt that the ropes + On my body were loosened, 320 +And then I remembered + No more. In black darkness +I woke, and astonished + I ran to the window: +Deep night lay around me-- + What's happened? Where am I? +I ran to the street,-- + It was empty, in Heaven +No moon and no stars, + And a great cloud of darkness 330 +Spread over the village. + The huts of the peasants +Were dark; only one hut + Was brilliantly lighted, +It shone like a palace-- + The hut of Savyeli. +I ran to the doorway, + And then ... I remembered. + +"The table was gleaming + With yellow wax candles, 340 +And there, in the midst, + Lay a tiny white coffin, +And over it spread + Was a fine coloured napkin, +An icon was placed + At its head.... + O you builders, +For my little son + What a house you have fashioned! +No windows you've made 350 + That the sunshine may enter, +No stove and no bench, + And no soft little pillows.... +Oh, Djomushka will not + Feel happy within it, +He cannot sleep well.... +'Begone!'--I cried harshly + On seeing Savyeli; +He stood near the coffin + And read from the book 360 +In his hand, through his glasses. + I cursed old Savyeli, +Cried--'Branded one! Convict! + Begone! 'Twas you killed him! +You murdered my, Djoma, + Begone from my sight!' + + "He stood without moving; +He crossed himself thrice + And continued his reading. +But when I grew calmer 370 + Savyeli approached me, +And said to me gently, + 'In winter, Matrona, +I told you my story, + But yet there was more. +Our forests were endless, + Our lakes wild and lonely, +Our people were savage; + By cruelty lived we: +By snaring the wood-grouse, 380 +By slaying the bears:-- + You must kill or you perish! +I've told you of Barin + Shalashnikov, also +Of how we were robbed + By the villainous German, +And then of the prison, + The exile, the mines. +My heart was like stone, + I grew wild and ferocious. 390 +My winter had lasted + A century, Grandchild, +But your little Djoma + Had melted its frosts. +One day as I rocked him + He smiled of a sudden, +And I smiled in answer.... + A strange thing befell me +Some days after that: + As I prowled in the forest 400 +I aimed at a squirrel; + But suddenly noticed +How happy and playful + It was, in the branches: +Its bright little face + With its paw it sat washing. +I lowered my gun:-- + 'You shall live, little squirrel!' +I rambled about + In the woods, in the meadows, 410 +And each tiny floweret + I loved. I went home then +And nursed little Djoma, + And played with him, laughing. +God knows how I loved him, + The innocent babe! +And now ... through my folly, + My sin, ... he has perished.... +Upbraid me and kill me, + But nothing can help you, 420 +With God one can't argue.... + Stand up now, Matrona, +And pray for your baby; + God acted with reason: +He's counted the joys + In the life of a peasant!' + +"Long, long did Savyeli + Stand bitterly speaking, +The piteous fate + Of the peasant he painted; 430 +And if a rich Barin, + A merchant or noble, +If even our Father + The Tsar had been listening, +Savyeli could not + Have found words which were truer, +Have spoken them better.... + + "'Now Djoma is happy +And safe, in God's Heaven,' + He said to me later. 440 +His tears began falling.... + + "'I do not complain +That God took him, Savyeli,' + I said,--'but the insult +They did him torments me, + It's racking my heart. +Why did vicious black ravens + Alight on his body +And tear it to pieces? + Will neither our God 450 +Nor our Tsar--Little Father-- + Arise to defend us?' + +"'But God, little Grandchild, + Is high, and the Tsar +Far away,' said Savyeli. + + "I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!' + +"But Grandfather answered, + 'Now hush, little Grandchild, +You woman of sorrow, + Bow down and have patience; 460 +No truth you will find + In the world, and no justice.' + + "'But why then, Savyeli?' + +"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, + You are; and for such +Is no hope,' said Savyeli. + + "For long I sat darkly +And bitterly thinking. + The thunder pealed forth +And the windows were shaken; 470 + I started! Savyeli +Drew nearer and touched me, + And led me to stand +By the little white coffin: + +"'Now pray that the Lord + May have placed little Djoma +Among the bright ranks + Of His angels,' he whispered; +A candle he placed + In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 +The whole of the night + Till the pale dawn of daybreak: +The grandfather stood + Beside Djomushka's coffin +And read from the book + In a measured low voice...." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE SHE-WOLF + +"'Tis twenty years now + Since my Djoma was taken, +Was carried to sleep + 'Neath his little grass blanket; +And still my heart bleeds, + And I pray for him always, +No apple till Spassa[53] + I touch with my lips.... + +"For long I lay ill, + Not a word did I utter, 10 +My eyes could not suffer + The old man, Savyeli. +No work did I do, + And my Father-in-law thought +To give me a lesson + And took down the horse-reins; +I bowed to his feet, + And cried--'Kill me! Oh, kill me! +I pray for the end!' +He hung the reins up, then. 20 + I lived day and night +On the grave of my Djoma, + I dusted it clean +With a soft little napkin + That grass might grow green, +And I prayed for my lost one. + I yearned for my parents: +'Oh, you have forgotten, + Forgotten your daughter!' + +"'We have not forgotten 30 + Our poor little daughter, +But is it worth while, say, + To wear the grey horse out +By such a long journey + To learn about your woes, +To tell you of ours? + Since long, little daughter, +Would father and mother + Have journeyed to see you, +But ever the thought rose: 40 + She'll weep at our coming, +She'll shriek when we leave!' + + "In winter came Philip, +Our sorrow together + We shared, and together +We fought with our grief + In the grandfather's hut." + +"The grandfather died, then?" + + "Oh, no, in his cottage +For seven whole days 50 + He lay still without speaking, +And then he got up + And he went to the forest; +And there old Savyeli + So wept and lamented, + The woods were set throbbing. +In autumn he left us + And went as a pilgrim +On foot to do penance + At some distant convent.... 60 + + "I went with my husband +To visit my parents, + And then began working +Again. Three years followed, + Each week like the other, +As twin to twin brother, +And each year a child. + There was no time for thinking +And no time for grieving; + Praise God if you have time 70 +For getting your work done + And crossing your forehead. +You eat--when there's something + Left over at table, +When elders have eaten, + When children have eaten; +You sleep--when you're ill.... + + "In the fourth year came sorrow +Again; for when sorrow + Once lightens upon you 80 +To death he pursues you; +He circles before you-- + A bright shining falcon; +He hovers behind you-- + An ugly black raven; +He flies in advance-- + But he will not forsake you; +He lingers behind-- + But he will not forget.... + +"I lost my dear parents. 90 +The dark nights alone knew + The grief of the orphan; +No need is there, brothers, + To tell you about it. +With tears did I water + The grave of my baby. +From far once I noticed + A wooden cross standing +Erect at its head, + And a little gilt icon; 100 +A figure is kneeling + Before it--'Savyeli! +From whence have you come?' + + "'I have come from Pesotchna. +I've prayed for the soul + Of our dear little Djoma; +I've prayed for the peasants + Of Russia.... Matrona, +Once more do I pray-- + Oh, Matrona ... Matrona.... 110 +I pray that the heart + Of the mother, at last, +May be softened towards me.... + Forgive me, Matrona!' + +"'Oh, long, long ago + I forgave you, Savyeli.' + + "'Then look at me now +As in old times, Matrona!' + + "I looked as of old. +Then up rose Savyeli, 120 + And gazed in my eyes; +He was trying to straighten + His stiffened old back; +Like the snow was his hair now. + I kissed the old man, +And my new grief I told him; + For long we sat weeping +And mourning together. + He did not live long +After that. In the autumn 130 + A deep wound appeared +In his neck, and he sickened. + He died very hard. +For a hundred days, fully, + No food passed his lips; +To the bone he was shrunken. + He laughed at himself: +'Tell me, truly, Matrona, +Now am I not like + A Korojin mosquito?' 140 + +"At times the old man + Would be gentle and patient; +At times he was angry + And nothing would please him; +He frightened us all + By his outbursts of fury: +'Eh, plough not, and sow not, + You downtrodden peasants! +You women, sit spinning + And weaving no longer! 150 +However you struggle, + You fools, you must perish! +You will not escape + What by fate has been written! +Three roads are spread out + For the peasant to follow-- +They lead to the tavern, + The mines, and the prison! +Three nooses are hung + For the women of Russia: 160 +The one is of white silk, + The second of red silk, +The third is of black silk-- + Choose that which you please!' +And Grandfather laughed + In a manner which caused us +To tremble with fear + And draw nearer together.... +He died in the night, + And we did as he asked us: 170 +We laid him to rest + In the grave beside Djoma. +The Grandfather lived + To a hundred and seven.... + +"Four years passed away then, + The one like the other, +And I was submissive, + The slave of the household, +For Mother-in-law + And her husband the drunkard, 180 +For Sister-in-law + By all suitors rejected. +I'd draw off their boots-- + Only,--touch not my children! +For them I stood firm + Like a rock. Once it happened +A pilgrim arrived + At our village--a holy +And pious-tongued woman; + She spoke to the people 190 +Of how to please God + And of how to reach Heaven. + She said that on fast-days +No woman should offer + The breast to her child. +The women obeyed her: + On Wednesdays and Fridays +The village was filled + By the wailing of babies; +And many a mother 200 + Sat bitterly weeping +To hear her child cry + For its food--full of pity, +But fearing God's anger. + But I did not listen! +I said to myself + That if penance were needful +The mothers must suffer, + But not little children. +I said, 'I am guilty, 210 + My God--not my children!' + +"It seems God was angry + And punished me for it +Through my little son; + My Father-in-law +To the commune had offered + My little Fedotka +As help to the shepherd + When he was turned eight.... +One night I was waiting 220 + To give him his supper; +The cattle already + Were home, but he came not. +I went through the village + And saw that the people +Were gathered together + And talking of something. +I listened, then elbowed + My way through the people; +Fedotka was set 230 + In their midst, pale and trembling, +The Elder was gripping + His ear. 'What has happened? +And why do you hold him?' + I said to the Elder. + +"'I'm going to beat him,-- + He threw a young lamb +To the wolf,' he replied. + + "I snatched my Fedotka +Away from their clutches; 240 + And somehow the Elder +Fell down on the ground! + + "The story was strange: +It appears that the shepherd + Went home for awhile, +Leaving little Fedotka + In charge of the flock. +'I was sitting,' he told me, + 'Alone on the hillside, +When all of a sudden 250 + A wolf ran close by me +And picked Masha's lamb up. + I threw myself at her, +I whistled and shouted, + I cracked with my whip, +Blew my horn for Valetka, +And then I gave chase. + I run fast, little Mother, +But still I could never + Have followed the robber 260 +If not for the traces + She left; because, Mother, +Her breasts hung so low + (She was suckling her children) +They dragged on the earth + And left two tracks of blood. +But further the grey one + Went slower and slower; +And then she looked back + And she saw I was coming. 270 +At last she sat down. + With my whip then I lashed her; +''Come, give me the lamb, + You grey devil!'' She crouched, +But would not give it up. + I said--''I must save it +Although she should kill me.'' + I threw myself on her +And snatched it away, + But she did not attack me. 280 +The lamb was quite dead, + She herself was scarce living. +She gnashed with her teeth + And her breathing was heavy; +And two streams of blood ran +From under her body. + Her ribs could be counted, +Her head was hung down, + But her eyes, little Mother, +Looked straight into mine ... 290 + Then she groaned of a sudden, +She groaned, and it sounded + As if she were crying. +I threw her the lamb....' + + "Well, that was the story. +And foolish Fedotka + Ran back to the village +And told them about it. + And they, in their anger, +Were going to beat him 300 + When I came upon them. +The Elder, because + Of his fall, was indignant, +He shouted--'How dare you! + Do you want a beating +Yourself?' And the woman + Whose lamb had been stolen +Cried, 'Whip the lad soundly, + 'Twill teach him a lesson!' +Fedotka she pulled from 310 + My arms, and he trembled, +He shook like a leaf. + + "Then the horns of the huntsmen +Were heard,--the Pomyeshchick + Returning from hunting. +I ran to him, crying, + 'Oh, save us! Protect us!' + +"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!' + And then, in an instant, + The matter is settled: 320 +'The shepherd is tiny-- + His youth and his folly +May well be forgiven. + The woman's presumption +You'll punish severely!' + + "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!' +I danced with delight! + 'Fedotka is safe now! +Run home, quick, Fedotka.' + + "'Your will shall be done, sir,' 330 +The Elder said, bowing; + 'Now, woman, prepare; +You can dance later on!' + + "A gossip then whispered, +'Fall down at the feet + Of the Elder--beg mercy!' + +"'Fedotka--go home!' + + "Then I kissed him, and told him: +'Remember, Fedotka, + That I shall be angry 340 +If once you look backwards. + Run home!' + + "Well, my brothers, +To leave out a word + Of the song is to spoil it,-- +I lay on the ground...." + + * * * * * + + "I crawled like a cat +To Fedotushka's corner + That night. He was sleeping, +He tossed in his dream. 350 +One hand was hung down, +While the other, clenched tightly, +Was shielding his eyes: + 'You've been crying, my treasure; + Sleep, darling, it's nothing-- +See, Mother is near!' + I'd lost little Djoma +While heavy with this one; + He was but a weakling, +But grew very clever. 360 + He works with his dad now, +And built such a chimney + With him, for his master, +The like of it never + Was seen. Well, I sat there +The whole of the night + By the sweet little shepherd. +At daybreak I crossed him, + I fastened his laputs, +I gave him his wallet, 370 + His horn and his whip. +The rest began stirring, + But nothing I told them +Of all that had happened, + But that day I stayed +From the work in the fields. + +"I went to the banks + Of the swift little river, +I sought for a spot + Which was silent and lonely 380 +Amid the green rushes + That grow by the bank. + +"And on the grey stone + I sat down, sick and weary, +And leaning my head + On my hands, I lamented, + Poor sorrowing orphan. +And loudly I called + On the names of my parents: +'Oh, come, little Father, 390 + My tender protector! +Oh, look at the daughter + You cherished and loved!' + +"In vain do I call him! + The loved one has left me; +The guest without lord, + Without race, without kindred, +Named Death, has appeared, + And has called him away. + +"And wildly I summon 400 + My mother, my mother! +The boisterous wind cries, + The distant hills answer, +But mother is dead, + She can hear me no longer! + + "You grieved day and night, +And you prayed for me always, + But never, beloved, +Shall I see you again; + You cannot turn back now, 410 +And I may not follow. + + "A pathway so strange, +So unknown, you have chosen, + The beasts cannot find it, +The winds cannot reach it, +My voice will be lost + In the terrible distance.... + +"My loving protectors, + If you could but see me! +Could know what your daughter 420 + Must suffer without you! +Could learn of the people + To whom you have left her! + +"By night bathed in tears, + And by day weak and trembling, +I bow like the grass + To the wind, but in secret +A heart full of fury + Is gnawing my breast!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +AN UNLUCKY YEAR + + "Strange stars played that year +On the face of the Heavens; + And some said, 'The Lord rides +Abroad, and His angels + With long flaming brooms sweep +The floor of the Heavens + In front of his carriage.' +But others were frightened,-- + They said, 'It is rather +The Antichrist coming! 10 + It signals misfortune!' +And they read it truly. + A terrible year came, +A terrible famine, + When brother denied +To his brother a morsel. + And then I remembered +The wolf that was hungry, + For I was like her, +Craving food for my children. 20 + Now Mother-in-law found +A new superstition: + She said to the neighbours +That I was the reason + Of all the misfortune; +And why? I had caused it + By changing my shirt +On the day before Christmas! + Well, I escaped lightly, +For I had a husband 30 + To shield and protect me, +But one woman, having + Offended, was beaten +To death by the people. + To play with the starving +Is dangerous, my friends. + + "The famine was scarcely +At end, when another + Misfortune befell us-- +The dreaded recruiting. 40 + But I was not troubled +By that, because Philip + Was safe: one already +Had served of his people. + One night I sat working, +My husband, his brothers, + The family, all had +Been out since the morning. + My Father-in-law +Had been called to take part 50 + In the communal meeting. +The women were standing + And chatting with neighbours. +But I was exhausted, + For then I was heavy +With child. I was ailing, + And hourly expected +My time. When the children + Were fed and asleep +I lay down on the oven. 60 + The women came home soon +And called for their suppers; + But Father-in-law +Had not come, so we waited. + He came, tired and gloomy: +'Eh, wife, we are ruined! + I'm weary with running, +But nothing can save us: +They've taken the eldest-- + Now give them the youngest! 70 +I've counted the years + To a day--I have proved them; +They listen to nothing. + They want to take Philip! +I prayed to the commune-- + But what is it worth? +I ran to the bailiff; + He swore he was sorry, +But couldn't assist us. + I went to the clerk then; 80 +You might just as well + Set to work with a hatchet +To chop out the shadows + Up there, on the ceiling, +As try to get truth + Out of that little rascal! +He's bought. They are all bought,-- + Not one of them honest! +If only he knew it-- + The Governor--he'd teach them! 90 +If he would but order + The commune to show him + The lists of the volost, +And see how they cheat us!' + The mother and daughters +Are groaning and crying; + But I! ... I am cold.... +I am burning in fever! ... + My thoughts ... I have no thoughts! +I think I am dreaming! 100 + My fatherless children +Are standing before me, + And crying with hunger. +The family, frowning, + Looks coldly upon them.... +At home they are 'noisy,' + At play they are 'clumsy,' +At table they're 'gluttons'! + And somebody threatens +To punish my children-- 110 + They slap them and pinch them! +Be silent, you mother! + You wife of a soldier!" + + * * * * * + + "I now have no part +In the village allotments, + No share in the building, +The clothes, and the cattle, + And these are my riches: +Three lakes of salt tear-drops, + Three fields sown with grief!" 120 + + * * * * * + +"And now, like a sinner, + I bow to the neighbours; +I ask their forgiveness; + I hear myself saying, +'Forgive me for being + So haughty and proud! +I little expected + That God, for my pride, +Would have left me forsaken! + I pray you, good people, 130 +To show me more wisdom, + To teach me to live +And to nourish my children, + What food they should have, +And what drink, and what teaching.'" + + * * * * * + +"I'm sending my children + To beg in the village; +'Go, children, beg humbly, + But dare not to steal.' +The children are sobbing, 140 + 'It's cold, little Mother, +Our clothes are in rags; + We are weary of passing +From doorway to doorway; + We stand by the windows +And shiver. We're frightened + To beg of the rich folk; +The poor ones say, ''God will + Provide for the orphans!'' +We cannot come home, 150 + For if we bring nothing +We know you'll be angry!'" + + * * * * * + + "To go to God's church +I have made myself tidy; + I hear how the neighbours +Are laughing around me: + 'Now who is she setting +Her cap at?' they whisper." + + * * * * * + +"Don't wash yourself clean. + And don't dress yourself nicely; 160 +The neighbours are sharp-- + They have eyes like the eagle +And tongues like the serpent. + Walk humbly and slowly, +Don't laugh when you're cheerful, + Don't weep when you're sad." + + * * * * * + +"The dull, endless winter + Has come, and the fields +And the pretty green meadows + Are hidden away 170 +'Neath the snow. Nothing living + Is seen in the folds +Of the gleaming white grave-clothes. + No friend under Heaven +There is for the woman, + The wife of the soldier. +Who knows what her thoughts are? + Who cares for her words? +Who is sad for her sorrow? + And where can she bury 180 +The insults they cast her? +Perhaps in the woods?-- + But the woods are all withered! +Perhaps in the meadows?-- + The meadows are frozen! +The swift little stream?-- + But its waters are sleeping! +No,--carry them with you + To hide in your grave!" + + * * * * * + +"My husband is gone; 190 + There is no one to shield me. +Hark, hark! There's the drum! + And the soldiers are coming! +They halt;--they are forming + A line in the market. +'Attention!' There's Philip! + There's Philip! I see him! +'Attention! Eyes front!' + It's Shalashnikov shouting.... +Oh, Philip has fallen! 200 + Have mercy! Have mercy! +'Try that--try some physic! + You'll soon get to like it! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' + He is striking my husband! +'I flog, not with whips, + But with knouts made for giants!'" + + * * * * * + +"I sprang from the stove, + Though my burden was heavy; +I listen.... All silent.... 210 + The family sleeping. +I creep to the doorway + And open it softly, +I pass down the street + Through the night.... It is frosty. +In Domina's hut, + Where the youths and young maidens +Assemble at night, + They are singing in chorus +My favourite song: 220 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Her father comes to look for her, +He wakens her and coaxes her: +''Eh, Mashenka, come home,'' he cries, +''Efeemovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards.'' 231 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Her mother comes to look for her, +She wakens her and coaxes her: +''Now, Mashenka, come home,'' she says, +''Efeemovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards!'' 242 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Mashenka is there. +Young Peter comes to look for her, +He wakens her, and coaxes her: +''Oh, Mashenka, come home with me! +My little dove, Efeemovna, +Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250 + + "'''I will come, and I will listen, + Fair the night--the moon in Heaven, + Calm the stream with bridge and ferry, + In the wood strong guards.'''" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + + "I'm hurrying blindly, +I've run through the village; + Yet strangely the singing +From Domina's cottage + Pursues me and rings +In my ears. My pace slackens, + I rest for awhile, +And look back at the village: + I see the white snowdrift +O'er valley and meadow, 10 + The moon in the Heavens, +My self, and my shadow.... + + "I do not feel frightened; +A flutter of gladness + Awakes in my bosom, +'You brisk winter breezes, + My thanks for your freshness! +I crave for your breath + As the sick man for water.' +My mind has grown clear, 20 + To my knees I am falling: +'O Mother of Christ! + I beseech Thee to tell me +Why God is so angry + With me. Holy Mother! +No tiniest bone + In my limbs is unbroken; +No nerve in my body + Uncrushed. I am patient,-- +I have not complained. 30 + All the strength that God gave me +I've spent on my work; + All the love on my children. +But Thou seest all things, + And Thou art so mighty; +Oh, succour thy slave!' + + "I love now to pray +On a night clear and frosty; + To kneel on the earth +'Neath the stars in the winter. 40 + Remember, my brothers, +If trouble befall you, + To counsel your women +To pray in that manner; +In no other place + Can one pray so devoutly, +At no other season.... + + "I prayed and grew stronger; +I bowed my hot head + To the cool snowy napkin, 50 +And quickly my fever + Was spent. And when later +I looked at the roadway + I found that I knew it; +I'd passed it before + On the mild summer evenings; +At morning I'd greeted + The sunrise upon it +In haste to be off + To the fair. And I walked now 60 +The whole of the night + Without meeting a soul.... +But now to the cities + The sledges are starting, +Piled high with the hay + Of the peasants. I watch them, +And pity the horses: +Their lawful provision + Themselves they are dragging +Away from the courtyard; 70 + And afterwards they +Will be hungry. I pondered: + The horses that work +Must eat straw, while the idlers + Are fed upon oats. +But when Need comes he hastens + To empty your corn-lofts, +Won't wait to be asked.... + + "I come within sight +Of the town. On the outskirts 80 + The merchants are cheating +And wheedling the peasants, + There's shouting and swearing, +Abusing and coaxing. + + "I enter the town +As the bell rings for matins. + I make for the market +Before the cathedral. + I know that the gates +Of the Governor's courtyard 90 + Are there. It is dark still, +The square is quite empty; + In front of the courtyard +A sentinel paces: + 'Pray tell me, good man, +Does the Governor rise early?' + + "'Don't know. Go away. +I'm forbidden to chatter.' + (I give him some farthings.) +'Well, go to the porter; 100 + He knows all about it.' + +"'Where is he? And what + Is his name, little sentry?' + +"'Makhar Fedosseich, + He stands at the entrance.' +I walk to the entrance, + The doors are not opened. +I sit on the doorsteps + And think.... + +"It grows lighter, 110 + A man with a ladder +Is turning the lamps down. + + "'Heh, what are you doing? +And how did you enter?' + +"I start in confusion, + I see in the doorway +A bald-headed man + In a bed-gown. Then quickly +I come to my senses, + And bowing before him 120 +(Makhar Fedosseich), + I give him a rouble. + +"'I come in great need + To the Governor, and see him +I must, little Uncle!' + + "'You can't see him, woman. +Well, well.... I'll consider.... + Return in two hours.' + + "I see in the market +A pedestal standing, 130 + A peasant upon it, +He's just like Savyeli, + And all made of brass: +It's Susanin's memorial. +While crossing the market + I'm suddenly startled-- +A heavy grey drake + From a cook is escaping; +The fellow pursues + With a knife. It is shrieking. 140 +My God, what a sound! + To the soul it has pierced me. +('Tis only the knife + That can wring such a shriek.) +The cook has now caught it; + It stretches its neck, +Begins angrily hissing, + As if it would frighten +The cook,--the poor creature! + I run from the market, 150 +I'm trembling and thinking, + 'The drake will grow calm +'Neath the kiss of the knife!' + +"The Governor's dwelling + Again is before me, +With balconies, turrets, + And steps which are covered +With beautiful carpets. +I gaze at the windows + All shaded with curtains. 160 +'Now, which is your chamber,' + I think, 'my desired one? +Say, do you sleep sweetly? + Of what are you dreaming?' +I creep up the doorsteps, + And keep to the side +Not to tread on the carpets; + And there, near the entrance, +I wait for the porter. + + "'You're early, my gossip!' 170 +Again I am startled: + A stranger I see,-- +For at first I don't know him; + A livery richly +Embroidered he wears now; + He holds a fine staff; +He's not bald any longer! + He laughs--'You were frightened?' + +"'I'm tired, little Uncle.' + +"'You've plenty of courage, 180 + God's mercy be yours! +Come, give me another, + And I will befriend you.' + + "(I give him a rouble.) +'Now come, I will make you + Some tea in my office.' + +"His den is just under + The stairs. There's a bedstead, +A little iron stove, + And a candlestick in it, 190 +A big samovar, + And a lamp in the corner. +Some pictures are hung + On the wall. 'That's His Highness,' +The porter remarks, + And he points with his finger. +I look at the picture: + A warrior covered +With stars. 'Is he gentle?' + + "'That's just as you happen 200 +To find him. Why, neighbour, + The same is with me: +To-day I'm obliging, + At times I'm as cross +As a dog.' + + "'You are dull here, +Perhaps, little Uncle?' + +"'Oh no, I'm not dull; + I've a task that's exciting: +Ten years have I fought 210 + With a foe: Sleep his name is. +And I can assure you + That when I have taken +An odd cup of vodka, + The stove is red hot, +And the smuts from the candle + Have blackened the air, +It's a desperate struggle!' + + "There's somebody knocking. +Makhar has gone out; 220 + I am sitting alone now. +I go to the door + And look out. In the courtyard +A carriage is waiting. + I ask, 'Is he coming?' +'The lady is coming,' + The porter makes answer, +And hurries away + To the foot of the staircase. +A lady descends, 230 + Wrapped in costliest sables, +A lackey behind her. +I know not what followed + (The Mother of God +Must have come to my aid), +It seems that I fell + At the feet of the lady, +And cried, 'Oh, protect us! + They try to deceive us! +My husband--the only 240 + Support of my children-- +They've taken away-- + Oh, they've acted unjustly!'... + +"'Who are you, my pigeon?' + + "My answer I know not, +Or whether I gave one; + A sudden sharp pang tore +My body in twain." + + * * * * * + +"I opened my eyes + In a beautiful chamber, 250 + In bed I was laid +'Neath a canopy, brothers, + And near me was sitting +A nurse, in a head-dress + All streaming with ribbons. +She's nursing a baby. + 'Who's is it?' I ask her. + +"'It's yours, little Mother.' + I kiss my sweet child. +It seems, when I fell 260 + At the feet of the lady, +I wept so and raved so, + Already so weakened +By grief and exhaustion, + That there, without warning, +My labour had seized me. + I bless the sweet lady, +Elyen Alexandrovna, + Only a mother +Could bless her as I do. 270 + She christened my baby, +Lidorushka called him." + + "And what of your husband?" + +"They sent to the village + And started enquiries, +And soon he was righted. + Elyen Alexandrovna +Brought him herself + To my side. She was tender +And clever and lovely, 280 + And healthy, but childless, +For God would not grant her + A child. While I stayed there +My baby was never + Away from her bosom. +She tended and nursed him + Herself, like a mother. +The spring had set in + And the birch trees were budding, +Before she would let us 290 + Set out to go home. + + "Oh, how fair and bright + In God's world to-day! + Glad my heart and gay! + + "Homewards lies our way, + Near the wood we pause, + See, the meadows green, + Hark! the waters play. + Rivulet so pure, + Little child of Spring, 300 + How you leap and sing, + Rippling in the leaves! + High the little lark + Soars above our heads, + Carols blissfully! + Let us stand and gaze; + Soon our eyes will meet, + I will laugh to thee, + Thou wilt smile at me, + Wee Lidorushka! 310 + + "Look, a beggar comes, + Trembling, weak, old man, + Give him what we can. + 'Do not pray for us,' + Let us to him say, + 'Father, you must pray + For Elyenushka, + For the lady fair, + Alexandrovna!' + + "Look, the church of God! 320 + Sign the cross we twain + Time and time again.... + 'Grant, O blessed Lord, + Thy most fair reward + To the gentle heart + Of Elyenushka, + Alexandrovna!' + + "Green the forest grows, + Green the pretty fields, + In each dip and dell 330 + Bright a mirror gleams. + Oh, how fair it is + In God's world to-day, + Glad my heart and gay! + Like the snowy swan + O'er the lake I sail, + O'er the waving steppes + Speeding like the quail. + + "Here we are at home. + Through the door I fly 340 + Like the pigeon grey; + Low the family + Bow at sight of me, + Nearly to the ground, + Pardon they beseech + For the way in which + They have treated me. + 'Sit you down,' I say, + 'Do not bow to me. + Listen to my words: 350 + You must bow to one + Better far than I, + Stronger far than I, + Sing your praise to her.' + + "'Sing to whom,' you say? + 'To Elyenushka, + To the fairest soul + God has sent on earth: + Alexandrovna!'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + + Matrona is silent. +You see that the peasants + Have seized the occasion-- +They are not forgetting + To drink to the health +Of the beautiful lady! + But noticing soon +That Matrona is silent, + In file they approach her. + +"What more will you tell us?" 10 + + "What more?" says Matrona, +"My fame as the 'lucky one' + Spread through the volost, +Since then they have called me + 'The Governor's Lady.' +You ask me, what further? + I managed the household, +And brought up my children. + You ask, was I happy? +Well, that you can answer 20 +Yourselves. And my children? + Five sons! But the peasant's +Misfortunes are endless: + They've robbed me of one." +She lowers her voice, + And her lashes are trembling, +But turning her head + She endeavours to hide it. +The peasants are rather + Confused, but they linger: 30 +"Well, neighbour," they say, + "Will you tell us no more?" + +"There's one thing: You're foolish + To seek among women +For happiness, brothers." + +"That's all?" + + "I can tell you +That twice we were swallowed + By fire, and that three times +The plague fell upon us; 40 + But such things are common +To all of us peasants. + Like cattle we toiled, +My steps were as easy + As those of a horse +In the plough. But my troubles +Were not very startling: + No mountains have moved +From their places to crush me; + And God did not strike me 50 +With arrows of thunder. + The storm in my soul +Has been silent, unnoticed, + So how can I paint it +To you? O'er the Mother + Insulted and outraged, +The blood of her first-born + As o'er a crushed worm +Has been poured; and unanswered + The deadly offences 60 +That many have dealt her; + The knout has been raised +Unopposed o'er her body. + But one thing I never +Have suffered: I told you + That Sitnikov died, +That the last, irreparable + Shame had been spared me. +You ask me for happiness? + Brothers, you mock me! 70 +Go, ask the official, + The Minister mighty, +The Tsar--Little Father, +But never a woman! + God knows--among women +Your search will be endless, + Will lead to your graves. + +"A pious old woman + Once asked us for shelter; +The whole of her lifetime 80 + The Flesh she had conquered +By penance and fasting; + She'd bathed in the Jordan, +And prayed at the tomb + Of Christ Jesus. She told us +The keys to the welfare + And freedom of women +Have long been mislaid-- + God Himself has mislaid them. +And hermits, chaste women, 90 + And monks of great learning, +Have sought them all over + The world, but not found them. +They're lost, and 'tis thought + By a fish they've been swallowed. +God's knights have been seeking + In towns and in deserts, +Weak, starving, and cold, + Hung with torturing fetters. +They've asked of the seers, 100 + The stars they have counted +To learn;--but no keys! + Through the world they have journeyed; +In underground caverns, + In mountains, they've sought them. +At last they discovered + Some keys. They were precious, +But only--not ours. + Yet the warriors triumphed: +They fitted the lock 110 + On the fetters of serfdom! +A sigh from all over + The world rose to Heaven, +A breath of relief, + Oh, so deep and so joyful! +Our keys were still missing.... + Great champions, though, +Till to-day are still searching, + Deep down in the bed +Of the ocean they wander, 120 + They fly to the skies, +In the clouds they are seeking, + But never the keys. +Do you think they will find them? +Who knows? Who can say? + But I think it is doubtful, +For which fish has swallowed + Those treasures so priceless, +In which sea it swims-- + God Himself has forgotten!" 130 + + + + + +PART IV. + +Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin + +A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + +PROLOGUE + +A very old willow + There is at the end +Of the village of "Earthworms," + Where most of the folk +Have been diggers and delvers +From times very ancient + (Though some produced tar). +This willow had witnessed + The lives of the peasants: +Their holidays, dances, 10 + Their communal meetings, +Their floggings by day, + In the evening their wooing, +And now it looked down + On a wonderful feast. + + The feast was conducted +In Petersburg fashion, + For Klimka, the peasant +(Our former acquaintance), + Had seen on his travels 20 +Some noblemen's banquets, + With toasts and orations, +And he had arranged it. + +The peasants were sitting + On tree-trunks cut newly +For building a hut. + With them, too, our seven +(Who always were ready + To see what was passing) +Were sitting and chatting 30 + With Vlass, the old Elder. +As soon as they fancied + A drink would be welcome, +The Elder called out + To his son, "Run for Trifon!" +With Trifon the deacon, + A jovial fellow, +A chum of the Elder's, + His sons come as well. + +Two pupils they are 40 + Of the clerical college +Named Sava and Grisha. + The former, the eldest, +Is nineteen years old. +He looks like a churchman + Already, while Grisha +Has fine, curly hair, + With a slight tinge of red, +And a thin, sallow face. +Both capital fellows 50 + They are, kind and simple, +They work with the ploughshare, + The scythe, and the sickle, +Drink vodka on feast-days, + And mix with the peasants +Entirely as equals.... + +The village lies close + To the banks of the Volga; +A small town there is + On the opposite side. 60 +(To speak more correctly, + There's now not a trace +Of the town, save some ashes: + A fire has demolished it +Two days ago.) + +Some people are waiting + To cross by the ferry, +While some feed their horses + (All friends of the peasants). +Some beggars have crawled 70 + To the spot; there are pilgrims, +Both women and men; + The women loquacious, +The men very silent. + +The old Prince Yutiatin + Is dead, but the peasants +Are not yet aware + That instead of the hayfields +His heirs have bequeathed them +A long litigation. 80 + So, drinking their vodka, +They first of all argue + Of how they'll dispose +Of the beautiful hayfields. + +You were not all cozened,[54] + You people of Russia, +And robbed of your land. +In some blessed spots + You were favoured by fortune! +By some lucky chance-- 90 + The Pomyeshchick's long absence, +Some slip of posrednik's, +By wiles of the commune, + You managed to capture +A slice of the forest. +How proud are the peasants + In such happy corners! +The Elder may tap + At the window for taxes, +The peasant will bluster,-- 100 + One answer has he: +"Just sell off the forest, + And don't bother me!" + +So now, too, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" decided +To part with the fields + To the Elder for taxes. +They calculate closely: + "They'll pay both the taxes +And dues--with some over, 110 + Heh, Vlasuchka, won't they?" + +"Once taxes are paid + I'll uncover to no man. +I'll work if it please me, + I'll lie with my wife, +Or I'll go to the tavern." +"Bravo!" cry the peasants, + In answer to Klimka, +"Now, Vlasuchka, do you + Agree to our plan?" 120 + +"The speeches of Klimka + Are short, and as plain +As the public-house signboard," + Says Vlasuchka, joking. +"And that is his manner: + To start with a woman +And end in the tavern." + +"Well, where should one end, then? +Perhaps in the prison? + Now--as to the taxes, 130 +Don't croak, but decide." + +But Vlasuchka really + Was far from a croaker. +The kindest soul living + Was he, and he sorrowed +For all in the village, + Not only for one. +His conscience had pricked him +While serving his haughty + And rigorous Barin, 140 +Obeying his orders, + So cruel and oppressive. +While young he had always + Believed in 'improvements,' +But soon he observed + That they ended in nothing, +Or worse--in misfortune. + So now he mistrusted +The new, rich in promise. + The wheels that have passed 150 +O'er the roadways of Moscow +Are fewer by far + Than the injuries done +To the soul of the peasant. + There's nothing to laugh at +In that, so the Elder + Perforce had grown gloomy. +But now, the gay pranks +Of the peasants of "Earthworms" + Affected him too. 160 +His thoughts became brighter: +No taxes ... no barschin ... + No stick held above you, +Dear God, am I dreaming? + Old Vlasuchka smiles.... +A miracle surely! + Like that, when the sun +From the splendour of Heaven +May cast a chance ray + In the depths of the forest: 170 +The dew shines like diamonds, + The mosses are gilded. + +"Drink, drink, little peasants! + Disport yourselves bravely!" +'Twas gay beyond measure. + In each breast awakens +A wondrous new feeling, + As though from the depths +Of a bottomless gulf + On the crest of a wave, 180 +They've been borne to the surface +To find there awaits them + A feast without end. + +Another pail's started, + And, oh, what a clamour +Of voices arises, + And singing begins. + +And just as a dead man's + Relations and friends +Talk of nothing but him 190 + Till the funeral's over, +Until they have finished + The funeral banquet +And started to yawn,-- + So over the vodka, +Beneath the old willow, + One topic prevails: +The "break in the chain" + Of their lords, the Pomyeshchicks. + +The deacon they ask, 200 + And his sons, to oblige them +By singing a song + Called the "Merry Song" to them. + +(This song was not really + A song of the people: +The deacon's son Grisha + Had sung it them first. +But since the great day + When the Tsar, Little Father, +Had broken the chains 210 + Of his suffering children, +They always had danced + To this tune on the feast-days. +The "popes" and the house-serfs + Could sing the words also, +The peasants could not, + But whenever they heard it +They whistled and stamped, + And the "Merry Song" called it.) + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + + +_The Merry Song_ + + * * * * * + +The "Merry Song" finished, + They struck up a chorus, +A song of their own, + A wailing lament +(For, as yet, they've no others). + And is it not strange +That in vast Holy Russia, +With masses and masses + Of people unnumbered, +No song has been born 10 + Overflowing with joy +Like a bright summer morning? + Yes, is it not striking, +And is it not tragic? + O times that are coming, +You, too, will be painted +In songs of the people, + But how? In what colours? +And will there be ever + A smile in their hearts? 20 + +"Eh, that's a fine song! + 'Tis a shame to forget it." +Our peasants regret + That their memories trick them. +And, meanwhile, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" are saying, +"We lived but for 'barschin,' + Pray, how would you like it? +You see, we grew up + 'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30 +Our noses were glued + To the earth. We'd forgotten +The faces of neighbours, + Forgot how to speak. +We got tipsy in silence, + Gave kisses in silence, +Fought silently, too." + +"Eh, who speaks of silence? +We'd more cause to hate it + Than you," said a peasant 40 +Who came from a Volost + Near by, with a waggon +Of hay for the market. + (Some heavy misfortune +Had forced him to sell it.) + "For once our young lady, +Miss Gertrude, decided + That any one swearing +Must soundly be flogged. + Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50 +Until we stopped swearing! + Of course, not to swear +For the peasant means--silence. + We suffered, God knows! +Then freedom was granted, + We feasted it finely, +And then we made up + For our silence, believe me: +We swore in such style + That Pope John was ashamed 60 +For the church-bells to hear us. + (They rang all day long.) +What stories we told then! + We'd no need to seek +For the words. They were written + All over our backs." + +"A funny thing happened + In our parts,--a strange thing," +Remarked a tall fellow + With bushy black whiskers. 70 +(He wore a round hat + With a badge, a red waistcoat +With ten shining buttons, + And stout homespun breeches. +His legs, to contrast + With the smartness above them, +Were tied up in rags! +There are trees very like him, + From which a small shepherd +Has stripped all the bark off 80 + Below, while above +Not a scratch can be noticed! + And surely no raven +Would scorn such a summit +For building a nest.) + +"Well, tell us about it." + +"I'll first have a smoke." + +And while he is smoking + Our peasants are asking, +"And who is this fellow? 90 + What sort of a goose?" + +"An unfortunate footman + Inscribed in our Volost, +A martyr, a house-serf + Of Count Sinegusin's. +His name is Vikenti. + He sprang from the foot-board +Direct to the ploughshare; + We still call him 'Footman.' +He's healthy enough, 100 + But his legs are not strong, +And they're given to trembling. + His lady would drive +In a carriage and four +To go hunting for mushrooms. + He'll tell you some stories: +His memory's splendid; + You'd think he had eaten +The eggs of a magpie." [55] + +Now, setting his hat straight, 110 + Vikenti commences +To tell them the story. + + + +_The Dutiful Serf--Jacob the Faithful_ + +Once an official, of rather low family, + Bought a small village from bribes he had stored, +Lived in it thirty-three years without leaving it, + Feasted and hunted and drank like a lord. +Greedy and miserly, not many friends he made, + Sometimes he'd drive to his sister's to tea. +Cruel was his nature, and not to his serfs alone: + On his own daughter no pity had he, 120 +Horsewhipped her husband, and drove them both penniless + Out of his house; not a soul dare resist. + Jacob, his dutiful servant, + Ever of orders observant, + Often he'd strike in the mouth with his fist. + + Hearts of men born into slavery + Sometimes with dogs' hearts accord: + Crueller the punishments dealt to them + More they will worship their lord. 129 + +Jacob, it seems, had a heart of that quality, + Only two sources of joy he possessed: +Tending and serving his Barin devotedly, + Rocking his own little nephew to rest. +So they lived on till old age was approaching them, + Weak grew the legs of the Barin at last, +Vainly, to cure them, he tried every remedy; + Feast and debauch were delights of the past. + + Plump are his hands and white, + Keen are his eyes and bright, + Rosy his cheek remains, 140 + But on his legs--are chains! + +Helpless the Barin now lies in his dressing-gown, + Bitterly, bitterly cursing his fate. +Jacob, his "brother and friend,"--so the Barin says,-- + Nurses him, humours him early and late. +Winter and summer they pass thus in company, + Mostly at card-games together they play, +Sometimes they drive for a change to the sister's house, + Eight miles or so, on a very fine day. +Jacob himself bears his lord to the carriage then, 150 + Drives him with care at a moderate pace, +Carries him into the old lady's drawing-room.... + So they live peacefully on for a space. + +Grisha, the nephew of Jacob, a youth becomes, + Falls at the feet of his lord: "I would wed." +"Who will the bride be?" "Her name is Arisha, sir." + Thunders the Barin, "You'd better be dead!" +Looking at her he had often bethought himself, + "Oh, for my legs! Would the Lord but relent!" 159 +So, though the uncle entreated his clemency, + Grisha to serve in the army he sent. +Cut to the heart was the slave by this tyranny, + Jacob the Faithful went mad for a spell: +Drank like a fish, and his lord was disconsolate, + No one could please him: "You fools, go to Hell!" +Hate in each bosom since long has been festering: + Now for revenge! Now the Barin must pay, +Roughly they deal with his whims and infirmities, + Two quite unbearable weeks pass away. +Then the most faithful of servants appeared again, 170 + Straight at the feet of his master he fell, +Pity has softened his heart to the legless one, + Who can look after the Barin so well? +"Barin, recall not your pitiless cruelty, + While I am living my cross I'll embrace." +Peacefully now lies the lord in his dressing-gown, + Jacob, once more, is restored to his place. +Brother again the Pomyeshchick has christened him. + "Why do you wince, little Jacob?" says he. +"Barin, there's something that stings ... in my memory...." 180 + Now they thread mushrooms, play cards, and drink tea, +Then they make brandy from cherries and raspberries, + Next for a drive to the sister's they start, +See how the Barin lies smoking contentedly, + Green leaves and sunshine have gladdened his heart. +Jacob is gloomy, converses unwillingly, + Trembling his fingers, the reins are hung slack, +"Spirits unholy!" he murmurs unceasingly, + "Leave me! Begone!" (But again they attack.) +Just on the right lies a deep, wooded precipice, + Known in those parts as "The Devil's Abyss," 191 +Jacob turns into the wood by the side of it. + Queries his lord, "What's the meaning of this?" +Jacob replies not. The path here is difficult, + Branches and ruts make their steps very slow; +Rustling of trees is heard. Spring waters noisily + Cast themselves into the hollow below. +Then there's a halt,--not a step can the horses move: + Straight in their path stand the pines like a wall; +Jacob gets down, and, the horses unharnessing, + Takes of the Barin no notice at all. 201 + +Vainly the Barin's exclaiming and questioning, + Jacob is pale, and he shakes like a leaf, +Evilly smiles at entreaties and promises: + "Am I a murderer, then, or a thief? +No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. There's another way!" + Now he has climbed to the top of a pine, +Fastened the reins to the summit, and crossed himself, + Turning his face to the sun's bright decline. +Thrusting his head in the noose ... he has hanged himself! 210 + Horrible! Horrible! See, how he sways +Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate, + Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. +Twisting his head he is jerking convulsively, + Straining his voice to the utmost he cries, +All is in vain, there is no one to rescue him, + Only the mischievous echo replies. + +Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet, + Black is the night. Hear the owls on the wing, +Striking the earth as they pass, while the horses stand 220 + Chewing the leaves, and their bells faintly ring. +Two eyes are burning like lamps at the train's approach, + Steadily, brightly they gleam in the night, +Strange birds are flitting with movements mysterious, + Somewhere at hand they are heard to alight. +Straight over Jacob a raven exultingly + Hovers and caws. Now a hundred fly round! +Feebly the Barin is waving his crutch at them, + Merciful Heaven, what horrors abound! + +So the poor Barin all night in the carriage lies, + Shouting, from wolves to protect his old bones. 231 +Early next morning a hunter discovers him, + Carries him home, full of penitent groans: +"Oh, I'm a sinner most infamous! Punish me!" + Barin, I think, till you rest in your grave, +One figure surely will haunt you incessantly, + Jacob the Faithful, your dutiful slave. + + "What sinners! What sinners!" + The peasants are saying, + "I'm sorry for Jacob, 240 + Yet pity the Barin, + Indeed he was punished! + Ah, me!" Then they listen + To two or three more tales + As strange and as fearful, + And hotly they argue + On who must be reckoned + The greatest of sinners: + "The publican," one says, + And one, "The Pomyeshchick," 250 + Another, "The peasant." + This last was a carter, + A man of good standing + And sound reputation, + No ignorant babbler. + He'd seen many things + In his life, his own province + Had traversed entirely. + He should have been heard. + The peasants, however, 260 + Were all so indignant + They would not allow him + To speak. As for Klimka, + His wrath is unbounded, + "You fool!" he is shouting. + + "But let me explain." + + "I see you are _all_ fools," + A voice remarks roughly: + The voice of a trader + Who squeezes the peasants 270 + For laputs or berries + Or any spare trifles. + But chiefly he's noted + For seizing occasions + When taxes are gathered, + And peasants' possessions + Are bartered at auction. + "You start a discussion + And miss the chief point. + Why, who's the worst sinner? 280 + Consider a moment." + + "Well, who then? You tell us." + + "The robber, of course." + + "You've not been a serf, man," + Says Klimka in answer; + "The burden was heavy, + But not on your shoulders. + Your pockets are full, + So the robber alarms you; + The robber with this case 290 + Has nothing to do." + + "The case of the robber + Defending the robber," + The other retorts. + + "Now, pray!" bellows Klimka, + And leaping upon him, + He punches his jaw. + The trader repays him + With buffets as hearty, + "Take leave of your carcase!" 300 + He roars. + + "Here's a tussle!" + The peasants are clearing + A space for the battle; + They do not prevent it + Nor do they applaud it. + The blows fall like hail. + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! + Write home to your parents!" + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310 + Heh, send for the pope!" + + The trader, bent double + By Klimka, who, clutching + His hair, drags his head down, + Repeating, "He's bowing!" + Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" + When Klimka has freed him + He sits on a log, + And says, wiping his face + With a broadly-checked muffler, 320 + "No wonder he conquered: + He ploughs not, he reaps not, + Does nothing but doctor + The pigs and the horses; + Of course he gets strong!" + + The peasants are laughing, + And Klimka says, mocking, + "Here, try a bit more!" + + "Come on, then! I'm ready," + The trader says stoutly, 330 + And rolling his sleeves up, + He spits on his palms. + + "The hour has now sounded + For me, though a sinner, + To speak and unite you," + Iona pronounces. + The whole of the evening + That diffident pilgrim + Has sat without speaking, + And crossed himself, sighing. 340 + The trader's delighted, + And Klimka replies not. + The rest, without speaking, + Sit down on the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + +We know that in Russia + Are numbers of people +Who wander at large + Without kindred or home. +They sow not, they reap not, + They feed at the fountain +That's common to all, + That nourishes likewise +The tiniest mouse + And the mightiest army: +The sweat of the peasant. 10 + The peasants will tell you +That whole populations + Of villages sometimes +Turn out in the autumn + To wander like pilgrims. +They beg, and esteem it + A paying profession. +The people consider + That misery drives them 20 +More often than cunning, + And so to the pilgrims +Contribute their mite. + Of course, there are cases +Of downright deception: + One pilgrim's a thief, +Or another may wheedle + Some cloth from the wife +Of a peasant, exchanging + Some "sanctified wafers" 30 +Or "tears of the Virgin" + He's brought from Mount Athos, +And then she'll discover + He's been but as far +As a cloister near Moscow. + One saintly old greybeard +Enraptured the people + By wonderful singing, +And offered to teach + The young girls of the village 40 +The songs of the church + With their mothers' permission. +And all through the winter + He locked himself up +With the girls in a stable. + From thence, sometimes singing +Was heard, but more often + Came laughter and giggles. +Well, what was the upshot? + He taught them no singing, 50 +But ruined them all. + + Some Masters so skilful +There are, they will even + Lay siege to the ladies. +They first to the kitchens + Make sure of admission, +And then through the maids + Gained access to the mistress. +See, there he goes, strutting + Along through the courtyard 60 +And jingling the keys + Of the house like a Barin. +And soon he will spit + In the teeth of the peasants; +The pious old women, + Who always before +At the house have been welcome, + He'll speedily banish. +The people, however, + Can see in these pilgrims 70 +A good side as well. + For, who begs the money +For building the churches? + And who keeps the convent's +Collecting-box full? + And many, though useless, +Are perfectly harmless; + But some are uncanny, +One can't understand them: + The people know Foma, 80 +With chains round his middle + Some six stones in weight; +How summer and winter + He walks about barefoot, +And constantly mutters +Of Heaven knows what. + His life, though, is godly: +A stone for his pillow, + A crust for his dinner. + +The people know also 90 + The old man, Nikifor, +Adherent, most strange, + Of the sect called "The Hiders." +One day he appeared + In Usolovo village +Upbraiding the people + For lack of religion, +And calling them forth + To the great virgin forest +To seek for salvation. 100 + The chief of police +Of the district just happened + To be in the village +And heard his oration: + "Ho! Question the madman!" + +"Thou foe of Christ Jesus! + Thou Antichrist's herald!" +Nikifor retorts. +The Elders are nudging him: + "Now, then, be silent!" 110 +He pays no attention. +They drag him to prison. + He stands in the waggon, +Undauntedly chiding + The chief of police, +And loudly he cries + To the people who follow him: + +"Woe to you! Woe to you! Bondsmen, I mourn for you! + Though you're in rags, e'en the rags shall be torn from you! +Fiercely with knouts in the past did they mangle you: 120 + Clutches of iron in the future will strangle you!" + + The people are crossing + Themselves. The Nachalnik[56] + Is striking the prophet: + "Remember the Judge + Of Jerusalem, sinner!" + The driver's so frightened + The reins have escaped him, + His hair stands on end.... + + And when will the people 130 + Forget Yevressina, + Miraculous widow? + Let cholera only + Break out in a village: + At once like an envoy + Of God she appears. + She nurses and fosters + And buries the peasants. + The women adore her, + They pray to her almost. 140 + + It's evident, then, + That the door of the peasant + Is easily opened: + Just knock, and be certain + He'll gladly admit you. + He's never suspicious + Like wealthier people; + The thought does not strike him + At sight of the humble + And destitute stranger, 150 + "Perhaps he's a thief!" + And as to the women, + They're simply delighted, + They'll welcome you warmly. + + At night, in the Winter, + The family gathered + To work in the cottage + By light of "luchina," [57] + Are charmed by the pilgrim's + Remarkable stories. 160 + He's washed in the steam-bath, + And dipped with his spoon + In the family platter, + First blessing its contents. + His veins have been thawed + By a streamlet of vodka, + His words flow like water. + The hut is as silent + As death. The old father + Was mending the laputs, 170 + But now he has dropped them. + + The song of the shuttle + Is hushed, and the woman + Who sits at the wheel + Is engrossed in the story. + The daughter, Yevgenka, + Her plump little finger + Has pricked with a needle. + The blood has dried up, + But she notices nothing; 180 + Her sewing has fallen, + Her eyes are distended, + Her arms hanging limp. + The children, in bed + On the sleeping-planks, listen, + Their heads hanging down. + They lie on their stomachs + Like snug little seals + Upon Archangel ice-blocks. + Their hair, like a curtain, 190 + Is hiding their faces: + It's yellow, of course! + + But wait. Soon the pilgrim + Will finish his story-- + (It's true)--from Mount Athos. + It tells how that sinner + The Turk had once driven + Some monks in rebellion + Right into the sea,-- + Who meekly submitted, 200 + And perished in hundreds. + + (What murmurs of horror + Arise! Do you notice + The eyes, full of tears?) + And now conies the climax, + The terrible moment, + And even the mother + Has loosened her hold + On the corpulent bobbin, + It rolls to the ground.... 210 + And see how cat Vaska + At once becomes active + And pounces upon it. + At times less enthralling + The antics of Vaska + Would meet their deserts; + But now he is patting + And touching the bobbin + And leaping around it + With flexible movements, 220 + And no one has noticed. + It rolls to a distance, + The thread is unwound. + + Whoever has witnessed + The peasant's delight + At the tales of the pilgrims + Will realise this: + Though never so crushing + His labours and worries, + Though never so pressing 230 + The call of the tavern, + Their weight will not deaden + The soul of the peasant + And will not benumb it. + The road that's before him + Is broad and unending.... + When old fields, exhausted, + Play false to the reaper, + He'll seek near the forest + For soil more productive. 240 + The work may be hard, + But the new plot repays him: + It yields a rich harvest + Without being manured. + A soil just as fertile + Lies hid in the soul + Of the people of Russia: + O Sower, then come! + + The pilgrim Iona + Since long is well known 250 + In the village of "Earthworms." + The peasants contend + For the honour of giving + The holy man shelter. + At last, to appease them, + He'd say to the women, + "Come, bring out your icons!" + They'd hurry to fetch them. + Iona, prostrating + Himself to each icon, 260 + Would say to the people, + "Dispute not! Be patient, + And God will decide: + The saint who looks kindest + At me I will follow." + And often he'd follow + The icon most poor + To the lowliest hovel. + That hut would become then + A Cup overflowing; 270 + The women would run there + With baskets and saucepans, + All thanks to Iona. + + And now, without hurry + Or noise, he's beginning + To tell them a story, + "Two Infamous Sinners," + But first, most devoutly, + He crosses himself. + + + +_Two Infamous Sinners_ + +Come, let us praise the Omnipotent! 280 + Let us the legend relate +Told by a monk in the Priory. + Thus did I hear him narrate: + +Once were twelve brigands notorious, + One, Kudear, at their head; +Torrents of blood of good Christians + Foully the miscreants shed. + +Deep in the forest their hiding-place, + Rich was their booty and rare; +Once Kudear from near Kiev Town 290 + Stole a young maiden most fair. + +Days Kudear with his mistress spent, + Nights on the road with his horde; +Suddenly, conscience awoke in him, + Stirred by the grace of the Lord. + +Sleep left his couch. Of iniquity + Sickened his spirit at last; +Shades of his victims appeared to him, + Crowding in multitudes vast. + +Long was this monster most obdurate, 300 + Blind to the light from above, +Then flogged to death his chief satellite, + Cut off the head of his love,-- + +Scattered his gang in his penitence, + And to the churches of God +All his great riches distributed, + Buried his knife in the sod, + +Journeyed on foot to the Sepulchre, + Filled with repentance and grief; +Wandered and prayed, but the pilgrimage + Brought to his soul no relief. 311 + +When he returned to his Fatherland + Clad like a monk, old and bent, +'Neath a great oak, as an anchorite, + Life in the forest he spent. + +There, from the Maker Omnipotent, + Grace day and night did he crave: +"Lord, though my body thou castigate, + Grant that my soul I may save!" + +Pity had God on the penitent, 320 + Showed him the pathway to take, +Sent His own messenger unto him + During his prayers, who thus spake: + +"Know, for this oak sprang thy preference, + Not without promptings divine; +Lo! take the knife thou hast slaughtered with, + Fell it, and grace shall be thine. + +"Yea, though the task prove laborious, + Great shall the recompense be, +Let but the tree fall, and verily 330 + Thou from thy load shalt be free." + +Vast was the giant's circumference; + Praying, his task he begins, +Works with the tool of atrociousness, + Offers amends for his sins. + +Glory he sang to the Trinity, + Scraped the hard wood with his blade. +Years passed away. Though he tarried not, + Slow was the progress he made. + +'Gainst such a mighty antagonist 340 + How could he hope to prevail? +Only a Samson could vanquish it, + Not an old man, spent and frail. + +Doubt, as he worked, began plaguing him: + Once of a voice came the sound, +"Heh, old man, say what thy purpose is?" + Crossing himself he looked round. + +There, Pan[58] Glukhovsky was watching him + On his brave Arab astride, +Rich was the Pan, of high family, 350 + Known in the whole countryside. + +Many cruel deeds were ascribed to him, + Filled were his subjects with hate, +So the old hermit to caution him + Told him his own sorry fate. + +"Ho!" laughed Glukhovsky, derisively, + "Hope of salvation's not mine; +These are the things that I estimate-- + Women, gold, honour, and wine. + +"My life, old man, is the only one; 360 + Many the serfs that I keep; +What though I waste, hang, and torture them-- + You should but see how I sleep!" + +Lo! to the hermit, by miracle, + Wrath a great strength did impart, +Straight on Glukhovsky he flung himself, + Buried the knife in his heart. + +Scarce had the Pan, in his agony, + Sunk to the blood-sodden ground, +Crashed the great tree, and lay subjugate, + Trembled the earth at the sound. 371 + +Lo! and the sins of the anchorite + Passed from his soul like a breath. +"Let us pray God to incline to us, + Slaves in the shadow of Death...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +OLD AND NEW + +Iona has finished. + He crosses himself, +And the people are silent. + And then of a sudden + +The trader cries loudly + In great irritation, +"What's wrong with the ferry? + A plague on the sluggards! +Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +"You won't get the ferry 10 + Till sunrise, for even +In daytime they're frightened + To cross: the boat's rotten! + About Kudear, now--" + +"Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +He strides to his waggon. + A cow is there tethered; +He churlishly kicks her. + His hens begin clucking; +He shouts at them, "Silence!" 20 + The calf, which is shifting +About in the cart. + Gets a crack on the forehead. +He strikes the roan mare + With the whip, and departing +He makes for the Volga. + The moon is now shining, +It casts on the roadway + A comical shadow, +Which trots by his side. 30 + +"Oho!" says the Elder, + "He thought himself able +To fight, but discussion + Is not in his line.... +My brothers, how grievous + The sins of the nobles!" + +"And yet not as great + As the sin of the peasant," +The carter cannot here + Refrain from remarking. 40 + +"A plaguey old croaker!" + Says Klim, spitting crossly; +"Whatever arises + The raven must fly +To his own little brood! + What is it, then, tell us, +The sin of the peasant?" + + + +_The Sin of Gleb the Peasant_ + +A'miral Widower sailed on the sea, + Steering his vessels a-sailing went he. 49 +Once with the Turk a great battle he fought, + His was the victory, gallantly bought. +So to the hero as valour's reward + Eight thousand souls[59] did the Empress award. +A'miral Widower lived on his land + Rich and content, till his end was at hand. +As he lay dying this A'miral bold + Handed his Elder a casket of gold. +"See that thou cherish this casket," he said, + "Keep it and open it when I am dead. +There lies my will, and by it you will see + Eight thousand souls are from serfdom set free." 61 +Dead, on the table, the A'miral lies, + A kinsman remote to the funeral hies. +Buried! Forgotten! His relative soon + Calls Gleb, the Elder, with him to commune. +And, in a trice, by his cunning and skill, + Learns of the casket, and terms of the will. +Offers him riches and bliss unalloyed, + Gives him his freedom,--the will is destroyed! +Thus, by Gleb's longing for criminal gains, + Eight thousand souls were left rotting in chains, 71 +Aye, and their sons and their grandsons as well, + Think, what a crowd were thrown back into Hell! +God forgives all. Yes, but Judas's crime + Ne'er will be pardoned till end of all time. +Peasant, most infamous sinner of all, + Endlessly grieve to atone for thy fall! + + Wrathful, relentless, + The carter thus finished + The tale of the peasant 80 + In thunder-like tones. + The others sigh deeply + And rise. They're exclaiming, + "So, that's what it is, then, + The sin of the peasant. + He's right. 'Tis indeed + A most terrible sin!" + + "The story speaks truly; + Our grief shall be endless, + Ah, me!" says the Elder. 90 + (His faith in improvements + Has vanished again.) + And Klimka, who always + Is swayed in an instant + By joy or by sorrow, + Despondingly echoes, + "A terrible sin!" + + The green by the Volga, + Now flooded with moonlight, + Has changed of a sudden: 100 + The peasants no longer + Seem men independent + With self-assured movements, + They're "Earthworms" again-- + Those "Earthworms" whose victuals + Are never sufficient, + Who always are threatened + With drought, blight, or famine, + Who yield to the trader + The fruits of extortion 110 + Their tears, shed in tar. + The miserly haggler + Not only ill-pays them, + But bullies as well: + "For what do I pay you? + The tar costs you nothing. + The sun brings it oozing + From out of your bodies + As though from a pine." + + Again the poor peasants 120 + Are sunk in the depths + Of the bottomless gulf! + Dejected and silent, + They lie on their stomachs + Absorbed in reflection. + But then they start singing; + And slowly the song, + Like a ponderous cloud-bank, + Rolls mournfully onwards. + They sing it so clearly 130 + That quickly our seven + Have learnt it as well. + + +_The Hungry One_ + + The peasant stands +With haggard gaze, + He pants for breath, +He reels and sways; + + From famine food, +From bread of bark, + His form has swelled, +His face is dark. 140 + + Through endless grief +Suppressed and dumb + His eyes are glazed, +His soul is numb. + + As though in sleep, +With footsteps slow, + He creeps to where +The rye doth grow. + + Upon his field +He gazes long, 150 + He stands and sings +A voiceless song: + + "Grow ripe, grow ripe, +O Mother rye, + I fostered thee, +Thy lord am I. + + "Yield me a loaf +Of monstrous girth, + A cake as vast +As Mother-Earth. 160 + + "I'll eat the whole-- +No crumb I'll spare; + With wife, with child, +I will not share." + +"Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!" + A voice exclaims feebly. +It's one of the peasants. + He fetches a loaf +From his bag, and devours it. + +"They sing without voices, 170 + And yet when you listen +Your hair begins rising," + Another remarks. + +It's true. Not with voices + They sing of the famine-- +But something within them. + One, during the singing, +Has risen, to show them + The gait of the peasant +Exhausted by hunger, 180 + And swayed by the wind. +Restrained are his movements + And slow. After singing +"The Hungry One," thirsting + They make for the bucket, +One after another + Like geese in a file. +They stagger and totter + As people half-famished, +A drink will restore them. 190 +"Come, let us be joyful!" + The deacon is saying. +His youngest son, Grisha, +Approaches the peasants. + "Some vodka?" they ask him. + +"No, thank you. I've had some. + But what's been the matter? +You look like drowned kittens." + +"What should be the matter?" +(And making an effort 200 + They bear themselves bravely.) +And Vlass, the old Elder, + Has placed his great palm +On the head of his godson. + +"Is serfdom revived? + Will they drive you to barschin +Or pilfer your hayfields?" + Says Grisha in jest. + +"The hay-fields? You're joking!" + +"Well, what has gone wrong, then? + And why were you singing 211 +'The Hungry One,' brothers? + To summon the famine?" + +"Yes, what's all the pother?" + Here Klimka bursts out +Like a cannon exploding. + The others are scratching +Their necks, and reflecting: +"It's true! What's amiss?" +"Come, drink, little 'Earthworms,' + Come, drink and be merry! 221 +All's well--as we'd have it, + Aye, just as we wished it. +Come, hold up your noddles! + But what about Gleb?" + +A lengthy discussion + Ensues; and it's settled +That they're not to blame +For the deed of the traitor: + 'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230 +For just as the big snake + Gives birth to the small ones, +So serfdom gave birth + To the sins of the nobles, +To Jacob the Faithful's + And also to Gleb's. +For, see, without serfdom + Had been no Pomyeshchick +To drive his true servant + To death by the noose, 240 +No terrible vengeance + Of slave upon master +By suicide fearful, + No treacherous Gleb. + +'Twas Prov of all others + Who listened to Grisha +With deepest attention +And joy most apparent. + And when he had finished +He cried to the others 250 + In accents of triumph, +Delightedly smiling, + "Now, brothers, mark _that_!" +"So now, there's an end + Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" +Cries Klimka, with glee. +The words about serfdom + Were quickly caught up +By the crowd, and went passing + From one to another: 260 +"Yes, if there's no big snake + There cannot be small ones!" +And Klimka is swearing + Again at the carter: +"You ignorant fool!" +They're ready to grapple! + The deacon is sobbing +And kissing his Grisha: + "Just see what a headpiece +The Lord is creating! 270 + No wonder he longs +For the college in Moscow!" + Old Vlass, too, is patting +His shoulder and saying, + "May God send thee silver +And gold, and a healthy + And diligent wife!" + +"I wish not for silver + Or gold," replies Grisha. +"But one thing I wish: 280 + I wish that my comrades, +Yes, all the poor peasants + In Russia so vast, +Could be happy and free!" + Thus, earnestly speaking, +And blushing as shyly + As any young maiden, +He walks from their midst. + +The dawn is approaching. + The peasants make ready 290 +To cross by the ferry. +"Eh, Vlass," says the carter, + As, stooping, he raises +The span of his harness, + "Who's this on the ground?" + +The Elder approaches, + And Klimka behind him, +Our seven as well. + (They're always most anxious +To see what is passing.) 300 + +Some fellow is lying + Exhausted, dishevelled, +Asleep, with the beggars + Behind some big logs. +His clothing is new, + But it's hanging in ribbons. +A crimson silk scarf + On his neck he is wearing; +A watch and a waistcoat; + His blouse, too, is red. 310 +Now Klimka is stooping +To look at the sleeper, + Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly +Stamps straight on his mouth. + +The fellow springs up, + Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep, +And old Vlasuchka strikes him. + He squeals like a rat +'Neath the heel of your slipper, + And makes for the forest 320 +On long, lanky legs. + Four peasants pursue him, +The others cry, "Beat him!" + Until both the man +And the band of pursuers + Are lost in the forest. + +"Who is he?" our seven + Are asking the Elder, +"And why do they beat him?" + +"We don't know the reason, 330 + But we have been told +By the people of Tiskov + To punish this Shutov +Whenever we catch him, + And so we obey. +When people from Tiskov + Pass by, they'll explain it. +What luck? Did you catch him?" + He asks of the others +Returned from the chase. 340 + +"We caught him, I warrant, + And gave him a lesson. +He's run to Demyansky, + For there he'll be able +To cross by the ferry." + +"Strange people, to beat him + Without any cause!" +"And why? If the commune + Has told us to do it +There must be some reason!" 350 + Shouts Klim at the seven. +"D'you think that the people +Of Tiskov are fools? + It isn't long since, mind, +That many were flogged there, +One man in each ten. + Ah, Shutov, you rendered +A dastardly service, + Your duties are evil, +You damnable wretch! 360 + And who deserves beating +As richly as Shutov? + Not we alone beat him: +From Tiskov, you know, + Fourteen villages lie +On the banks of the Volga; + I warrant through each +He's been driven with blows." + +The seven are silent. + They're longing to get 370 +At the root of the matter. + But even the Elder +Is now growing angry. + +It's daylight. The women + Are bringing their husbands +Some breakfast, of rye-cakes + And--goose! (For a peasant +Had driven some geese + Through the village to market, +And three were grown weary, 380 + And had to be carried.) +"See here, will you sell them? + They'll die ere you get there." +And so, for a trifle, + The geese had been bought. + +We've often been told + How the peasant loves drinking; +Not many there are, though, + Who know how he eats. +He's greedier far 390 + For his food than for vodka, +So one man to-day +(A teetotaller mason) + Gets perfectly drunk +On his breakfast of goose! +A shout! "Who is coming? + Who's this?" Here's another +Excuse for rejoicing + And noise! There's a hay-cart +With hay, now approaching, 400 + And high on its summit +A soldier is sitting. + He's known to the peasants +For twenty versts round. + And, cosy beside him, +Justinutchka sits + (His niece, and an orphan, +His prop in old age). +He now earns his living + By means of his peep-show, 410 +Where, plainly discerned, + Are the Kremlin and Moscow, +While music plays too. + The instrument once +Had gone wrong, and the soldier, + No capital owning, +Bought three metal spoons, +Which he beat to make music; + But the words that he knew +Did not suit the new music, 420 +And folk did not laugh. + The soldier was sly, though: +He made some new words up + That went with the music. + +They hail him with rapture! + "Good-health to you, Grandad! +Jump down, drink some vodka, + And give us some music." + +"It's true I got _up_ here, + But how to get-down?" 430 + +"You're going, I see, + To the town for your pension, +But look what has happened: + It's burnt to the ground." + +"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly! + What then? Then I'll go + To St. Petersburg for it; +For all my old comrades + Are there with their pensions, +They'll show me the way." 440 + +"You'll go by the train, then?" + +The old fellow whistles: + "Not long you've been serving +Us, orthodox Christians, + You, infidel railway! +And welcome you were + When you carried us cheaply +From Peters to Moscow. + (It cost but three roubles.) +But now you want seven, 450 + So, go to the devil! + +"Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! +Hiss like a snake as you glide! +_Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!_ +Puff at the whole countryside! +Crushing and maiming your toll you extort, +Straight in the face of the peasant you snort, +Soon all the people of Russia you may +Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!" + +"Come, give us some music," 460 + Says Vlass to the soldier, +"For here there are plenty + Of holiday people, +'Twill be to your profit. + You see to it, Klimka!" +(Though Vlass doesn't like him, + Whenever there's something +That calls for arranging + He leaves it to Klimka: +"You see to it, Klimka!" 470 + And Klimka is pleased.) + +And soon the old soldier + Is helped from the hay-cart: +He's weak on his legs,--tall, + And strikingly thin. +His uniform seems + To be hung from a pole; +There are medals upon it. + +It cannot be said + That his face is attractive, 480 +Especially when + It's distorted by _tic_: +His mouth opens wide + And his eyes burn like charcoal,-- +A regular demon! + +The music is started, + The people run back +From the banks of the Volga. +He sings to the music. + + * * * * * + +A spasm has seized him: 490 + He leans on his niece, +And his left leg upraising + He twirls it around +In the air like a weight. + His right follows suit then, +And murmuring, "Curse it!" + He suddenly masters +And stands on them both. + +"You see to it, Klimka!" + Of course he'll arrange it 500 +In Petersburg fashion: + He stands them together, +The niece and the uncle; + Takes two wooden dishes +And gives them one each, + Then springs on a tree-trunk +To make an oration. + +(The soldier can't help + Adding apt little words +To the speech of the peasant, 510 + And striking his spoons.) + + * * * * * + +The soldier is stamping + His feet. One can hear +His dry bones knock together. + When Klimka has finished +The peasants come crowding, + Surrounding the soldier, +And some a kopeck give, + And others give half: +In no time a rouble 520 + Is piled on the dishes. + + + +EPILOGUE + +GRISHA DOBROSKLONOW + + +A CHEERFUL SEASON--CHEERFUL SONGS + +The feast was continued + Till morning--a splendid, +A wonderful feast! + Then the people dispersing +Went home, and our peasants + Lay down 'neath the willow; +Iona--meek pilgrim + Of God--slept there too. +And Sava and Grisha, + The sons of the deacon, 10 +Went home, with their parent + Unsteady between them. +They sang; and their voices, + Like bells on the Volga, +So loud and so tuneful, + Came chiming together: + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "That which will surely 20 + Banish the night + He[60] has awarded-- + Freedom and Light! + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "Blessings from Heaven, + Grace from above, + Rained on the battle, + Conquered by Love. 30 + + "Little we ask Thee-- + Grant us, O Lord, + Strength to be honest, + Fearing Thy word! + + "Brotherly living, + Sharing in part, + That is the roadway + Straight to the heart. + + "Turn from that teaching + Tender and wise-- 40 + Cowards and traitors + Soon will arise. + + "People of Russia, + Banish the night! + You have been granted + That which is needful-- + Freedom and Light!" + +The deacon was poor + As the poorest of peasants: +A mean little cottage 50 + Like two narrow cages, +The one with an oven + Which smoked, and the other +For use in the summer,-- + Such was his abode. +No horse he possessed + And no cow. He had once had +A dog and a cat, + But they'd both of them left him. + +His sons put him safely 60 + To bed, snoring loudly; +Then Savushka opened + A book, while his brother +Went out, and away + To the fields and the forest. + +A broad-shouldered youth + Was this Grisha; his face, though, +Was terribly thin. + In the clerical college +The students got little 70 + To eat. Sometimes Grisha +Would lie the whole night + Without sleep; only longing +For morning and breakfast,-- + The coarse piece of bread +And the glassful of sbeeten.[61] +The village was poor + And the food there was scanty, +But still, the two brothers + Grew certainly plumper 80 +When home for the holidays-- + Thanks to the peasants. + +The boys would repay them + By all in their power, +By work, or by doing + Their little commissions +In town. Though the deacon + Was proud of his children, +He never had given + Much thought to their feeding. 90 +Himself, the poor deacon, + Was endlessly hungry, +His principal thought + Was the manner of getting +The next piece of food. + He was rather light-minded +And vexed himself little; + But Dyomna, his wife, +Had been different entirely: + She worried and counted, 100 +So God took her soon. + The whole of her life +She by salt[62] had been troubled: + If bread has run short +One can ask of the neighbours; + But salt, which means money, +Is hard to obtain. + The village with Dyomna +Had shared its bread freely; + And long, long ago 110 +Would her two little children + Have lain in the churchyard +If not for the peasants. + +And Dyomna was ready + To work without ceasing +For all who had helped her; + But salt was her trouble, +Her thought, ever present. + She dreamt of it, sang of it, +Sleeping and waking, 120 + While washing, while spinning, +At work in the fields, + While rocking her darling +Her favourite, Grisha. + And many years after +The death of his mother, + His heart would grow heavy +And sad, when the peasants + Remembered one song, +And would sing it together 130 + As Dyomna had sung it; +They called it "The Salt Song." + + + +_The Salt Song_ + + Now none but God + Can save my son: + He's dying fast, + My little one.... + + I give him bread--- + He looks at it, + He cries to me, + "Put salt on it." 140 + I have no salt-- + No tiny grain; + "Take flour," God whispers, + "Try again...." + + He tastes it once, + Once more he tries; + "That's not enough, + More salt!" he cries. + + The flour again.... + My tears fall fast 150 + Upon the bread,-- + He eats at last! + + The mother smiles + In pride and joy: + Her tears so salt + Have saved the boy. + + * * * * * + +Young Grisha remembered + This song; he would sing it +Quite low to himself + In the clerical college. 160 +The college was cheerless, +And singing this song + He would yearn for his mother, +For home, for the peasants, + His friends and protectors. +And soon, with the love + Which he bore to his mother, +His love for the people + Grew wider and stronger.... +At fifteen years old 170 + He was firmly decided +To spend his whole life + In promoting their welfare, +In striving to succour + The poor and afflicted. +The demon of malice + Too long over Russia +Has scattered its hate; + The shadow of serfdom +Has hidden all paths 180 + Save corruption and lying. +Another song now + Will arise throughout Russia; +The angel of freedom + And mercy is flying +Unseen o'er our heads, + And is calling strong spirits +To follow the road + Which is honest and clean. + +Oh, tread not the road 190 +So shining and broad: +Along it there speed +With feverish tread +The multitudes led +By infamous greed. + +There lives which are spent +With noble intent +Are mocked at in scorn; +There souls lie in chains, +And bodies and brains 200 +By passions are torn, + +By animal thirst +For pleasures accurst +Which pass in a breath. +There hope is in vain, +For there is the reign +Of darkness and death. + + * * * * * + +In front of your eyes +Another road lies-- +'Tis honest and clean. 210 +Though steep it appears +And sorrow and tears +Upon it are seen: + +It leads to the door +Of those who are poor, +Who hunger and thirst, +Who pant without air. +Who die in despair-- +Oh, there be the first! + +The song of the angel 220 + Of Mercy not vainly +Was sung to our Grisha. + The years of his study +Being passed, he developed + In thought and in feeling; +A passionate singer + Of Freedom became he, +Of all who are grieving, + Down-trodden, afflicted, +In Russia so vast. 230 + + * * * * * + +The bright sun was shining, + The cool, fragrant morning +Was filled with the sweetness + Of newly-mown hay. +Young Grisha was thoughtful, + He followed the first road +He met--an old high-road, + An avenue, shaded +By tall curling birch trees. + The youth was now gloomy, 240 +Now gay; the effect + Of the feast was still with him; +His thoughts were at work, + And in song he expressed them: + +"I know that you suffer, +O Motherland dear, +The thought of it fills me with woe: +And Fate has much sorrow +In store yet, I fear, +But you will not perish, I know. 250 + +"How long since your children +As playthings were used, +As slaves to base passions and lust; +Were bartered like cattle, +Were vilely abused +By masters most cruel and unjust? + +"How long since young maidens +Were dragged to their shame, +Since whistle of whips filled the land, +Since 'Service' possessed 260 +A more terrible fame +Than death by the torturer's hand? + +"Enough! It is finished, +This tale of the past; +'Tis ended, the masters' long sway; +The strength of the people +Is stirring at last, +To freedom 'twill point them the way. + +"Your burden grows lighter, +O Motherland dear, 270 +Your wounds less appalling to see. +Your fathers were slaves, +Smitten helpless by fear, +But, Mother, your children are free!" + + * * * * * + +A small winding footpath + Now tempted young Grisha, +And guided his steps + To a very broad hayfield. +The peasants were cutting + The hay, and were singing 280 +His favourite song. + Young Grisha was saddened +By thoughts of his mother, + And nearly in anger +He hurried away + From the field to the forest. +Bright echoes are darting + About in the forest; +Like quails in the wheat + Little children are romping 290 +(The elder ones work + In the hay fields already). +He stopped awhile, seeking + For horse-chestnuts with them. +The sun was now hot; + To the river went Grisha +To bathe, and he had + A good view of the ruins +That three days before + Had been burnt. What a picture! +No house is left standing; 301 + And only the prison +Is saved; just a few days + Ago it was whitewashed; + It stands like a little +White cow in the pastures. + The guards and officials +Have made it their refuge; + But all the poor peasants +Are strewn by the river 310 + Like soldiers in camp. +Though they're mostly asleep now, + A few are astir, +And two under-officials + Are picking their way +To the tent for some vodka + 'Mid tables and cupboards +And waggons and bundles. + A tailor approaches +The vodka tent also; 320 + A shrivelled old fellow. + His irons and his scissors +He holds in his hands, + Like a leaf he is shaking. +The pope has arisen + From sleep, full of prayers. +He is combing his hair; + Like a girl he is holding +His long shining plait. + Down the Volga comes floating 330 +Some wood-laden rafts, + And three ponderous barges +Are anchored beneath + The right bank of the river. +The barge-tower yesterday + Evening had dragged them +With songs to their places, +And there he is standing, + The poor harassed man! +He is looking quite gay though, 340 + As if on a holiday, +Has a clean shirt on; + Some farthings are jingling +Aloud in his pocket. + Young Grisha observes him +For long from the river, + And, half to himself, +Half aloud, begins singing: + + + +_The Barge-Tower_ + +With shoulders back and breast astrain, +And bathed in sweat which falls like rain, +Through midday heat with gasping song, +He drags the heavy barge along. 352 +He falls and rises with a groan, +His song becomes a husky moan.... +But now the barge at anchor lies, +A giant's sleep has sealed his eyes; +And in the bath at break of day +He drives the clinging sweat away. +Then leisurely along the quay +He strolls refreshed, and roubles three 360 +Are sewn into his girdle wide; +Some coppers jingle at his side. +He thinks awhile, and then he goes +Towards the tavern. There he throws +Some hard-earned farthings on the seat; +He drinks, and revels in the treat, +The sense of perfect ease and rest. +Soon with the cross he signs his breast: +The journey home begins to-day. +And cheerfully he goes away; 370 +On presents spends a coin or so: +For wife some scarlet calico, +A scarf for sister, tinsel toys +For eager little girls and boys. +God guide him home--'tis many a mile-- +And let him rest a little while.... + + * * * * * + + The barge-tower's fate + Lead the thoughts of young Grisha + To dwell on the whole + Of mysterious Russia-- 380 + The fate of her people. + For long he was roving + About on the bank, + Feeling hot and excited, + His brain overflowing + With new and new verses. + + _Russia_ + +"The Tsar was in mood +To dabble in blood: +To wage a great war. +Shall we have gold enough? 390 +Shall we have strength enough? +Questioned the Tsar. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet thou art powerful, +Thy wealth is plentiful, +Russia, my Mother!) + +"By misery chastened, +By serfdom of old, +The heart of thy people, 400 +O Tsar, is of gold. + +"And strong were the nation, +Unyielding its might, +If standing for conscience, +For justice and right. + +"But summon the country +To valueless strife, +And no man will hasten +To offer his life. + +"So Russia lies sleeping 410 +In obstinate rest;-- +But should the spark kindle +That's hid in her breast-- + +"She'll rise without summons, +Go forth without call, +With sacrifice boundless, +Each giving his all! + +"A host she will gather +Of strength unsurpassed, +With infinite courage 420 +Will fight to the last. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet of great treasure full, +Mighty, all-powerful, +Russia, my Mother!)" + + * * * * * + +Young Grisha was pleased + With his song; and he murmured. +"Its message is true; + I will sing it to-morrow 430 +Aloud to the peasants. + Their songs are so mournful, +It's well they should hear + Something joyful,--God help them! +For just as with running + The cheeks begin burning, +So acts a good song + On the spirit despairing, +Brings comfort and strength." + But first to his brother 440 +He sang the new song, +And his brother said, "Splendid!" + + Then Grisha tried vainly +To sleep; but half dreaming + New songs he composed. +They grew brighter and stronger.... + + Our peasants would soon +Have been home from their travels + If they could have known +What was happening to Grisha: 450 + With what exaltation +His bosom was burning; + What beautiful strains +In his ears began chiming; + How blissfully sang he +The wonderful anthem + Which tells of the freedom +And peace of the people. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Many years later, after his mother's death, Nekrassov found this +letter among her papers. It was a letter written to her by her own +mother after her flight and subsequent marriage. It announced to her her +father's curse, and was filled with sad and bitter reproaches: "To whom +have you entrusted your fate? For what country have you abandoned +Poland, your Motherland? You, whose hand was sought, a priceless gift, +by princes, have chosen a savage, ignorant, uncultured.... Forgive +me, but my heart is bleeding...." + +[2] Priest. + +[3] Landowner. + +[4] The peasants assert that the cuckoo chokes himself with young ears +of corn. + +[5] A kind of home-brewed cider. + +[6] _Laput_ is peasants' footgear made of bark of saplings. + +[7] Priest + +[8] New huts are built only when the village has been destroyed by fire. + +[9] The lines of asterisks throughout the poem represent passages that +were censored in the original. + +[10] There is a superstition among the Russian peasants that it is an +ill omen to meet the "pope" when going upon an errand. + +[11] Landowners + +[12] Dissenters in Russia are subjected to numerous religious +restrictions. Therefore they are obliged to bribe the local orthodox +pope, in order that he should not denounce them to the police. + +[13] There is a Russian superstition that a round rainbow is sent as a +sign of coming dry weather. + +[14] _Kasha_ and _stchee_ are two national dishes. + +[15] The mud and water from the high lands on both sides descend and +collect in the villages so situated, which are often nearly transformed +into swamps during the rainy season. + +[16] On feast days the peasants often pawn their clothes for drink. + +[17] Well-known popular characters in Russia. + +[18] Each landowner kept his own band of musicians. + +[19] The halting-place for prisoners on their way to Siberia. + +[20] The tax collector, the landlord, and the priest. + +[21] Fire. + +[22] Popular name for Petrograd. + +[23] The primitive wooden plough still used by the peasants in Russia. + +[24] Three pounds. + +[25] Holy pictures of the saints. + +[26] The Russian nickname for the bear. + +[27] Chief of police. + +[28] An administrative unit consisting of a group of villages. + +[29] The end of the story is omitted because of the interference of the +Censor. + +[30] A three-horsed carriage. + +[31] The Pomyeshchick is still bitter because his serfs have been set +free by the Government. + +[32] The Russian warriors of olden times. + +[33] Russian Easter dishes. + +[34] Russians embrace one another on Easter Sunday, recalling the +resurrection of Christ. + +[35] The Russians press their foreheads to the ground while worshipping. + +[36] The official appointed to arrange terms between the Pomyeshchicks +and their emancipated serfs. + +[37] The haystacks. + +[38] A long-skirted coat. + +[39] The forced labour of the serfs for their owners. + +[40] Holy images. + +[41] Meenin--a famous Russian patriot in the beginning of the +seventeenth century. He is always represented with an immense beard. + +[42] It is a sign of respect to address a person by his own name and +the name of his father. + +[43] Ukha--fish soup. + +[44] A national loose sleeveless dress worn with a separate shirt +or blouse. + +[45] The marriage agent. + +[46] The marriage agent. + +[47] Inhabitants of the village Korojin. + +[48] Germans were often employed as managers of the Pomyeshchicks' +estates. + +[49] In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls +for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the +atmosphere. + +[50] Police-official. + +[51] Heave-to! + +[52] This paragraph refers to the custom of the country police in +Russia, who, on hearing of the accidental death of anybody in a village, +will, in order to extract bribes from the villagers, threaten to hold an +inquest on the corpse. The peasants are usually ready to part with +nearly all they possess in order to save their dead from what they +consider desecration. + +[53] The Saviour's day. + +[54] A reference to the arranging of terms between the Pomyeshchicks +and peasants with regard to land at the time of the emancipation of +the serfs. + +[55] There is a Russian superstition that a good memory is gained by +eating magpies' eggs. + +[56] Chief of Police. + +[57] A wooden splinter prepared and used for lighting purposes. + +[58] Polish title for nobleman or gentleman. + +[59] Serfs. + +[60] Alexander II., who gave emancipation to the peasants. + +[61] A popular Russian drink composed of hot water +and honey. + +[62] There was a very heavy tax laid upon salt at the time. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? +by Nicholas Nekrassov + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? *** + +This file should be named 7whrs10.txt or 7whrs10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7whrs11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7whrs10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? + +Author: Nicholas Nekrassov + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9619] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 10, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen +and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +WHO CAN BE HAPPY AND FREE IN RUSSIA? + +BY + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV + + +Translated by Juliet M. Soskice + +With an Introduction by Dr. David Soskice + + +1917 + + + +[Illustration: Nicholas Nekrassov] + + + +NICHOLAS ALEXEIEVITCH NEKRASSOV + +Born, near the town Vinitza, province of Podolia, November 22, 1821 + +Died, St. Petersburg, December 27, 1877. + + +_'Who can be Happy and Free in Russia?' was first published in Russia +in 1879. In 'The World's Classics' this translation was first published +in 1917._ + + + + +CONTENTS: + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + +PROLOGUE + +PART I. + + CHAP. + + I. THE POPE + II. THE VILLAGE FAIR + III. THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + IV. THE HAPPY ONES + V. THE POMYÉSHCHICK + +PART II.--THE LAST POMYÉSHCHICK + + PROLOGUE + I. THE DIE-HARD + II. KLIM, THE ELDER + +PART III.--THE PEASANT WOMAN + + PROLOGUE + I. THE WEDDING + II. A SONG + III. SAVYÉLI + IV. DJÓMUSHKA + V. THE SHE-WOLF + VI. AN UNLUCKY YEAR + VII. THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + VIII. THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + +PART IV.--A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + PROLOGUE + I. BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + II. PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + III. OLD AND NEW + +EPILOGUE + + + + +NICHOLAS NEKRASSOV: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE + + +Western Europe has only lately begun to explore the rich domain of +Russian literature, and is not yet acquainted with all even of its +greatest figures. Treasures of untold beauty and priceless value, which +for many decades have been enlarging and elevating the Russian mind, +still await discovery here. Who in England, for instance, has heard the +names of Saltykov, Uspensky, or Nekrassov? Yet Saltykov is the greatest +of Russian satirists; Uspensky the greatest story-writer of the lives of +the Russian toiling masses; while Nekrassov, "the poet of the people's +sorrow," whose muse "of grief and vengeance" has supremely dominated the +minds of the Russian educated classes for the last half century, is the +sole and rightful heir of his two great predecessors, Pushkin and +Lermontov. + +Russia is a country still largely mysterious to the denizen +of Western Europe, and the Russian peasant, the _moujik_, an +impenetrable riddle to him. Of all the great Russian writers not one has +contributed more to the interpretation of the enigmatical soul of the +_moujik_ than Russia's great poet, Nekrassov, in his life-work the +national epic, _Who can be Happy in Russia?_ + +There are few literate persons in Russia who do not know whole pages of +this poem by heart. It will live as long as Russian literature exists; +and its artistic value as an instrument for the depiction of Russian +nature and the soul of the Russian people can be compared only with that +of the great epics of Homer with regard to the legendary life of +ancient Greece. + +Nekrassov seemed destined to dwell from his birth amid such surroundings +as are necessary for the creation of a great national poet. + +Nicholas Alexeievitch Nekrassov was the descendant of a noble family, +which in former years had been very wealthy, but subsequently had lost +the greater part of its estates. His father was an officer in the army, +and in the course of his peregrinations from one end of the country to +the other in the fulfilment of his military duties he became acquainted +with a young Polish girl, the daughter of a wealthy Polish aristocrat. +She was seventeen, a type of rare Polish beauty, and the handsome, +dashing Russian officer at once fell madly in love with her. The parents +of the girl, however, were horrified at the notion of marrying their +daughter to a "Muscovite savage," and her father threatened her with his +curse if ever again she held communication with her lover. So the matter +was secretly arranged between the two, and during a ball which the young +Polish beauty was attending she suddenly disappeared. Outside the house +the lover waited with his sledge. They sped away, and were married at +the first church they reached. + +The bride, with her father's curse upon her, passed straight from her +sheltered existence in her luxurious home to all the unsparing rigours +of Russian camp-life. Bred in an atmosphere of maternal tenderness and +Polish refinement she had now to share the life of her rough, uncultured +Russian husband, to content herself with the shallow society of the +wives of the camp officers, and soon to be crushed by the knowledge that +the man for whom she had sacrificed everything was not even faithful +to her. + +During their travels, in 1821, Nicholas Nekrassov the future poet was +born, and three years later his father left military service and settled +in his estate in the Yaroslav Province, on the banks of the great river +Volga, and close to the Vladimirsky highway, famous in Russian history +as the road along which, for centuries, chained convicts had been driven +from European Russia to the mines in Siberia. The old park of the manor, +with its seven rippling brooklets and mysterious shadowy linden avenues +more than a century old, filled with a dreamy murmur at the slightest +stir of the breeze, stretched down to the mighty Volga, along the banks +of which, during the long summer days, were heard the piteous, panting +songs of the _burlaki_, the barge-towers, who drag the heavy, loaded +barges up and down the river. + +The rattling of the convicts' chains as they passed; the songs of the +_burlaki_; the pale, sorrowful face of his mother as she walked alone in +the linden avenues of the garden, often shedding tears over a letter she +read, which was headed by a coronet and written in a fine, delicate +hand; the spreading green fields, the broad mighty river, the deep blue +skies of Russia,--such were the reminiscences which Nekrassov retained +from his earliest childhood. He loved his sad young mother with a +childish passion, and in after years he was wont to relate how jealous +he had been of that letter[1] she read so often, which always seemed to +fill her with a sorrow he could not understand, making her at moments +even forget that he was near her. + +The sight and knowledge of deep human suffering, framed in the soft +voluptuous beauty of nature in central Russia, could not fail to sow the +seed of future poetical powers in the soul of an emotional child. His +mother, who had been bred on Shakespeare, Milton, and the other great +poets and writers of the West, devoted her solitary life to the +development of higher intellectual tendencies in her gifted little son. +And from an early age he made attempts at verse. His mother has +preserved for the world his first little poem, which he presented to her +when he was seven years of age, with a little heading, roughly to the +following effect: + + My darling Mother, look at this, + I did the best I could in it, + Please read it through and tell me if + You think there's any good in it. + +The early life of the little Nekrassov was passed amid a series of +contrasting pictures. His father, when he had abandoned his military +calling and settled upon his estate, became the Chief of the district +police. He would take his son Nicholas with him in his trap as he drove +from village to village in the fulfilment of his new duties. The +continual change of scenery during their frequent journeys along country +roads, through forests and valleys, past meadows and rivers, the various +types of people they met with, broadened and developed the mind of +little Nekrassov, just as the mind of the child Ruskin was formed and +expanded during his journeys with his father. But Ruskin's education +lacked features with which young Nekrassov on his journeys soon became +familiar. While acquiring knowledge of life and accumulating impressions +of the beauties of nature, Nekrassov listened, perforce, to the brutal, +blustering speeches addressed by his father to the helpless, trembling +peasants, and witnessed the cruel, degrading corporal punishments he +inflicted upon them, while his eyes were speedily opened to his father's +addiction to drinking, gambling, and debauchery. These experiences would +most certainly have demoralised and depraved his childish mind had it +not been for the powerful influence the refined and cultured mother had +from the first exercised upon her son. The contrast between his parents +was so startling that it could not fail to awaken the better side of the +child's nature, and to imbue him with pure and healthy notions of the +truer and higher ideals of humanity. In his poetical works of later +years Nekrassov repeatedly returns to and dwells upon the memory of the +sorrowful, sweet image of his mother. The gentle, beautiful lady, with +her wealth of golden hair, with an expression of divine tenderness in +her blue eyes and of infinite suffering upon her sensitive lips, +remained for ever her son's ideal of womanhood. Later on, during years +of manhood, in moments of the deepest moral suffering and despondency, +it was always of her that he thought, her tenderness and spiritual +consolation he recalled and for which he craved. + +When Nekrassov was eleven years of age his father one day drove him to +the town nearest their estate and placed him in the local +grammar-school. Here he remained for six years, gradually, though +without distinction, passing upwards from one class to another, devoting +a moderate amount of time to school studies and much energy to the +writing of poetry, mostly of a satirical nature, in which his teachers +figured with unfortunate conspicuity. + +One day a copy-book containing the most biting of these productions fell +into the hands of the headmaster, and young Nekrassov was summarily +ejected from the school. + +His angry father, deciding in his own mind that the boy was good for +nothing, despatched him to St. Petersburg to embark upon a military +career. The seventeen-year-old boy arrived in the capital with a +copy-book of his poems and a few roubles in his pocket, and with a +letter of introduction to an influential general. He was filled with +good intentions and fully prepared to obey his father's orders, but +before he had taken the final step of entering the nobleman's regiment +he met a young student, a former school-mate, who captivated his +imagination by glowing descriptions of the marvellous sciences to be +studied in the university, and the surpassing interest of student life. +The impressionable boy decided to abandon the idea of his military +career, and to prepare for his matriculation in the university. He wrote +to his father to this effect, and received the stern and laconic reply: + +"If you disobey me, not another farthing shall you receive from me." + +The youth had made his mind up, however, and entered the university as +an unmatriculated student. And that was the beginning of his long +acquaintance with the hardships of poverty. + +"For three years," said Nekrassov in after life, "I was hungry all day, +and every day. It was not only that I ate bad food and not enough of +that, but some days I did not eat at all. I often went to a certain +restaurant in the Morskaya, where one is allowed to read the paper +without ordering food. You can hold the paper in front of you and nibble +at a piece of bread behind it...." + +While sunk in this state of poverty, however, Nekrassov got into touch +with some of the richest and most aristocratic families in St. +Petersburg; for at that time there existed a complete comradeship and +equality among the students, whether their budget consisted of a few +farthings or unlimited wealth. Thus here again Nekrassov was given the +opportunity of studying the contrasts of life. + +For several years after his arrival in St. Petersburg the true gifts of +the poet were denied expression. The young man was confronted with a +terrible uphill fight to conquer the means of bare subsistence. He had +no time to devote to the working out of his poems, and it would not have +"paid" him. He was obliged to accept any literary job that was offered +him, and to execute it with a promptitude necessitated by the +requirements of his daily bill of fare. During the first years of his +literary career he wrote an amazing number of prose reviews, essays, +short stories, novels, comedies and tragedies, alphabets and children's +stories, which, put together, would fill thirty or forty volumes. He +also issued a volume of his early poems, but he was so ashamed of them +that he would not put his name upon the fly-leaf. Soon, however, his +poems, "On the Road" and "My Motherland," attracted the attention of +Byelinsky, when the young poet brought some of his work to show the +great critic. With tears in his eyes Byelinsky embraced Nekrassov and +said to him: + +"Do you know that you are a poet, a true poet?" + +This decree of Byelinsky brought fame to Nekrassov, for Byelinsky's word +was law in Russia then, and his judgement was never known to fail. His +approval gave Nekrassov the confidence he lacked, and he began to devote +most of his time to poetry. + +The epoch in which Nekrassov began his literary career in St. +Petersburg, the early forties of last century, was one of a great +revival of idealism in Russia. The iron reaction of the then Emperor +Nicholas I. made independent political activity an impossibility. But +the horrible and degrading conditions of serfdom which existed at that +time, and which cast a blight upon the energy and dignity of the Russian +nation, nourished feelings of grief and indignation in the noblest minds +of the educated classes, and, unable to struggle for their principles in +the field of practical politics, they strove towards abstract idealism. +They devoted their energies to philosophy, literature, and art. It was +then that Tolstoy, Turgenieff, and Dostoyevsky embarked upon their +phenomenal careers in fiction. It was then that the impetuous essayist, +Byelinsky, with his fiery and eloquent pen, taught the true meaning and +objects of literature. Nekrassov soon joined the circles of literary +people dominated by the spirit of Byelinsky, and he too drank at the +fountain of idealism and imbibed the gospel of altruistic toil for his +country and its people, that gospel of perfect citizenship expounded by +Byelinsky, Granovsky, and their friends. It was at this period that his +poetry became impregnated with the sadness which, later on, was embodied +in the lines: + +My verses! Living witnesses of tears Shed for the world, and born In +moments of the soul's dire agony, Unheeded and forlorn, Like waves that +beat against the rocks, You plead to hearts that scorn. + +Nekrassov's material conditions meanwhile began to improve, and he +actually developed business capacities, and soon the greatest writers of +the time were contributing to the monthly review _Sovremenik_ (the +Contemporary) which Nekrassov bought in 1847. Turgenieff, Herzen, +Byelinsky, Dostoyevsky gladly sent their works to him, and Nekrassov +soon became the intellectual leader of his time. His influence became +enormous, but he had to cope with all the rigours of the censorship +which had become almost insupportable in Russia, as the effect of the +Tsar's fears aroused by the events of the French Revolution of 1848. + +Byelinsky died in that year from consumption in the very presence of the +gendarmes who had come to arrest him for some literary offence. +Dostoyevsky was seized, condemned to death, and when already on the +scaffold, with the rope around his neck, reprieved and sent for life to +the Siberian mines. The rigours still increased during the Crimean War, +and it was only after the death of Nicholas I., the termination of the +war, and the accession of the liberal Tsar, Alexander II., that +Nekrassov and Russian literature in general began to breathe more +freely. The decade which followed upon 1855 was one of the bright +periods of Russian history. Serfdom was abolished and many great reforms +were passed. It was then that Nekrassov's activity was at its height. +His review _Sovremenik_ was a stupendous success, and brought him great +fame and wealth. During that year some of his finest poems appeared in +it: "The Peasant Children," "Orina, the Mother of a Soldier," "The +Gossips," "The Pedlars," "The Rail-way," and many others. + +Nekrassov became the idol of Russia. The literary evenings at which he +used to read his poems aloud were besieged by fervent devotees, and the +most brilliant orations were addressed to him on all possible occasions. +His greatest work, however, the national epic, _Who can be Happy in +Russia?_ was written towards the latter end of his life, between +1873 and 1877. + +Here he suffered from the censor more cruelly than ever. Long extracts +from the poem were altogether forbidden, and only after his death it was +allowed, in 1879, to appear in print more or less in its entirety. + +When gripped in the throes of his last painful illness, and practically +on his deathbed, he would still have found consolation in work, in the +dictation of his poems. But even then his sufferings were aggravated by +the harassing coercions of the censor. His last great poem was written +on his deathbed, and the censor peremptorily forbade its publication. +Nekrassov one day greeted his doctor with the following remark: + +"Now you see what our profession, literature, means. When I wrote my +first lines they were hacked to pieces by the censor's scissors--that +was thirty-seven years ago; and now, when I am dying, and have written +my last lines, I am again confronted by the scissors." + +For many months he lay in appalling suffering. His disease was the +outcome, he declared, of the privations he had suffered in his youth. +The whole of Russia seemed to be standing at his bedside, watching with +anguish his terrible struggle with death. Hundreds of letters and +telegrams arrived daily from every corner of the immense empire, and the +dying poet, profoundly touched by these tokens of love and sympathy, +said to the literary friends who visited him: + +"You see! We wonder all our lives what our readers think of us, whether +they love us and are our friends. We learn in moments like this...." + +It was a bright, frosty December day when Nekrassov's coffin was carried +to the grave on the shoulders of friends who had loved and admired him. +The orations delivered above it were full of passionate emotion called +forth by the knowledge that the speakers were expressing not only their +own sentiments, but those of a whole nation. + +Nekrassov is dead. But all over Russia young and old repeat and love his +poetry, so full of tenderness and grief and pity for the Russian people +and their endless woe. Quotations from the works of Nekrassov are as +abundant and widely known in Russia as those from Shakespeare in +England, and no work of his is so familiar and so widely quoted as the +national epic, now presented to the English public, _Who can be Happy +in Russia?_ + +DAVID SOSKICE. + + + + +PROLOGUE + +The year doesn't matter, + The land's not important, +But seven good peasants + Once met on a high-road. +From Province "Hard-Battered," + From District "Most Wretched," +From "Destitute" Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets-- +"Patched," "Barefoot," and "Shabby," + "Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," +From "Harvestless" also, 11 + They met and disputed +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luká said, "The pope," [2] + And Román, "The Pomyéshchick," [3] +Demyán, "The official," + "The round-bellied merchant," + Said both brothers Goóbin, +Mitródor and Ívan. 20 + Pakhóm, who'd been lost +In profoundest reflection, + Exclaimed, looking down +At the earth, "'Tis his Lordship, + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser," + And Prov said, "The Tsar." + +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it 30 + Although you should beat them +With stout wooden cudgels: + They stick to their folly, +And nothing can move them. + They raised such a clamour +That those who were passing + Thought, "Surely the fellows +Have found a great treasure + And share it amongst them!" + +They all had set out 40 + On particular errands: +The one to the blacksmith's, + Another in haste +To fetch Father Prokóffy + To christen his baby. +Pakhóm had some honey + To sell in the market; +The two brothers Goóbin + Were seeking a horse +Which had strayed from their herd. 50 + +Long since should the peasants + Have turned their steps homewards, +But still in a row + They are hurrying onwards +As quickly as though + The grey wolf were behind them. +Still further, still faster + They hasten, contending. +Each shouts, nothing hearing, + And time does not wait. 60 +In quarrel they mark not +The fiery-red sunset + Which blazes in Heaven +As evening is falling, + And all through the night +They would surely have wandered + If not for the woman, +The pox-pitted "Blank-wits," + Who met them and cried: + +"Heh, God-fearing peasants, 70 + Pray, what is your mission? +What seek ye abroad + In the blackness of midnight?" + +So shrilled the hag, mocking, + And shrieking with laughter +She slashed at her horses + And galloped away. + +The peasants are startled, + Stand still, in confusion, +Since long night has fallen, 80 + The numberless stars +Cluster bright in the heavens, +The moon gliding onwards. + Black shadows are spread +On the road stretched before + The impetuous walkers. +Oh, shadows, black shadows, + Say, who can outrun you, +Or who can escape you? + Yet no one can catch you, 90 +Entice, or embrace you! + +Pakhóm, the old fellow, + Gazed long at the wood, +At the sky, at the roadway, + Gazed, silently searching +His brain for some counsel, + And then spake in this wise: +"Well, well, the wood-devil + Has finely bewitched us! +We've wandered at least 100 + Thirty versts from our homes. +We all are too weary + To think of returning +To-night; we must wait + Till the sun rise to-morrow." + +Thus, blaming the devil, + The peasants make ready +To sleep by the roadside. + They light a large fire, +And collecting some farthings 110 + Send two of their number +To buy them some vodka, + The rest cutting cups +From the bark of a birch-tree. +The vodka's provided, + Black bread, too, besides, +And they all begin feasting: + Each munches some bread +And drinks three cups of vodka-- + But then comes the question 120 +Of who can, in Russia, + Be happy and free? + +Luká cries, "The pope!" + And Román, "The Pomyéshchick!" +And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" +And Demyán, "The official!" + "The round-bellied merchant!" +Bawl both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan. +Pakhóm shrieks, "His Lordship, 130 + His most mighty Highness, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser!" + +The obstinate peasants + Grow more and more heated, +Cry louder and louder, + Swear hard at each other; +I really believe + They'll attack one another! +Look! now they are fighting! + Román and Pakhom close, 140 +Demyán clouts Luká, + While the two brothers Goóbin +Are drubbing fat Prov, + And they all shout together. +Then wakes the clear echo, + Runs hither and thither, +Runs calling and mocking +As if to encourage + The wrath of the peasants. +The trees of the forest 150 + Throw furious words back: + +"The Tsar!" "The Pomyéshchick!" + "The pope!" "The official!" +Until the whole coppice + Awakes in confusion; +The birds and the insects, + The swift-footed beasts +And the low crawling reptiles + Are chattering and buzzing +And stirring all round. 160 + The timid grey hare +Springing out of the bushes + Speeds startled away; +The hoarse little jackdaw + Flies off to the top +Of a birch-tree, and raises + A harsh, grating shriek, +A most horrible clamour. + A weak little peewit +Falls headlong in terror 170 +From out of its nest, + And the mother comes flying +In search of her fledgeling. + She twitters in anguish. +Alas! she can't find it. + The crusty old cuckoo +Awakes and bethinks him + To call to a neighbour: +Ten times he commences + And gets out of tune, 180 +But he won't give it up.... + +Call, call, little cuckoo, + For all the young cornfields +Will shoot into ear soon, + And then it will choke you-- +The ripe golden grain, + And your day will be ended![4] + +From out the dark forest + Fly seven brown owls, +And on seven tall pine-trees 190 + They settle themselves +To enjoy the disturbance. + They laugh--birds of night-- +And their huge yellow eyes gleam + Like fourteen wax candles. +The raven--the wise one-- + Sits perched on a tree +In the light of the fire, + Praying hard to the devil +That one of the wranglers, 200 + At least, should be beaten +To death in the tumult. + A cow with a bell +Which had strayed from its fellows + The evening before, +Upon hearing men's voices + Comes out of the forest +And into the firelight, + And fixing its eyes, +Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 + Stands listening in silence +Some time to their raving, + And then begins mooing, +Most heartily moos. +The silly cow moos, + The jackdaw is screeching, +The turbulent peasants + Still shout, and the echo +Maliciously mocks them-- + The impudent echo 220 +Who cares but for mocking + And teasing good people, +For scaring old women + And innocent children: +Though no man has seen it + We've all of us heard it; +It lives--without body; + It speaks--without tongue. + + The pretty white owl +Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 + Comes plunging about +In the midst of the peasants, +Now circling above them, + Now striking the bushes +And earth with her body. +And even the fox, too, + The cunning old creature, +With woman's determined + And deep curiosity, +Creeps to the firelight 240 + And stealthily listens; +At last, quite bewildered, + She goes; she is thinking, +"The devil himself + Would be puzzled, I know!" + +And really the wranglers + Themselves have forgotten +The cause of the strife. + +But after awhile + Having pummelled each other 250 +Sufficiently soundly, + They come to their senses; +They drink from a rain-pool + And wash themselves also, +And then they feel sleepy. +And, meanwhile, the peewit, + The poor little fledgeling, +With short hops and flights + Had come fluttering towards them. +Pakhóm took it up 260 + In his palm, held it gently +Stretched out to the firelight, + And looked at it, saying, +"You are but a mite, + Yet how sharp is your claw; +If I breathed on you once + You'd be blown to a distance, +And if I should sneeze + You would straightway be wafted +Right into the flames. 270 + One flick from my finger +Would kill you entirely. + Yet you are more powerful, +More free than the peasant: + Your wings will grow stronger, +And then, little birdie, + You'll fly where it please you. +Come, give us your wings, now, + You frail little creature, +And we will go flying 280 + All over the Empire, +To seek and inquire, + To search and discover +The man who in Russia-- + Is happy and free." + +"No wings would be needful + If we could be certain +Of bread every day; + For then we could travel +On foot at our leisure," 290 + Said Prov, of a sudden +Grown weary and sad. + +"But not without vodka, + A bucket each morning," +Cried both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan, +Who dearly loved vodka. + +"Salt cucumbers, also, + Each morning a dozen!" +The peasants cry, jesting. 300 + +"Sour qwass,[5] too, a jug + To refresh us at mid-day!" + +"A can of hot tea + Every night!" they say, laughing. + +But while they were talking + The little bird's mother +Was flying and wheeling + In circles above them; +She listened to all, + And descending just near them 310 +She chirruped, and making + A brisk little movement +She said to Pakhóm + In a voice clear and human: +"Release my poor child, + I will pay a great ransom." + +"And what is your offer?" + +"A loaf each a day + And a bucket of vodka, +Salt cucumbers also, 320 + Each morning a dozen. +At mid-day sour qwass + And hot tea in the evening." + +"And where, little bird," + Asked the two brothers Goóbin, +"And where will you find + Food and drink for all seven?" + +"Yourselves you will find it, + But I will direct you +To where you will find it." 330 + "Well, speak. We will listen." + +"Go straight down the road, + Count the poles until thirty: +Then enter the forest +And walk for a verst. + By then you'll have come +To a smooth little lawn + With two pine-trees upon it. +Beneath these two pine-trees + Lies buried a casket 340 +Which you must discover. + The casket is magic, +And in it there lies + An enchanted white napkin. +Whenever you wish it + This napkin will serve you +With food and with vodka: + You need but say softly, +'O napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!' 350 +At once, at your bidding, + Through my intercession +The napkin will serve you. + And now, free my child." + +"But wait. We are poor, + And we're thinking of making +A very long journey," + Pakhóm said. "I notice +That you are a bird + Of remarkable talent. 360 +So charm our old clothing + To keep it upon us." + +"Our coats, that they fall not + In tatters," Román said. + +"Our laputs,[6] that they too + May last the whole journey," +Demyan next demanded. + +"Our shirts, that the fleas + May not breed and annoy us," +Luká added lastly. 370 + +The little bird answered, + "The magic white napkin +Will mend, wash, and dry for you. + Now free my child." + +Pakhóm then spread open + His palm, wide and spacious, +Releasing the fledgeling, + Which fluttered away +To a hole in a pine-tree. + The mother who followed it 380 +Added, departing: + "But one thing remember: +Food, summon at pleasure + As much as you fancy, +But vodka, no more + Than a bucket a day. +If once, even twice + You neglect my injunction +Your wish shall be granted; + The third time, take warning: 390 +Misfortune will follow." + +The peasants set off + In a file, down the road, +Count the poles until thirty + And enter the forest, +And, silently counting +Each footstep, they measure + A verst as directed. +They find the smooth lawn + With the pine-trees upon it, 400 +They dig all together + And soon reach the casket; +They open it--there lies + The magic white napkin! +They cry in a chorus, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" + +Look, look! It's unfolding! + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where; 410 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + +"The cucumbers, tea, + And sour qwass--where are they then?" +At once they appear! + +The peasants unloosen + Their waistbelts, and gather +Around the white napkin 420 + To hold a great banquet. +In joy, they embrace + One another, and promise +That never again + Will they beat one another +Without sound reflection, + But settle their quarrels +In reason and honour + As God has commanded; +That nought shall persuade them 430 +To turn their steps homewards + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until they have settled +For once and forever + The subject of discord: +Until they've discovered + The man who, in Russia, +Is happy and free. + +They swear to each other 440 + To keep this, their promise, +And daybreak beholds them + Embosomed in slumber +As deep and as dreamless + As that of the dead. + + + + + +PART I. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE POPE[7] + +The broad sandy high-road + With borders of birch-trees +Winds sadly and drearily + Into the distance; +On either hand running + Low hills and young cornfields, +Green pastures, and often-- + More often than any-- +Lands sterile and barren. +And near to the rivers 10 + And ponds are the hamlets +And villages standing-- + The old and the new ones. +The forests and meadows + And rivers of Russia + Are lovely in springtime, +But O you spring cornfields, + Your growth thin and scanty +Is painful to see. + + "'Twas not without meaning 20 +That daily the snow fell + Throughout the long winter," +Said one to another + The journeying peasants:-- +"The spring has now come + And the snow tells its story: +At first it is silent-- + 'Tis silent in falling, +Lies silently sleeping, + But when it is dying 30 +Its voice is uplifted: + The fields are all covered +With loud, rushing waters, + No roads can be traversed +For bringing manure + To the aid of the cornfields; +The season is late + For the sweet month of May +Is already approaching." + The peasant is saddened 40 +At sight of the dirty + And squalid old village; +But sadder the new ones: + The new huts are pretty, +But they are the token + Of heartbreaking ruin.[8] + +As morning sets in + They begin to meet people, +But mostly small people: + Their brethren, the peasants, 50 +And soldiers and waggoners, + Workmen and beggars. +The soldiers and beggars + They pass without speaking. +Not asking if happy + Or grievous their lot: +The soldier, we know, + Shaves his beard with a gimlet, +Has nothing but smoke + In the winter to warm him,-- 60 +What joy can be his? + +As evening is falling + Appears on the high-road +A pope in his cart. + The peasants uncover +Their heads, and draw up + In a line on the roadway, +Thus barring the passage + In front of the gelding. + The pope raised his head, 70 +Looked inquiringly at them. + "Fear not, we won't harm you," +Luká said in answer. + (Luká was thick-bearded, +Was heavy and stolid, + Was obstinate, stupid, +And talkative too; + He was like to the windmill +Which differs in one thing + Alone from an eagle: 80 +No matter how boldly + It waves its broad pinions +It rises no higher.) + + "We, orthodox peasants, +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From Province 'Hard Battered,' +From 'Destitute' Parish, + From neighbouring hamlets, +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 +From 'Harvestless' also, + Are striving to settle +A thing of importance; +A trouble torments us, + It draws us away +From our wives and our children, + Away from our work, +Kills our appetites too. + Pray, give us your promise +To answer us truly, 100 + Consulting your conscience +And searching your knowledge, +Not feigning nor mocking + The question we put you. +If not, we will go + Further on." + + "I will promise +If you will but put me + A serious question +To answer it gravely, 110 + With truth and with reason, +Not feigning nor mocking, + Amen!" + + "We are grateful, +And this is our story: + We all had set out +On particular errands, + And met in the roadway. +Then one asked another: +Who is he,--the man 120 + Free and happy in Russia? +And I said, 'The pope,' + And Román, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' + And Demyán, 'The official'; +'The round-bellied merchant,' + Said both brothers Goóbin, +Mitródor and Ívan; + Pakhóm said, 'His Lordship, +The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly + And nothing can move them. +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, 140 + Till at last we decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homeward +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Until we've discovered + For once and forever +The man who, in Russia, 150 + Is happy and free. +Then say, in God's truth, + Is the pope's life a sweet one? +Would you, honoured father, + Proclaim yourself happy?" + +The pope in his cart + Cast his eyes on the roadway, +Fell thoughtful and answered: + + "Then, Christians, come, hear me: +I will not complain 160 + Of the cross that I carry, +But bear it in silence. + I'll tell you my story, +And you try to follow + As well as you can." + +"Begin." + + "But first tell me +The gifts you consider + As true earthly welfare; +Peace, honour, and riches,-- 170 + Is that so, my children?" + +They answer, "It is so." + + "And now let us see, friends, +What peace does the pope get? + In truth, then, I ought +To begin from my childhood, + For how does the son +Of the pope gain his learning, + And what is the price +That he pays for the priesthood? 180 + 'Tis best to be silent." [9] + + * * * * * + + "Our roadways are poor +And our parishes large, + And the sick and the dying, +The new-born that call us, + Do not choose their season: +In harvest and hay-time, + In dark nights of autumn, +Through frosts in the winter, +Through floods in the springtime, 190 + Go--where they may call you. +You go without murmur, + If only the body +Need suffer alone! + But no,--every moment +The heart's deepest feelings + Are strained and tormented. +Believe me, my children, + Some things on this earth +One can never get used to: 200 + No heart there exists +That can bear without anguish + The rattle of death, +The lament for the lost one, + The sorrow of orphans, +Amen! Now you see, friends, + The peace that the pope gets." + +Not long did the peasants + Stand thinking. They waited +To let the pope rest, 210 + Then enquired with a bow: +"And what more will you tell us?" + "Well, now let us see +If the pope is much honoured; + And that, O my friends, +Is a delicate question-- + I fear to offend you.... +But answer me, Christians, + Whom call you, 'The cursed +Stallion breed?' Can you tell me?" + + The peasants stand silent 221 +In painful confusion; + The pope, too, is silent. + +"Who is it you tremble + To meet in the roadway[10] +For fear of misfortune?" + + The peasants stand shuffling +Their feet in confusion. + + "Of whom do you make +Little scandalous stories? 230 + Of whom do you sing +Rhymes and songs most indecent? + The pope's honoured wife, +And his innocent daughters, + Come, how do you treat them? +At whom do you shout + Ho, ho, ho, in derision +When once you are past him?" + +The peasants cast downwards + Their eyes and keep silent. 240 +The pope too is silent. + The peasants stand musing; +The pope fans his face + With his hat, high and broad-rimmed, +And looks at the heavens.... + + The cloudlets in springtime +Play round the great sun + Like small grandchildren frisking +Around a hale grandsire, + And now, on his right side 250 +A bright little cloud + Has grown suddenly dismal, +Begins to shed tears. + The grey thread is hanging +In rows to the earth, + While the red sun is laughing +And beaming upon it + Through torn fleecy clouds, +Like a merry young girl + Peeping out from the corn. 260 +The cloud has moved nearer, + The rain begins here, +And the pope puts his hat on. + But on the sun's right side +The joy and the brightness +Again are established. + The rain is now ceasing.... +It stops altogether, + And God's wondrous miracle, +Long golden sunbeams, 270 + Are streaming from Heaven +In radiant splendour. + + * * * * * + + "It isn't our own fault; +It comes from our parents," + Say, after long silence, +The two brothers Goóbin. + The others approve him: +"It isn't our own fault, + It comes from our parents." + +The pope said, "So be it! 280 + But pardon me, Christians, +It is not my meaning + To censure my neighbours; +I spoke but desiring + To tell you the truth. +You see how the pope + Is revered by the peasants; +The gentry--" + "Pass over them, +Father--we know them." 290 + "Then let us consider +From whence the pope's riches. + In times not far distant +The great Russian Empire + Was filled with estates +Of wealthy Pomyéshchicks.[11] + They lived and increased, +And they let us live too. + What weddings were feasted! +What numbers and numbers 300 + Of children were born +In each rich, merry life-time! + Although they were haughty +And often oppressive, + What liberal masters! +They never deserted + The parish, they married, +Were baptized within it, + To us they confessed, +And by us they were buried. 310 + And if a Pomyéshchick +Should chance for some reason + To live in a city, +He cherished one longing, + To die in his birthplace; +But did the Lord will it + That he should die suddenly +Far from the village, + An order was found +In his papers, most surely, 320 + That he should be buried +At home with his fathers. + Then see--the black car +With the six mourning horses,-- + The heirs are conveying +The dead to the graveyard; + And think--what a lift +For the pope, and what feasting + All over the village! +But now that is ended, 330 + Pomyéshchicks are scattered +Like Jews over Russia + And all foreign countries. + They seek not the honour +Of lying with fathers + And mothers together. +How many estates + Have passed into the pockets +Of rich speculators! + O you, bones so pampered 340 +Of great Russian gentry, + Where are you not buried, +What far foreign graveyard + Do you not repose in? + + "Myself from dissenters[12] +(A source of pope's income) + I never take money, +I've never transgressed, + For I never had need to; +Because in my parish 350 + Two-thirds of the people +Are Orthodox churchmen. + But districts there are +Where the whole population + Consists of dissenters-- +Then how can the pope live? + + "But all in this world +Is subjected to changes: + The laws which in old days +Applied to dissenters 360 + Have now become milder; +And that in itself + Is a check to pope's income. +I've said the Pomyéshchicks +Are gone, and no longer + They seek to return +To the home of their childhood; + And then of their ladies +(Rich, pious old women), + How many have left us 370 +To live near the convents! + And nobody now + Gives the pope a new cassock +Or church-work embroidered. + He lives on the peasants, +Collects their brass farthings, + Their cakes on the feast-days, + At Easter their eggs. +The peasants are needy + Or they would give freely-- 380 +Themselves they have nothing; + And who can take gladly +The peasant's last farthing? + + "Their lands are so poor, +They are sand, moss, or boggy, + Their cattle half-famished, +Their crops yield but twofold; + And should Mother Earth +Chance at times to be kinder, +That too is misfortune: 390 + The market is crowded, + They sell for a trifle +To pay off the taxes. + Again comes a bad crop--- +Then pay for your bread + Three times higher than ever, +And sell all your cattle! + Now, pray to God, Christians, +For this year again + A great misery threatens: 400 +We ought to have sown + For a long time already; +But look you--the fields + Are all deluged and useless.... +O God, have Thou pity + And send a round[13] rainbow +To shine in Thy heavens!" + + Then taking his hat off +He crossed himself thrice, + And the peasants did likewise. + +"Our village is poor 411 + And the people are sickly, +The women are sad + And are scantily nourished, +But pious and laborious; + God give them courage! +Like slaves do they toil; + 'Tis hard to lay hands +On the fruits of such labour. + + "At times you are sent for 420 +To pray by the dying, + But Death is not really +The awful thing present, + But rather the living-- +The family losing + Their only support. +You pray by the dead. + Words of comfort you utter, +To calm the bereaved ones; + And then the old mother 430 +Comes tottering towards you, + And stretching her bony +And toil-blistered hand out; + You feel your heart sicken, +For there in the palm + Lie the precious brass farthings! +Of course it is only + The price of your praying. +You take it, because + It is what you must live on; 440 +Your words of condolence + Are frozen, and blindly, +Like one deep insulted, + You make your way homeward. +Amen...." + + * * * * * + + The pope finished +His speech, and touched lightly + The back of the gelding. +The peasants make way, + And they bow to him deeply. 450 + The cart moves on slowly, +Then six of the comrades + As though by agreement +Attack poor Luká + With indignant reproaches. + +"Now, what have you got?-- + You great obstinate blockhead, +You log of the village! + You too must needs argue; +Pray what did you tell us? 460 + 'The popes live like princes, +The lords of the belfry, + Their palaces rising +As high as the heavens, + Their bells set a-chiming +All over God's world. + + "'Three years,' you declared, +'Did I work as pope's servant. + It wasn't a life-- +'Twas a strawberry, brethren; 470 + Pope's kasha[14] is made +And served up with fresh butter. + Pope's stchee[14] made with fish, +And pope's pie stuffed to bursting; + The pope's wife is fat too, + And white the pope's daughter, +His horse like a barrel, + His bees are all swollen +And booming like church bells.' + + "Well, there's your pope's life,-- 480 +There's your 'strawberry,' boaster! + For that you've been shouting +And making us quarrel, + You limb of the Devil! +Pray is it because + Of your beard like a shovel +You think you're so clever? + If so, let me tell you +The goat walked in Eden + With just such another 490 +Before Father Adam, + And yet down to our time +The goat is considered + The greatest of duffers!" + +The culprit was silent, + Afraid of a beating; +And he would have got it + Had not the pope's face, +Turning sadly upon them, + Looked over a hedge 500 +At a rise in the road. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE VILLAGE FAIR + + No wonder the peasants +Dislike a wet spring-tide: + The peasant needs greatly +A spring warm and early. + This year, though he howl +Like a wolf, I'm afraid + That the sun will not gladden +The earth with his brightness. + The clouds wander heavily, +Dropping the rain down 10 + Like cows with full udders. +The snow has departed, + Yet no blade of grass, +Not a tiny green leaflet, + Is seen in the meadows. +The earth has not ventured + To don its new mantle + Of brightest green velvet, +But lies sad and bare + Like a corpse without grave-clothes +Beneath the dull heavens. 21 + One pities the peasant; +Still more, though, his cattle: + For when they have eaten +The scanty reserves + Which remain from the winter, +Their master will drive them + To graze in the meadows, +And what will they find there + But bare, inky blackness? 30 +Nor settled the weather + Until it was nearing +The feast of St. Nichol, + And then the poor cattle +Enjoyed the green pastures. + + The day is a hot one, +The peasants are strolling + Along 'neath the birch-trees. +They say to each other, + "We passed through one village, 40 +We passed through another, + And both were quite empty; +To-day is a feast-day, + But where are the people?" + + They reach a large village; +The street is deserted + Except for small children, +And inside the houses + Sit only the oldest +Of all the old women. 50 + The wickets are fastened +Securely with padlocks; + The padlock's a loyal +And vigilant watch-dog; + It barks not, it bites not, +But no one can pass it. + + They walk through the village +And see a clear mirror + Beset with green framework-- +A pond full of water; 60 + And over its surface +Are hovering swallows + And all kinds of insects; +The gnats quick and meagre + Skip over the water +As though on dry land; + And in the laburnums +Which grow on the banksides + The landrails are squeaking. + +A raft made of tree-trunks 70 + Floats near, and upon it +The pope's heavy daughter + Is wielding her beetle, +She looks like a hay-stack, + Unsound and dishevelled, +Her skirts gathered round her. + Upon the raft, near her, +A duck and some ducklings + Are sleeping together. + + And hark! from the water 80 +The neigh of a horse comes; + The peasants are startled, + They turn all together: +Two heads they see, moving + Along through the water-- +The one is a peasant's, + A black head and curly, +In one ear an ear-ring + Which gleams in the sunlight; +A horse's the other, 90 + To which there is fastened +A rope of some yards length, + Held tight in the teeth +Of the peasant beside it. + The man swims, the horse swims; +The horse neighs, the man neighs; + They make a fine uproar! +The raft with the woman + And ducklings upon it +Is tossing and heaving. 100 + + The horse with the peasant +Astride has come panting + From out of the water, +The man with white body + And throat black with sunburn; +The water is streaming + From horse and from rider. + +"Say, why is your village + So empty of people? +Are all dead and buried?" 110 + + "They've gone to Kousminsky; +A fair's being held there + Because it's a saint's day." + +"How far is Kousminsky?" + "Three versts, I should fancy." +"We'll go to Kousminsky," + The peasants decided, +And each to himself thought, + "Perhaps we shall find there +The happy, the free one." 120 + + The village Kousminsky +Is rich and commercial + And terribly dirty. +It's built on a hill-side, + And slopes down the valley, +Then climbs again upwards,-- + So how could one ask of it +Not to be dirty?[15] + It boasts of two churches. +The one is "dissenting," 130 + The other "Established." +The house with inscription, + "The School-House," is empty, +In ruins and deserted; + And near stands the barber's, +A hut with one window, + From which hangs the sign-board +Of "Barber and Bleeder." + A dirty inn also +There is, with its sign-board 140 + Adorned by a picture: +A great nosy tea-pot + With plump little tea-cups +Held out by a waiter, + Suggesting a fat goose +Surrounded by goslings. + A row of small shops, too, +There is in the village. + + The peasants go straight +To the market-place, find there 150 + A large crowd of people +And goods in profusion. + How strange!--notwithstanding +There's no church procession + The men have no hats on, +Are standing bare-headed, + As though in the presence +Of some holy Image: + Look, how they're being swallowed-- +The hoods of the peasants.[16] 160 + +The beer-shop and tavern + Are both overflowing; +All round are erected + Large tents by the roadside +For selling of vodka. + And though in each tent +There are five agile waiters, + All young and most active, +They find it quite hopeless + To try to get change right. 170 +Just look how the peasants + Are stretching their hands out, +With hoods, shirts, and waistcoats! + +Oh, you, thirst of Russia, + Unquenchable, endless +You are! But the peasant, + When once he is sated, +Will soon get a new hood + At close of the fair.... + +The spring sun is playing 180 + On heads hot and drunken, +On boisterous revels, + On bright mixing colours; +The men wear wide breeches + Of corduroy velvet, + With gaudy striped waistcoats +And shirts of all colours; + The women wear scarlet; +The girls' plaited tresses + Are decked with bright ribbons; 190 +They glide about proudly, + Like swans on the water. +Some beauties are even + Attired in the fashion +Of Petersburg ladies; + Their dresses spread stiffly +On wide hoops around them; + But tread on their skirts-- +They will turn and attack you, + Will gobble like turkeys! 200 + +Blame rather the fashion + Which fastens upon you +Great fishermen's baskets! + + A woman dissenter +Looks darkly upon them, + And whispers with malice: +"A famine, a famine + Most surely will blight us. +The young growths are sodden, + The floods unabated; 210 +Since women have taken + To red cotton dresses +The forests have withered, + And wheat--but no wonder!" + + "But why, little Mother, +Are red cotton dresses + To blame for the trouble? +I don't understand you." + "The cotton is _French_, +And it's reddened in dog's blood! 220 + D'you understand now?" + +The peasants still linger + Some time in the market, +Then go further upward, + To where on the hill-side +Are piled ploughs and harrows, + With rakes, spades, and hatchets, +And all kinds of iron-ware, + And pliable wood +To make rims for the cart-wheels. 230 + And, oh, what a hubbub +Of bargaining, swearing, + Of jesting and laughter! +And who could help laughing? + + A limp little peasant +Is bending and testing + The wood for the wheel-rims. +One piece does not please him; + He takes up another +And bends it with effort; 240 + It suddenly straightens, +And whack!--strikes his forehead. + The man begins roaring, +Abusing the bully, + The duffer, the block-head. +Another comes driving + A cart full of wood-ware, +As tipsy as can be; + He turns it all over! +The axle is broken, 250 + And, trying to mend it, +He smashes the hatchet. + + He gazes upon it, +Abusing, reproaching: + "A villain, a villain, +You are--not a hatchet. + You see, you can't do me +The least little service. + The whole of your life +You spend bowing before me, 260 + And yet you insult me!" + + Our peasants determine +To see the shop windows, + The handkerchiefs, ribbons, +And stuffs of bright colour; + And near to the boot-shop +Is fresh cause for laughter; + For here an old peasant +Most eagerly bargains + For small boots of goat-skin 270 +To give to his grandchild. + He asks the price five times; + Again and again +He has turned them all over; + He finds they are faultless. + + "Well, Uncle, pay up now, +Or else be off quickly," + The seller says sharply. +But wait! The old fellow + Still gazes, and fondles 280 +The tiny boots softly, + And then speaks in this wise: + + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild. + She clung to my neck, +And she said, 'Little Grandfather, 290 + Buy me a present.' +Her soft little ringlets + Were tickling my cheek, +And she kissed the old Grand-dad. + You wait, little bare-foot, +Wee spinning-top, wait then, + Some boots I will buy you, +Some boots made of goat-skin." + And then must old Vavil +Begin to boast grandly, 300 + To promise a present +To old and to young. + But now his last farthing +Is swallowed in vodka, + And how can he dare +Show his eyes in the village? + "My daughter won't scold me, +Her husband I'll spit at, + My wife--let her grumble-- +I'll spit at my wife too. 310 + It's her that I pity-- +My poor little grandchild." + + And then he commences +The story again +Of the poor little grandchild. + He's very dejected. +A crowd listens round him, + Not laughing, but troubled +At sight of his sorrow. + +If they could have helped him 320 +With bread or by labour + They soon would have done so, +But money is money, + And who has got tenpence +To spare? Then came forward + Pavlóosha Varénko, +The "gentleman" nicknamed. + (His origin, past life, +Or calling they knew not, + But called him the 'Barin'.) 330 +He listened with pleasure + To talk and to jesting; +His blouse, coat, and top-boots + Were those of a peasant; +He sang Russian folk-songs, + Liked others to sing them, +And often was met with + At taverns and inns. +He now rescued Vavil, + And bought him the boots 340 +To take home to his grandchild. + +The old man fled blindly, + But clasping them tightly, +Forgetting to thank him, + Bewildered with joy. +The crowd was as pleased, too, + As if had been given +To each one a rouble. + +The peasants next visit + The picture and book stall; 350 +The pedlars are buying + Their stock of small pictures, +And books for their baskets + To sell on the road. + + "'Tis generals, _you_ want!" +The merchant is saying. + + "Well, give us some generals; +But look--on your conscience-- + Now let them be real ones, +Be fat and ferocious." 360 + +"Your notions are funny," + The merchant says, smiling; +"It isn't a question + Of looks...." + + "Well, of what, then? +You want to deceive us, + To palm off your rubbish, +You swindling impostor! + D'you think that the peasants +Know one from another? 370 + A shabby one--he wants +An expert to sell him, + But trust me to part with +The fat and the fierce." + +"You don't want officials?" + +"To Hell with officials!" + +However they took one + Because he was cheap: +A minister, striking + In view of his stomach 380 +As round as a barrel, + And seventeen medals. + +The merchant is serving + With greatest politeness, +Displaying and praising, + With patience unyielding,-- +A thief of the first-class + He is, come from Moscow. +Of Blücher he sells them + A hundred small pictures, 390 +As many of Fótyi[17] + The archimandrite, +And of Sipko[17] the brigand; + A book of the sayings +Of droll Balakireff[17] + The "English Milord," too. +The books were put into + The packs of the pedlars; +The pictures will travel + All over great Russia, 400 +Until they find rest + On the wall of some peasant-- +The devil knows why! + +Oh, may it come quickly + The time when the peasant +Will make some distinction + Between book and book, +Between picture and picture; + Will bring from the market, +Not picture of Blücher, 410 + Not stupid "Milord," +But Belinsky and Gógol! +Oh, say, Russian people, + These names--have you heard them? +They're great. They were borne + By your champions, who loved you, +Who strove in your cause, + 'Tis _their_ little portraits +Should hang in your houses! + + "I'd walk into Heaven 420 +But can't find the doorway!" + Is suddenly shouted +By some merry blade. + "What door do you want, man?" +"The puppet-show, brothers!" + "I'll show you the way!" + +The puppet-show tempted + The journeying peasants; +They go to inspect it. + A farce is being acted, 430 +A goat for the drummer; + Real music is playing-- +No common accordion. + The play is not too deep, +But not stupid, either. + A bullet shot deftly +Right into the eye + Of the hated policeman. +The tent is quite crowded, + The audience cracking 440 +Their nuts, and exchanging + Remarks with each other. +And look--there's the vodka! + They're drinking and looking, +And looking and drinking, + Enjoying it highly, +With jubilant faces, + From time to time throwing +A right witty word + Into Peterkin's speeches, 450 +Which _you'd_ never hit on, + Although you should swallow +Your pen and your pad!... + + Some folk there are always +Who crowd on the platform + (The comedy ended), +To greet the performers, + To gossip and chat. + +"How now, my fine fellows, + And where do you come from?" 460 + +"As serfs we used only + To play for the masters,[18] +But now we are free, + And the man who will treat us +Alone is our Master!" + "Well spoken, my brothers; + Enough time you've wasted +Amusing the nobles; + Now play for the peasants! +Here, waiter, bring vodka, 470 + Sweet wine, tea, and syrup, +And see you make haste!" + + The sweet sparkling river +Comes rolling to meet them; + They'll treat the musicians +More handsomely, far, + Than their masters of old. + +It is not the rushing + Of furious whirlwinds, +Not Mother Earth shaking-- 480 + 'Tis shouting and singing +And swearing and fighting +And falling and kissing-- + The people's carouse! +It seems to the peasants + That all in the village +Was reeling around them! + That even the church +With the very tall, steeple + Had swayed once or twice! 490 + +When things are in this state, + A man who is sober +Feels nearly as awkward + As one who is naked.... + +The peasants recrossing + The market-place, quitted +The turbulent village + At evening's approach. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THE DRUNKEN NIGHT + +This village did not end, +As many in Russia, + In windmill or tavern, +In corn-loft or barn, + But in a large building +Of wood, with iron gratings + In small narrow windows. +The broad, sandy high-road, + With borders of birch-trees, +Spread out straight behind it-- 10 + The grim étape--prison.[19] +On week-days deserted + It is, dull and silent, +But now it is not so. + All over the high-road, +In neighbouring pathways, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are lying and crawling, + Are driving and climbing, +The numberless drunkards; 20 + Their shout fills the skies. + + The cart-wheels are screeching, +And like slaughtered calves' heads + Are nodding and wagging +The pates limp and helpless + Of peasants asleep. + + They're dropping on all sides, +As if from some ambush + An enemy firing +Is shooting them wholesale. 30 + The quiet night is falling, +The moon is in Heaven, + And God is commencing +To write His great letter + Of gold on blue velvet; +Mysterious message, + Which neither the wise man +Nor foolish can read. + +The high-road is humming + Just like a great bee-hive; 40 +The people's loud clamour + Is swelling and falling +Like waves in the ocean. + + "We paid him a rouble-- +The clerk, and he gave us + A written petition +To send to the Governor." + + "Hi, you with the waggon, +Look after your corn!" + + "But where are you off to, 50 +Olyénushka? Wait now-- + I've still got some cakes. +You're like a black flea, girl, + You eat all you want to +And hop away quickly + Before one can stroke you!" + + "It's all very fine talk, +This Tsar's precious Charter, + It's not writ for us!" + + "Give way there, you people!" 60 +The exciseman dashes + Amongst them, his brass plate +Attached to his coat-front, + And bells all a-jangle. + +"God save us, Parasha, + Don't go to St. Petersburg! +_I_ know the gentry: + By day you're a maid, +And by night you're a mistress. + You spit at it, love...." 70 + +"Now, where are you running?" + The pope bellows loudly +To busy Pavloósha, + The village policeman. + +"An accident's happened + Down here, and a man's killed." + +"God pardon our sins!" + +"How thin you've got, Dashka!" + +"The spinning-wheel fattens + By turning forever; 80 +I work just as hard, + But I never get fatter." + +"Heh, you, silly fellow, + Come hither and love me! +The dirty, dishevelled, + And tipsy old woman. +The f--i--ilthy o--l--d woman!" + + Our peasants, observing, +Are still walking onwards. + They see just before them 90 +A meek little fellow + Most busily digging +A hole in the road. + + "Now, what are you doing?" +"A grave I am digging + To bury my mother!" + + "You fool!--Where's your mother? +Your new coat you've buried! + Roll into the ditch, +Dip your snout in the water. 100 + 'Twill cool you, perhaps." + + "Let's see who'll pull hardest!" +Two peasants are squatting, + And, feet to feet pressing, +Are straining and groaning, + And tugging away +At a stick held between them. + This soon fails to please them: +"Let's try with our beards!" + And each man then clutches 110 +The jaw of the other, + And tugs at his beard! +Red, panting, and writhing, + And gasping and yelping, +But pulling and pulling! + "Enough there, you madmen!"... +Cold water won't part them! + + And in the ditch near them +Two women are squabbling; + One cries, "To go home now 120 +Were worse than to prison!" + The other, "You braggart! +In my house, I tell you, + It's worse than in yours. +One son-in-law punched me + And left a rib broken; +The second made off + With my big ball of cotton; +The cotton don't matter, + But in it was hidden 130 +My rouble in silver. + The youngest--he always +Is up with his knife out. + He'll kill me for sure!" + +"Enough, enough, darling! +Now don't you be angry!" + Is heard not far distant +From over a hillock-- + "Come on, I'm all right!" + + A mischievous night, this; 140 +On right hand, on left hand, + Wherever the eye falls, +Are sauntering couples. + The wood seems to please them; +They all stroll towards it, + The wood--which is thrilling +With nightingales' voices. + And later, the high-road +Gets more and more ugly, + And more and more often 150 +The people are falling, + Are staggering, crawling, +Or lying like corpses. + As always it happens +On feast days in Russia-- + No word can be uttered +Without a great oath. + And near to the tavern +Is quite a commotion; + Some wheels get entangled 160 +And terrified horses + Rush off without drivers. +Here children are crying, + And sad wives and mothers +Are anxiously waiting; + And is the task easy +Of getting the peasant + Away from his drink? + + Just near to the sign-post +A voice that's familiar 170 + Is heard by the peasants; +They see there the Barin + (The same that helped Vavil, +And bought him the boots + To take home to his grandchild). +He chats with the men. + The peasants all open +Their hearts to the Barin; + If some song should please him +They'll sing it through five times; 180 + "Just write the song down, sir!" +If some saying strike him; + "Take note of the words!" +And when he has written + Enough, he says quietly, +"The peasants are clever, +But one thing is bad: + They drink till they're helpless +And lie about tipsy, + It's painful to see." 190 + +They listen in silence. + The Barin commences +To write something down + In the little black note-book +When, all of a sudden, + A small, tipsy peasant, +Who up to that moment + Has lain on his stomach +And gazed at the speaker, + Springs up straight before him 200 +And snatches his pencil + Right out of his hand: +"Wait, wait!" cries the fellow, + "Stop writing your stories, +Dishonest and heartless, + About the poor peasant. +Say, what's your complaint? + That sometimes the heart +Of the peasant rejoices? + At times we drink hard, 210 +But we work ten times harder; + Among us are drunkards, +But many more sober. + Go, take through a village + A pailful of vodka; +Go into the huts-- + In one, in another, +They'll swallow it gladly. + But go to a third +And you'll find they won't touch it! + One family drinks, 221 +While another drinks nothing, + Drinks nothing--and suffers +As much as the drunkards: + They, wisely or foolishly, +Follow their conscience; + And see how misfortune, +The peasants' misfortune, + Will swallow that household +Hard-working and sober! 230 + Pray, have you seen ever +The time of the harvest + In some Russian village? +Well, where were the people? + At work in the tavern? +Our fields may be broad, + But they don't give too freely. +Who robes them in spring-time, + And strips them in autumn? +You've met with a peasant 240 + At nightfall, perchance, + When the work has been finished? +He's piled up great mountains + Of corn in the meadows, +He'll sup off a pea! + Hey, you mighty monster! +You builder of mountains, + I'll knock you flat down +With the stroke of a feather! + + "Sweet food is the peasant's! 250 +But stomachs aren't mirrors, + And so we don't whimper +To see what we've eaten. + + "We work single-handed, +But when we have finished + Three partners[20] are waiting +To share in the profits; + A fourth[21] one there is, too, +Who eats like a Tartar-- +Leaves nothing behind. 260 + The other day, only, +A mean little fellow + Like you, came from Moscow +And clung to our backs. + 'Oh, please sing him folk-songs' +And 'tell him some proverbs,' + 'Some riddles and rhymes.' +And then came another + To put us his questions: +How much do we work for? 270 + How much and how little +We stuff in our bellies? + To count all the people +That live in the village + Upon his five fingers. +He did not _ask how much + The fire feeds the wind with +Of peasants' hard work_. + Our drunkenness, maybe, +Can never be measured, 280 + But look at our labour-- +Can that then be measured? + Our cares or our woes? + +"The vodka prostrates us; + But does not our labour, +Our trouble, prostrate us? + The peasant won't grumble +At each of his burdens, + He'll set out to meet it, +And struggle to bear it; 290 + The peasant does not flinch +At life-wasting labour, + And tremble for fear +That his health may be injured. + Then why should he number +Each cupful of vodka + For fear that an odd one +May topple him over? + You say that it's painful +To see him lie tipsy?-- 300 + Then go to the bog; +You'll see how the peasant + Is squeezing the corn out, +Is wading and crawling + Where no horse or rider, +No man, though unloaded, + Would venture to tread. +You'll see how the army + Of profligate peasants +Is toiling in danger, 310 + Is springing from one clod +Of earth to another, + Is pushing through bog-slime + With backs nearly breaking! +The sun's beating down + On the peasants' bare heads, +They are sweating and covered + With mud to the eyebrows, +Their limbs torn and bleeding + By sharp, prickly bog-grass! 320 + + "Does this picture please you? +You say that you suffer; + At least suffer wisely. +Don't use for a peasant + A gentleman's judgement; +We are not white-handed + And tender-skinned creatures, +But men rough and lusty + In work and in play. + + "The heart of each peasant 330 +Is black as a storm-cloud, + Its thunder should peal +And its blood rain in torrents; + But all ends in drink-- +For after one cupful + The soul of the peasant +Is kindly and smiling; + But don't let that hurt you! +Look round and be joyful! + Hey, fellows! Hey, maidens! 340 + You know how to foot it! +Their bones may be aching, + Their limbs have grown weary, +But youth's joy and daring + Is not quite extinguished, +It lives in them yet!" + + The peasant is standing +On top of a hillock, + And stamping his feet, +And after being silent 350 + A moment, and gazing +With glee at the masses + Of holiday people, +He roars to them hoarsely. + + "Hey you, peasant kingdom! +You, hatless and drunken! + More racket! More noise!" +"Come, what's your name, uncle?" + "To write in the note-book? +Why not? Write it down: 360 + 'In Barefoot the village +Lives old Jacob Naked, + He'll work till he's taken, +He drinks till he's crazed.'" + The peasants are laughing, +And telling the Barin + The old fellow's story: +How shabby old Jacob + Had lived once in Peter,[22] +And got into prison 370 + Because he bethought him +To get him to law + With a very rich merchant; +How after the prison + He'd come back amongst them +All stripped, like a linden, + And taken to ploughing. +For thirty years since + On his narrow allotment +He'd worked in all weathers, 380 + The harrow his shelter +From sunshine and storm. + He lived with the sokha,[23] +And when God would take him + He'd drop from beneath it +Just like a black clod. + + An accident happened +One year to old Jacob: + He bought some small pictures +To hang in the cottage 390 + For his little son; +The old man himself, too, + Was fond of the pictures. +God's curse had then fallen; + The village was burnt, +And the old fellow's money, + The fruit of a life-time +(Some thirty-five roubles),[24] + Was lost in the flames. +He ought to have saved it, 400 + But, to his misfortune, +He thought of the pictures + And seized them instead. +His wife in the meantime + Was saving the icons.[25] +And so, when the cottage + Fell in, all the roubles +Were melted together + In one lump of silver. +Old Jacob was offered 410 + Eleven such roubles +For that silver lump. + + "O old brother Jacob, +You paid for them dearly, + The little chap's pictures! +I warrant you've hung them + Again in the new hut." + +"I've hung them--and more," +He replied, and was silent. + + The Barin was looking, 420 +Examining Jacob, + The toiler, the earth-worm, +His chest thin and meagre, + His stomach as shrunk +As though something had crushed it, + His eyes and mouth circled +By numberless wrinkles, + Like drought-shrivelled earth. +And he altogether + Resembled the earth, 430 +Thought the Barin, while noting + His throat, like a dry lump +Of clay, brown and hardened; + His brick-coloured face; +His hands--black and horny, + Like bark on the tree-trunk; +His hair--stiff and sandy.... + + The peasants, remarking +That old Jacob's speech + Had not angered the Barin, 440 +Themselves took his words up: + "Yes, yes, he speaks truly, +We must drink, it saves us, + It makes us feel strong. +Why, if we did not drink + Black gloom would engulf us. +If work does not kill us + Or trouble destroy us, +We shan't die from drink!" + + "That's so. Is it not, sir?" 450 + + "Yes, God will protect us!" + +"Come, drink with us, Barin!" + + They go to buy vodka +And drink it together. + To Jacob the Barin +Has offered two cups. + "Ah, Barin," says Jacob, +"I see you're not angry. + A wise little head, yours, +And how could a wise head 460 + Judge falsely of peasants? +Why, only the pig + Glues his nose to the garbage +And never sees Heaven!" + + Then suddenly singing +Is heard in a chorus + Harmonious and bold. +A row of young fellows, + Half drunk, but not falling, +Come staggering onwards, 470 + All lustily singing; +They sing of the Volga, + The daring of youths +And the beauty of maidens ... + A hush falls all over +The road, and it listens; + And only the singing +Is heard, broadly rolling + In waves, sweet and tuneful, +Like wind-ruffled corn. 480 + The hearts of the peasants +Are touched with wild anguish, + And one little woman +Grows pensive and mournful, + And then begins weeping +And sobs forth her grief: + "My life is like day-time +With no sun to warm it! + My life is like night +With no glimmer of moon! 490 + And I--the young woman-- + Am like the swift steed +On the curb, like the swallow + With wings crushed and broken; +My jealous old husband + Is drunken and snoring, +But even while snoring + He keeps one eye open, +And watches me always, + Me--poor little wife!" 500 + + And so she lamented, +The sad little woman; + Then all of a sudden +Springs down from the waggon! + "Where now?" cries her husband, +The jealous old man. + And just as one lifts +By the tail a plump radish, + He clutches her pig-tail, +And pulls her towards him. 510 + + O night wild and drunken, +Not bright--and yet star-lit, + Not hot--but fanned softly +By tender spring breezes, + You've not left our peasants + Untouched by your sweetness; +They're thinking and longing + For their little women. +And they are quite right too; + Still sweeter 'twould be 520 +With a nice little wife! + Cries Ívan, "I love you," +And Mariushka, "I you!" + Cries Ívan, "Press closer!" +And Mariushka, "Kiss me!" + Cries Ívan, "The night's cold," +And Mariushka, "Warm me!" + + They think of this song now, +And all make their minds up + To shorten the journey. 530 + + A birch-tree is growing +Alone by the roadside, + God knows why so lonely! +And under it spreading + The magic white napkin, +The peasants sit round it: + + "Hey! Napkin enchanted! +Give food to the peasants!" + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, 540 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread, + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away. + + The peasants feel strengthened, +And leaving Román there + On guard near the vodka, +They mix with the people, + To try to discover +The one who is happy. 550 + + They're all in a hurry +To turn towards home. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +THE HAPPY ONES + + In crowds gay and noisy +Our peasants are mixing, + Proclaiming their mission: +"Let any man here + Who esteems himself happy +Stand forth! If he prove it + A pailful of vodka +Is at his disposal; + As much as he wishes +So much he shall have!" 10 + + This fabulous promise +Sets sober folk smiling; + The tipsy and wise ones +Are ready to spit + In the beards of the pushing +Impertinent strangers! + But many are willing +To drink without payment, +And so when our peasants + Go back to the birch-tree 20 +A crowd presses round them. + The first to come forward, +A lean discharged deacon, + With legs like two matches, +Lets forth a great mouthful + Of indistinct maxims: +That happiness lies not + In broad lands, in jewels, +In gold, and in sables-- + + "In what, then?" 30 + + A peaceful +And undisturbed conscience. + That all the dominions +Of land-owners, nobles, + And Tsars are but earthly +And limited treasures; + But he who is godly +Has part in Christ's kingdom + Of boundless extent: +"When warm in the sun, 40 + With a cupful of vodka, + I'm perfectly happy, +I ask nothing more!" + + "And who'll give you vodka?" +"Why, you! You have promised." + + "Be off, you lean scamp!" + + A one-eyed old woman +Comes next, bent and pock-marked, + And bowing before them +She says she is happy; 50 + That in her allotment +A thousand fine turnips + Have grown, this last autumn. +"Such turnips, I tell you! + Such monsters! and tasty! +In such a small plot, too, + In length only one yard, +And three yards in width!" + + They laugh at the woman, +But give her no vodka; 60 + "Go, get you home, Mother! +You've vodka enough there + To flavour the turnips!" + + A soldier with medals, + Quite drunk but still thirsty, +Says firmly, "I'm happy!" + + "Then tell us, old fellow, +In what he is happy-- + The soldier? Take care, though, +To keep nothing back!" 70 + + "Well, firstly, I've been +Through at least twenty battles, + And yet I'm alive. +And, secondly, mark you + (It's far more important), +In times of peace, too, + Though I'm always half-famished, +Death never has conquered! + And, third, though they flogged me +For every offence, 80 + Great or small, I've survived it!" + + "Here, drink, little soldier! +With you one can't argue; + You're happy indeed!" + + Then comes a young mason, + A huge, weighty hammer +Swung over his shoulder: + "I live in content," +He declares, "with my wife + And beloved old mother; 90 +We've nought to complain of." + "In what are you happy?" +"In this!"--like a feather + He swings the great hammer. +"Beginning at sunrise + And setting my back straight +As midnight draws near, + I can shatter a mountain! +Before now, it's happened + That, working one day, 100 +I've piled enough stones up + To earn my five roubles!" + + Pakhóm tries to lift it-- +The "happiness." After + Prodigiously straining +And cracking all over, + He sets it down, gladly, +And pours out some vodka. + + "Well, weighty it is, man! +But will you be able 110 +To bear in old age + Such a 'happiness,' think you?" + +"Don't boast of your strength!" + Gasped a wheezing old peasant, +Half stifled with asthma. + (His nose pinched and shrivelled +Like that of a dead man, + His eyes bright and sunken, +His hands like a rake-- + Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120 +His legs long and narrow + Like spokes of a wheel, +A human mosquito.) + + "I was not a worse man +Than he, the young mason, + And boasted of _my_ strength. +God punished me for it! + The manager knew +I was simple--the villain! + He flattered and praised me. 130 +I was but a youngster, + And pleased at his notice +I laboured like four men. + One day I had mounted +Some bricks to my shoulder, + When, just then, the devil +Must bring him in sight. + + "'What's that!' he said laughing, +'Tis surely not Trifon + With such a light burden? 140 +Ho, does it not shame + Such a strapping young fellow?' +'Then put some more bricks on, + I'll carry them, master,' +Said I, sore offended. + For full half an hour +I stood while he piled them, + He piled them--the dog! +I felt my back breaking, + But would not give way, 150 +And that devilish burden + I carried right up +To the high second story! + He stood and looked on, +He himself was astounded, + And cried from beneath me: +'Well done, my brave fellow! + You don't know yourself, man, +What you have been doing! + It's forty stone, Trifon, 160 +You've carried up there!' + + "I _did_ know; my heart +Struck my breast like a hammer, + The blood stood in circles +Round both of my eyeballs; +My back felt disjointed, +My legs weak and trembling ... + 'Twas then that I withered. +Come, treat me, my friends!" + + "But why should we treat you? +In what are you happy? 171 + In what you have told us?" + + "No, listen--that's coming, +It's this: I have also, + Like each of us peasants, +Besought God to let me + Return to the village +To die. And when coming + From Petersburg, after +The illness I suffered 180 + Through what I have told you, +Exhausted and weakened, + Half-dazed, half-unconscious, +I got to the station. + And all in the carriage +Were workmen, as I was, + And ill of the fever; +And all yearned for one thing: + To reach their own homes +Before death overcame them. 190 + 'Twas then I was lucky; +The heat then was stifling, + And so many sick heads +Made Hell of the waggon. + Here one man was groaning, +There, rolling all over + The floor, like a lunatic, +Shouting and raving + Of wife or of mother. +And many such fellows 200 + Were put out and left +At the stations we came to. + I looked at them, thinking, +Shall I be left too? + I was burning and shaking, +The blood began starting + All over my eyeballs, +And I, in my fever, + Half-waking, was dreaming +Of cutting of cocks' throats 210 + (We once were cock-farmers, +And one year it happened + We fattened a thousand). +They came to my thoughts, now, + The damnable creatures, +I tried to start praying, + But no!--it was useless. +And, would you believe me? + I saw the whole party +In that hellish waggon 220 + Come quivering round me, +Their throats cut, and spurting +With blood, and still crowing, + And I, with the knife, shrieked: +'Enough of your noise!' + And yet, by God's mercy, +Made no sound at all. + I sat there and struggled +To keep myself silent. + At last the day ended, 230 +And with it the journey, + And God had had pity +Upon His poor orphan; + I crawled to the village. +And now, by His mercy, + I'm better again." + + "Is that what you boast of-- +Your happiness, peasant?" + Exclaims an old lackey +With legs weak and gouty. 240 + "Treat me, little brothers, +I'm happy, God sees it! + For I was the chief serf +Of Prince Pereméteff, + A rich prince, and mighty, +My wife, the most favoured + By him, of the women; +My daughter, together + With his, the young lady, +Was taught foreign languages, 250 + French and some others; +And she was permitted + To _sit_, and not stand, +In her mistress's presence. + Good Lord! How it bites!" +(He stoops down to rub it, + The gouty right knee-cap.) +The peasants laugh loudly! + "What laugh you at, stupids?" +He cries, getting angry, 260 + "I'm ill, I thank God, +And at waking and sleeping + I pray, 'Leave me ever +My honoured complaint, Lord! + For that makes me noble!' +I've none of your low things, + Your peasants' diseases, +My illness is lofty, + And only acquired +By the most elevated, 270 + The first in the Empire; +I suffer, you villains, + From gout, gout its name is! +It's only brought on + By the drinking of claret, +Of Burgundy, champagne, + Hungarian syrup, +By thirty years' drinking! + For forty years, peasants, +I've stood up behind it-- 280 + The chair of His Highness, +The Prince Pereméteff, + And swallowed the leavings +In plates and in glasses, + The finest French truffles, +The dregs of the liquors. + Come, treat me, you peasants!" + + "Excuse us, your Lordship, +Our wine is but simple, + The drink of the peasants! 290 +It wouldn't suit _you_!" + A bent, yellow-haired man +Steals up to the peasants, + A man from White Russia. +He yearns for the vodka. + "Oh, give me a taste!" +He implores, "I am happy!" + + "But wait! You must tell us +In what you are happy." + + "In bread I am happy; 300 +At home, in White Russia, + The bread is of barley, +All gritty and weedy. + At times, I can tell you, +I've howled out aloud, + Like a woman in labour, +With pains in my stomach! + But now, by God's mercy, +I work for Gubónine, + And there they give rye-bread, 310 +I'm happy in that." + + A dark-looking peasant, +With jaw turned and twisted, + Which makes him look sideways, +Says next, "I am happy. + A bear-hunter I am, +And six of my comrades + Were killed by old Mishka;[26] +On me God has mercy." + +"Look round to the left side." 320 + He tries to, but cannot, +For all his grimaces! + + "A bear knocked my jaw round, +A savage young female." + + "Go, look for another, +And give her the left cheek, + She'll soon put it straight!" + +They laugh, but, however, + They give him some vodka. +Some ragged old beggars 330 + Come up to the peasants, +Drawn near by the smell + Of the froth on the vodka; +They say they are happy. + + "Why, right on his threshold +The shopman will meet us! + We go to a house-door, +From there they conduct us + Right back to the gate! +When we begin singing 340 + The housewife runs quickly +And brings to the window + A loaf and a knife. +And then we sing loudly, + 'Oh, give us the whole loaf, +It cannot be cut + And it cannot be crumbled, +For you it is quicker, + For us it is better!'" + +The peasants observe 350 + That their vodka is wasted, +The pail's nearly empty. + They say to the people, +"Enough of your chatter, + You, shabby and ragged, +You, humpbacked and corny, + Go, get you all home!" + +"In your place, good strangers," + The peasant, Fedócy, +From "Swallow-Smoke" village, 360 + Said, sitting beside them, +"I'd ask Érmil Gírin. + If he will not suit you, +If he is not happy, + Then no one can help you." + + "But who is this Érmil, +A noble--a prince?" + + "No prince--not a noble, +But simply a peasant." + + "Well, tell us about him." 370 + + "I'll tell you; he rented +The mill of an orphan, + Until the Court settled +To sell it at auction. + Then Érmil, with others, +Went into the sale-room. + The small buyers quickly +Dropped out of the bidding; + Till Érmil alone, +With a merchant, Altérnikoff, 380 + Kept up the fight. +The merchant outbid him, + Each time by a farthing, +Till Érmil grew angry + And added five roubles; +The merchant a farthing + And Érmil a rouble. +The merchant gave in then, + When suddenly something +Unlooked for occurred: 390 + The sellers demanded +A third of the money + Paid down on the spot; +'Twas one thousand roubles, + And Érmil had not brought +So much money with him; + 'Twas either his error, +Or else they deceived him. + The merchant said gaily, +'The mill comes to me, then?' 400 + 'Not so,' replied Érmil; +He went to the sellers; + 'Good sirs, will you wait +Thirty minutes?' he asked. + + "'But how will that help you?' +'I'll bring you the money.' + + "'But where will you find it? +You're out of your senses! + It's thirty-five versts +To the mill; in an hour now 410 + The sales will be finished.' + + "'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?' +'An hour, if you wish.' + Then Érmil departed, +The sellers exchanging +Sly looks with the merchant, + And grinning--the foxes! +But Érmil went out + And made haste to the market-place +Crowded with people 420 + ('Twas market-day, then), +And he mounted a waggon, + And there he stood crossing +Himself, and low bowing + In all four directions. +He cried to the people, + 'Be silent a moment, +I've something to ask you!' + The place became still +And he told them the story: 430 + +"'Since long has the merchant + Been wooing the mill, +But I'm not such a dullard. + Five times have I been here +To ask if there _would_ be + A second day's bidding, +They answered, 'There will.' + You know that the peasant +Won't carry his money + All over the by-ways 440 + Without a good reason, +So I have none with me; +And look--now they tell me +There's no second bidding + And ask for the money! +The cunning ones tricked me + And laughed--the base heathens! +And said to me sneering: + 'But, what can you do +In an hour? Where find money?' 450 + + "'They're crafty and strong, +But the people are stronger! + The merchant is rich-- +But the people are richer! + Hey! What is _his_ worth +To _their_ treasury, think you? + Like fish in the ocean +The wealth of the people; + You'll draw it and draw it-- +But not see its end! 460 + Now, brother, God hears me, +Come, give me this money! + Next Friday I'll pay you +The very last farthing. + It's not that I care +For the mill--it's the insult! + Whoever knows Érmil, +Whoever believes him, + Will give what he can.' + + "A miracle happened; 470 +The coat of each peasant + Flew up on the left +As though blown by a wind! + The peasants are bringing +Their money to Érmil, + Each gives what he can. +Though Érmil's well lettered + He writes nothing down; +It's well he can count it + So great is his hurry. 480 +They gather his hat full + Of all kinds of money, +From farthings to bank-notes, + The notes of the peasant +All crumpled and torn. + He has the whole sum now, +But still the good people + Are bringing him more. + + "'Here, take this, too, Érmil, +You'll pay it back later!' 490 + + "He bows to the people +In all four directions, + Gets down from the waggon, +And pressing the hat + Full of money against him, +Runs back to the sale-room + As fast as he can. + + "The sellers are speechless +And stare in amazement, + The merchant turns green 500 +As the money is counted + And laid on the table. + + "The sellers come round him +All craftily praising + His excellent bargain. +But Érmil sees through them; + He gives not a farthing, +He speaks not a word. + + "The whole town assembles +At market next Friday, 510 + When Érmil is paying +His debt to the people. + How can he remember +To whom he must pay it? + No murmur arises, +No sound of discussion, + As each man tells quietly +The sum to be paid him. + + "And Érmil himself said, +That when it was finished 520 + A rouble was lying +With no one to claim it; + And though till the evening +He went, with purse open, + Demanding the owner, +It still was unclaimed. + The sun was just setting +When Érmil, the last one + To go from the market, +Assembled the beggars 530 + And gave them the rouble." ... + + "'Tis strange!" say the peasants, +"By what kind of magic + Can one single peasant +Gain such a dominion + All over the country?" + + "No magic he uses +Save truthfulness, brothers! + But say, have you ever +Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540 + Estate, Adovshina?" + + "We have. What about it?" + "The manager there +Was a Colonel, with stars, + Of the Corps of Gendarmes. +He had six or seven + Assistants beneath him, +And Érmil was chosen + As principal clerk. +He was but a boy, then, 550 + Of nineteen or twenty; +And though 'tis no fine post, + The clerk's--to the peasants +The clerk is a great man; + To him they will go +For advice and with questions. + Though Érmil had power to, +He asked nothing from them; + And if they should offer +He never accepted. 560 + (He bears a poor conscience, +The peasant who covets + The mite of his brother!) +Well, five years went by, + And they trusted in Érmil, +When all of a sudden + The master dismissed him +For sake of another. + And sadly they felt it. +The new clerk was grasping; 570 + He moved not a finger +Unless it was paid for; + A letter--three farthings! +A question--five farthings! + Well, he was a pope's son +And God placed him rightly! + But still, by God's mercy, +He did not stay long: + + "The old Prince soon died, +And the young Prince was master. 580 + He came and dismissed them-- +The manager-colonel, + The clerk and assistants, +And summoned the peasants + To choose them an Elder. +They weren't long about it! + And eight thousand voices +Cried out, 'Érmil Gírin!' + As though they were one. +Then Érmil was sent for 590 + To speak with the Barin, +And after some minutes + The Barin came out +On the balcony, standing + In face of the people; +He cried, 'Well, my brothers, + Your choice is elected +With my princely sanction! + But answer me this: +Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600 + + "'No, no, little Father! +He's young, but he's wise!' + + "So Érmil was Elder, +For seven years ruled + In the Prince's dominion. +Not once in that time + Did a coin of the peasants +Come under his nail, + Did the innocent suffer, +The guilty escape him, 610 + He followed his conscience." + +"But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely +A shrivelled grey pope, + Interrupting the speaker, +"The harrow went smoothly + Enough, till it happened +To strike on a stone, + Then it swerved of a sudden. +In telling a story + Don't leave an odd word out 620 + And alter the rhythm! +Now, if you knew Érmil + You knew his young brother, +Knew Mítyenka, did you?" + + The speaker considered, +Then said, "I'd forgotten, +I'll tell you about it: + It happened that once +Even Érmil the peasant + Did wrong: his young brother, 630 +Unjustly exempted + From serving his time, +On the day of recruiting; + And we were all silent, +And how could we argue + When even the Barin +Himself would not order + The Elder's own brother +To unwilling service? + And only one woman, 640 +Old Vlásevna, shedding + Wild tears for her son, +Went bewailing and screaming: + 'It wasn't our turn!' +Well, of course she'd be certain + To scream for a time, + Then leave off and be silent. +But what happened then? + The recruiting was finished, +But Érmil had changed; 650 + He was mournful and gloomy; +He ate not, he drank not, + Till one day his father +Went into the stable + And found him there holding +A rope in his hands. + Then at last he unbosomed +His heart to his father: + 'Since Vlásevna's son +Has been sent to the service, 660 + I'm weary of living, +I wish but to die!' + His brothers came also, +And they with the father + Besought him to hear them, +To listen to reason. + But he only answered: +'A villain I am, + And a criminal; bind me, +And bring me to justice!' 670 + And they, fearing worse things, +Obeyed him and bound him. + The commune assembled, +Exclaiming and shouting; + They'd never been summoned +To witness or judge + Such peculiar proceedings. + + "And Érmil's relations +Did not beg for mercy + And lenient treatment, 680 +But rather for firmness: + 'Bring Vlásevna's son back +Or Érmil will hang himself, + Nothing will save him!' +And then appeared Érmil + Himself, pale and bare-foot, +With ropes bound and handcuffed, + And bowing his head +He spoke low to the people: + 'The time was when I was 690 +Your judge; and I judged you, + In all things obeying +My conscience. But I now + Am guiltier far +Than were you. Be my judges!' + He bowed to our feet, +The demented one, sighing, + Then stood up and crossed himself, +Trembling all over; +It pained us to witness 700 + How he, of a sudden, +Fell down on his knees there + At Vlásevna's feet. +Well, all was put right soon, + The nobles have fingers +In every small corner, + The lad was brought back +And young Mítyenka started; + They say that his service +Did not weigh too heavy, 710 + The prince saw to that. +And we, as a penance, + Imposed upon Érmil +A fine, and to Vlásevna + One part was given, +To Mítya another, + The rest to the village +For vodka. However, + Not quickly did Érmil +Get over his sorrow: 720 + He went like a lost one +For full a year after, + And--though the whole district +Implored him to keep it-- + He left his position. +He rented the mill, then, + And more than of old +Was beloved by the people. + He took for his grinding +No more than was honest, 730 + His customers never +Kept waiting a moment, + And all men alike: +The rich landlord, the workman. + The master and servant, +The poorest of peasants + Were served as their turn came; +Strict order he kept. + Myself, I have not been +Since long in that district, 740 + But often the people +Have told me about him. + And never could praise him +Enough. So in your place + I'd go and ask Érmil." + +"Your time would be wasted," + The grey-headed pope, +Who'd before interrupted, + Remarked to the peasants, +"I knew Érmil Gírin, 750 + I chanced in that district +Some five years ago. + I have often been shifted, +Our bishop loved vastly + To keep us all moving, +So I was his neighbour. + Yes, he was a peasant +Unique, I bear witness, + And all things he owned +That can make a man happy: 760 + Peace, riches, and honour, +And that kind of honour + Most valued and precious, +Which cannot be purchased + By might or by money, +But only by righteousness, + Wisdom and kindness. +But still, I repeat it, + Your time will be wasted +In going to Érmil: 770 + In prison he lies." + + "How's that?" + + "God so willed it. +You've heard how the peasants +Of 'Log' the Pomyéshchick + Of Province 'Affrighted,' +Of District 'Scarce-Breathing,' + Of village 'Dumbfounded,' +Revolted 'for causes +Entirely unknown,' 780 + As they say in the papers. +(I once used to read them.) + And so, too, in this case, +The local Ispravnik,[27] + The Tsar's high officials, +And even the peasants, + 'Dumbfounded' themselves. +Never fathomed the reason + Of all the disturbance. +But things became bad, 790 + And the soldiers were sent for, +The Tsar packed a messenger + Off in a hurry +To speak to the people. + His epaulettes rose +To his ears as he coaxed them +And cursed them together. + But curses they're used to, +And coaxing was lost, + For they don't understand it: 800 + 'Brave orthodox peasants!' +'The Tsar--Little Father!' + 'Our dear Mother Russia!' +He bellowed and shouted + Until he was hoarse, +While the peasants stood round him + And listened in wonder. + + "But when he was tired +Of these peaceable measures + Of calming the riots, 810 +At length he decided + On giving the order +Of 'Fire' to the soldiers; + When all of a sudden +A bright thought occurred + To the clerk of the Volost:[28] +'The people trust Gírin, + The people will hear him!' + + "'Then let him be brought!'" [29] + + * * * * * + + A cry has arisen 820 +"Have mercy! Have mercy!" + A check to the story; +They hurry off quickly + To see what has happened; +And there on a bank + Of a ditch near the roadside, +Some peasants are birching + A drunken old lackey, +Just taken in thieving. + A court had been summoned, 830 +The judges deciding + To birch the offender, +That each of the jury + (About three and twenty) +Should give him a stroke + Turn in turn of the rod.... + + The lackey was up +And made off, in a twinkling, + He took to his heels +Without stopping to argue, 840 + On two scraggy legs. + + "How he trips it--the dandy!" +The peasants cry, laughing; + They've soon recognized him; +The boaster who prated + So much of his illness +From drinking strange liquors. + + "Ho! where has it gone to, +Your noble complaint? + Look how nimble he's getting!" 850 + + "Well, well, Little Father, +Now finish the story!" + + "It's time to go home now, +My children,--God willing, + We'll meet again some day +And finish it then...." + + The people disperse +As the dawn is approaching. + Our peasants begin +To bethink them of sleeping, 860 + When all of a sudden +A "troika" [30] comes flying + From no one sees where, +With its silver bells ringing. + Within it is sitting +A plump little Barin, + His little mouth smoking +A little cigar. + The peasants draw up +In a line on the roadway, 870 + Thus barring the passage +In front of the horses; + And, standing bareheaded, +Bow low to the Barin. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE POMYÉSHCHICK + + The "troika" is drawing +The local Pomyéshchick-- + Gavríl Afanásich + Obólt-Oboldoóeff. +A portly Pomyéshchick, + With long grey moustaches, +Some sixty years old. + His bearing is stately, +His cheeks very rosy, + He wears a short top-coat, 10 +Tight-fitting and braided, + Hungarian fashion; +And very wide trousers. + Gavríl Afanásich +Was probably startled + At seeing the peasants + Unflinchingly barring +The way to his horses; + He promptly produces +A loaded revolver 20 + As bulky and round +As himself; and directs it + Upon the intruders: + + "You brigands! You cut-throats! +Don't move, or I shoot!" + + "How can we be brigands?" +The peasants say, laughing, + "No knives and no pitchforks, +No hatchets have we!" + + "Who are you? And what 30 +Do you want?" said the Barin. + + "A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our wives, from our children, +Away from our work, + Kills our appetites too, +Do give us your promise + To answer us truly, +Consulting your conscience + And searching your knowledge, 40 +Not sneering, nor feigning + The question we put you, + And then we will tell you +The cause of our trouble." + + "I promise. I give you +The oath of a noble." + + "No, don't give us that-- +Not the oath of a noble! + We're better content +With the word of a Christian. 50 + The nobleman's oaths-- +They are given with curses, + With kicks and with blows! +We are better without them!" + + "Eh-heh, that's a new creed! +Well, let it be so, then. + And what is your trouble?" + + "But put up the pistol! +That's right! Now we'll tell you: + We are not assassins, 60 +But peaceable peasants, + From Government 'Hard-pressed,' +From District 'Most Wretched,' + From 'Destitute' Parish, +From neighbouring hamlets,-- + 'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,' +'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.' + From 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway, + And one asked another, 70 +Who is he--the man + Free and happy in Russia? +Luká said, 'The pope,' + And Roman, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +Demyán, 'The official.' + 'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan; +Pakhóm said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80 +And Prov said, 'The Tsar.' + + "Like bulls are the peasants; +Once folly is in them + You cannot dislodge it, +Although you should beat them + With stout wooden cudgels, +They stick to their folly, + And nothing can move them! +We argued and argued, + While arguing quarrelled, 90 +While quarrelling fought, + Till at last we decided +That never again +Would we turn our steps homeward + To kiss wives and children, +To see the old people, + Until we have settled +The subject of discord; + Until we have found +The reply to our question-- 100 + Of who can, in Russia, +Be happy and free? + + "Now tell us, Pomyéshchick, +Is your life a sweet one? + And is the Pomyéshchick +Both happy and free?" + + Gavríl Afanásich +Springs out of the "troika" + And comes to the peasants. +He takes--like a doctor-- 110 + The hand of each one, +And carefully feeling + The pulse gazes searchingly +Into their faces, + Then clasps his plump sides +And stands shaking with laughter. + The clear, hearty laugh +Of the healthy Pomyéshchick + Peals out in the pleasant +Cool air of the morning: 120 + "Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" +Till he stops from exhaustion. + And then he addresses +The wondering peasants: + "Put on your hats, _gentlemen_, +Please to be seated!" + + (He speaks with a bitter[31] +And mocking politeness.) + + "But we are not gentry; +We'd rather stand up 130 + In your presence, your worship." + + "Sit down, worthy _citizens_, +Here on the bank." + + The peasants protest, +But, on seeing it useless, + Sit down on the bank. + + "May I sit beside you? +Hey, Proshka! Some sherry, + My rug and a cushion!" + He sits on the rug. 140 +Having finished the sherry, + Thus speaks the Pomyéshchick: + + "I gave you my promise +To answer your question.... + The task is not easy, +For though you are highly + Respectable people, +You're not very learned. + Well, firstly, I'll try +To explain you the meaning 150 + Of Lord, or Pomyéshchick. +Have you, by some chance, + Ever heard the expression + The 'Family Tree'? + Do you know what it means?" + + "The woods are not closed to us. +We have seen all kinds + Of trees," say the peasants. + "Your shot has miscarried! +I'll try to speak clearly; 160 + I come of an ancient, +Illustrious family; + One, Oboldoóeff, +My ancestor, is + Amongst those who were mentioned +In old Russian chronicles + Written for certain +Two hundred and fifty + Years back. It is written, + ''Twas given the Tartar, 170 +Obólt-Oboldoóeff, + A piece of cloth, value +Two roubles, for having + Amused the Tsaritsa +Upon the Tsar's birthday + By fights of wild beasts, +Wolves and foxes. He also + Permitted his own bear +To fight with a wild one, + Which mauled Oboldoóeff, 180 +And hurt him severely.' + And now, gentle peasants, +Did you understand?" + + "Why not? To this day +One can see them--the loafers + Who stroll about leading +A bear!" + + "Be it so, then! +But now, please be silent, + And hark to what follows: 190 +From this Oboldoóeff + My family sprang; +And this incident happened + Two hundred and fifty +Years back, as I told you, + But still, on my mother's side, + Even more ancient +The family is: + Says another old writing: +'Prince Schépin, and one 200 + Vaska Goóseff, attempted +To burn down the city + Of Moscow. They wanted +To plunder the Treasury. + They were beheaded.' +And this was, good peasants, + Full three hundred years back! +From these roots it was + That our Family Tree sprang." + +"And you are the ... as one 210 + Might say ... little apple +Which hangs on a branch + Of the tree," say the peasants. + +"Well, apple, then, call it, + So long as it please you. +At least you appear + To have got at my meaning. + And now, you yourselves +Understand--the more ancient + A family is 220 +The more noble its members. + Is that so, good peasants?" + +"That's so," say the peasants. + "The black bone and white bone +Are different, and they must + Be differently honoured." + +"Exactly. I see, friends, +You quite understand me." +The Barin continued: +"In past times we lived, 230 + As they say, 'in the bosom +Of Christ,' and we knew + What it meant to be honoured! +Not only the people + Obeyed and revered us, +But even the earth + And the waters of Russia.... +You knew what it was + To be One, in the centre +Of vast, spreading lands, 240 + Like the sun in the heavens: +The clustering villages + Yours, yours the meadows, +And yours the black depths + Of the great virgin forests! +You pass through a village; + The people will meet you, +Will fall at your feet; + Or you stroll in the forest; +The mighty old trees 250 + Bend their branches before you. +Through meadows you saunter; + The slim golden corn-stems +Rejoicing, will curtsey + With winning caresses, +Will hail you as Master. + The little fish sports +In the cool little river; + Get fat, little fish, +At the will of the Master! 260 + The little hare speeds +Through the green little meadow; + Speed, speed, little hare, +Till the coming of autumn, + The season of hunting, +The sport of the Master. + And all things exist +But to gladden the Master. + Each wee blade of grass +Whispers lovingly to him, 270 + 'I live but for thee....' + + "The joy and the beauty, +The pride of all Russia-- + The Lord's holy churches-- + Which brighten the hill-sides +And gleam like great jewels + On the slopes of the valleys, +Were rivalled by one thing + In glory, and that +Was the nobleman's manor. 280 + Adjoining the manor +Were glass-houses sparkling, + And bright Chinese arbours, +While parks spread around it. + On each of the buildings +Gay banners displaying + Their radiant colours, +And beckoning softly, + Invited the guest +To partake of the pleasures 290 + Of rich hospitality. +Never did Frenchmen + In dreams even picture +Such sumptuous revels + As we used to hold. +Not only for one-day, + Or two, did they last-- +But for whole months together! + We fattened great turkeys, + We brewed our own liquors, 300 +We kept our own actors, + And troupes of musicians, +And legions of servants! + Why, I kept five cooks, +Besides pastry-cooks, working, +Two blacksmiths, three carpenters, + Eighteen musicians, +And twenty-two huntsmen.... + My God!"... + + The afflicted 310 +Pomyéshchick broke down here, + And hastened to bury +His face in the cushion.... + "Hey, Proshka!" he cried, +And then quickly the lackey + Poured out and presented +A glassful of brandy. + The glass was soon empty, +And when the Pomyéshchick + Had rested awhile, 320 +He again began speaking: + "Ah, then, Mother Russia, +How gladly in autumn + Your forests awoke +To the horn of the huntsman! + Their dark, gloomy depths, +Which had saddened and faded, + Were pierced by the clear +Ringing blast, and they listened, + Revived and rejoiced, 330 +To the laugh of the echo. + The hounds and the huntsmen +Are gathered together, + And wait on the skirts +Of the forest; and with them + The Master; and farther +Within the deep forest + The dog-keepers, roaring +And shouting like madmen, + The hounds all a-bubble 340 +Like fast-boiling water. + Hark! There's the horn calling! +You hear the pack yelling? + They're crowding together! +And where's the red beast? +Hoo-loo-loo! Hoo-loo-loo! + And the sly fox is ready; +Fat, furry old Reynard + Is flying before us, +His bushy tail waving! 350 +The knowing hounds crouch, + And each lithe body quivers, +Suppressing the fire + That is blazing within it: +'Dear guests of our hearts, + _Do_ come nearer and greet us, +We're panting to meet you, + We, hale little fellows! +Come nearer to us + And away from the bushes!' 360 + +"They're off! Now, my horse, + Let your swiftness not fail me! +My hounds, you are staunch + And you will not betray me! +Hoo-loo! Faster, faster! + Now, _at him_, my children!"... +Gavríl Afanásich + Springs up, wildly shouting, +His arms waving madly, + He dances around them! 370 +He's certainly after + A fox in the forest! + +The peasants observe him + In silent enjoyment, +They smile in their beards.... + + "Eh ... you, mad, merry hunters! +Although he forgets + Many things--the Pomyéshchick-- +Those hunts in the autumn + Will not be forgotten. 380 +'Tis not for our own loss + We grieve, Mother Russia, +But you that we pity; + For you, with the hunting +Have lost the last traces + Of days bold and warlike +That made you majestic.... + + "At times, in the autumn, +A party of fifty + Would start on a hunting tour; 390 +Then each Pomyéshchick + Brought with him a hundred +Fine dogs, and twelve keepers, + And cooks in abundance. +And after the cooks + Came a long line of waggons +Containing provisions. + And as we went forward +With music and singing, + You might have mistaken 400 +Our band for a fine troop + Of cavalry, moving! + The time flew for us +Like a falcon." How lightly + The breast of the nobleman +Rose, while his spirit + Went back to the days +Of Old Russia, and greeted + The gallant Boyárin.[32] ... + +"No whim was denied us. 410 + To whom I desire +I show mercy and favour; + And whom I dislike +I strike dead on the spot. + The law is my wish, +And my fist is my hangman! + My blow makes the sparks crowd, +My blow smashes jaw-bones, + My blow scatters teeth!"... + + Like a string that is broken, 420 +The voice of the nobleman + Suddenly ceases; +He lowers his eyes + To the ground, darkly frowning ... +And then, in a low voice, + He says: + + "You yourselves know +That strictness is needful; + But I, with love, punished. +The chain has been broken, 430 + The links burst asunder; +And though we do not beat + The peasant, no longer +We look now upon him + With fatherly feelings. +Yes, I was severe too + At times, but more often +I turned hearts towards me + With patience and mildness. + +"Upon Easter Sunday 440 + I kissed all the peasants + Within my domain. +A great table, loaded + With 'Paska' and 'Koólich'[33] +And eggs of all colours, + Was spread in the manor. +My wife, my old mother, + My sons, too, and even +My daughters did not scorn + To kiss[34] the last peasant: 450 +'Now Christ has arisen!' + 'Indeed He has risen!' +The peasants broke fast then, + Drank vodka and wine. + Before each great holiday, +In my best staterooms + The All-Night Thanksgiving +Was held by the pope. + My serfs were invited +With every inducement: 460 + 'Pray hard now, my children, +Make use of the chance, + Though you crack all your foreheads!'[35] +The nose suffered somewhat, + But still at the finish +We brought all the women-folk + Out of a village +To scrub down the floors. + You see 'twas a cleansing +Of souls, and a strengthening 470 + Of spiritual union; +Now, isn't that so?" + + "That's so," say the peasants, +But each to himself thinks, + "They needed persuading +With sticks though, I warrant, + To get them to pray +In your Lordship's fine manor!" + + "I'll say, without boasting, +They loved me--my peasants. 480 + In my large Surminsky +Estate, where the peasants + Were mostly odd-jobbers, +Or very small tradesmen, + It happened that they +Would get weary of staying + At home, and would ask +My permission to travel, + To visit strange parts +At the coming of spring. 490 + They'd often be absent +Through summer and autumn. + My wife and the children +Would argue while guessing + The gifts that the peasants +Would bring on returning. + And really, besides +Lawful dues of the 'Barin' + In cloth, eggs, and live stock, +The peasants would gladly 500 + Bring gifts to the family: +Jam, say, from Kiev, + From Astrakhan fish, +And the richer among them + Some silk for the lady. +You see!--as he kisses + Her hand he presents her +A neat little packet! + And then for the children +Are sweetmeats and toys; 510 + For me, the old toper, +Is wine from St. Petersburg-- + Mark you, the rascal +Won't go to the Russian + For that! He knows better-- +He runs to the Frenchman! + And when we have finished +Admiring the presents + I go for a stroll +And a chat with the peasants; 520 + They talk with me freely. +My wife fills their glasses, +My little ones gather + Around us and listen, +While sucking their sweets, + To the tales of the peasants: +Of difficult trading, + Of places far distant, +Of Petersburg, Astrakhan, + Kazan, and Kiev.... 530 + On such terms it was +That I lived with my peasants. + Now, wasn't that nice?" + + "Yes," answer the peasants; +"Yes, well might one envy + The noble Pomyéshchick! +His life was so sweet + There was no need to leave it." + +"And now it is past.... + It has vanished for ever! 540 +Hark! There's the bell tolling!" + + They listen in silence: +In truth, through the stillness + Which settles around them, +The slow, solemn sound + On the breeze of the morning +Is borne from Kusminsky.... + +"Sweet peace to the peasant! +God greet him in Heaven!" + + The peasants say softly, 550 +And cross themselves thrice; + And the mournful Pomyéshchick +Uncovers his head, + As he piously crosses +Himself, and he answers: + "'Tis not for the peasant +The knell is now tolling, + It tolls the lost life +Of the stricken Pomyéshchick. + Farewell to the past, 560 +And farewell to thee, Russia, + The Russia who cradled +The happy Pomyéshchick, + Thy place has been stolen +And filled by another!... + Heh, Proshka!" (The brandy +Is given, and quickly + He empties the glass.) +"Oh, it isn't consoling +To witness the change 570 + In thy face, oh, my Motherland! +Truly one fancies + The whole race of nobles +Has suddenly vanished! + Wherever one goes, now, +One falls over peasants + Who lie about, tipsy, +One meets not a creature + But excise official, + Or stupid 'Posrédnik,'[36] 580 +Or Poles who've been banished. + One sees the troops passing, + And then one can guess +That a village has somewhere + Revolted, 'in thankful +And dutiful spirit....' + In old days, these roads +Were made gay by the passing + Of carriage, 'dormeuse,' +And of six-in-hand coaches, 590 + And pretty, light troikas; +And in them were sitting + The family troop +Of the jolly Pomyéshchick: + The stout, buxom mother, +The fine, roguish sons, + And the pretty young daughters; +One heard with enjoyment + The chiming of large bells, +The tinkling of small bells, 600 + Which hung from the harness. +And now?... What distraction + Has life? And what joy +Does it bring the Pomyéshchick? + At each step, you meet +Something new to revolt you; + And when in the air +You can smell a rank graveyard, + You know you are passing +A nobleman's manor! 610 + My Lord!... They have pillaged +The beautiful dwelling! + They've pulled it all down, +Brick by brick, and have fashioned + The bricks into hideously +Accurate columns! + The broad shady park +Of the outraged Pomyéshchick, + The fruit of a hundred years' +Careful attention, 620 + Is falling away +'Neath the axe of a peasant! + The peasant works gladly, +And greedily reckons + The number of logs +Which his labour will bring him. + His dark soul is closed +To refinement of feeling, + And what would it matter +To him, if you told him 630 + That this stately oak +Which his hatchet is felling + My grandfather's hand +Had once planted and tended; +That under this ash-tree + My dear little children, +My Vera and Gánushka, + Echoed my voice + As they played by my side; +That under this linden 640 + My young wife confessed me +That little Gavrióushka, + Our best-beloved first-born, +Lay under her heart, + As she nestled against me +And bashfully hid + Her sweet face in my bosom +As red as a cherry.... + It is to his profit +To ravish the park, 650 + And his mission delights him. +It makes one ashamed now + To pass through a village; +The peasant sits still +And he dreams not of bowing. + One feels in one's breast +Not the pride of a noble + But wrath and resentment. +The axe of the robber + Resounds in the forest, 660 +It maddens your heart, + But you cannot prevent it, +For who can you summon + To rescue your forest? +The fields are half-laboured, + The seeds are half-wasted, +No trace left of order.... + O Mother, my country, +We do not complain + For ourselves--of our sorrows, 670 +Our hearts bleed for thee: + Like a widow thou standest +In helpless affliction + With tresses dishevelled +And grief-stricken face.... + They have blighted the forest, +The noisy low taverns +Have risen and flourished. + They've picked the most worthless +And loose of the people, 680 + And given them power +In the posts of the Zemstvos; + They've seized on the peasant +And taught him his letters-- + Much good may it do him! +Your brow they have branded, + As felons are branded, +As cattle are branded, + With these words they've stamped it: +'To take away with you 690 + Or drink on the premises.' +Was it worth while, pray, + To weary the peasant +With learning his letters + In order to read them? +The land that we keep + Is our mother no longer, +Our stepmother rather. + And then to improve things, +These pert good-for-nothings, 700 + These impudent writers +Must needs shout in chorus: + 'But whose fault, then, is it, +That you thus exhausted + And wasted your country?' +But I say--you duffers! + Who _could_ foresee this? +They babble, 'Enough + Of your lordly pretensions! +It's time that you learnt something, 710 + Lazy Pomyéshchicks! +Get up, now, and work!' + + "Work! To whom, in God's name, +Do you think you are speaking? + I am not a peasant +In 'laputs,' good madman! + I am--by God's mercy-- +A Noble of Russia. + You take us for Germans! +We nobles have tender 720 + And delicate feelings, +Our pride is inborn, + And in Russia our classes +Are not taught to work. + Why, the meanest official + Will not raise a finger +To clear his own table, + Or light his own stove! +I can say, without boasting, + That though I have lived 730 +Forty years in the country, + And scarcely have left it, +I could not distinguish + Between rye and barley. +And they sing of 'work' to me! + + "If we Pomyéshchicks +Have really mistaken + Our duty and calling, +If really our mission + Is not, as in old days, 740 +To keep up the hunting, + To revel in luxury, +Live on forced labour, + Why did they not tell us +Before? Could I learn it? + For what do I see? +I've worn the Tsar's livery, +'Sullied the Heavens,' + And 'squandered the treasury +Gained by the people,' 750 + And fully imagined +To do so for ever, + And now ... God in Heaven!"... +The Barin is sobbing!... + + The kind-hearted peasants +Can hardly help crying + Themselves, and they think: +"Yes, the chain has been broken, + The strong links have snapped, +And the one end recoiling 760 + Has struck the Pomyéshchick, +The other--the peasant." + + + + + +PART II. + +THE LAST POMYÉSHCHICK + + +PROLOGUE + +The day of St. Peter-- + And very hot weather; +The mowers are all + At their work in the meadows. +The peasants are passing + A tumble-down village, +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Of Government "Know-Nothing.' + They are approaching 10 +The banks of the Volga. + They come to the river, +The sea-gulls are wheeling + And flashing above it; +The sea-hens are walking + About on the sand-banks; +And in the bare hayfields, + Which look just as naked +As any youth's cheek + After yesterday's shaving, 20 +The Princes Volkonsky[37] + Are haughtily standing, +And round them their children, + Who (unlike all others) +Are born at an earlier + Date than their sires. + +"The fields are enormous," +Remarks old Pakhóm, + "Why, the folk must be giants." +The two brothers Goóbin 30 + Are smiling at something: +For some time they've noticed + A very tall peasant +Who stands with a pitcher + On top of a haystack; +He drinks, and a woman + Below, with a hay-fork, +Is looking at him + With her head leaning back. +The peasants walk on 40 + Till they come to the haystack; +The man is still drinking; + They pass it quite slowly, +Go fifty steps farther, + Then all turn together +And look at the haystack. + Not much has been altered: +The peasant is standing + With body bent back +As before,--but the pitcher 50 + Has turned bottom upwards.... + +The strangers go farther. + The camps are thrown out +On the banks of the river; + And there the old people +And children are gathered, + And horses are waiting +With big empty waggons; + And then, in the fields +Behind those that are finished, 60 + The distance is filled +By the army of workers, + The white shirts of women, +The men's brightly coloured, + And voices and laughter, +With all intermingled + The hum of the scythes.... + + "God help you, good fellows!" +"Our thanks to you, brothers!" + + The peasants stand noting 70 +The long line of mowers, + The poise of the scythes +And their sweep through the sunshine. + The rhythmical swell +Of melodious murmur. + + The timid grass stands +For a moment, and trembles, + Then falls with a sigh.... + + On the banks of the Volga +The grass has grown high 80 +And the mowers work gladly. + The peasants soon feel +That they cannot resist it. +"It's long since we've stretched ourselves, + Come, let us help you!" +And now seven women + Have yielded their places. + The spirit of work +Is devouring our peasants; + Like teeth in a ravenous 90 +Mouth they are working-- + The muscular arms, +And the long grass is falling + To songs that are strange +To this part of the country, + To songs that are taught +By the blizzards and snow-storms, +The wild savage winds + Of the peasants' own homelands: +"Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry," 100 + "Patched," "Bare-Foot," and "Shabby," +And "Harvestless," too.... + And when the strong craving +For work is appeased + They sit down by a haystack. + +"From whence have you come?" + A grey-headed old peasant +(The one whom the women + Call Vlásuchka) asks them, +"And where are you going?" 110 + + "We are--" say the peasants, +Then suddenly stop, + There's some music approaching! + +"Oh, that's the Pomyéshchick + Returning from boating!" +Says Vlásuchka, running + To busy the mowers: +"Wake up! Look alive there! + And mind--above all things, +Don't heat the Pomyéshchick 120 + And don't make him angry! +And if he abuse you, + Bow low and say nothing, +And if he should praise you, + Start lustily cheering. +You women, stop cackling! + And get to your forks!" +A big burly peasant +With beard long and bushy + Bestirs himself also 130 +To busy them all, + Then puts on his "kaftan," [38] +And runs away quickly + To meet the Pomyéshchick. + +And now to the bank-side + Three boats are approaching. +In one sit the servants + And band of musicians, +Most busily playing; + The second one groans 140 +'Neath a mountainous wet-nurse, + Who dandles a baby, +A withered old dry-nurse, + A motionless body +Of ancient retainers. + And then in the third +There are sitting the gentry: + Two beautiful ladies +(One slender and fair-haired, + One heavy and black-browed) 150 +And two moustached Barins + And three little Barins, +And last--the Pomyéshchick, + A very old man +Wearing long white moustaches + (He seems to be all white); +His cap, broad and high-crowned, + Is white, with a peak, +In the front, of red satin. + His body is lean 160 +As a hare's in the winter, + His nose like a hawk's beak, +His eyes--well, they differ: + The one sharp and shining, +The other--the left eye-- + Is sightless and blank, +Like a dull leaden farthing. + Some woolly white poodles +With tufts on their ankles + Are in the boat too. 170 + +The old man alighting + Has mounted the bank, +Where for long he reposes + Upon a red carpet +Spread out by the servants. +And then he arises + To visit the mowers, +To pass through the fields + On a tour of inspection. +He leans on the arm-- 180 + Now of one of the Barins, +And now upon those + Of the beautiful ladies. +And so with his suite-- + With the three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles,-- +Along through the hayfields + Proceeds the Pomyéshchick. 190 + +The peasants on all sides + Bow down to the ground; +And the big, burly peasant + (The Elder he is +As the peasants have noticed) + Is cringing and bending +Before the Pomyéshchick, + Just like the Big Devil +Before the high altar: +"Just so! Yes, Your Highness, 200 + It's done, at your bidding!" +I think he will soon fall + Before the Pomyéshchick +And roll in the dust.... + + So moves the procession, +Until it stops short + In the front of a haystack +Of wonderful size, + Only this day erected. +The old man is poking 210 + His forefinger in it, +He thinks it is damp, + And he blazes with fury: +"Is this how you rot + The best goods of your master? +I'll rot you with barschin,[39] + I'll make you repent it! +Undo it--at once!" + + The Elder is writhing +In great agitation: 220 + "I was not quite careful +Enough, and it _is_ damp. + It's my fault, Your Highness!" +He summons the peasants, + Who run with their pitchforks +To punish the monster. + And soon they have spread it +In small heaps around, + At the feet of the master; +His wrath is appeased. 230 + + (In the meantime the strangers +Examine the hay--It's + like tinder--so dry!) + +A lackey comes flying + Along, with a napkin; +He's lame--the poor man! + "Please, the luncheon is served." +And then the procession, +The three little Barins, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, 240 + The ancient retainers, +The woolly white poodles, + Moves onward to lunch. + +The peasants stand watching; + From one of the boats +Comes an outburst of music +To greet the Pomyéshchick. + + The table is shining +All dazzlingly white + On the bank of the river. 250 +The strangers, astonished, +Draw near to old Vlásuchka; + "Pray, little Uncle," +They say, "what's the meaning + Of all these strange doings? +And who is that curious + Old man?" + + "Our Pomyéshchick, +The great Prince Yutiátin." + +"But why is he fussing 260 + About in that manner? +For things are all changed now, + And he seems to think +They are still as of old. + The hay is quite dry, +Yet he told you to dry it!" + + "But funnier still +That the hay and the hayfields + Are not his at all." + +"Then whose are they?" 270 + "The Commune's." + +"Then why is he poking + His nose into matters +Which do not concern him? + For are you not free?" + +"Why, yes, by God's mercy + The order is changed now +For us as for others; + But ours is a special case." + +"Tell us about it." 280 + The old man lay down +At the foot of the haystack + And answered them--nothing. + + The peasants producing + The magic white napkin +Sit down and say softly, + "O napkin enchanted, +Give food to the peasants!" +The napkin unfolds, + And two hands, which come floating +From no one sees where, 291 + Place a bucket of vodka, +A large pile of bread + On the magic white napkin, +And dwindle away.... + + The peasants, still wishing +To question old Vlásuchka, + Wisely present him +A cupful of vodka: + "Now come, little Uncle, 300 +Be gracious to strangers, + And tell us your story." + +"There's nothing to tell you. + You haven't told me yet +Who _you_ are and whence +You have journeyed to these parts, + And whither you go." + +"We will not be surly + Like you. We will tell you. +We've come a great distance, 310 + And seek to discover +A thing of importance. + A trouble torments us, +It draws us away + From our work, from our homes, +From the love of our food...." + The peasants then tell him +About their chance meeting, + Their argument, quarrel, +Their vow, and decision; 320 + Of how they had sought +In the Government "Tight-Squeeze" + And Government "Shot-Strewn" +The man who, in Russia, + Is happy and free.... + + Old Vlásuchka listens, +Observing them keenly. + "I see," he remarks, +When the story is finished, + "I see you are very 330 +Peculiar people. + We're said to be strange here, +But you are still stranger." + +"Well, drink some more vodka + And tell us your tale." + + And when by the vodka +His tongue becomes loosened, + Old Vlásuchka tells them +The following story. + + +I + +THE DIE-HARD + +"The great prince, Yutiátin, + The ancient Pomyéshchick, +Is very eccentric. + His wealth is untold, +And his titles exalted, + His family ranks +With the first in the Empire. + The whole of his life +He has spent in amusement, + Has known no control 10 +Save his own will and pleasure. + When we were set free +He refused to believe it: + 'They lie! the low scoundrels!' +There came the posrédnik + And Chief of Police, +But he would not admit them, + He ordered them out +And went on as before, +And only became 20 + Full of hate and suspicion: +'Bow low, or I'll flog you + To death, without mercy!' +The Governor himself came + To try to explain things, +And long they disputed + And argued together; +The furious voice + Of the prince was heard raging +All over the house, 30 + And he got so excited +That on the same evening + A stroke fell upon him: +His left side went dead, + Black as earth, so they tell us, +And all over nothing! + It wasn't his pocket +That pinched, but his pride + That was touched and enraged him. +He lost but a mite 40 + And would never have missed it." + +"Ah, that's what it means, friends, + To be a Pomyéshchick, +The habit gets into + The blood," says Mitródor, + "And not the Pomyéshchick's +Alone, for the habit + Is strong in the peasant +As well," old Pakhóm said. + "I once on suspicion 50 +Was put into prison, + And met there a peasant +Called Sédor, a strange man, + Arrested for horse-stealing, +If I remember; + And he from the prison +Would send to the Barin + His taxes. (The prisoner's +Income is scanty, + He gets what he begs 60 +Or a trifle for working.) + The others all laughed at him; +'Why should you send them + And you off for life +To hard labour?' they asked him. + But he only said, +'All the same ... it is better.'" + + "Well, now, little Uncle, +Go on with the story." + + "A mite is a small thing, 70 + Except when it happens +To be in the eye! + The Pomyéshchick lay senseless, +And many were sure + That he'd never recover. +His children were sent for, + Those black-moustached footguards +(You saw them just now + With their wives, the fine ladies), +The eldest of them 80 + Was to settle all matters +Concerning his father. + He called the posrédnik +To draw up the papers + And sign the agreement, +When suddenly--there + Stands the old man before them! +He springs on them straight + Like a wounded old tiger, +He bellows like thunder. 90 + It was but a short time +Ago, and it happened + That I was then Elder, +And chanced to have entered + The house on some errand, +And I heard myself + How he cursed the Pomyéshchicks; +The words that he spoke + I have never forgotten: +'The Jews are reproached 100 + For betraying their Master; +But what are _you_ doing? + The rights of the nobles +By centuries sanctioned + You fling to the beggars!' +He said to his sons, + 'Oh, you dastardly cowards! +My children no longer! + It is for small reptiles-- +The pope's crawling breed-- 110 + To take bribes from vile traitors, +To purchase base peasants, + And they may be pardoned! +But you!--you have sprung + From the house of Yutiátin, +The Princes Yu-tiá-tin + You are! Go!... Go, leave me! +You pitiful puppies!' +The heirs were alarmed; + How to tide matters over 120 +Until he should die? + For they are not small items, +The forests and lands + That belong to our father; +His money-bags are not + So light as to make it +A question of nothing + Whose shoulders shall bear them; +We know that our father + Has three 'private' daughters 130 +In Petersburg living, + To Generals married, +So how do we know + That they may not inherit +His wealth?... The Pomyéshchick + Once more is prostrated, +His death is a question + Of time, and to make it +Run smoothly till then + An agreement was come to, 140 +A plan to deceive him: +So one of the ladies +(The fair one, I fancy, + She used at that time +To attend the old master + And rub his left side +With a brush), well, she told him + That orders had come +From the Government lately + That peasants set free 150 +Should return to their bondage. + And he quite believed it. +(You see, since his illness + The Prince had become +Like a child.) When he heard it + He cried with delight; +And the household was summoned + To prayer round the icons;[40] +And Thanksgiving Service + Was held by his orders 160 +In every small village, + And bells were set ringing. +And little by little + His strength returned partly. +And then as before + It was hunting and music, + The servants were caned +And the peasants were punished. + The heirs had, of course, +Set things right with the servants, 170 + A good understanding +They came to, and one man + (You saw him go running +Just now with the napkin) + Did not need persuading--- +He so loved his Barin. + His name is Ipát, +And when we were made free + He refused to believe it; +'The great Prince Yutiátin 180 + Be left without peasants! +What pranks are you playing?' + At last, when the 'Order +Of Freedom' was shown him, + Ipát said, 'Well, well, +Get you gone to your pleasures, + But I am the slave +Of the Princes Yutiátin!' + He cannot get over +The old Prince's kindness 190 + To him, and he's told us +Some curious stories + Of things that had happened +To him in his childhood, + His youth and old age. +(You see, I had often + To go to the Prince +On some matter or other + Concerning the peasants, +And waited and waited 200 + For hours in the kitchens, +And so I have heard them + A hundred times over.) +'When I was a young man + Our gracious young Prince +Spent his holidays sometimes + At home, and would dip me +(His meanest slave, mind you) + Right under the ice +In the depths of the Winter. 210 + He did it in such +A remarkable way, too! + He first made two holes +In the ice of the river, + In one he would lower +Me down in a net-- + Pull me up through the other!' +And when I began + To grow old, it would happen +That sometimes I drove 220 + With the Prince in the Winter; +The snow would block up + Half the road, and we used +To drive five-in-a-file. + Then the fancy would strike him +(How whimsical, mark you!) + To set me astride +On the horse which was leading, + Me--last of his slaves! +Well, he dearly loved music, 230 + And so he would throw me +A fiddle: 'Here! play now, + Ipát.' Then the driver +Would shout to the horses, +And urge them to gallop. + The snow would half-blind me, +My hands with the music + Were occupied both; +So what with the jolting, + The snow, and the fiddle, 240 +Ipát, like a silly +Old noodle, would tumble. + Of course, if he landed +Right under the horses + The sledge must go over +His ribs,--who could help it? + But that was a trifle; +The cold was the worst thing, + It bites you, and you +Can do nothing against it! 250 + The snow lay all round +On the vast empty desert, + I lay looking up +At the stars and confessing + My sins. But--my friends, +This is true as the Gospel-- + I heard before long +How the sledge-bells came ringing, + Drew nearer and nearer: +The Prince had remembered, 260 + And come back to fetch me!' + + "(The tears began falling +And rolled down his face + At this part of the story. + Whenever he told it +He always would cry + Upon coming to this!) +'He covered me up + With some rugs, and he warmed me, +He lifted me up, 270 + And he placed me beside him, +Me--last of his slaves-- + Beside his Princely Person! +And so we came home.'" + + They're amused at the story. + +Old Vlásuchka, when + He has emptied his fourth cup, +Continues: "The heirs came + And called us together-- +The peasants and servants; 280 + They said, 'We're distressed +On account of our father. + These changes will kill him, +He cannot sustain them. + So humour his weakness: + Keep silent, and act still +As if all this trouble + Had never existed; +Give way to him, bow to him + Just as in old days. 290 +For each stroke of barschin, +For all needless labour, + For every rough word +We will richly reward you. + He cannot live long now, +The doctors have told us + That two or three months +Is the most we may hope for. + Act kindly towards us, +And do as we ask you, 300 + And we as the price +Of your silence will give you + The hayfields which lie +On the banks of the Volga. + Think well of our offer, +And let the posrédnik + Be sent for to witness +And settle the matter.' + + "Then gathered the commune +To argue and clamour; 310 + The thought of the hayfields +(In which we are sitting), + With promises boundless +And plenty of vodka, + Decided the question: +The commune would wait + For the death of the Barin. + +"Then came the posrédnik, + And laughing, he said: +'It's a capital notion! 320 + The hayfields are fine, too, +You lose nothing by it; + You just play the fool +And the Lord will forgive you. + You know, it's forbidden +To no one in Russia + To bow and be silent.' + +"But I was against it: + I said to the peasants, +'For you it is easy, 330 + But how about me? +Whatever may happen + The Elder must come + To accounts with the Barin, +And how can I answer + His babyish questions? +And how can I do + His nonsensical bidding?' + + "'Just take off your hat +And bow low, and say nothing, 340 + And then you walk out +And the thing's at an end. + The old man is ill, +He is weak and forgetful, + And nothing will stay +In his head for an instant.' + + "Perhaps they were right; +To deceive an old madman + Is not very hard. +But for my part, I don't want 350 + To play at buffoon. +For how many years + Have I stood on the threshold +And bowed to the Barin? + Enough for my pleasure! +I said, 'If the commune + Is pleased to be ruled +By a crazy Pomyéshchick + To ease his last moments +I don't disagree, 360 + I have nothing against it; +But then, set me free + From my duties as Elder.' + +"The whole matter nearly + Fell through at that moment, +But then Klímka Lávin said, + 'Let _me_ be Elder, +I'll please you on both sides, + The master and you. +The Lord will soon take him, 370 + And then the fine hayfields +Will come to the commune. + I swear I'll establish +Such order amongst you + You'll die of the fun!' + +"The commune took long + To consider this offer: +A desperate fellow + Is Klímka the peasant, +A drunkard, a rover, 380 + And not very honest, + No lover of work, +And acquainted with gipsies; + A vagabond, knowing +A lot about horses. + A scoffer at those +Who work hard, he will tell you: + 'At work you will never +Get rich, my fine fellow; + You'll never get rich,-- 390 +But you're sure to get crippled!' + But he, all the same, +Is well up in his letters; + Has been to St. Petersburg. +Yes, and to Moscow, + And once to Siberia, too, +With the merchants. + A pity it was +That he ever returned! + He's clever enough, 400 +But he can't keep a farthing; + He's sharp--but he's always +In some kind of trouble. +He's picked some fine words up + From out of his travels: + 'Our Fatherland dear,' +And 'The soul of great Russia,' + And 'Moscow, the mighty, +Illustrious city!' + 'And I,' he will shout, 410 +'Am a plain Russian peasant!' + And striking his forehead +He'll swallow the vodka. + A bottle at once +He'll consume, like a mouthful. + He'll fall at your feet +For a bottle of vodka. + But if he has money +He'll share with you, freely; + The first man he meets 420 +May partake of his drink. + He's clever at shouting +And cheating and fooling, + At showing the best side +Of goods which are rotten, +At boasting and lying; + And when he is caught +He'll slip out through a cranny, + And throw you a jest, +Or his favourite saying: 430 + 'A crack in the jaw +Will your honesty bring you!' + + "Well, after much thinking +The commune decided + That I must remain +The responsible Elder; + But Klímka might act +In my stead to the Barin + As though he were Elder. +Why, then, let him do it! 440 + The right kind of Elder +He is for his Barin, + They make a fine pair! + Like putty his conscience; +Like Meenin's[41] his beard, + So that looking upon him +You'd think a sedater, + More dutiful peasant +Could never be found. + The heirs made his kaftan, 450 +And he put it on, + And from Klímka the 'scapegrace' +He suddenly changed + Into Klím, Son-of-Jacob,[42] +Most worthy of Elders. +So that's how it is;-- + And to our great misfortune +The Barin is ordered + A carriage-drive daily. +Each day through the village 460 + He drives in a carriage +That's built upon springs. + Then up you jump, quickly, +And whip off your hat, + And, God knows for what reason, +He'll jump down your throat, + He'll upbraid and abuse you; +But you must keep silent. + He watches a peasant +At work in the fields, 470 + And he swears we are lazy +And lie-abed sluggards + (Though never worked peasant +With half such a will + In the time of the Barin). +He has not a notion + That they are not _his_ fields, +But ours. When we gather + We laugh, for each peasant +Has something to tell 480 + Of the crazy Pomyéshchick; +His ears burn, I warrant, + When we come together! +And Klím, Son-of-Jacob, + Will run, with the manner +Of bearing the commune + Some news of importance +(The pig has got proud + Since he's taken to scratching +His sides on the steps 490 + Of the nobleman's manor). +He runs and he shouts: + 'A command to the commune! + I told the Pomyèshchick +That Widow Teréntevna's + Cottage had fallen. +And that she is begging + Her bread. He commands you + To marry the widow +To Gabriel Jóckoff; 500 + To rebuild the cottage, +And let them reside there + And multiply freely.' + +"The bride will be seventy, + Seven the bridegroom! +Well, who could help laughing? +Another command: + 'The dull-witted cows, +Driven out before sunrise, + Awoke the Pomyéshchick 510 +By foolishly mooing + While passing his courtyard. +The cow-herd is ordered + To see that the cows +Do not moo in that manner!'" + +The peasants laugh loudly. + + "But why do you laugh so? +We all have our fancies. + Yakútsk was once governed, +I heard, by a General; 520 + He had a liking +For sticking live cows + Upon spikes round the city, +And every free spot + Was adorned in that manner, +As Petersburg is, + So they say, with its statues, +Before it had entered + The heads of the people +That he was a madman. 530 + + "Another strict order +Was sent to the commune: + 'The dog which belongs +To Sofrónoff the watchman + Does not behave nicely, +It barked at the Barin. + Be therefore Sofrónoff +Dismissed. Let Evrémka +Be watchman to guard + The estate of the Barin.' 540 +(Another loud laugh, + For Evremka, the 'simple,' +Is known as the deaf-mute + And fool of the village). + But Klímka's delighted: +At last he's found something + That suits him exactly. +He bustles about + And in everything meddles, +And even drinks less. 550 + There's a sharp little woman +Whose name is Orévna, + And she is Klím's gossip, +And finely she helps him + To fool the old Barin. +And as to the women, + They're living in clover: +They run to the manor + With linen and mushrooms +And strawberries, knowing 560 + The ladies will buy them +And pay what they ask them + And feed them besides. +We laughed and made game + Till we fell into danger +And nearly were lost: + There was one man among us, +Petrov, an ungracious + And bitter-tongued peasant; +He never forgave us 570 + Because we'd consented +To humour the Barin. + 'The Tsar,' he would say, +'Has had mercy upon you, + And now, you, yourselves +Lift the load to your backs. + To Hell with the hayfields! + We want no more masters!' +We only could stop him + By giving him vodka 580 +(His weakness was vodka). + The devil must needs +Fling him straight at the Barin. +One morning Petrov + Had set out to the forest +To pilfer some logs + (For the night would not serve him, +It seems, for his thieving, + He must go and do it +In broadest white daylight), 590 + And there comes the carriage, +On springs, with the Barin! + + "'From whence, little peasant, +That beautiful tree-trunk? + From whence has it come?' +He knew, the old fellow, + From whence it had come. +Petrov stood there silent, + And what could he answer? +He'd taken the tree 600 + From the Barin's own forest. + + "The Barin already +Is bursting with anger; + He nags and reproaches, +He can't stop recalling + The rights of the nobles. +The rank of his Fathers, + He winds them all into +Petrov, like a corkscrew. + +"The peasants are patient, 610 + But even their patience +Must come to an end. + Petrov was out early, +Had eaten no breakfast, + Felt dizzy already, +And now with the words + Of the Barin all buzzing +Like flies in his ears-- + Why, he couldn't keep steady, +He laughed in his face! 620 + + "'Have done, you old scarecrow!' +He said to the Barin. + 'You crazy old clown!' + His jaw once unmuzzled +He let enough words out + To stuff the Pomyéshchick +With Fathers and Grandfathers + Into the bargain. +The oaths of the lords + Are like stings of mosquitoes, 630 +But those of the peasant + Like blows of the pick-axe. +The Barin's dumbfounded! + He'd safely encounter +A rain of small shot, + But he cannot face stones. +The ladies are with him, + They, too, are bewildered, +They run to the peasant + And try to restrain him. 640 + +"He bellows, 'I'll kill you! + For what are you swollen +With pride, you old dotard, + You scum of the pig-sty? +Have done with your jabber! + You've lost your strong grip +On the soul of the peasant, + The last one you are. +By the will of the peasant + Because he is foolish 650 +They treat you as master + To-day. But to-morrow +The ball will be ended; + A good kick behind +We will give the Pomyéshchick, + And tail between legs +Send him back to his dwelling + To leave us in peace!' + + "The Barin is gasping, +'You rebel ... you rebel!' 660 + He trembles all over, +Half-dead he has fallen, + And lies on the earth! + + "The end! think the others, +The black-moustached footguards, + The beautiful ladies; +But they are mistaken; + It isn't the end. + + "An order: to summon +The village together 670 + To witness the punishment +Dealt to the rebel + Before the Pomyéshchick.... +The heirs and the ladies + Come running in terror +To Klím, to Petrov, + And to me: 'Only save us!' +Their faces are pale, + 'If the trick is discovered +We're lost!' 680 + It is Klím's place +To deal with the matter: + He drinks with Petrov +All day long, till the evening, + Embracing him fondly. +Together till midnight + They pace round the village, +At midnight start drinking + Again till the morning. +Petrov is as tipsy 690 + As ever man was, +And like that he is brought + To the Barin's large courtyard, +And all is perfection! + The Barin can't move +From the balcony, thanks + To his yesterday's shaking. +And Klím is well pleased. + + "He leads Petrov into +The stable and sets him 700 + In front of a gallon +Of vodka, and tells him: + 'Now, drink and start crying, +''Oh, oh, little Fathers! + Oh, oh, little. Mothers! +Have mercy! Have mercy!''' + + "Petrov does his bidding; +He howls, and the Barin, + Perched up on the balcony, +Listens in rapture. 710 + He drinks in the sound +Like the loveliest music. + And who could help laughing +To hear him exclaiming, + 'Don't spare him, the villain! +The im-pu-dent rascal! + Just teach him a lesson!' +Petrov yells aloud + Till the vodka is finished. +Of course in the end 720 +He is perfectly helpless, + And four peasants carry him +Out of the stable. + His state is so sorry +That even the Barin + Has pity upon him, +And says to him sweetly, + 'Your own fault it is, +Little peasant, you know!'" + +"You see what a kind heart 730 + He has, the Pomyéshchick," +Says Prov, and old Vlásuchka + Answers him quietly, +"A saying there is: + 'Praise the grass--in the haystack, +The lord--in his coffin.' + + "Twere well if God took him. +Petrov is no longer + Alive. That same evening +He started up, raving, 740 +At midnight the pope came, + And just as the day dawned +He died. He was buried, + A cross set above him, +And God alone knows + What he died of. It's certain +That we never touched him, + Nay, not with a finger, +Much less with a stick. + Yet sometimes the thought comes: +Perhaps if that accident 751 + Never had happened +Petrov would be living. + You see, friends, the peasant +Was proud more than others, + He carried his head high, +And never had bent it, + And now of a sudden-- +Lie down for the Barin! + Fall flat for his pleasure! 760 +The thing went off well, + But Petrov had not wished it. +I think he was frightened + To anger the commune +By not giving in, + And the commune is foolish, +It soon will destroy you.... + The ladies were ready +To kiss the old peasant, + They brought fifty roubles 770 +For him, and some dainties. + 'Twas Klímka, the scamp, +The unscrupulous sinner, + Who worked his undoing.... + + "A servant is coming +To us from the Barin, + They've finished their lunch. +Perhaps they have sent him + To summon the Elder. +I'll go and look on 780 + At the comedy there." + + +II + +KLÍM, THE ELDER + +With him go the strangers, + And some of the women +And men follow after, + For mid-day has sounded, +Their rest-time it is, + So they gather together +To stare at the gentry, + To whisper and wonder. +They stand in a row + At a dutiful distance 10 +Away from the Prince.... + + At a long snowy table +Quite covered with bottles + And all kinds of dishes +Are sitting the gentry, + The old Prince presiding +In dignified state + At the head of the table; +All white, dressed in white, + With his face shrunk awry, 20 +His dissimilar eyes; + In his button-hole fastened +A little white cross + (It's the cross of St. George, +Some one says in a whisper); +And standing behind him, + Ipát, the domestic, +The faithful old servant, +In white tie and shirt-front + Is brushing the flies off. 30 +Beside the Pomyéshchick + On each hand are sitting +The beautiful ladies: + The one with black tresses, +Her lips red as beetroots, + Each eye like an apple; +The other, the fair-haired, + With yellow locks streaming. +(Oh, you yellow locks, + Like spun gold do you glisten 40 +And glow, in the sunshine!) + Then perched on three high chairs +The three little Barins, + Each wearing his napkin +Tucked under his chin, + With the old nurse beside them, +And further the body + Of ancient retainers; +And facing the Prince + At the foot of the table, 50 +The black-moustached footguards + Are sitting together. +Behind each chair standing + A young girl is serving, +And women are waving + The flies off with branches. +The woolly white poodles + Are under the table, +The three little Barins + Are teasing them slyly. 60 + + Before the Pomyéshchick, +Bare-headed and humble, + The Elder is standing. +"Now tell me, how soon + Will the mowing be finished?" +The Barin says, talking + And eating at once. + + "It soon will be finished. +Three days of the week + Do we work for your Highness; 70 +A man with a horse, + And a youth or a woman, +And half an old woman + From every allotment. +To-day for this week +Is the Barin's term finished." + + "Tut-tut!" says the Barin, +Like one who has noticed + Some crafty intent +On the part of another. 80 + "'The Barin's term,' say you? +Now, what do you mean, pray?" + The eye which is bright +He has fixed on the peasant. + + The Elder is hanging +His head in confusion. + "Of course it must be +As your Highness may order. + In two or three days, +If the weather be gracious, 90 + The hay of your Highness +Can surely be gathered. + That's so,--is it not?" + +(He turns his broad face round + And looks at the peasants.) +And then the sharp woman, + Klím's gossip, Orévna, +Makes answer for them: + "Yes, Klím, Son-of-Jacob, +The hay of the Barin 100 + Is surely more precious +Than ours. We must tend it + As long as the weather lasts; +Ours may come later." + + "A woman she is, +But more clever than you," + The Pomyéshchick says smiling, +And then of a sudden + Is shaken with laughter: +"Ha, ha! Oh, you blockhead! 110 + Ha? ha! fool! fool! fool! +It's the 'Barin's term,' say you? + Ha, ha! fool, ha, ha! +The Barin's term, slave, + Is the whole of your life-time; +And you have forgotten + That I, by God's mercy, +By Tsar's ancient charter, + By birth and by merit, +Am your supreme master!" 120 + + The strangers remark here +That Vlásuchka gently + Slips down to the grass. + + "What's that for?" they ask him. +"We may as well rest now; + He's off. You can't stop him. +For since it was rumoured + That we should be given +Our freedom, the Barin + Takes care to remind us 130 +That till the last hour + Of the world will the peasant +Be clenched in the grip + Of the nobles." And really +An hour slips away + And the Prince is still speaking; +His tongue will not always + Obey him, he splutters +And hisses, falls over + His words, and his right eye 140 +So shares his disquiet + That it trembles and twitches. +The left eye expands, + Grows as round as an owl's eye, +Revolves like a wheel. + The rights of his Fathers +Through ages respected, + His services, merits, +His name and possessions, + The Barin rehearses. 150 + +God's curse, the Tsar's anger, + He hurls at the heads +Of obstreperous peasants. + And strictly gives order +To sweep from the commune + All senseless ideas, +Bids the peasants remember + That they are his slaves +And must honour their master. + + "Our Fathers," cried Klím, 160 +And his voice sounded strangely, + It rose to a squeak +As if all things within him + Leapt up with a passionate +Joy of a sudden + At thought of the mighty +And noble Pomyéshchicks, +"And whom should we serve + Save the Master we cherish? +And whom should we honour? 170 + In whom should we hope? +We feed but on sorrows, + We bathe but in tear-drops, +How can we rebel? + + "Our tumble-down hovels, +Our weak little bodies, + Ourselves, we are yours, +We belong to our Master. + The seeds which we sow +In the earth, and the harvest, 180 + The hair on our heads-- +All belongs to the Master. + Our ancestors fallen +To dust in their coffins, + Our feeble old parents +Who nod on the oven, + Our little ones lying +Asleep in their cradles + Are yours--are our Master's, +And we in our homes 190 +Use our wills but as freely + As fish in a net." + +The words of the Elder + Have pleased the Pomyéshchick, +The right eye is gazing + Benignantly at him, +The left has grown smaller + And peaceful again +Like the moon in the heavens. +He pours out a goblet 200 + Of red foreign wine: +"Drink," he says to the peasant. + The rich wine is burning +Like blood in the sunshine; + Klím drinks without protest. +Again he is speaking: + + "Our Fathers," he says, +"By your mercy we live now + As though in the bosom +Of Christ. Let the peasant 210 + But try to exist +Without grace from the Barin!" +(He sips at the goblet.) + "The whole world would perish +If not for the Barin's + Deep wisdom and learning. +If not for the peasant's + Most humble submission. +By birth, and God's holy + Decree you are bidden 220 + To govern the stupid +And ignorant peasant; + By God's holy will +Is the peasant commanded + To honour and cherish +And work for his lord!" + + And here the old servant, +Ipát, who is standing + Behind the Pomyéshchick +And waving his branches, 230 + Begins to sob loudly, +The tears streaming down + O'er his withered old face: +"Let us pray that the Barin + For many long years +May be spared to his servants!" +The simpleton blubbers, + The loving old servant, +And raising his hand, + Weak and trembling, he crosses 240 +Himself without ceasing. + The black-moustached footguards +Look sourly upon him + With secret displeasure. +But how can they help it? + So off come their hats +And they cross themselves also. + And then the old Prince +And the wrinkled old dry-nurse + Both sign themselves thrice, 250 +And the Elder does likewise. + He winks to the woman, +His sharp little gossip, + And straightway the women, +Who nearer and nearer + Have drawn to the table, +Begin most devoutly + To cross themselves too. +And one begins sobbing + In just such a manner 260 +As had the old servant. +("That's right, now, start whining, + Old Widow Terentevna, +Sill-y old noodle!" + Says Vlásuchka, crossly.) + +The red sun peeps slyly + At them from a cloud, +And the slow, dreamy music + Is heard from the river.... + +The ancient Pomyéshchick 270 + Is moved, and the right eye +Is blinded with tears, + Till the golden-haired lady +Removes them and dries it; + She kisses the other eye +Heartily too. + + "You see!" then remarks +The old man to his children, + The two stalwart sons +And the pretty young ladies; 280 + "I wish that those villains, +Those Petersburg liars + Who say we are tyrants, +Could only be here now + To see and hear this!" + +But then something happened + Which checked of a sudden +The speech of the Barin: + A peasant who couldn't +Control his amusement 290 + Gave vent to his laughter. + +The Barin starts wildly, + He clutches the table, +He fixes his face + In the sinner's direction; +The right eye is fierce, + Like a lynx he is watching +To dart on his prey, + And the left eye is whirling. +"Go, find him!" he hisses, 300 + "Go, fetch him! the scoundrel!" + +The Elder dives straight + In the midst of the people; +He asks himself wildly, + "Now, what's to be done?" +He makes for the edge + Of the crowd, where are sitting +The journeying strangers; + His voice is like honey: +"Come one of you forward; 310 + You see, you are strangers, +He wouldn't touch _you_." + + But they are not anxious +To face the Pomyéshchick, + Although they would gladly +Have helped the poor peasants. + He's mad, the old Barin, +So what's to prevent him + From beating them too? + + "Well, you go, Román," 320 + Say the two brothers Góobin, +"_You_ love the Pomyéshchicks." + + "I'd rather you went, though!" +And each is quite willing + To offer the other. +Then Klím looses patience; + "Now, Vlásuchka, help us! +Do something to save us! + I'm sick of the thing!" + +"Yes! Nicely you lied there!" 330 + + "Oho!" says Klím sharply, +"What lies did I tell? + And shan't we be choked +In the grip of the Barins + Until our last day +When we lie in our coffins? + When we get to Hell, too, +Won't they be there waiting + To set us to work?" + + "What kind of a job 340 +Would they find for us there, Klím?" + + "To stir up the fire +While they boil in the pots!" + The others laugh loudly. +The sons of the Barin + Come hurrying to them; +"How foolish you are, Klím! + Our father has sent us, +He's terribly angry + That you are so long, 350 +And don't bring the offender." + + "We can't bring him, Barin; +A stranger he is, + From St. Petersburg province, +A very rich peasant; + The devil has sent him +To us, for our sins! + He can't understand us, +And things here amuse him; + He couldn't help laughing." 360 + +"Well, let him alone, then. + Cast lots for a culprit, +We'll pay him. Look here!" + He offers five roubles. +Oh, no. It won't tempt them. + + "Well, run to the Barin, +And say that the fellow + Has hidden himself." + + "But what when to-morrow comes? +Have you forgotten 370 + Petrov, how we punished +The innocent peasant?" + +"Then what's to be done?" + +"Give me the five roubles! + You trust me, I'll save you!" +Exclaims the sharp woman, + The Elder's sly gossip. +She runs from the peasants + Lamenting and groaning, +And flings herself straight 380 + At the feet of the Barin: + +"O red little sun! + O my Father, don't kill me! +I have but one child, + Oh, have pity upon him! +My poor boy is daft, + Without wits the Lord made him, +And sent him so into + The world. He is crazy. +Why, straight from the bath 390 + He at once begins scratching; +His drink he will try + To pour into his laputs +Instead of the jug. + And of work he knows nothing; +He laughs, and that's all + He can do--so God made him! +Our poor little home, + 'Tis small comfort he brings it; +Our hut is in ruins, 400 + Not seldom it happens +We've nothing to eat, + And that sets him laughing-- +The poor crazy loon! + You may give him a farthing, +A crack on the skull, + And at one and the other +He'll laugh--so God made him! + And what can one say? +From a fool even sorrow 410 + Comes pouring in laughter." + +The knowing young woman! + She lies at the feet +Of the Barin, and trembles, + She squeals like a silly +Young girl when you pinch her, + She kisses his feet. + +"Well ... go. God be with you!" + The Barin says kindly, +"I need not be angry 420 + At idiot laughter, +I'll laugh at him too!" + + "How good you are, Father," +The black-eyed young lady + Says sweetly, and strokes +The white head of the Barin. + The black-moustached footguards +At this put their word in: + + "A fool cannot follow +The words of his masters, 430 + Especially those +Like the words of our father, + So noble and clever." + + And Klím--shameless rascal!-- +Is wiping his eyes + On the end of his coat-tails, +Is sniffing and whining; + "Our Fathers! Our Fathers! +The sons of our Father! + They know how to punish, 440 +But better they know + How to pardon and pity!" + + The old man is cheerful +Again, and is asking + For light frothing wine, + And the corks begin popping +And shoot in the air + To fall down on the women, +Who fly from them, shrieking. + The Barin is laughing, 450 +The ladies then laugh, + And at them laugh their husbands, +And next the old servant, + Ipát, begins laughing, +The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, + And then the whole party +Laugh loudly together; + The feast will be merry! +His daughters-in-law + At the old Prince's order 460 +Are pouring out vodka + To give to the peasants, +Hand cakes to the youths, + To the girls some sweet syrup; +The women drink also + A small glass of vodka. +The old Prince is drinking + And toasting the peasants; +And slyly he pinches + The beautiful ladies. 470 + "That's right! That will do him +More good than his physic," + Says Vlásuchka, watching. +"He drinks by the glassful, + Since long he's lost measure +In revel, or wrath...." + + The music comes floating +To them from the Volga, + The girls now already +Are dancing and singing, 480 + The old Prince is watching them, +Snapping his fingers. + He wants to be nearer +The girls, and he rises. + His legs will not bear him, +His two sons support him; + And standing between them +He chuckles and whistles, + And stamps with his feet +To the time of the music; 490 + The left eye begins +On its own account working, + It turns like a wheel. + + "But why aren't you dancing?" +He says to his sons, + And the two pretty ladies. +"Dance! Dance!" They can't help themselves, + There they are dancing! +He laughs at them gaily, + He wishes to show them 500 +How things went in _his_ time; + He's shaking and swaying +Like one on the deck + Of a ship in rough weather. + +"Sing, Luiba!" he orders. + The golden-haired lady +Does not want to sing, + But the old man will have it. +The lady is singing + A song low and tender, 510 +It sounds like the breeze + On a soft summer evening +In velvety grasses + Astray, like spring raindrops +That kiss the young leaves, + And it soothes the Pomyéshchick. +The feeble old man: + He is falling asleep now.... +And gently they carry him + Down to the water, 520 +And into the boat, + And he lies there, still sleeping. +Above him stands, holding + A big green umbrella, +The faithful old servant, + His other hand guarding +The sleeping Pomyéshchick + From gnats and mosquitoes. +The oarsmen are silent, + The faint-sounding music 530 +Can hardly be heard + As the boat moving gently +Glides on through the water.... + + The peasants stand watching: +The bright yellow hair + Of the beautiful lady +Streams out in the breeze + Like a long golden banner.... + +"I managed him finely, +The noble Pomyéshchick," 540 + Said Klím to the peasants. +"Be God with you, Barin! + Go bragging and scolding, +Don't think for a moment + That we are now free +And your servants no longer, + But die as you lived, +The almighty Pomyéshchick, + To sound of our music, +To songs of your slaves; 550 + But only die quickly, +And leave the poor peasants + In peace. And now, brothers, +Come, praise me and thank me! + I've gladdened the commune. +I shook in my shoes there + Before the Pomyéshchick, +For fear I should trip + Or my tongue should betray me; +And worse--I could hardly 560 + Speak plain for my laughter! +That eye! How it spins! + And you look at it, thinking: + 'But whither, my friend, +Do you hurry so quickly? + On some hasty errand +Of yours, or another's? + Perhaps with a pass +From the Tsar--Little Father, + You carry a message 570 +From him.' I was standing + And bursting with laughter! +Well, I am a drunken + And frivolous peasant, +The rats in my corn-loft + Are starving from hunger, +My hut is quite bare, + Yet I call God to witness +That I would not take + Such an office upon me 580 +For ten hundred roubles + Unless I were certain +That he was the last, + That I bore with his bluster +To serve my own ends, + Of my own will and pleasure." + + Old Vlásuchka sadly +And thoughtfully answers, + "How long, though, how long, though, +Have we--not we only 590 + But all Russian peasants-- +Endured the Pomyéshchicks? + And not for our pleasure, +For money or fun, + Not for two or three months, +But for life. What has changed, though? + Of what are we bragging? +For still we are peasants." + + The peasants, half-tipsy, +Congratulate Klímka. 600 + "Hurrah! Let us toss him!" +And now they are placing + Old Widow Teréntevna +Next to her bridegroom, + The little child Jóckoff, +Saluting them gaily. +They're eating and drinking + What's left on the table. +Then romping and jesting + They stay till the evening, 610 +And only at nightfall + Return to the village. +And here they are met + By some sobering tidings: +The old Prince is dead. + From the boat he was taken, +They thought him asleep, + But they found he was lifeless. +The second stroke--while + He was sleeping--had fallen! 620 + +The peasants are sobered, + They look at each other, +And silently cross themselves. + Then they breathe deeply; +And never before + Did the poor squalid village +Called "Ignorant-Duffers," + Of Volost "Old-Dustmen," +Draw such an intense + And unanimous breath.... 630 +Their pleasure, however, + Was not very lasting, +Because with the death + Of the ancient Pomyéshchick, +The sweet-sounding words + Of his heirs and their bounties +Ceased also. Not even + A pick-me-up after +The yesterday's feast + Did they offer the peasants. 640 +And as to the hayfields-- + Till now is the law-suit +Proceeding between them, + The heirs and the peasants. +Old Vlásuchka was + By the peasants appointed +To plead in their name, + And he lives now in Moscow. +He went to St. Petersburg too, + But I don't think 650 +That much can be done + For the cause of the peasants. + + + + + +PART III. + +THE PEASANT WOMAN + + +PROLOGUE + + "Not only to men +Must we go with our question, + We'll ask of the women," +The peasants decided. + They asked in the village +"Split-up," but the people + Replied to them shortly, +"Not here will you find one. + But go to the village +'Stripped-Naked'--a woman 10 + Lives there who is happy. +She's hardly a woman, + She's more like a cow, +For a woman so healthy, + So smooth and so clever, +Could hardly be found. + You must seek in the village +Matróna Korchágin-- +The people there call her + 'The Governor's Lady.'" 20 +The peasants considered +And went.... + + Now already +The corn-stalks are rising + Like tall graceful columns, +With gilded heads nodding, + And whispering softly + In gentle low voices. + Oh, beautiful summer! +No time is so gorgeous, 30 + So regal, so rich. + +You full yellow cornfields, + To look at you now +One would never imagine + How sorely God's people +Had toiled to array you + Before you arose, +In the sight of the peasant, + And stood before him, +Like a glorious army 40 + n front of a Tsar! +'Tis not by warm dew-drops +That you have been moistened, + The sweat of the peasant +Has fallen upon you. + + The peasants are gladdened +At sight of the oats + And the rye and the barley, +But not by the wheat, + For it feeds but the chosen: 50 +"We love you not, wheat! + But the rye and the barley +We love--they are kind, + They feed all men alike." + +The flax, too, is growing + So sweetly and bravely: +"Ai! you little mite! + You are caught and entangled!" +A poor little lark + In the flax has been captured; 60 +It struggles for freedom. + Pakhóm picks it up, +He kisses it tenderly: + "Fly, little birdie!" ... +The lark flies away +To the blue heights of Heaven; + The kind-hearted peasants +Gaze lovingly upwards + To see it rejoice +In the freedom above.... 70 + The peas have come on, too; +Like locusts, the peasants + Attack them and eat them. +They're like a plump maiden-- + The peas--for whoever +Goes by must needs pinch them. + Now peas are being carried +In old hands, in young hands, + They're spreading abroad +Over seventy high-roads. 80 + The vegetables--how +They're flourishing also! + Each toddler is clasping +A radish or carrot, + And many are cracking +The seeds of the sunflower. + The beetroots are dotted +Like little red slippers + All over the earth. + + Our peasants are walking, 90 +Now faster--now slower. + At last they have reached it-- +The village 'Stripped-Naked,' + It's not much to look at: +Each hut is propped up + Like a beggar on crutches; +The thatch from the roofs + Has made food for the cattle; +The huts are like feeble + Old skeletons standing, 100 +Like desolate rooks' nests + When young birds forsake them. +When wild Autumn winds + Have dismantled the birch-trees. +The people are all + In the fields; they are working. +Behind the poor village + A manor is standing; +It's built on the slope + Of a hill, and the peasants 110 +Are making towards it + To look at it close. + +The house is gigantic, +The courtyard is huge, + There's a pond in it too; +A watch-tower arises + From over the house, +With a gallery round it, + A flagstaff upon it. + + They meet with a lackey 120 + Near one of the gates: +He seems to be wearing + A strange kind of mantle; +"Well, what are you up to?" + He says to the friends, +"The Pomyéshchick's abroad now, + The manager's dying." +He shows them his back, + And they all begin laughing: +A tiger is clutching 130 + The edge of his shoulders! +"Heh! here's a fine joke!" + They are hotly discussing +What kind of a mantle + The lackey is wearing, +Till clever Pakhóm + Has got hold of the riddle. + "The cunning old rascal, +He's stolen a carpet, + And cut in the middle 140 +A hole for his head!" + + Like weak, straddling beetles +Shut up to be frozen + In cold empty huts +By the pitiless peasants. +The servants are crawling + All over the courtyard. +Their master long since + Has forgotten about them, +And left them to live 150 + As they can. They are hungry, +All old and decrepit, +And dressed in all manners, + They look like a crowd +In a gipsy encampment. + And some are now dragging +A net through the pond: + "God come to your help! +Have you caught something, brothers?" + "One carp--nothing more; 160 +There used once to be many, +But now we have come + To the end of the feast!" + +"Do try to get five!" + Says a pale, pregnant woman, +Who's fervently blowing + A fire near the pond. + +"And what are those pretty + Carved poles you are burning? +They're balcony railings, 170 + I think, are they not?" + +"Yes, balcony railings." + + "See here. They're like tinder; +Don't blow on them, Mother! + I bet they'll burn faster +Than you find the victuals + To cook in the pot!" + + "I'm waiting and waiting, +And Mítyenka sickens + Because of the musty 180 +Old bread that I give him. + But what can I do? +This life--it is bitter!" + She fondles the head +Of a half-naked baby + Who sits by her side +In a little brass basin, + A button-nosed mite. + + "The boy will take cold there, +The basin will chill him," 190 + Says Prov; and he wishes +To lift the child up, + But it screams at him, angry. +"No, no! Don't you touch him," + The mother says quickly, +"Why, can you not see + That's his carriage he's driving? +Drive on, little carriage! + Gee-up, little horses! +You see how he drives!" 200 + + The peasants each moment +Observe some new marvel; + And soon they have noticed +A strange kind of labour + Proceeding around them: +One man, it appears, + To the door has got fastened; +He's toiling away + To unscrew the brass handles, +His hands are so weak 210 + He can scarcely control them. +Another is hugging + Some tiles: "See, Yegórshka, +I've dug quite a heap out!" + Some children are shaking +An apple-tree yonder: + "You see, little Uncles, + There aren't many left, +Though the tree was quite heavy." + "But why do you want them? 220 +They're quite hard and green." + "We're thankful to get them!" + +The peasants examine + The park for a long time; +Such wonders are seen here, + Such cunning inventions: +In one place a mountain + Is raised; in another +A ravine yawns deep! + A lake has been made too; 230 +Perhaps at one time +There were swans on the water? + The summer-house has some +Inscriptions upon it, + Demyán begins spelling +Them out very slowly. + A grey-haired domestic +Is watching the peasants; + He sees they have very +Inquisitive natures, 240 + And presently slowly +Goes hobbling towards them, + And holding a book. +He says, "Will you buy it?" + Demyán is a peasant +Acquainted with letters, + He tries for some time +But he can't read a word. + + "Just sit down yourself +On that seat near the linden, 250 + And read the book leisurely +Like a Pomyéshchick!" + + "You think you are clever," +The grey-headed servant +Retorts with resentment, + "Yet books which are learned +Are wasted upon you. + You read but the labels +On public-house windows, + And that which is written 260 +On every odd corner: +'Most strictly forbidden.'" + +The pathways are filthy, + The graceful stone ladies +Bereft of their noses. + "The fruit and the berries, +The geese and the swans + Which were once on the water, +The thieving old rascals + Have stuffed in their maws. 270 +Like church without pastor, + Like fields without peasants, +Are all these fine gardens + Without a Pomyéshchick," +The peasants remark. + For long the Pomyéshchick +Has gathered his treasures, +When all of a sudden.... +(The six peasants laugh, + But the seventh is silent, 280 +He hangs down his head.) + + A song bursts upon them! +A voice is resounding + Like blasts of a trumpet. +The heads of the peasants + Are eagerly lifted, +They gaze at the tower. + On the balcony round it +A man is now standing; + He wears a pope's cassock; 290 +He sings ... on the balmy + Soft air of the evening, +The bass, like a huge + Silver bell, is vibrating, +And throbbing it enters + The hearts of the peasants. +The words are not Russian, + But some foreign language, +But, like Russian songs, + It is full of great sorrow, 300 +Of passionate grief, + Unending, unfathomed; +It wails and laments, + It is bitterly sobbing.... + +"Pray tell us, good woman, + What man is that singing?" +Román asks the woman + Now feeding her baby +With steaming ukhá.[43] + + "A singer, my brothers, 310 +A born Little Russian, + The Barin once brought him +Away from his home, + With a promise to send him +To Italy later. +But long the Pomyéshchick + Has been in strange parts +And forgotten his promise; + And now the poor fellow +Would be but too glad 320 + To get back to his village. +There's nothing to do here, + He hasn't a farthing, +There's nothing before him + And nothing behind him +Excepting his voice. + You have not really heard it; +You will if you stay here + Till sunrise to-morrow: +Some three versts away 330 + There is living a deacon, +And he has a voice too. + They greet one another: +Each morning at sunrise + Will our little singer +Climb up to the watch-tower, + And call to the other, +'Good-morrow to Father + Ipát, and how fares he?' +(The windows all shake 340 +At the sound.) + From the distance + The deacon will answer, +'Good-morrow, good-morrow, + To our little sweet-throat! +I go to drink vodka, + I'm going ... I'm going....' +The voice on the air + Will hang quivering around us +For more than an hour, 350 + Like the neigh of a stallion." + +The cattle are now + Coming home, and the evening +Is filled with the fragrance + Of milk; and the woman, +The mother of Mítyenka, + Sighs; she is thinking, +"If only one cow + Would turn into the courtyard!" +But hark! In the distance 360 + Some voices in chorus! +"Good-bye, you poor mourners, + May God send you comfort! +The people are coming, + We're going to meet them." + +The peasants are filled + With relief; because after +The whining old servants + The people who meet them +Returning from work 370 + In the fields seem such healthy +And beautiful people. + The men and the women +And pretty young girls + Are all singing together. + +"Good health to you! Which is + Among you the woman +Matróna Korchágin?" + The peasants demand. + +"And what do you want 380 +With Matróna Korchágin?" + +The woman Matróna + Is tall, finely moulded, +Majestic in bearing, + And strikingly handsome. +Of thirty-eight years + She appears, and her black hair +Is mingled with grey. + Her complexion is swarthy, +Her eyes large and dark 390 + And severe, with rich lashes. +A white shirt, and short + Sarafán[44] she is wearing, +She walks with a hay-fork + Slung over her shoulder. + +"Well, what do you want + With Matróna Korchágin?" +The peasants are silent; + They wait till the others +Have gone in advance, 400 + And then, bowing, they answer: + +"We come from afar, + And a trouble torments us, +A trouble so great + That for it we've forsaken +Our homes and our work, + And our appetites fail. +We're orthodox peasants, + From District 'Most Wretched,' +From 'Destitute Parish,' 410 + From neighbouring hamlets-- +'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' + 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' +And 'Harvestless,' too. +We met in the roadway + And argued about +Who is happy in Russia. +Luká said, 'The pope,' + And Demyán, 'The Pomyéshchick,' +And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 420 + And Román, 'The official.' +'The round-bellied merchant,' +Said both brothers Goóbin, + Mitródor and Ívan. +Pakhóm said, 'His Highness, + The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' +Like bulls are the peasants: + Once folly is in them +You cannot dislodge it + Although you should beat them 430 +With stout wooden cudgels, + They stick to their folly +And nothing will move them. + We argued and quarrelled, +While quarrelling fought, + And while fighting decided +That never again + Would we turn our steps homewards +To kiss wives and children, + To see the old people, 440 +Until we have found + The reply to our question, +Of who can in Russia + Be happy and free? +We've questioned the pope, + We've asked the Pomyéshchick, +And now we ask you. + We'll seek the official, +The Minister, merchant, + We even will go 450 +To the Tsar--Little Father, + Though whether he'll see us +We cannot be sure. + But rumour has told us +That _you're_ free and happy. + Then say, in God's name, +If the rumour be true." + +Matróna Korchágin + Does not seem astonished, +But only a sad look 460 + Creeps into her eyes, +And her face becomes thoughtful. + + "Your errand is surely +A foolish one, brothers," + She says to the peasants, +"For this is the season + Of work, and no peasant +For chatter has time." + +"Till now on our journey + Throughout half the Empire 470 +We've met no denial," + The peasants protest. + +"But look for yourselves, now, + The corn-ears are bursting. +We've not enough hands." + + "And we? What are we for? +Just give us some sickles, + And see if we don't +Get some work done to-morrow!" + The peasants reply. 480 + +Matróna sees clearly + Enough that this offer +Must not be rejected; + "Agreed," she said, smiling, +"To such lusty fellows + As you, we may well look +For ten sheaves apiece." + + "You give us your promise +To open your heart to us?" + + "I will hide nothing." 490 + +Matróna Korchágin + Now enters her cottage, +And while she is working + Within it, the peasants +Discover a very + Nice spot just behind it, +And sit themselves down. + There's a barn close beside them +And two immense haystacks, + A flax-field around them; 500 +And lying just near them + A fine plot of turnips, +And spreading above them + A wonderful oak-tree, +A king among oaks. + They're sitting beneath it, +And now they're producing + The magic white napkin: +"Heh, napkin enchanted, + Give food to the peasants!" 510 +The napkin unfolds, + Two hands have come floating +From no one sees where, +Place a pailful of vodka, + A large pile of bread +On the magic white napkin, + And dwindle away. +The two brothers Goóbin + Are chuckling together, +For they have just pilfered 520 + A very big horse-radish +Out of the garden-- + It's really a monster! + +The skies are dark blue now, + The bright stars are twinkling, +The moon has arisen + And sails high above them; +The woman Matróna + Comes out of the cottage +To tell them her tale. 530 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THE WEDDING + +"My girlhood was happy, + For we were a thrifty +Arid diligent household; + And I, the young maiden, +With Father and Mother + Knew nothing but joy. +My father got up + And went out before sunrise, +He woke me with kisses + And tender caresses; 10 +My brother, while dressing, + Would sing little verses: +'Get up, little Sister, + Get up, little Sister, +In no little beds now +Are people delaying, +In all little churches +The peasants are praying, +Get up, now, get up, +It is time, little Sister. 20 +The shepherd has gone +To the field with the sheep, +And no little maidens +Are lying asleep, +They've gone to pick raspberries, +Merrily singing. +The sound of the axe +In the forest is ringing.' + +"And then my dear mother, + When she had done scouring 30 +The pots and the pans, + When the hut was put tidy, +The bread in the oven, + Would steal to my bedside, +And cover me softly + And whisper to me: + +"'Sleep on, little dove, + Gather strength--you will need it-- +You will not stay always + With Father and Mother, 40 +And when you will leave them + To live among strangers +Not long will you sleep. + You'll slave till past midnight, +And rise before daybreak; + You'll always be weary. +They'll give you a basket + And throw at the bottom +A crust. You will chew it, + My poor little dove, 50 +And start working again....' + + "But, brothers, I did not +Spend much time in sleeping; + And when I was five +On the day of St. Simon, + I mounted a horse +With the help of my father, + And then was no longer +A child. And at six years + I carried my father 60 +His breakfast already, + And tended the ducks, +And at night brought the cow home, + And next--took my rake, +And was off to the hayfields! + And so by degrees +I became a great worker, + And yet best of all +I loved singing and dancing; + The whole day I worked 70 +In the fields, and at nightfall + Returned to the cottage +All covered with grime. + But what's the hot bath for? +And thanks to the bath + And boughs of the birch-tree, +And icy spring water, + Again I was clean +And refreshed, and was ready + To take out my spinning-wheel, 80 +And with companions + To sing half the night. + +"I never ran after + The youths, and the forward +I checked very sharply. +To those who were gentle + And shy, I would whisper: +'My cheeks will grow hot, + And sharp eyes has my mother; +Be wise, now, and leave me 90 + Alone'--and they left me. + +"No matter how clever + I was to avoid them, +The one came at last + I was destined to wed; +And he--to my bitter + Regret--was a stranger: +Young Phílip Korchágin, + A builder of ovens. +He came from St. Petersburg. 100 + Oh, how my mother +Did weep: 'Like a fish + In the ocean, my daughter, +You'll plunge and be lost; + Like a nightingale, straying +Away from its nest, + We shall lose you, my daughter! +The walls of the stranger + Are not built of sugar, +Are not spread with honey, 110 + Their dwellings are chilly +And garnished with hunger; + The cold winds will nip you, +The black rooks will scold you, + The savage dogs bite you, +The strangers despise you.' + +"But Father sat talking + And drinking till late +With the 'swat.'[45] I was frightened. + I slept not all night.... 120 + + "Oh, youth, pray you, tell me, +Now what can you find + In the maiden to please you? +And where have you seen her? + Perhaps in the sledges +With merry young friends + Flying down from the mountain? +Then you were mistaken, + O son of your father, +It was but the frost 130 + And the speed and the laughter +That brought the bright tints + To the cheeks of the maiden. +Perhaps at some feast + In the home of a neighbour +You saw her rejoicing + And clad in bright colours? +But then she was plump + From her rest in the winter; +Her rosy face bloomed 140 + Like the scarlet-hued poppy; +But wait!--have you been + To the hut of her father +And seen her at work + Beating flax in the barn? +Ah, what shall I do? + I will take brother falcon +And send him to town: + 'Fly to town, brother falcon, +And bring me some cloth 150 + And six colours of worsted, +And tassels of blue. + I will make a fine curtain, +Embroider each corner + With Tsar and Tsaritsa, +With Moscow and Kiev, + And Constantinople, +And set the great sun + Shining bright in the middle, +And this I will hang 160 + In the front of my window: +Perhaps you will see it, + And, struck by its beauty, +Will stand and admire it, + And will not remember +To seek for the maiden....' + + "And so till the morning +I lay with such thoughts. + 'Now, leave me, young fellow,' +I said to the youth 170 + When he came in the evening; +'I will not be foolish + Enough to abandon +My freedom in order + To enter your service. +God sees me--I will not + Depart from my home!' + + "'Do come,' said young Phílip, +'So far have I travelled + To fetch you. Don't fear me-- 180 + I will not ill-treat you.' +I begged him to leave me, + I wept and lamented; +But nevertheless + I was still a young maiden: +I did not forget + Sidelong glances to cast +At the youth who thus wooed me. + And Phílip was handsome, +Was rosy and lusty, 190 + Was strong and broad-shouldered, +With fair curling hair, + With a voice low and tender.... +Ah, well ... I was won.... + +"'Come here, pretty fellow, + And stand up against me, +Look deep in my eyes-- + They are clear eyes and truthful; +Look well at my rosy + Young face, and bethink you: 200 +Will you not regret it, + Won't my heart be broken, +And shall I not weep + Day and night if I trust you +And go with you, leaving + My parents forever?' + +"'Don't fear, little pigeon, + We shall not regret it,' +Said Phílip, but still + I was timid and doubtful. 210 +'Do go,' murmured I, and he, + 'When you come with me.' +Of course I was fairer + And sweeter and dearer +Than any that lived, + And his arms were about me.... +Then all of a sudden + I made a sharp effort +To wrench myself free. 219 + 'How now? What's the matter? +You're strong, little pigeon!' + Said Phílip astonished, +But still held me tight. + 'Ah, Phílip, if you had +Not held me so firmly + You would not have won me; +I did it to try you, + To measure your strength; +You were strong, and it pleased me.' +We must have been happy 230 + In those fleeting moments +When softly we whispered + And argued together; +I think that we never + Were happy again.... + +"How well I remember.... + The night was like this night, +Was starlit and silent ... + Was dreamy and tender +Like this...." 240 + + And the woman, +Matróna, sighed deeply, + And softly began-- +Leaning back on the haystack-- + To sing to herself +With her thoughts in the past: + + "'Tell me, young merchant, pray, + Why do you love me so-- + Poor peasant's daughter? + I am not clad in gold, 250 + I am not hung with pearls, + Not decked with silver.' + + "'Silver your chastity, + Golden your beauty shines, + O my belovèd, + White pearls are falling now + Out of your weeping eyes, + Falling like tear-drops.' + +"My father gave orders + To bring forth the wine-cups, 260 +To set them all out + On the solid oak table. +My dear mother blessed me: + 'Go, serve them, my daughter, +Bow low to the strangers.' + I bowed for the first time, +My knees shook and trembled; + I bowed for the second-- +My face had turned white; + And then for the third time 270 +I bowed, and forever + The freedom of girlhood +Rolled down from my head...." + +"Ah, that means a wedding," + Cry both brothers Goóbin, +"Let's drink to the health + Of the happy young pair!" + +"Well said! We'll begin + With the bride," say the others. + +"Will you drink some vodka, 280 + Matróna Korchágin?" + +"An old woman, brothers, + And not drink some vodka?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +A SONG + +Stand before your judge-- +And your legs will quake! +Stand before the priest +On your wedding-day,-- +How your head will ache! +How your head will ache! +You will call to mind +Songs of long ago, +Songs of gloom and woe: +Telling how the guests 10 +Crowd into the yard, +Run to see the bride +Whom the husband brings +Homeward at his side. +How his parents both +Fling themselves on her; +How his brothers soon +Call her "wasteful one"; +How his sisters next +Call her "giddy one"; 20 +How his father growls, +"Greedy little bear!" +How his mother snarls, +"Cannibal!" at her. +She is "slovenly" +And "disorderly," +She's a "wicked one"! + +"All that's in the song + Happened now to me. +Do you know the song? 30 + Have you heard it sung?" + +"Yes, we know it well; +Gossip, you begin, + We will all join in." + + _Matróna_ + +So sleepy, so weary +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow. +But out in the passage +My Father-in-law +Begins stamping and swearing. 40 + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Stamping and swearing! +Stamping and swearing! + He won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + + _Matróna_ + +So sleepy, so weary 50 +I am, and my heavy head +Clings to the pillow; +But out in the passage +My Mother-in-law +Begins scolding and nagging. + + _Peasants in Chorus_ + + Scolding and nagging! +Scolding and nagging! + She won't let the poor woman +Rest for a moment. + Up, up, up, lazy-head! 60 + Up, up, up, lie-abed! + Lazy-head! + Lie-abed! + Slut! + +"A quarrelsome household + It was--that of Philip's +To which I belonged now; + And I from my girlhood +Stepped straight into Hell. + My husband departed 70 +To work in the city, + And leaving, advised me +To work and be silent, + To yield and be patient: +'Don't splash the red iron + With cold water--it hisses!' +With father and mother + And sisters-in-law he +Now left me alone; + Not a soul was among them 80 +To love or to shield me, + But many to scold. +One sister-in-law-- + It was Martha, the eldest,-- +Soon set me to work + Like a slave for her pleasure. +And Father-in-law too + One had to look after, +Or else all his clothes + To redeem from the tavern. 90 +In all that one did + There was need to be careful, +Or Mother-in-law's + Superstitions were troubled +(One never could please her). +Well, some superstitions + Of course may be right; +But they're most of them evil. + And one day it happened +That Mother-in-law 100 + Murmured low to her husband +That corn which is stolen + Grows faster and better. +So Father-in-law + Stole away after midnight.... +It chanced he was caught, + And at daybreak next morning +Brought back and flung down + Like a log in the stable. + + "But I acted always 110 +As Phílip had told me: + I worked, with the anger +Hid deep in my bosom, + And never a murmur +Allowed to escape me. + And then with the winter +Came Phílip, and brought me + A pretty silk scarf; +And one feast-day he took me + To drive in the sledges; 120 +And quickly my sorrows + Were lost and forgotten: +I sang as in old days + At home, with my father. +For I and my husband + Were both of an age, +And were happy together + When only they left us +Alone, but remember + A husband like Phílip 130 +Not often is found." + +"Do you mean to say + That he never once beat you?" + +Matróna was plainly + Confused by the question; + "Once, only, he beat me," + She said, very low. + + "And why?" asked the peasants. + +"Well, you know yourselves, friends, + How quarrels arise 140 +In the homes of the peasants. + A young married sister +Of Phílip's one day + Came to visit her parents. +She found she had holes + In her boots, and it vexed her. +Then Phílip said, 'Wife, + Fetch some boots for my sister.' +And I did not answer + At once; I was lifting 150 +A large wooden tub, + So, of course, couldn't speak. +But Phílip was angry + With me, and he waited +Until I had hoisted + The tub to the oven, +Then struck me a blow +With his fist, on my temple. + +"'We're glad that you came, + But you see that you'd better 160 +Keep out of the way,' + Said the other young sister +To her that was married. + + "Again Philip struck me! + + "'It's long since I've seen you, + My dearly-loved daughter, +But could I have known + How the baggage would treat you!'... +Whined Mother-in-law. + +"And again Phílip struck me! 170 + + "Well, that is the story. +'Tis surely not fitting + For wives to sit counting +The blows of their husbands, + But then I had promised +To keep nothing back." + + "Ah, well, with these women-- +The poisonous serpents!-- + A corpse would awaken +And snatch up a horsewhip," 180 + The peasants say, smiling. + +Matróna said nothing. + The peasants, in order +To keep the occasion + In manner befitting, +Are filling the glasses; + And now they are singing +In voices of thunder + A rollicking chorus, +Of husbands' relations, 190 + And wielding the knout. + + ... ... + + "Cruel hated husband, +Hark! he is coming! + Holding the knout...." + + _Chorus_ + + "Hear the lash whistle! +See the blood spurt! + Ai, leli, leli! +See the blood spurt!" + + ... ... + +"Run to his father! + Bowing before him-- 200 +'Save me!' I beg him; + 'Stop my fierce husband-- +Venomous serpent!' + Father-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly! + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" 210 + + ... ... + +"Quick--to his mother! + Bowing before her-- +'Save me!' I beg her; + 'Stop my cruel husband! +Venomous serpent!' + Mother-in-law says, + 'Beat her more soundly, + Draw the blood freely!'" + + _Chorus_ + +"Hear the lash whistle! + See the blood spurt! 220 +Ai, leli, leli! + See the blood spurt!" + + * * * * * + +"On Lady-day Phílip + Went back to the city; +A little while later + Our baby was born. +Like a bright-coloured picture + Was he--little Djóma; +The sunbeams had given + Their radiance to him, 230 +The pure snow its whiteness; + The poppies had painted +His lips; by the sable + His brow had been pencilled; +The falcon had fashioned + His eyes, and had lent them +Their wonderful brightness. + At sight of his first +Angel smile, all the anger + And bitterness nursed 240 +In my bosom was melted; + It vanished away +Like the snow on the meadows + At sight of the smiling +Spring sun. And not longer + I worried and fretted; +I worked, and in silence + I let them upbraid. +But soon after that + A misfortune befell me: 250 +The manager by + The Pomyéshchick appointed, +Called Sitnikov, hotly + Began to pursue me. +'My lovely Tsaritsa! + 'My rosy-ripe berry!' +Said he; and I answered, + 'Be off, shameless rascal! +Remember, the berry + Is not in _your_ forest!' 260 +I stayed from the field-work, + And hid in the cottage; +He very soon found me. + I hid in the corn-loft, +But Mother-in-law + Dragged me out to the courtyard; +'Now don't play with fire, girl!' + She said. I besought her +To send him away, + But she answered me roughly, 270 +'And do you want Phílip + To serve as a soldier?' +I ran to Savyéli, + The grandfather, begging +His aid and advice. + + "I haven't yet told you +A word of Savyéli, + The only one living +Of Phílip's relations + Who pitied and loved me. 280 +Say, friends, shall I tell you + About him as well?" + +"Yes, tell us his tale, +And we'll each throw a couple +Of sheaves in to-morrow, + Above what we promised." + +"Well, well," says Matróna, + "And 'twould be a pity +To give old Savyéli +No place in the story; 290 +For he was a happy one, + Too--the old man...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +SAVYÉLI + +"A mane grey and bushy + Which covered his shoulders, +A huge grizzled beard + Which had not seen the scissors +For twenty odd years, + Made Savyéli resemble +A shaggy old bear, + Especially when he +Came out of the forest, + So broad and bent double. 10 +The grandfather's shoulders + Were bowed very low, +And at first I was frightened + Whenever he entered +The tiny low cottage: + I thought that were he +To stand straight of a sudden + He'd knock a great hole +With his head in the ceiling. + But Grandfather could not 20 +Stand straight, and they told me +That he was a hundred. + He lived all alone +In his own little cottage, + And never permitted +The others to enter; + He couldn't abide them. +Of course they were angry + And often abused him. +His own son would shout at him, 30 + 'Branded one! Convict!' +But this did not anger + Savyéli, he only +Would go to his cottage + Without making answer, +And, crossing himself, + Begin reading the scriptures; +Then suddenly cry + In a voice loud and joyful, +'Though branded--no slave!' 40 + When too much they annoyed him, +He sometimes would say to them: + 'Look, the swat's[46] coming!' +The unmarried daughter + Would fly to the window; +Instead of the swat there + A beggar she'd find! +And one day he silvered + A common brass farthing, +And left it to lie 50 + On the floor; and then straightway +Did Father-in-law run + In joy to the tavern,-- +He came back, not tipsy, + But beaten half-dead! +At supper that night + We were all very silent, +And Father-in-law had + A cut on his eyebrow, +But Grandfather's face 60 + Wore a smile like a rainbow! + +"Savyéli would gather + The berries and mushrooms +From spring till late autumn, + And snare the wild rabbits; +Throughout the long winter +He lay on the oven + And talked to himself. +He had favourite sayings: +He used to lie thinking 70 + For whole hours together, +And once in an hour + You would hear him exclaiming: + +"'Destroyed ... and subjected!' + Or, 'Ai, you toy heroes! +You're fit but for battles + With old men and women!' + +"'Be patient ... and perish, +Impatient ... and perish!' + +"'Eh, you Russian peasant, 80 + You giant, you strong man, +The whole of your lifetime + You're flogged, yet you dare not +Take refuge in death, + For Hell's torments await you!' + +"'At last the Korójins[47] + Awoke, and they paid him, +They paid him, they paid him, + They paid the whole debt!' +And many such sayings 90 + He had,--I forget them. +When Father-in-law grew + Too noisy I always +Would run to Savyéli, + And we two, together, +Would fasten the door. + Then I began working, +While Djómushka climbed + To the grandfather's shoulder, +And sat there, and looked 100 + Like a bright little apple +That hung on a hoary + Old tree. Once I asked him: + +"'And why do they call you + A convict, Savyéli?' + +"'I was once a convict,' + Said he. + + "'You, Savyéli!' + +"'Yes I, little Grandchild, + Yes, I have been branded. 110 +I buried a German + Alive--Christian Vogel.' + +"'You're joking, Savyéli!' + + "'Oh no, I'm not joking. +I mean it,' he said, + And he told me the story. + +"'The peasants in old days + Were serfs as they now are, +But our race had, somehow, + Not seen its Pomyéshchick; 120 +No manager knew we, + No pert German agent. +And barschin we gave not, + And taxes we paid not +Except when it pleased us,-- + Perhaps once in three years +Our taxes we'd pay.' + +"'But why, little Grandad?' + + "'The times were so blessed,-- +And folk had a saying 130 + That our little village +Was sought by the devil + For more than three years, +But he never could find it. + Great forests a thousand +Years old lay about us; +And treacherous marshes + And bogs spread around us; +No horseman and few men + On foot ever reached us. 140 +It happened that once + By some chance, our Pomyéshchick, +Shaláshnikov, wanted + To pay us a visit. +High placed in the army + Was he; and he started +With soldiers to find us. + They soon got bewildered +And lost in the forest, + And had to turn back; 150 +Why, the Zemsky policeman + Would only come once +In a year! They were good times! + In these days the Barin +Lives under your window; + The roadways go spreading +Around, like white napkins-- + The devil destroy them! +We only were troubled + By bears, and the bears too 160 +Were easily managed. + Why, I was a worse foe +By far than old Mishka, + When armed with a dagger +And bear-spear. I wandered + In wild, secret woodpaths, +And shouted, ''_My_ forest!'' + And once, only once, +I was frightened by something: +I stepped on a huge 170 + Female bear that was lying +Asleep in her den + In the heart of the forest. +She flung herself at me, + And straight on my bear-spear +Was fixed. Like a fowl + On the spit she hung twisting +An hour before death. + It was then that my spine snapped. +It often was painful 180 + When I was a young man; +But now I am old, + It is fixed and bent double. +Now, do I not look like +A hook, little Grandchild?' + +"'But finish the story. + You lived and were not much +Afflicted. What further?' + +"'At last our Pomyéshchick + Invented a new game: 190 +He sent us an order, + ''Appear!'' We appeared not. +Instead, we lay low + In our dens, hardly breathing. +A terrible drought + Had descended that summer, +The bogs were all dry; + So he sent a policeman, +Who managed to reach us, + To gather our taxes, 200 +In honey and fish; + A second time came he, +We gave him some bear-skins; + And when for the third time +He came, we gave nothing,-- + We said we had nothing. +We put on our laputs, + We put our old caps on, +Our oldest old coats, + And we went to Korójin 210 +(For there was our master now, + Stationed with soldiers). +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none, + We cannot pay taxes, +The corn has not grown, + And the fish have escaped us.'' +''Your taxes!'' ''We have none.'' + He waited no longer; +''Hey! Give them the first round!'' + He said, and they flogged us. 220 + +"'Our pockets were not + Very easily opened; +Shaláshnikov, though, was + A master at flogging. +Our tongues became parched, + And our brains were set whirling, +And still he continued. + He flogged not with birch-rods, +With whips or with sticks, + But with knouts made for giants. 230 +At last we could stand it + No longer; we shouted, +''Enough! Let us breathe!'' + We unwound our foot-rags +And took out our money, + And brought to the Barin +A ragged old bonnet + With roubles half filled. + +"'The Barin grew calm, + He was pleased with the money; 240 +He gave us a glass each + Of strong, bitter brandy, +And drank some himself + With the vanquished Korójins, +And gaily clinked glasses. + ''It's well that you yielded,'' +Said he, ''For I swear + I was fully decided +To strip off the last shred + Of skins from your bodies 250 +And use it for making + A drum for my soldiers! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'' + (He was pleased with the notion.) +''A fine drum indeed!'' + + "'In silence we left; +But two stalwart old peasants + Were chuckling together; +They'd two hundred roubles + In notes, the old rascals! 260 +Safe hidden away + In the end of their coat-tails. +They both had been yelling, + ''We're beggars! We're beggars!'' +So carried them home. + ''Well, well, you may cackle!'' + I thought to myself, +''But the next time, be certain, + You won't laugh at me!'' +The others were also 270 + Ashamed of their weakness, +And so by the ikons + We swore all together + That next time we rather +Would die of the beating + Than feebly give way. +It seems the Pomyéshchick + Had taken a fancy +At once to our roubles, + Because after that 280 +Every year we were summoned + To go to Korójin, +We went, and were flogged. + + "'Shaláshnikov flogged like +A prince, but be certain +The treasures he thrashed from + The doughty Korójins +Were not of much weight. + The weak yielded soon, +But the strong stood like iron 290 + For the commune. I also +Bore up, and I thought: + ''Though never so stoutly +You flog us, you dog's son, + You won't drag the whole soul +From out of the peasant; + Some trace will be left.'' + +"'When the Barin was sated + We went from the town, +But we stopped on the outskirts 300 + To share what was over. +And plenty there was, too! + Shaláshnikov, heh, +You're a fool! It was our turn + To laugh at the Barin; +Ah, they were proud peasants-- + The plucky Korójins! +But nowadays show them + The tail of a knout, +And they'll fly to the Barin, 310 + And beg him to take +The last coin from their pockets. + Well, that's why we all lived +Like merchants in those days. + One summer came tidings +To us that our Barin + Now owned us no longer, +That he had, at Varna, + Been killed. We weren't sorry, +But somehow we thought then: 320 + ''The peasants' good fortune +Has come to an end!'' + The heir made a new move: +He sent us a German.[48] + Through vast, savage forests, +Through sly sucking bogs + And on foot came the German, +As bare as a finger. + + "'As melting as butter +At first was the German: 330 + ''Just give what you can, then,'' +He'd say to the peasants. + +"'''We've nothing to give!'' + +"'''I'll explain to the Barin.'' + +"'''Explain,'' we replied, + And were troubled no more. +It seemed he was going + To live in the village; +He soon settled down. + On the banks of the river, 340 +For hour after hour + He sat peacefully fishing, +And striking his nose + Or his cheek or his forehead. +We laughed: ''You don't like + The Korójin mosquitoes?'' +He'd boat near the bankside + And shout with enjoyment, +Like one in the bath-house + Who's got to the roof.[49] 350 + + "'With youths and young maidens +He strolled in the forest + (They were not for nothing +Those strolls in the forest!)-- + ''Well, if you can't pay +You should work, little peasants.'' + +"'''What work should we do?'' + + "'''You should dig some deep ditches +To drain off the bog-lands.'' + We dug some deep ditches. 360 + +"'''And now trim the forest.'' + + "'''Well, well, trim the forest....'' +We hacked and we hewed + As the German directed, +And when we look round + There's a road through the forest! + +"'The German went driving +To town with three horses; +Look! now he is coming + With boxes and bedding, 370 +And God knows wherefrom + Has this bare-footed German +Raised wife and small children! + And now he's established +A village ispravnik,[50] + They live like two brothers. +His courtyard at all times + Is teeming with strangers, +And woe to the peasants-- + The fallen Korójins! 380 +He sucked us all dry + To the very last farthing; +And flog!--like the soul + Of Shaláshnikov flogged he! +Shaláshnikov stopped + When he got what he wanted; +He clung to our backs + Till he'd glutted his stomach, +And then he dropped down + Like a leech from a dog's ear. 390 +But he had the grip + Of a corpse--had this German; +Until he had left you + Stripped bare like a beggar +You couldn't escape.' + + "'But how could you bear it?' + + "'Ah, how could we bear it? +Because we were giants-- + Because by their patience +The people of Russia + Are great, little Grandchild. 400 +You think, then, Matróna, + That we Russian peasants +No warriors are? + Why, truly the peasant +Does not live in armour, + Does not die in warfare, +But nevertheless + He's a warrior, child. +His hands are bound tight, 410 + And his feet hung with fetters; +His back--mighty forests + Have broken across it; +His breast--I will tell you, +The Prophet Elijah + In chariot fiery +Is thundering within it; + And these things the peasant +Can suffer in patience. + He bends--but he breaks not; 420 +He reels--but he falls not; + Then is he not truly +A warrior, say?' + + "'You joke, little Grandad; +Such warriors, surely, + A tiny mouse nibbling +Could crumble to atoms,' + I said to Savyéli. + +"'I know not, Matróna, + But up till to-day 430 +He has stood with his burden; + He's sunk in the earth +'Neath its weight to his shoulders; + His face is not moistened +With sweat, but with heart's blood. + I don't know what may +Come to pass in the future, + I can't think what will +Come to pass--only God knows. + For my part, I know 440 +When the storm howls in winter, + When old bones are painful, +I lie on the oven, + I lie, and am thinking: +''Eh, you, strength of giants, + On what have they spent you? +On what are you wasted? + With whips and with rods +They will pound you to dust!''' + +"'But what of the German, 450 +Savyéli?' + + "'The German? +Well, well, though he lived + Like a lord in his glory +For eighteen long years, + We were waiting our day. + Then the German considered +A factory needful, + And wanted a pit dug. +'Twas work for nine peasants. 460 + We started at daybreak +And laboured till mid-day, +And then we were going + To rest and have dinner, +When up comes the German: + ''Eh, you, lazy devils! +So little work done?'' + He started to nag us, +Quite coolly and slowly, + Without heat or hurry; 470 +For that was his way. + +"'And we, tired and hungry, + Stood listening in silence. +He kicked the wet earth + With his boot while he scolded, +Not far from the edge + Of the pit. I stood near him. +And happened to give him + A push with my shoulder; +Then somehow a second 480 + And third pushed him gently.... +We spoke not a word, + Gave no sign to each other, +But silently, slowly, + Drew closer together, +And edging the German +Respectfully forward, + We brought him at last +To the brink of the hollow.... + He tumbled in headlong! 490 +''A ladder!'' he bellows; + Nine shovels reply. +''Naddai!''[51]--the word fell + From my lips on the instant, +The word to which people + Work gaily in Russia; +''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!'' + And we laboured so bravely +That soon not a trace + Of the pit was remaining, 500 + The earth was as smooth +As before we had touched it; + And then we stopped short +And we looked at each other....' + + "The old man was silent. +'What further, Savyéli?' + + "'What further? Ah, bad times: +The prison in Buy-Town + (I learnt there my letters), +Until we were sentenced; 510 + The convict-mines later; +And plenty of lashes. + But I never frowned +At the lash in the prison; + They flogged us but poorly. +And later I nearly + Escaped to the forest; +They caught me, however. + Of course they did not +Pat my head for their trouble; 520 + The Governor was through +Siberia famous + For flogging. But had not +Shaláshnikov flogged us? + I spit at the floggings +I got in the prison! + Ah, he was a Master! +He knew how to flog you! + He toughened my hide so +You see it has served me 530 + For one hundred years, +And 'twill serve me another. + But life was not easy, +I tell you, Matróna: +First twenty years prison, + Then twenty years exile. +I saved up some money, + And when I came home, +Built this hut for myself. + And here I have lived 540 +For a great many years now. + They loved the old grandad +So long as he'd money, + But now it has gone +They would part with him gladly, + They spit in his face. +Eh, you plucky toy heroes! + You're fit to make war +Upon old men and women!' + + "And that was as much 550 +As the grandfather told me." + + "And now for your story," +They answer Matróna. + + "'Tis not very bright. +From one trouble God + In His goodness preserved me; +For Sitnikov died + Of the cholera. Soon, though, +Another arose, + I will tell you about it." 560 + +"Naddai!" say the peasants + (They love the word well), +They are filling the glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +DJÓMUSHKA + +"The little tree burns + For the lightning has struck it. +The nightingale's nest + Has been built in its branches. +The little tree burns, + It is sighing and groaning; +The nightingale's children + Are crying and calling: +'Oh, come, little Mother! + Oh, come, little Mother! 10 +Take care of us, Mother, + Until we can fly, +Till our wings have grown stronger, +Until we can fly + To the peaceful green forest, +Until we can fly + To the far silent valleys....' +The poor little tree-- + It is burnt to grey ashes; +The poor little fledgelings 20 + Are burnt to grey ashes. +The mother flies home, + But the tree ... and the fledgelings ... +The nest.... She is calling, + Lamenting and calling; +She circles around, + She is sobbing and moaning; +She circles so quickly, + She circles so quickly, +Her tiny wings whistle. 30 + The dark night has fallen, +The dark world is silent, + But one little creature +Is helplessly grieving + And cannot find comfort;-- +The nightingale only + Laments for her children.... +She never will see them + Again, though she call them +Till breaks the white day.... 40 +I carried my baby + Asleep in my bosom +To work in the meadows. + But Mother-in-law cried, +'Come, leave him behind you, + At home with Savyéli, +You'll work better then.' + And I was so timid, +So tired of her scolding, + I left him behind. 50 + +"That year it so happened + The harvest was richer +Than ever we'd known it; + The reaping was hard, +But the reapers were merry, + I sang as I mounted +The sheaves on the waggon. + (The waggons are loaded +To laughter and singing; + The sledges in silence, 60 +With thoughts sad and bitter; + The waggons convey the corn +Home to the peasants, + The sledges will bear it + Away to the market.) + +"But as I was working + I heard of a sudden +A deep groan of anguish: + I saw old Savyéli +Creep trembling towards me, 70 + His face white as death: +'Forgive me, Matróna! + Forgive me, Matróna! +I sinned....I was careless.' + He fell at my feet. + +"Oh, stay, little swallow! + Your nest build not there! +Not there 'neath the leafless + Bare bank of the river: +The water will rise, 80 + And your children will perish. +Oh, poor little woman, + Young wife and young mother, +The daughter-in-law + And the slave of the household, +Bear blows and abuse, + Suffer all things in silence, +But let not your baby + Be torn from your bosom.... +Savyéli had fallen 90 + Asleep in the sunshine, +And Djóma--the pigs + Had attacked him and killed him. + +"I fell to the ground + And lay writhing in torture; +I bit the black earth + And I shrieked in wild anguish; +I called on his name, + And I thought in my madness +My voice must awake him.... 100 + + "Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52] +And harness-bells jangling-- + Another misfortune! +The children are frightened, + They run to the houses; +And outside the window + The old men and women +Are talking in whispers + And nodding together. +The Elder is running 110 + And tapping each window +In turn with his staff; +Then he runs to the hayfields, + He runs to the pastures, +To summon the people. + They come, full of sorrow-- +Another misfortune! + And God in His wrath +Has sent guests that are hateful, + Has sent unjust judges. 120 +Perhaps they want money? + Their coats are worn threadbare? +Perhaps they are hungry? + + "Without greeting Christ +They sit down at the table, + They've set up an icon +And cross in the middle; + Our pope, Father John, +Swears the witnesses singly. + + "They question Savyéli, 130 +And then a policeman + Is sent to find me, +While the officer, swearing, + Is striding about +Like a beast in the forest.... + 'Now, woman, confess it,' +He cries when I enter, + 'You lived with the peasant +Savyéli in sin?' + +"I whisper in answer, 140 +'Kind sir, you are joking. + I am to my husband +A wife without stain, + And the peasant Savyéli +Is more than a hundred + Years old;--you can see it.' + +"He's stamping about + Like a horse in the stable; +In fury he's thumping + His fist on the table. 150 +'Be silent! Confess, then, + That you with Savyéli +Had plotted to murder + Your child!' + + "Holy Mother! +What horrible ravings! + My God, give me patience, +And let me not strangle + The wicked blasphemer! +I looked at the doctor 160 + And shuddered in terror: +Before him lay lancets, + Sharp scissors, and knives. +I conquered myself, + For I knew why they lay there. +I answer him trembling, + 'I loved little Djóma, +I would not have harmed him.' + +"'And did you not poison him. + Give him some powder?' 170 + +"'Oh, Heaven forbid!' +I kneel to him crying, + 'Be gentle! Have mercy! +And grant that my baby + In honour be buried, +Forbid them to thrust + The cruel knives in his body! +Oh, I am his mother!' + + "Can anything move them? +No hearts they possess, 180 + In their eyes is no conscience, +No cross at their throats.... + + "They have lifted the napkin +Which covered my baby; + His little white body +With scissors and lancets + They worry and torture ... +The room has grown darker, + I'm struggling and screaming, +'You butchers! You fiends! 190 + Not on earth, not on water, +And not on God's temple + My tears shall be showered; +But straight on the souls + Of my hellish tormentors! +Oh, hear me, just God! + May Thy curse fall and strike them! +Ordain that their garments + May rot on their bodies! +Their eyes be struck blind, 200 + And their brains scorch in madness! +Their wives be unfaithful, + Their children be crippled! +Oh, hear me, just God! + Hear the prayers of a mother, +And look on her tears,-- + Strike these pitiless devils!' + +"'She's crazy, the woman!' + The officer shouted, +'Why did you not tell us 210 + Before? Stop this fooling! +Or else I shall order + My men, here, to bind you.' + +"I sank on the bench, + I was trembling all over; +I shook like a leaf + As I gazed at the doctor; +His sleeves were rolled backwards, + A knife was in one hand, +A cloth in the other, 220 + And blood was upon it; +His glasses were fixed + On his nose. All was silent. +The officer's pen + Began scratching on paper; +The motionless peasants + Stood gloomy and mournful; +The pope lit his pipe + And sat watching the doctor. +He said, 'You are reading 230 + A heart with a knife.' +I started up wildly; + I knew that the doctor +Was piercing the heart + Of my little dead baby. + +"'Now, bind her, the vixen!' +The officer shouted;-- + She's mad!' He began +To inquire of the peasants, + 'Have none of you noticed 240 +Before that the woman + Korchágin is crazy?' + +"'No,' answered the peasants. + And then Phílip's parents +He asked, and their children; + They answered, 'Oh, no, sir! +We never remarked it.' + He asked old Savyéli,-- +There's one thing,' he answered, + 'That might make one think 250 +That Matróna is crazy: + She's come here this morning +Without bringing with her + A present of money +Or cloth to appease you.' + + "And then the old man +Began bitterly crying. + The officer frowning +Sat down and said nothing. + And then I remembered: 260 +In truth it was madness-- + The piece of new linen +Which I had made ready + Was still in my box-- +I'd forgotten to bring it; + And now I had seen them +Seize Djómushka's body + And tear it to pieces. +I think at that moment + I turned into marble: 270 +I watched while the doctor + Was drinking some vodka +And washing his hands; + I saw how he offered +The glass to the pope, + And I heard the pope answer, +'Why ask me? We mortals + Are pitiful sinners,-- +We don't need much urging + To empty a glass!' 280 + +"The peasants are standing + In fear, and are thinking: +'Now, how did these vultures + Get wind of the matter? +Who told them that here + There was chance of some profit? +They dashed in like wolves, +Seized the beards of the peasants, + And snarled in their faces +Like savage hyenas!' 290 + + "And now they are feasting, +Are eating and drinking; + They chat with the pope, +He is murmuring to them, + 'The people in these parts +Are beggars and drunken; + They owe me for countless +Confessions and weddings; + They'll take their last farthing +To spend in the tavern; 300 + And nothing but sins +Do they bring to their priest.' + + "And then I hear singing +In clear, girlish voices-- + I know them all well: +There's Natásha and Glásha, + And Dáriushka,--Jesus +Have mercy upon them! +Hark! steps and accordion; + Then there is silence. 310 +I think I had fallen + Asleep; then I fancied +That somebody entering + Bent over me, saying, +'Sleep, woman of sorrows, + Exhausted by sorrow,' +And making the sign + Of the cross on my forehead. +I felt that the ropes + On my body were loosened, 320 +And then I remembered + No more. In black darkness +I woke, and astonished + I ran to the window: +Deep night lay around me-- + What's happened? Where am I? +I ran to the street,-- + It was empty, in Heaven +No moon and no stars, + And a great cloud of darkness 330 +Spread over the village. + The huts of the peasants +Were dark; only one hut + Was brilliantly lighted, +It shone like a palace-- + The hut of Savyéli. +I ran to the doorway, + And then ... I remembered. + +"The table was gleaming + With yellow wax candles, 340 +And there, in the midst, + Lay a tiny white coffin, +And over it spread + Was a fine coloured napkin, +An icon was placed + At its head.... + O you builders, +For my little son + What a house you have fashioned! +No windows you've made 350 + That the sunshine may enter, +No stove and no bench, + And no soft little pillows.... +Oh, Djómushka will not + Feel happy within it, +He cannot sleep well.... +'Begone!'--I cried harshly + On seeing Savyéli; +He stood near the coffin + And read from the book 360 +In his hand, through his glasses. + I cursed old Savyéli, +Cried--'Branded one! Convict! + Begone! 'Twas you killed him! +You murdered my, Djóma, + Begone from my sight!' + + "He stood without moving; +He crossed himself thrice + And continued his reading. +But when I grew calmer 370 + Savyéli approached me, +And said to me gently, + 'In winter, Matróna, +I told you my story, + But yet there was more. +Our forests were endless, + Our lakes wild and lonely, +Our people were savage; + By cruelty lived we: +By snaring the wood-grouse, 380 +By slaying the bears:-- + You must kill or you perish! +I've told you of Barin + Shaláshnikov, also +Of how we were robbed + By the villainous German, +And then of the prison, + The exile, the mines. +My heart was like stone, + I grew wild and ferocious. 390 +My winter had lasted + A century, Grandchild, +But your little Djóma + Had melted its frosts. +One day as I rocked him + He smiled of a sudden, +And I smiled in answer.... + A strange thing befell me +Some days after that: + As I prowled in the forest 400 +I aimed at a squirrel; + But suddenly noticed +How happy and playful + It was, in the branches: +Its bright little face + With its paw it sat washing. +I lowered my gun:-- + 'You shall live, little squirrel!' +I rambled about + In the woods, in the meadows, 410 +And each tiny floweret + I loved. I went home then +And nursed little Djóma, + And played with him, laughing. +God knows how I loved him, + The innocent babe! +And now ... through my folly, + My sin, ... he has perished.... +Upbraid me and kill me, + But nothing can help you, 420 +With God one can't argue.... + Stand up now, Matróna, +And pray for your baby; + God acted with reason: +He's counted the joys + In the life of a peasant!' + +"Long, long did Savyéli + Stand bitterly speaking, +The piteous fate + Of the peasant he painted; 430 +And if a rich Barin, + A merchant or noble, +If even our Father + The Tsar had been listening, +Savyéli could not + Have found words which were truer, +Have spoken them better.... + + "'Now Djóma is happy +And safe, in God's Heaven,' + He said to me later. 440 +His tears began falling.... + + "'I do not complain +That God took him, Savyéli,' + I said,--'but the insult +They did him torments me, + It's racking my heart. +Why did vicious black ravens + Alight on his body +And tear it to pieces? + Will neither our God 450 +Nor our Tsar--Little Father-- + Arise to defend us?' + +"'But God, little Grandchild, + Is high, and the Tsar +Far away,' said Savyéli. + + "I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!' + +"But Grandfather answered, + 'Now hush, little Grandchild, +You woman of sorrow, + Bow down and have patience; 460 +No truth you will find + In the world, and no justice.' + + "'But why then, Savyéli?' + +"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, + You are; and for such +Is no hope,' said Savyéli. + + "For long I sat darkly +And bitterly thinking. + The thunder pealed forth +And the windows were shaken; 470 + I started! Savyéli +Drew nearer and touched me, + And led me to stand +By the little white coffin: + +"'Now pray that the Lord + May have placed little Djóma +Among the bright ranks + Of His angels,' he whispered; +A candle he placed + In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 +The whole of the night + Till the pale dawn of daybreak: +The grandfather stood + Beside Djómushka's coffin +And read from the book + In a measured low voice...." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE SHE-WOLF + +"'Tis twenty years now + Since my Djóma was taken, +Was carried to sleep + 'Neath his little grass blanket; +And still my heart bleeds, + And I pray for him always, +No apple till Spassa[53] + I touch with my lips.... + +"For long I lay ill, + Not a word did I utter, 10 +My eyes could not suffer + The old man, Savyéli. +No work did I do, + And my Father-in-law thought +To give me a lesson + And took down the horse-reins; +I bowed to his feet, + And cried--'Kill me! Oh, kill me! +I pray for the end!' +He hung the reins up, then. 20 + I lived day and night +On the grave of my Djóma, + I dusted it clean +With a soft little napkin + That grass might grow green, +And I prayed for my lost one. + I yearned for my parents: +'Oh, you have forgotten, + Forgotten your daughter!' + +"'We have not forgotten 30 + Our poor little daughter, +But is it worth while, say, + To wear the grey horse out +By such a long journey + To learn about your woes, +To tell you of ours? + Since long, little daughter, +Would father and mother + Have journeyed to see you, +But ever the thought rose: 40 + She'll weep at our coming, +She'll shriek when we leave!' + + "In winter came Philip, +Our sorrow together + We shared, and together +We fought with our grief + In the grandfather's hut." + +"The grandfather died, then?" + + "Oh, no, in his cottage +For seven whole days 50 + He lay still without speaking, +And then he got up + And he went to the forest; +And there old Savyéli + So wept and lamented, + The woods were set throbbing. +In autumn he left us + And went as a pilgrim +On foot to do penance + At some distant convent.... 60 + + "I went with my husband +To visit my parents, + And then began working +Again. Three years followed, + Each week like the other, +As twin to twin brother, +And each year a child. + There was no time for thinking +And no time for grieving; + Praise God if you have time 70 +For getting your work done + And crossing your forehead. +You eat--when there's something + Left over at table, +When elders have eaten, + When children have eaten; +You sleep--when you're ill.... + + "In the fourth year came sorrow +Again; for when sorrow + Once lightens upon you 80 +To death he pursues you; +He circles before you-- + A bright shining falcon; +He hovers behind you-- + An ugly black raven; +He flies in advance-- + But he will not forsake you; +He lingers behind-- + But he will not forget.... + +"I lost my dear parents. 90 +The dark nights alone knew + The grief of the orphan; +No need is there, brothers, + To tell you about it. +With tears did I water + The grave of my baby. +From far once I noticed + A wooden cross standing +Erect at its head, + And a little gilt icon; 100 +A figure is kneeling + Before it--'Savyéli! +From whence have you come?' + + "'I have come from Pesótchna. +I've prayed for the soul + Of our dear little Djóma; +I've prayed for the peasants + Of Russia.... Matróna, +Once more do I pray-- + Oh, Matróna ... Matróna.... 110 +I pray that the heart + Of the mother, at last, +May be softened towards me.... + Forgive me, Matróna!' + +"'Oh, long, long ago + I forgave you, Savyéli.' + + "'Then look at me now +As in old times, Matróna!' + + "I looked as of old. +Then up rose Savyéli, 120 + And gazed in my eyes; +He was trying to straighten + His stiffened old back; +Like the snow was his hair now. + I kissed the old man, +And my new grief I told him; + For long we sat weeping +And mourning together. + He did not live long +After that. In the autumn 130 + A deep wound appeared +In his neck, and he sickened. + He died very hard. +For a hundred days, fully, + No food passed his lips; +To the bone he was shrunken. + He laughed at himself: +'Tell me, truly, Matróna, +Now am I not like + A Korójin mosquito?' 140 + +"At times the old man + Would be gentle and patient; +At times he was angry + And nothing would please him; +He frightened us all + By his outbursts of fury: +'Eh, plough not, and sow not, + You downtrodden peasants! +You women, sit spinning + And weaving no longer! 150 +However you struggle, + You fools, you must perish! +You will not escape + What by fate has been written! +Three roads are spread out + For the peasant to follow-- +They lead to the tavern, + The mines, and the prison! +Three nooses are hung + For the women of Russia: 160 +The one is of white silk, + The second of red silk, +The third is of black silk-- + Choose that which you please!' +And Grandfather laughed + In a manner which caused us +To tremble with fear + And draw nearer together.... +He died in the night, + And we did as he asked us: 170 +We laid him to rest + In the grave beside Djóma. +The Grandfather lived + To a hundred and seven.... + +"Four years passed away then, + The one like the other, +And I was submissive, + The slave of the household, +For Mother-in-law + And her husband the drunkard, 180 +For Sister-in-law + By all suitors rejected. +I'd draw off their boots-- + Only,--touch not my children! +For them I stood firm + Like a rock. Once it happened +A pilgrim arrived + At our village--a holy +And pious-tongued woman; + She spoke to the people 190 +Of how to please God + And of how to reach Heaven. + She said that on fast-days +No woman should offer + The breast to her child. +The women obeyed her: + On Wednesdays and Fridays +The village was filled + By the wailing of babies; +And many a mother 200 + Sat bitterly weeping +To hear her child cry + For its food--full of pity, +But fearing God's anger. + But I did not listen! +I said to myself + That if penance were needful +The mothers must suffer, + But not little children. +I said, 'I am guilty, 210 + My God--not my children!' + +"It seems God was angry + And punished me for it +Through my little son; + My Father-in-law +To the commune had offered + My little Fedótka +As help to the shepherd + When he was turned eight.... +One night I was waiting 220 + To give him his supper; +The cattle already + Were home, but he came not. +I went through the village + And saw that the people +Were gathered together + And talking of something. +I listened, then elbowed + My way through the people; +Fedótka was set 230 + In their midst, pale and trembling, +The Elder was gripping + His ear. 'What has happened? +And why do you hold him?' + I said to the Elder. + +"'I'm going to beat him,-- + He threw a young lamb +To the wolf,' he replied. + + "I snatched my Fedótka +Away from their clutches; 240 + And somehow the Elder +Fell down on the ground! + + "The story was strange: +It appears that the shepherd + Went home for awhile, +Leaving little Fedótka + In charge of the flock. +'I was sitting,' he told me, + 'Alone on the hillside, +When all of a sudden 250 + A wolf ran close by me +And picked Masha's lamb up. + I threw myself at her, +I whistled and shouted, + I cracked with my whip, +Blew my horn for Valétka, +And then I gave chase. + I run fast, little Mother, +But still I could never + Have followed the robber 260 +If not for the traces + She left; because, Mother, +Her breasts hung so low + (She was suckling her children) +They dragged on the earth + And left two tracks of blood. +But further the grey one + Went slower and slower; +And then she looked back + And she saw I was coming. 270 +At last she sat down. + With my whip then I lashed her; +''Come, give me the lamb, + You grey devil!'' She crouched, +But would not give it up. + I said--''I must save it +Although she should kill me.'' + I threw myself on her +And snatched it away, + But she did not attack me. 280 +The lamb was quite dead, + She herself was scarce living. +She gnashed with her teeth + And her breathing was heavy; +And two streams of blood ran +From under her body. + Her ribs could be counted, +Her head was hung down, + But her eyes, little Mother, +Looked straight into mine ... 290 + Then she groaned of a sudden, +She groaned, and it sounded + As if she were crying. +I threw her the lamb....' + + "Well, that was the story. +And foolish Fedótka + Ran back to the village +And told them about it. + And they, in their anger, +Were going to beat him 300 + When I came upon them. +The Elder, because + Of his fall, was indignant, +He shouted--'How dare you! + Do you want a beating +Yourself?' And the woman + Whose lamb had been stolen +Cried, 'Whip the lad soundly, + 'Twill teach him a lesson!' +Fedótka she pulled from 310 + My arms, and he trembled, +He shook like a leaf. + + "Then the horns of the huntsmen +Were heard,--the Pomyéshchick + Returning from hunting. +I ran to him, crying, + 'Oh, save us! Protect us!' + +"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!' + And then, in an instant, + The matter is settled: 320 +'The shepherd is tiny-- + His youth and his folly +May well be forgiven. + The woman's presumption +You'll punish severely!' + + "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!' +I danced with delight! + 'Fedótka is safe now! +Run home, quick, Fedótka.' + + "'Your will shall be done, sir,' 330 +The Elder said, bowing; + 'Now, woman, prepare; +You can dance later on!' + + "A gossip then whispered, +'Fall down at the feet + Of the Elder--beg mercy!' + +"'Fedótka--go home!' + + "Then I kissed him, and told him: +'Remember, Fedótka, + That I shall be angry 340 +If once you look backwards. + Run home!' + + "Well, my brothers, +To leave out a word + Of the song is to spoil it,-- +I lay on the ground...." + + * * * * * + + "I crawled like a cat +To Fedótushka's corner + That night. He was sleeping, +He tossed in his dream. 350 +One hand was hung down, +While the other, clenched tightly, +Was shielding his eyes: + 'You've been crying, my treasure; + Sleep, darling, it's nothing-- +See, Mother is near!' + I'd lost little Djóma +While heavy with this one; + He was but a weakling, +But grew very clever. 360 + He works with his dad now, +And built such a chimney + With him, for his master, +The like of it never + Was seen. Well, I sat there +The whole of the night + By the sweet little shepherd. +At daybreak I crossed him, + I fastened his laputs, +I gave him his wallet, 370 + His horn and his whip. +The rest began stirring, + But nothing I told them +Of all that had happened, + But that day I stayed +From the work in the fields. + +"I went to the banks + Of the swift little river, +I sought for a spot + Which was silent and lonely 380 +Amid the green rushes + That grow by the bank. + +"And on the grey stone + I sat down, sick and weary, +And leaning my head + On my hands, I lamented, + Poor sorrowing orphan. +And loudly I called + On the names of my parents: +'Oh, come, little Father, 390 + My tender protector! +Oh, look at the daughter + You cherished and loved!' + +"In vain do I call him! + The loved one has left me; +The guest without lord, + Without race, without kindred, +Named Death, has appeared, + And has called him away. + +"And wildly I summon 400 + My mother, my mother! +The boisterous wind cries, + The distant hills answer, +But mother is dead, + She can hear me no longer! + + "You grieved day and night, +And you prayed for me always, + But never, beloved, +Shall I see you again; + You cannot turn back now, 410 +And I may not follow. + + "A pathway so strange, +So unknown, you have chosen, + The beasts cannot find it, +The winds cannot reach it, +My voice will be lost + In the terrible distance.... + +"My loving protectors, + If you could but see me! +Could know what your daughter 420 + Must suffer without you! +Could learn of the people + To whom you have left her! + +"By night bathed in tears, + And by day weak and trembling, +I bow like the grass + To the wind, but in secret +A heart full of fury + Is gnawing my breast!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +AN UNLUCKY YEAR + + "Strange stars played that year +On the face of the Heavens; + And some said, 'The Lord rides +Abroad, and His angels + With long flaming brooms sweep +The floor of the Heavens + In front of his carriage.' +But others were frightened,-- + They said, 'It is rather +The Antichrist coming! 10 + It signals misfortune!' +And they read it truly. + A terrible year came, +A terrible famine, + When brother denied +To his brother a morsel. + And then I remembered +The wolf that was hungry, + For I was like her, +Craving food for my children. 20 + Now Mother-in-law found +A new superstition: + She said to the neighbours +That I was the reason + Of all the misfortune; +And why? I had caused it + By changing my shirt +On the day before Christmas! + Well, I escaped lightly, +For I had a husband 30 + To shield and protect me, +But one woman, having + Offended, was beaten +To death by the people. + To play with the starving +Is dangerous, my friends. + + "The famine was scarcely +At end, when another + Misfortune befell us-- +The dreaded recruiting. 40 + But I was not troubled +By that, because Phílip + Was safe: one already +Had served of his people. + One night I sat working, +My husband, his brothers, + The family, all had +Been out since the morning. + My Father-in-law +Had been called to take part 50 + In the communal meeting. +The women were standing + And chatting with neighbours. +But I was exhausted, + For then I was heavy +With child. I was ailing, + And hourly expected +My time. When the children + Were fed and asleep +I lay down on the oven. 60 + The women came home soon +And called for their suppers; + But Father-in-law +Had not come, so we waited. + He came, tired and gloomy: +'Eh, wife, we are ruined! + I'm weary with running, +But nothing can save us: +They've taken the eldest-- + Now give them the youngest! 70 +I've counted the years + To a day--I have proved them; +They listen to nothing. + They want to take Phílip! +I prayed to the commune-- + But what is it worth? +I ran to the bailiff; + He swore he was sorry, +But couldn't assist us. + I went to the clerk then; 80 +You might just as well + Set to work with a hatchet +To chop out the shadows + Up there, on the ceiling, +As try to get truth + Out of that little rascal! +He's bought. They are all bought,-- + Not one of them honest! +If only he knew it-- + The Governor--he'd teach them! 90 +If he would but order + The commune to show him + The lists of the volost, +And see how they cheat us!' + The mother and daughters +Are groaning and crying; + But I! ... I am cold.... +I am burning in fever! ... + My thoughts ... I have no thoughts! +I think I am dreaming! 100 + My fatherless children +Are standing before me, + And crying with hunger. +The family, frowning, + Looks coldly upon them.... +At home they are 'noisy,' + At play they are 'clumsy,' +At table they're 'gluttons'! + And somebody threatens +To punish my children-- 110 + They slap them and pinch them! +Be silent, you mother! + You wife of a soldier!" + + * * * * * + + "I now have no part +In the village allotments, + No share in the building, +The clothes, and the cattle, + And these are my riches: +Three lakes of salt tear-drops, + Three fields sown with grief!" 120 + + * * * * * + +"And now, like a sinner, + I bow to the neighbours; +I ask their forgiveness; + I hear myself saying, +'Forgive me for being + So haughty and proud! +I little expected + That God, for my pride, +Would have left me forsaken! + I pray you, good people, 130 +To show me more wisdom, + To teach me to live +And to nourish my children, + What food they should have, +And what drink, and what teaching.'" + + * * * * * + +"I'm sending my children + To beg in the village; +'Go, children, beg humbly, + But dare not to steal.' +The children are sobbing, 140 + 'It's cold, little Mother, +Our clothes are in rags; + We are weary of passing +From doorway to doorway; + We stand by the windows +And shiver. We're frightened + To beg of the rich folk; +The poor ones say, ''God will + Provide for the orphans!'' +We cannot come home, 150 + For if we bring nothing +We know you'll be angry!'" + + * * * * * + + "To go to God's church +I have made myself tidy; + I hear how the neighbours +Are laughing around me: + 'Now who is she setting +Her cap at?' they whisper." + + * * * * * + +"Don't wash yourself clean. + And don't dress yourself nicely; 160 +The neighbours are sharp-- + They have eyes like the eagle +And tongues like the serpent. + Walk humbly and slowly, +Don't laugh when you're cheerful, + Don't weep when you're sad." + + * * * * * + +"The dull, endless winter + Has come, and the fields +And the pretty green meadows + Are hidden away 170 +'Neath the snow. Nothing living + Is seen in the folds +Of the gleaming white grave-clothes. + No friend under Heaven +There is for the woman, + The wife of the soldier. +Who knows what her thoughts are? + Who cares for her words? +Who is sad for her sorrow? + And where can she bury 180 +The insults they cast her? +Perhaps in the woods?-- + But the woods are all withered! +Perhaps in the meadows?-- + The meadows are frozen! +The swift little stream?-- + But its waters are sleeping! +No,--carry them with you + To hide in your grave!" + + * * * * * + +"My husband is gone; 190 + There is no one to shield me. +Hark, hark! There's the drum! + And the soldiers are coming! +They halt;--they are forming + A line in the market. +'Attention!' There's Phílip! + There's Phílip! I see him! +'Attention! Eyes front!' + It's Shaláshnikov shouting.... +Oh, Phílip has fallen! 200 + Have mercy! Have mercy! +'Try that--try some physic! + You'll soon get to like it! +Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' + He is striking my husband! +'I flog, not with whips, + But with knouts made for giants!'" + + * * * * * + +"I sprang from the stove, + Though my burden was heavy; +I listen.... All silent.... 210 + The family sleeping. +I creep to the doorway + And open it softly, +I pass down the street + Through the night.... It is frosty. +In Domina's hut, + Where the youths and young maidens +Assemble at night, + They are singing in chorus +My favourite song: 220 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Her father comes to look for her, +He wakens her and coaxes her: +''Eh, Máshenka, come home,'' he cries, +''Efeémovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards.'' 231 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Her mother comes to look for her, +She wakens her and coaxes her: +''Now, Máshenka, come home,'' she says, +''Efeémovna, come home!'' + + "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! + Black the night--no moon in Heaven! + Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! + Dark the wood--no guards!'' 242 + +"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, +The little cottage at its foot, +And Máshenka is there. +Young Peter comes to look for her, +He wakens her, and coaxes her: +''Oh, Máshenka, come home with me! +My little dove, Efeémovna, +Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250 + + "'''I will come, and I will listen, + Fair the night--the moon in Heaven, + Calm the stream with bridge and ferry, + In the wood strong guards.'''" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE GOVERNOR'S LADY + + "I'm hurrying blindly, +I've run through the village; + Yet strangely the singing +From Domina's cottage + Pursues me and rings +In my ears. My pace slackens, + I rest for awhile, +And look back at the village: + I see the white snowdrift +O'er valley and meadow, 10 + The moon in the Heavens, +My self, and my shadow.... + + "I do not feel frightened; +A flutter of gladness + Awakes in my bosom, +'You brisk winter breezes, + My thanks for your freshness! +I crave for your breath + As the sick man for water.' +My mind has grown clear, 20 + To my knees I am falling: +'O Mother of Christ! + I beseech Thee to tell me +Why God is so angry + With me. Holy Mother! +No tiniest bone + In my limbs is unbroken; +No nerve in my body + Uncrushed. I am patient,-- +I have not complained. 30 + All the strength that God gave me +I've spent on my work; + All the love on my children. +But Thou seest all things, + And Thou art so mighty; +Oh, succour thy slave!' + + "I love now to pray +On a night clear and frosty; + To kneel on the earth +'Neath the stars in the winter. 40 + Remember, my brothers, +If trouble befall you, + To counsel your women +To pray in that manner; +In no other place + Can one pray so devoutly, +At no other season.... + + "I prayed and grew stronger; +I bowed my hot head + To the cool snowy napkin, 50 +And quickly my fever + Was spent. And when later +I looked at the roadway + I found that I knew it; +I'd passed it before + On the mild summer evenings; +At morning I'd greeted + The sunrise upon it +In haste to be off + To the fair. And I walked now 60 +The whole of the night + Without meeting a soul.... +But now to the cities + The sledges are starting, +Piled high with the hay + Of the peasants. I watch them, +And pity the horses: +Their lawful provision + Themselves they are dragging +Away from the courtyard; 70 + And afterwards they +Will be hungry. I pondered: + The horses that work +Must eat straw, while the idlers + Are fed upon oats. +But when Need comes he hastens + To empty your corn-lofts, +Won't wait to be asked.... + + "I come within sight +Of the town. On the outskirts 80 + The merchants are cheating +And wheedling the peasants, + There's shouting and swearing, +Abusing and coaxing. + + "I enter the town +As the bell rings for matins. + I make for the market +Before the cathedral. + I know that the gates +Of the Governor's courtyard 90 + Are there. It is dark still, +The square is quite empty; + In front of the courtyard +A sentinel paces: + 'Pray tell me, good man, +Does the Governor rise early?' + + "'Don't know. Go away. +I'm forbidden to chatter.' + (I give him some farthings.) +'Well, go to the porter; 100 + He knows all about it.' + +"'Where is he? And what + Is his name, little sentry?' + +"'Makhár Fedosséich, + He stands at the entrance.' +I walk to the entrance, + The doors are not opened. +I sit on the doorsteps + And think.... + +"It grows lighter, 110 + A man with a ladder +Is turning the lamps down. + + "'Heh, what are you doing? +And how did you enter?' + +"I start in confusion, + I see in the doorway +A bald-headed man + In a bed-gown. Then quickly +I come to my senses, + And bowing before him 120 +(Makhár Fedosséich), + I give him a rouble. + +"'I come in great need + To the Governor, and see him +I must, little Uncle!' + + "'You can't see him, woman. +Well, well.... I'll consider.... + Return in two hours.' + + "I see in the market +A pedestal standing, 130 + A peasant upon it, +He's just like Savyéli, + And all made of brass: +It's Susánin's memorial. +While crossing the market + I'm suddenly startled-- +A heavy grey drake + From a cook is escaping; +The fellow pursues + With a knife. It is shrieking. 140 +My God, what a sound! + To the soul it has pierced me. +('Tis only the knife + That can wring such a shriek.) +The cook has now caught it; + It stretches its neck, +Begins angrily hissing, + As if it would frighten +The cook,--the poor creature! + I run from the market, 150 +I'm trembling and thinking, + 'The drake will grow calm +'Neath the kiss of the knife!' + +"The Governor's dwelling + Again is before me, +With balconies, turrets, + And steps which are covered +With beautiful carpets. +I gaze at the windows + All shaded with curtains. 160 +'Now, which is your chamber,' + I think, 'my desired one? +Say, do you sleep sweetly? + Of what are you dreaming?' +I creep up the doorsteps, + And keep to the side +Not to tread on the carpets; + And there, near the entrance, +I wait for the porter. + + "'You're early, my gossip!' 170 +Again I am startled: + A stranger I see,-- +For at first I don't know him; + A livery richly +Embroidered he wears now; + He holds a fine staff; +He's not bald any longer! + He laughs--'You were frightened?' + +"'I'm tired, little Uncle.' + +"'You've plenty of courage, 180 + God's mercy be yours! +Come, give me another, + And I will befriend you.' + + "(I give him a rouble.) +'Now come, I will make you + Some tea in my office.' + +"His den is just under + The stairs. There's a bedstead, +A little iron stove, + And a candlestick in it, 190 +A big samovar, + And a lamp in the corner. +Some pictures are hung + On the wall. 'That's His Highness,' +The porter remarks, + And he points with his finger. +I look at the picture: + A warrior covered +With stars. 'Is he gentle?' + + "'That's just as you happen 200 +To find him. Why, neighbour, + The same is with me: +To-day I'm obliging, + At times I'm as cross +As a dog.' + + "'You are dull here, +Perhaps, little Uncle?' + +"'Oh no, I'm not dull; + I've a task that's exciting: +Ten years have I fought 210 + With a foe: Sleep his name is. +And I can assure you + That when I have taken +An odd cup of vodka, + The stove is red hot, +And the smuts from the candle + Have blackened the air, +It's a desperate struggle!' + + "There's somebody knocking. +Makhár has gone out; 220 + I am sitting alone now. +I go to the door + And look out. In the courtyard +A carriage is waiting. + I ask, 'Is he coming?' +'The lady is coming,' + The porter makes answer, +And hurries away + To the foot of the staircase. +A lady descends, 230 + Wrapped in costliest sables, +A lackey behind her. +I know not what followed + (The Mother of God +Must have come to my aid), +It seems that I fell + At the feet of the lady, +And cried, 'Oh, protect us! + They try to deceive us! +My husband--the only 240 + Support of my children-- +They've taken away-- + Oh, they've acted unjustly!'... + +"'Who are you, my pigeon?' + + "My answer I know not, +Or whether I gave one; + A sudden sharp pang tore +My body in twain." + + * * * * * + +"I opened my eyes + In a beautiful chamber, 250 + In bed I was laid +'Neath a canopy, brothers, + And near me was sitting +A nurse, in a head-dress + All streaming with ribbons. +She's nursing a baby. + 'Who's is it?' I ask her. + +"'It's yours, little Mother.' + I kiss my sweet child. +It seems, when I fell 260 + At the feet of the lady, +I wept so and raved so, + Already so weakened +By grief and exhaustion, + That there, without warning, +My labour had seized me. + I bless the sweet lady, +Elyén Alexándrovna, + Only a mother +Could bless her as I do. 270 + She christened my baby, +Lidórushka called him." + + "And what of your husband?" + +"They sent to the village + And started enquiries, +And soon he was righted. + Elyén Alexándrovna +Brought him herself + To my side. She was tender +And clever and lovely, 280 + And healthy, but childless, +For God would not grant her + A child. While I stayed there +My baby was never + Away from her bosom. +She tended and nursed him + Herself, like a mother. +The spring had set in + And the birch trees were budding, +Before she would let us 290 + Set out to go home. + + "Oh, how fair and bright + In God's world to-day! + Glad my heart and gay! + + "Homewards lies our way, + Near the wood we pause, + See, the meadows green, + Hark! the waters play. + Rivulet so pure, + Little child of Spring, 300 + How you leap and sing, + Rippling in the leaves! + High the little lark + Soars above our heads, + Carols blissfully! + Let us stand and gaze; + Soon our eyes will meet, + I will laugh to thee, + Thou wilt smile at me, + Wee Lidórushka! 310 + + "Look, a beggar comes, + Trembling, weak, old man, + Give him what we can. + 'Do not pray for us,' + Let us to him say, + 'Father, you must pray + For Elyénushka, + For the lady fair, + Alexándrovna!' + + "Look, the church of God! 320 + Sign the cross we twain + Time and time again.... + 'Grant, O blessed Lord, + Thy most fair reward + To the gentle heart + Of Elyénushka, + Alexándrovna!' + + "Green the forest grows, + Green the pretty fields, + In each dip and dell 330 + Bright a mirror gleams. + Oh, how fair it is + In God's world to-day, + Glad my heart and gay! + Like the snowy swan + O'er the lake I sail, + O'er the waving steppes + Speeding like the quail. + + "Here we are at home. + Through the door I fly 340 + Like the pigeon grey; + Low the family + Bow at sight of me, + Nearly to the ground, + Pardon they beseech + For the way in which + They have treated me. + 'Sit you down,' I say, + 'Do not bow to me. + Listen to my words: 350 + You must bow to one + Better far than I, + Stronger far than I, + Sing your praise to her.' + + "'Sing to whom,' you say? + 'To Elyénushka, + To the fairest soul + God has sent on earth: + Alexándrovna!'" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +THE WOMAN'S LEGEND + + Matróna is silent. +You see that the peasants + Have seized the occasion-- +They are not forgetting + To drink to the health +Of the beautiful lady! + But noticing soon +That Matróna is silent, + In file they approach her. + +"What more will you tell us?" 10 + + "What more?" says Matróna, +"My fame as the 'lucky one' + Spread through the volost, +Since then they have called me + 'The Governor's Lady.' +You ask me, what further? + I managed the household, +And brought up my children. + You ask, was I happy? +Well, that you can answer 20 +Yourselves. And my children? + Five sons! But the peasant's +Misfortunes are endless: + They've robbed me of one." +She lowers her voice, + And her lashes are trembling, +But turning her head + She endeavours to hide it. +The peasants are rather + Confused, but they linger: 30 +"Well, neighbour," they say, + "Will you tell us no more?" + +"There's one thing: You're foolish + To seek among women +For happiness, brothers." + +"That's all?" + + "I can tell you +That twice we were swallowed + By fire, and that three times +The plague fell upon us; 40 + But such things are common +To all of us peasants. + Like cattle we toiled, +My steps were as easy + As those of a horse +In the plough. But my troubles +Were not very startling: + No mountains have moved +From their places to crush me; + And God did not strike me 50 +With arrows of thunder. + The storm in my soul +Has been silent, unnoticed, + So how can I paint it +To you? O'er the Mother + Insulted and outraged, +The blood of her first-born + As o'er a crushed worm +Has been poured; and unanswered + The deadly offences 60 +That many have dealt her; + The knout has been raised +Unopposed o'er her body. + But one thing I never +Have suffered: I told you + That Sítnikov died, +That the last, irreparable + Shame had been spared me. +You ask me for happiness? + Brothers, you mock me! 70 +Go, ask the official, + The Minister mighty, +The Tsar--Little Father, +But never a woman! + God knows--among women +Your search will be endless, + Will lead to your graves. + +"A pious old woman + Once asked us for shelter; +The whole of her lifetime 80 + The Flesh she had conquered +By penance and fasting; + She'd bathed in the Jordan, +And prayed at the tomb + Of Christ Jesus. She told us +The keys to the welfare + And freedom of women +Have long been mislaid-- + God Himself has mislaid them. +And hermits, chaste women, 90 + And monks of great learning, +Have sought them all over + The world, but not found them. +They're lost, and 'tis thought + By a fish they've been swallowed. +God's knights have been seeking + In towns and in deserts, +Weak, starving, and cold, + Hung with torturing fetters. +They've asked of the seers, 100 + The stars they have counted +To learn;--but no keys! + Through the world they have journeyed; +In underground caverns, + In mountains, they've sought them. +At last they discovered + Some keys. They were precious, +But only--not ours. + Yet the warriors triumphed: +They fitted the lock 110 + On the fetters of serfdom! +A sigh from all over + The world rose to Heaven, +A breath of relief, + Oh, so deep and so joyful! +Our keys were still missing.... + Great champions, though, +Till to-day are still searching, + Deep down in the bed +Of the ocean they wander, 120 + They fly to the skies, +In the clouds they are seeking, + But never the keys. +Do you think they will find them? +Who knows? Who can say? + But I think it is doubtful, +For which fish has swallowed + Those treasures so priceless, +In which sea it swims-- + God Himself has forgotten!" 130 + + + + + +PART IV. + +Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin + +A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE + + +PROLOGUE + +A very old willow + There is at the end +Of the village of "Earthworms," + Where most of the folk +Have been diggers and delvers +From times very ancient + (Though some produced tar). +This willow had witnessed + The lives of the peasants: +Their holidays, dances, 10 + Their communal meetings, +Their floggings by day, + In the evening their wooing, +And now it looked down + On a wonderful feast. + + The feast was conducted +In Petersburg fashion, + For Klímka, the peasant +(Our former acquaintance), + Had seen on his travels 20 +Some noblemen's banquets, + With toasts and orations, +And he had arranged it. + +The peasants were sitting + On tree-trunks cut newly +For building a hut. + With them, too, our seven +(Who always were ready + To see what was passing) +Were sitting and chatting 30 + With Vlass, the old Elder. +As soon as they fancied + A drink would be welcome, +The Elder called out + To his son, "Run for Trifon!" +With Trifon the deacon, + A jovial fellow, +A chum of the Elder's, + His sons come as well. + +Two pupils they are 40 + Of the clerical college +Named Sava and Grisha. + The former, the eldest, +Is nineteen years old. +He looks like a churchman + Already, while Grisha +Has fine, curly hair, + With a slight tinge of red, +And a thin, sallow face. +Both capital fellows 50 + They are, kind and simple, +They work with the ploughshare, + The scythe, and the sickle, +Drink vodka on feast-days, + And mix with the peasants +Entirely as equals.... + +The village lies close + To the banks of the Volga; +A small town there is + On the opposite side. 60 +(To speak more correctly, + There's now not a trace +Of the town, save some ashes: + A fire has demolished it +Two days ago.) + +Some people are waiting + To cross by the ferry, +While some feed their horses + (All friends of the peasants). +Some beggars have crawled 70 + To the spot; there are pilgrims, +Both women and men; + The women loquacious, +The men very silent. + +The old Prince Yutiátin + Is dead, but the peasants +Are not yet aware + That instead of the hayfields +His heirs have bequeathed them +A long litigation. 80 + So, drinking their vodka, +They first of all argue + Of how they'll dispose +Of the beautiful hayfields. + +You were not all cozened,[54] + You people of Russia, +And robbed of your land. +In some blessed spots + You were favoured by fortune! +By some lucky chance-- 90 + The Pomyéshchick's long absence, +Some slip of posrédnik's, +By wiles of the commune, + You managed to capture +A slice of the forest. +How proud are the peasants + In such happy corners! +The Elder may tap + At the window for taxes, +The peasant will bluster,-- 100 + One answer has he: +"Just sell off the forest, + And don't bother me!" + +So now, too, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" decided +To part with the fields + To the Elder for taxes. +They calculate closely: + "They'll pay both the taxes +And dues--with some over, 110 + Heh, Vlásuchka, won't they?" + +"Once taxes are paid + I'll uncover to no man. +I'll work if it please me, + I'll lie with my wife, +Or I'll go to the tavern." +"Bravo!" cry the peasants, + In answer to Klímka, +"Now, Vlásuchka, do you + Agree to our plan?" 120 + +"The speeches of Klímka + Are short, and as plain +As the public-house signboard," + Says Vlásuchka, joking. +"And that is his manner: + To start with a woman +And end in the tavern." + +"Well, where should one end, then? +Perhaps in the prison? + Now--as to the taxes, 130 +Don't croak, but decide." + +But Vlásuchka really + Was far from a croaker. +The kindest soul living + Was he, and he sorrowed +For all in the village, + Not only for one. +His conscience had pricked him +While serving his haughty + And rigorous Barin, 140 +Obeying his orders, + So cruel and oppressive. +While young he had always + Believed in 'improvements,' +But soon he observed + That they ended in nothing, +Or worse--in misfortune. + So now he mistrusted +The new, rich in promise. + The wheels that have passed 150 +O'er the roadways of Moscow +Are fewer by far + Than the injuries done +To the soul of the peasant. + There's nothing to laugh at +In that, so the Elder + Perforce had grown gloomy. +But now, the gay pranks +Of the peasants of "Earthworms" + Affected him too. 160 +His thoughts became brighter: +No taxes ... no barschin ... + No stick held above you, +Dear God, am I dreaming? + Old Vlásuchka smiles.... +A miracle surely! + Like that, when the sun +From the splendour of Heaven +May cast a chance ray + In the depths of the forest: 170 +The dew shines like diamonds, + The mosses are gilded. + +"Drink, drink, little peasants! + Disport yourselves bravely!" +'Twas gay beyond measure. + In each breast awakens +A wondrous new feeling, + As though from the depths +Of a bottomless gulf + On the crest of a wave, 180 +They've been borne to the surface +To find there awaits them + A feast without end. + +Another pail's started, + And, oh, what a clamour +Of voices arises, + And singing begins. + +And just as a dead man's + Relations and friends +Talk of nothing but him 190 + Till the funeral's over, +Until they have finished + The funeral banquet +And started to yawn,-- + So over the vodka, +Beneath the old willow, + One topic prevails: +The "break in the chain" + Of their lords, the Pomyéshchicks. + +The deacon they ask, 200 + And his sons, to oblige them +By singing a song + Called the "Merry Song" to them. + +(This song was not really + A song of the people: +The deacon's son Grisha + Had sung it them first. +But since the great day + When the Tsar, Little Father, +Had broken the chains 210 + Of his suffering children, +They always had danced + To this tune on the feast-days. +The "popes" and the house-serfs + Could sing the words also, +The peasants could not, + But whenever they heard it +They whistled and stamped, + And the "Merry Song" called it.) + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS + + +_The Merry Song_ + + * * * * * + +The "Merry Song" finished, + They struck up a chorus, +A song of their own, + A wailing lament +(For, as yet, they've no others). + And is it not strange +That in vast Holy Russia, +With masses and masses + Of people unnumbered, +No song has been born 10 + Overflowing with joy +Like a bright summer morning? + Yes, is it not striking, +And is it not tragic? + O times that are coming, +You, too, will be painted +In songs of the people, + But how? In what colours? +And will there be ever + A smile in their hearts? 20 + +"Eh, that's a fine song! + 'Tis a shame to forget it." +Our peasants regret + That their memories trick them. +And, meanwhile, the peasants + Of "Earthworms" are saying, +"We lived but for 'barschin,' + Pray, how would you like it? +You see, we grew up + 'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30 +Our noses were glued + To the earth. We'd forgotten +The faces of neighbours, + Forgot how to speak. +We got tipsy in silence, + Gave kisses in silence, +Fought silently, too." + +"Eh, who speaks of silence? +We'd more cause to hate it + Than you," said a peasant 40 +Who came from a Volost + Near by, with a waggon +Of hay for the market. + (Some heavy misfortune +Had forced him to sell it.) + "For once our young lady, +Miss Gertrude, decided + That any one swearing +Must soundly be flogged. + Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50 +Until we stopped swearing! + Of course, not to swear +For the peasant means--silence. + We suffered, God knows! +Then freedom was granted, + We feasted it finely, +And then we made up + For our silence, believe me: +We swore in such style + That Pope John was ashamed 60 +For the church-bells to hear us. + (They rang all day long.) +What stories we told then! + We'd no need to seek +For the words. They were written + All over our backs." + +"A funny thing happened + In our parts,--a strange thing," +Remarked a tall fellow + With bushy black whiskers. 70 +(He wore a round hat + With a badge, a red waistcoat +With ten shining buttons, + And stout homespun breeches. +His legs, to contrast + With the smartness above them, +Were tied up in rags! +There are trees very like him, + From which a small shepherd +Has stripped all the bark off 80 + Below, while above +Not a scratch can be noticed! + And surely no raven +Would scorn such a summit +For building a nest.) + +"Well, tell us about it." + +"I'll first have a smoke." + +And while he is smoking + Our peasants are asking, +"And who is this fellow? 90 + What sort of a goose?" + +"An unfortunate footman + Inscribed in our Volost, +A martyr, a house-serf + Of Count Sinegúsin's. +His name is Vikénti. + He sprang from the foot-board +Direct to the ploughshare; + We still call him 'Footman.' +He's healthy enough, 100 + But his legs are not strong, +And they're given to trembling. + His lady would drive +In a carriage and four +To go hunting for mushrooms. + He'll tell you some stories: +His memory's splendid; + You'd think he had eaten +The eggs of a magpie." [55] + +Now, setting his hat straight, 110 + Vikénti commences +To tell them the story. + + + +_The Dutiful Serf--Jacob the Faithful_ + +Once an official, of rather low family, + Bought a small village from bribes he had stored, +Lived in it thirty-three years without leaving it, + Feasted and hunted and drank like a lord. +Greedy and miserly, not many friends he made, + Sometimes he'd drive to his sister's to tea. +Cruel was his nature, and not to his serfs alone: + On his own daughter no pity had he, 120 +Horsewhipped her husband, and drove them both penniless + Out of his house; not a soul dare resist. + Jacob, his dutiful servant, + Ever of orders observant, + Often he'd strike in the mouth with his fist. + + Hearts of men born into slavery + Sometimes with dogs' hearts accord: + Crueller the punishments dealt to them + More they will worship their lord. 129 + +Jacob, it seems, had a heart of that quality, + Only two sources of joy he possessed: +Tending and serving his Barin devotedly, + Rocking his own little nephew to rest. +So they lived on till old age was approaching them, + Weak grew the legs of the Barin at last, +Vainly, to cure them, he tried every remedy; + Feast and debauch were delights of the past. + + Plump are his hands and white, + Keen are his eyes and bright, + Rosy his cheek remains, 140 + But on his legs--are chains! + +Helpless the Barin now lies in his dressing-gown, + Bitterly, bitterly cursing his fate. +Jacob, his "brother and friend,"--so the Barin says,-- + Nurses him, humours him early and late. +Winter and summer they pass thus in company, + Mostly at card-games together they play, +Sometimes they drive for a change to the sister's house, + Eight miles or so, on a very fine day. +Jacob himself bears his lord to the carriage then, 150 + Drives him with care at a moderate pace, +Carries him into the old lady's drawing-room.... + So they live peacefully on for a space. + +Grisha, the nephew of Jacob, a youth becomes, + Falls at the feet of his lord: "I would wed." +"Who will the bride be?" "Her name is Arisha, sir." + Thunders the Barin, "You'd better be dead!" +Looking at her he had often bethought himself, + "Oh, for my legs! Would the Lord but relent!" 159 +So, though the uncle entreated his clemency, + Grisha to serve in the army he sent. +Cut to the heart was the slave by this tyranny, + Jacob the Faithful went mad for a spell: +Drank like a fish, and his lord was disconsolate, + No one could please him: "You fools, go to Hell!" +Hate in each bosom since long has been festering: + Now for revenge! Now the Barin must pay, +Roughly they deal with his whims and infirmities, + Two quite unbearable weeks pass away. +Then the most faithful of servants appeared again, 170 + Straight at the feet of his master he fell, +Pity has softened his heart to the legless one, + Who can look after the Barin so well? +"Barin, recall not your pitiless cruelty, + While I am living my cross I'll embrace." +Peacefully now lies the lord in his dressing-gown, + Jacob, once more, is restored to his place. +Brother again the Pomyéshchick has christened him. + "Why do you wince, little Jacob?" says he. +"Barin, there's something that stings ... in my memory...." 180 + Now they thread mushrooms, play cards, and drink tea, +Then they make brandy from cherries and raspberries, + Next for a drive to the sister's they start, +See how the Barin lies smoking contentedly, + Green leaves and sunshine have gladdened his heart. +Jacob is gloomy, converses unwillingly, + Trembling his fingers, the reins are hung slack, +"Spirits unholy!" he murmurs unceasingly, + "Leave me! Begone!" (But again they attack.) +Just on the right lies a deep, wooded precipice, + Known in those parts as "The Devil's Abyss," 191 +Jacob turns into the wood by the side of it. + Queries his lord, "What's the meaning of this?" +Jacob replies not. The path here is difficult, + Branches and ruts make their steps very slow; +Rustling of trees is heard. Spring waters noisily + Cast themselves into the hollow below. +Then there's a halt,--not a step can the horses move: + Straight in their path stand the pines like a wall; +Jacob gets down, and, the horses unharnessing, + Takes of the Barin no notice at all. 201 + +Vainly the Barin's exclaiming and questioning, + Jacob is pale, and he shakes like a leaf, +Evilly smiles at entreaties and promises: + "Am I a murderer, then, or a thief? +No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. There's another way!" + Now he has climbed to the top of a pine, +Fastened the reins to the summit, and crossed himself, + Turning his face to the sun's bright decline. +Thrusting his head in the noose ... he has hanged himself! 210 + Horrible! Horrible! See, how he sways +Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate, + Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. +Twisting his head he is jerking convulsively, + Straining his voice to the utmost he cries, +All is in vain, there is no one to rescue him, + Only the mischievous echo replies. + +Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet, + Black is the night. Hear the owls on the wing, +Striking the earth as they pass, while the horses stand 220 + Chewing the leaves, and their bells faintly ring. +Two eyes are burning like lamps at the train's approach, + Steadily, brightly they gleam in the night, +Strange birds are flitting with movements mysterious, + Somewhere at hand they are heard to alight. +Straight over Jacob a raven exultingly + Hovers and caws. Now a hundred fly round! +Feebly the Barin is waving his crutch at them, + Merciful Heaven, what horrors abound! + +So the poor Barin all night in the carriage lies, + Shouting, from wolves to protect his old bones. 231 +Early next morning a hunter discovers him, + Carries him home, full of penitent groans: +"Oh, I'm a sinner most infamous! Punish me!" + Barin, I think, till you rest in your grave, +One figure surely will haunt you incessantly, + Jacob the Faithful, your dutiful slave. + + "What sinners! What sinners!" + The peasants are saying, + "I'm sorry for Jacob, 240 + Yet pity the Barin, + Indeed he was punished! + Ah, me!" Then they listen + To two or three more tales + As strange and as fearful, + And hotly they argue + On who must be reckoned + The greatest of sinners: + "The publican," one says, + And one, "The Pomyéshchick," 250 + Another, "The peasant." + This last was a carter, + A man of good standing + And sound reputation, + No ignorant babbler. + He'd seen many things + In his life, his own province + Had traversed entirely. + He should have been heard. + The peasants, however, 260 + Were all so indignant + They would not allow him + To speak. As for Klímka, + His wrath is unbounded, + "You fool!" he is shouting. + + "But let me explain." + + "I see you are _all_ fools," + A voice remarks roughly: + The voice of a trader + Who squeezes the peasants 270 + For laputs or berries + Or any spare trifles. + But chiefly he's noted + For seizing occasions + When taxes are gathered, + And peasants' possessions + Are bartered at auction. + "You start a discussion + And miss the chief point. + Why, who's the worst sinner? 280 + Consider a moment." + + "Well, who then? You tell us." + + "The robber, of course." + + "You've not been a serf, man," + Says Klímka in answer; + "The burden was heavy, + But not on your shoulders. + Your pockets are full, + So the robber alarms you; + The robber with this case 290 + Has nothing to do." + + "The case of the robber + Defending the robber," + The other retorts. + + "Now, pray!" bellows Klímka, + And leaping upon him, + He punches his jaw. + The trader repays him + With buffets as hearty, + "Take leave of your carcase!" 300 + He roars. + + "Here's a tussle!" + The peasants are clearing + A space for the battle; + They do not prevent it + Nor do they applaud it. + The blows fall like hail. + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! + Write home to your parents!" + + "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310 + Heh, send for the pope!" + + The trader, bent double + By Klímka, who, clutching + His hair, drags his head down, + Repeating, "He's bowing!" + Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" + When Klímka has freed him + He sits on a log, + And says, wiping his face + With a broadly-checked muffler, 320 + "No wonder he conquered: + He ploughs not, he reaps not, + Does nothing but doctor + The pigs and the horses; + Of course he gets strong!" + + The peasants are laughing, + And Klímka says, mocking, + "Here, try a bit more!" + + "Come on, then! I'm ready," + The trader says stoutly, 330 + And rolling his sleeves up, + He spits on his palms. + + "The hour has now sounded + For me, though a sinner, + To speak and unite you," + Ióna pronounces. + The whole of the evening + That diffident pilgrim + Has sat without speaking, + And crossed himself, sighing. 340 + The trader's delighted, + And Klímka replies not. + The rest, without speaking, + Sit down on the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +PILGRIMS AND WANDERERS + +We know that in Russia + Are numbers of people +Who wander at large + Without kindred or home. +They sow not, they reap not, + They feed at the fountain +That's common to all, + That nourishes likewise +The tiniest mouse + And the mightiest army: +The sweat of the peasant. 10 + The peasants will tell you +That whole populations + Of villages sometimes +Turn out in the autumn + To wander like pilgrims. +They beg, and esteem it + A paying profession. +The people consider + That misery drives them 20 +More often than cunning, + And so to the pilgrims +Contribute their mite. + Of course, there are cases +Of downright deception: + One pilgrim's a thief, +Or another may wheedle + Some cloth from the wife +Of a peasant, exchanging + Some "sanctified wafers" 30 +Or "tears of the Virgin" + He's brought from Mount Athos, +And then she'll discover + He's been but as far +As a cloister near Moscow. + One saintly old greybeard +Enraptured the people + By wonderful singing, +And offered to teach + The young girls of the village 40 +The songs of the church + With their mothers' permission. +And all through the winter + He locked himself up +With the girls in a stable. + From thence, sometimes singing +Was heard, but more often + Came laughter and giggles. +Well, what was the upshot? + He taught them no singing, 50 +But ruined them all. + + Some Masters so skilful +There are, they will even + Lay siege to the ladies. +They first to the kitchens + Make sure of admission, +And then through the maids + Gained access to the mistress. +See, there he goes, strutting + Along through the courtyard 60 +And jingling the keys + Of the house like a Barin. +And soon he will spit + In the teeth of the peasants; +The pious old women, + Who always before +At the house have been welcome, + He'll speedily banish. +The people, however, + Can see in these pilgrims 70 +A good side as well. + For, who begs the money +For building the churches? + And who keeps the convent's +Collecting-box full? + And many, though useless, +Are perfectly harmless; + But some are uncanny, +One can't understand them: + The people know Fóma, 80 +With chains round his middle + Some six stones in weight; +How summer and winter + He walks about barefoot, +And constantly mutters +Of Heaven knows what. + His life, though, is godly: +A stone for his pillow, + A crust for his dinner. + +The people know also 90 + The old man, Nikífor, +Adherent, most strange, + Of the sect called "The Hiders." +One day he appeared + In Usólovo village +Upbraiding the people + For lack of religion, +And calling them forth + To the great virgin forest +To seek for salvation. 100 + The chief of police +Of the district just happened + To be in the village +And heard his oration: + "Ho! Question the madman!" + +"Thou foe of Christ Jesus! + Thou Antichrist's herald!" +Nikífor retorts. +The Elders are nudging him: + "Now, then, be silent!" 110 +He pays no attention. +They drag him to prison. + He stands in the waggon, +Undauntedly chiding + The chief of police, +And loudly he cries + To the people who follow him: + +"Woe to you! Woe to you! Bondsmen, I mourn for you! + Though you're in rags, e'en the rags shall be torn from you! +Fiercely with knouts in the past did they mangle you: 120 + Clutches of iron in the future will strangle you!" + + The people are crossing + Themselves. The Nachálnik[56] + Is striking the prophet: + "Remember the Judge + Of Jerusalem, sinner!" + The driver's so frightened + The reins have escaped him, + His hair stands on end.... + + And when will the people 130 + Forget Yevressína, + Miraculous widow? + Let cholera only + Break out in a village: + At once like an envoy + Of God she appears. + She nurses and fosters + And buries the peasants. + The women adore her, + They pray to her almost. 140 + + It's evident, then, + That the door of the peasant + Is easily opened: + Just knock, and be certain + He'll gladly admit you. + He's never suspicious + Like wealthier people; + The thought does not strike him + At sight of the humble + And destitute stranger, 150 + "Perhaps he's a thief!" + And as to the women, + They're simply delighted, + They'll welcome you warmly. + + At night, in the Winter, + The family gathered + To work in the cottage + By light of "luchina," [57] + Are charmed by the pilgrim's + Remarkable stories. 160 + He's washed in the steam-bath, + And dipped with his spoon + In the family platter, + First blessing its contents. + His veins have been thawed + By a streamlet of vodka, + His words flow like water. + The hut is as silent + As death. The old father + Was mending the laputs, 170 + But now he has dropped them. + + The song of the shuttle + Is hushed, and the woman + Who sits at the wheel + Is engrossed in the story. + The daughter, Yevgénka, + Her plump little finger + Has pricked with a needle. + The blood has dried up, + But she notices nothing; 180 + Her sewing has fallen, + Her eyes are distended, + Her arms hanging limp. + The children, in bed + On the sleeping-planks, listen, + Their heads hanging down. + They lie on their stomachs + Like snug little seals + Upon Archangel ice-blocks. + Their hair, like a curtain, 190 + Is hiding their faces: + It's yellow, of course! + + But wait. Soon the pilgrim + Will finish his story-- + (It's true)--from Mount Athos. + It tells how that sinner + The Turk had once driven + Some monks in rebellion + Right into the sea,-- + Who meekly submitted, 200 + And perished in hundreds. + + (What murmurs of horror + Arise! Do you notice + The eyes, full of tears?) + And now conies the climax, + The terrible moment, + And even the mother + Has loosened her hold + On the corpulent bobbin, + It rolls to the ground.... 210 + And see how cat Vaska + At once becomes active + And pounces upon it. + At times less enthralling + The antics of Vaska + Would meet their deserts; + But now he is patting + And touching the bobbin + And leaping around it + With flexible movements, 220 + And no one has noticed. + It rolls to a distance, + The thread is unwound. + + Whoever has witnessed + The peasant's delight + At the tales of the pilgrims + Will realise this: + Though never so crushing + His labours and worries, + Though never so pressing 230 + The call of the tavern, + Their weight will not deaden + The soul of the peasant + And will not benumb it. + The road that's before him + Is broad and unending.... + When old fields, exhausted, + Play false to the reaper, + He'll seek near the forest + For soil more productive. 240 + The work may be hard, + But the new plot repays him: + It yields a rich harvest + Without being manured. + A soil just as fertile + Lies hid in the soul + Of the people of Russia: + O Sower, then come! + + The pilgrim Ióna + Since long is well known 250 + In the village of "Earthworms." + The peasants contend + For the honour of giving + The holy man shelter. + At last, to appease them, + He'd say to the women, + "Come, bring out your icons!" + They'd hurry to fetch them. + Ióna, prostrating + Himself to each icon, 260 + Would say to the people, + "Dispute not! Be patient, + And God will decide: + The saint who looks kindest + At me I will follow." + And often he'd follow + The icon most poor + To the lowliest hovel. + That hut would become then + A Cup overflowing; 270 + The women would run there + With baskets and saucepans, + All thanks to Ióna. + + And now, without hurry + Or noise, he's beginning + To tell them a story, + "Two Infamous Sinners," + But first, most devoutly, + He crosses himself. + + + +_Two Infamous Sinners_ + +Come, let us praise the Omnipotent! 280 + Let us the legend relate +Told by a monk in the Priory. + Thus did I hear him narrate: + +Once were twelve brigands notorious, + One, Kudeár, at their head; +Torrents of blood of good Christians + Foully the miscreants shed. + +Deep in the forest their hiding-place, + Rich was their booty and rare; +Once Kudeár from near Kiev Town 290 + Stole a young maiden most fair. + +Days Kudeár with his mistress spent, + Nights on the road with his horde; +Suddenly, conscience awoke in him, + Stirred by the grace of the Lord. + +Sleep left his couch. Of iniquity + Sickened his spirit at last; +Shades of his victims appeared to him, + Crowding in multitudes vast. + +Long was this monster most obdurate, 300 + Blind to the light from above, +Then flogged to death his chief satellite, + Cut off the head of his love,-- + +Scattered his gang in his penitence, + And to the churches of God +All his great riches distributed, + Buried his knife in the sod, + +Journeyed on foot to the Sepulchre, + Filled with repentance and grief; +Wandered and prayed, but the pilgrimage + Brought to his soul no relief. 311 + +When he returned to his Fatherland + Clad like a monk, old and bent, +'Neath a great oak, as an anchorite, + Life in the forest he spent. + +There, from the Maker Omnipotent, + Grace day and night did he crave: +"Lord, though my body thou castigate, + Grant that my soul I may save!" + +Pity had God on the penitent, 320 + Showed him the pathway to take, +Sent His own messenger unto him + During his prayers, who thus spake: + +"Know, for this oak sprang thy preference, + Not without promptings divine; +Lo! take the knife thou hast slaughtered with, + Fell it, and grace shall be thine. + +"Yea, though the task prove laborious, + Great shall the recompense be, +Let but the tree fall, and verily 330 + Thou from thy load shalt be free." + +Vast was the giant's circumference; + Praying, his task he begins, +Works with the tool of atrociousness, + Offers amends for his sins. + +Glory he sang to the Trinity, + Scraped the hard wood with his blade. +Years passed away. Though he tarried not, + Slow was the progress he made. + +'Gainst such a mighty antagonist 340 + How could he hope to prevail? +Only a Samson could vanquish it, + Not an old man, spent and frail. + +Doubt, as he worked, began plaguing him: + Once of a voice came the sound, +"Heh, old man, say what thy purpose is?" + Crossing himself he looked round. + +There, Pan[58] Glukhóvsky was watching him + On his brave Arab astride, +Rich was the Pan, of high family, 350 + Known in the whole countryside. + +Many cruel deeds were ascribed to him, + Filled were his subjects with hate, +So the old hermit to caution him + Told him his own sorry fate. + +"Ho!" laughed Glukhóvsky, derisively, + "Hope of salvation's not mine; +These are the things that I estimate-- + Women, gold, honour, and wine. + +"My life, old man, is the only one; 360 + Many the serfs that I keep; +What though I waste, hang, and torture them-- + You should but see how I sleep!" + +Lo! to the hermit, by miracle, + Wrath a great strength did impart, +Straight on Glukhóvsky he flung himself, + Buried the knife in his heart. + +Scarce had the Pan, in his agony, + Sunk to the blood-sodden ground, +Crashed the great tree, and lay subjugate, + Trembled the earth at the sound. 371 + +Lo! and the sins of the anchorite + Passed from his soul like a breath. +"Let us pray God to incline to us, + Slaves in the shadow of Death...." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +OLD AND NEW + +Ióna has finished. + He crosses himself, +And the people are silent. + And then of a sudden + +The trader cries loudly + In great irritation, +"What's wrong with the ferry? + A plague on the sluggards! +Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +"You won't get the ferry 10 + Till sunrise, for even +In daytime they're frightened + To cross: the boat's rotten! + About Kudeár, now--" + +"Ho, ferry ahoy!" + +He strides to his waggon. + A cow is there tethered; +He churlishly kicks her. + His hens begin clucking; +He shouts at them, "Silence!" 20 + The calf, which is shifting +About in the cart. + Gets a crack on the forehead. +He strikes the roan mare + With the whip, and departing +He makes for the Volga. + The moon is now shining, +It casts on the roadway + A comical shadow, +Which trots by his side. 30 + +"Oho!" says the Elder, + "He thought himself able +To fight, but discussion + Is not in his line.... +My brothers, how grievous + The sins of the nobles!" + +"And yet not as great + As the sin of the peasant," +The carter cannot here + Refrain from remarking. 40 + +"A plaguey old croaker!" + Says Klím, spitting crossly; +"Whatever arises + The raven must fly +To his own little brood! + What is it, then, tell us, +The sin of the peasant?" + + + +_The Sin of Gleb the Peasant_ + +A'miral Widower sailed on the sea, + Steering his vessels a-sailing went he. 49 +Once with the Turk a great battle he fought, + His was the victory, gallantly bought. +So to the hero as valour's reward + Eight thousand souls[59] did the Empress award. +A'miral Widower lived on his land + Rich and content, till his end was at hand. +As he lay dying this A'miral bold + Handed his Elder a casket of gold. +"See that thou cherish this casket," he said, + "Keep it and open it when I am dead. +There lies my will, and by it you will see + Eight thousand souls are from serfdom set free." 61 +Dead, on the table, the A'miral lies, + A kinsman remote to the funeral hies. +Buried! Forgotten! His relative soon + Calls Gleb, the Elder, with him to commune. +And, in a trice, by his cunning and skill, + Learns of the casket, and terms of the will. +Offers him riches and bliss unalloyed, + Gives him his freedom,--the will is destroyed! +Thus, by Gleb's longing for criminal gains, + Eight thousand souls were left rotting in chains, 71 +Aye, and their sons and their grandsons as well, + Think, what a crowd were thrown back into Hell! +God forgives all. Yes, but Judas's crime + Ne'er will be pardoned till end of all time. +Peasant, most infamous sinner of all, + Endlessly grieve to atone for thy fall! + + Wrathful, relentless, + The carter thus finished + The tale of the peasant 80 + In thunder-like tones. + The others sigh deeply + And rise. They're exclaiming, + "So, that's what it is, then, + The sin of the peasant. + He's right. 'Tis indeed + A most terrible sin!" + + "The story speaks truly; + Our grief shall be endless, + Ah, me!" says the Elder. 90 + (His faith in improvements + Has vanished again.) + And Klímka, who always + Is swayed in an instant + By joy or by sorrow, + Despondingly echoes, + "A terrible sin!" + + The green by the Volga, + Now flooded with moonlight, + Has changed of a sudden: 100 + The peasants no longer + Seem men independent + With self-assured movements, + They're "Earthworms" again-- + Those "Earthworms" whose victuals + Are never sufficient, + Who always are threatened + With drought, blight, or famine, + Who yield to the trader + The fruits of extortion 110 + Their tears, shed in tar. + The miserly haggler + Not only ill-pays them, + But bullies as well: + "For what do I pay you? + The tar costs you nothing. + The sun brings it oozing + From out of your bodies + As though from a pine." + + Again the poor peasants 120 + Are sunk in the depths + Of the bottomless gulf! + Dejected and silent, + They lie on their stomachs + Absorbed in reflection. + But then they start singing; + And slowly the song, + Like a ponderous cloud-bank, + Rolls mournfully onwards. + They sing it so clearly 130 + That quickly our seven + Have learnt it as well. + + +_The Hungry One_ + + The peasant stands +With haggard gaze, + He pants for breath, +He reels and sways; + + From famine food, +From bread of bark, + His form has swelled, +His face is dark. 140 + + Through endless grief +Suppressed and dumb + His eyes are glazed, +His soul is numb. + + As though in sleep, +With footsteps slow, + He creeps to where +The rye doth grow. + + Upon his field +He gazes long, 150 + He stands and sings +A voiceless song: + + "Grow ripe, grow ripe, +O Mother rye, + I fostered thee, +Thy lord am I. + + "Yield me a loaf +Of monstrous girth, + A cake as vast +As Mother-Earth. 160 + + "I'll eat the whole-- +No crumb I'll spare; + With wife, with child, +I will not share." + +"Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!" + A voice exclaims feebly. +It's one of the peasants. + He fetches a loaf +From his bag, and devours it. + +"They sing without voices, 170 + And yet when you listen +Your hair begins rising," + Another remarks. + +It's true. Not with voices + They sing of the famine-- +But something within them. + One, during the singing, +Has risen, to show them + The gait of the peasant +Exhausted by hunger, 180 + And swayed by the wind. +Restrained are his movements + And slow. After singing +"The Hungry One," thirsting + They make for the bucket, +One after another + Like geese in a file. +They stagger and totter + As people half-famished, +A drink will restore them. 190 +"Come, let us be joyful!" + The deacon is saying. +His youngest son, Grísha, +Approaches the peasants. + "Some vodka?" they ask him. + +"No, thank you. I've had some. + But what's been the matter? +You look like drowned kittens." + +"What should be the matter?" +(And making an effort 200 + They bear themselves bravely.) +And Vlass, the old Elder, + Has placed his great palm +On the head of his godson. + +"Is serfdom revived? + Will they drive you to barschin +Or pilfer your hayfields?" + Says Grísha in jest. + +"The hay-fields? You're joking!" + +"Well, what has gone wrong, then? + And why were you singing 211 +'The Hungry One,' brothers? + To summon the famine?" + +"Yes, what's all the pother?" + Here Klímka bursts out +Like a cannon exploding. + The others are scratching +Their necks, and reflecting: +"It's true! What's amiss?" +"Come, drink, little 'Earthworms,' + Come, drink and be merry! 221 +All's well--as we'd have it, + Aye, just as we wished it. +Come, hold up your noddles! + But what about Gleb?" + +A lengthy discussion + Ensues; and it's settled +That they're not to blame +For the deed of the traitor: + 'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230 +For just as the big snake + Gives birth to the small ones, +So serfdom gave birth + To the sins of the nobles, +To Jacob the Faithful's + And also to Gleb's. +For, see, without serfdom + Had been no Pomyéshchick +To drive his true servant + To death by the noose, 240 +No terrible vengeance + Of slave upon master +By suicide fearful, + No treacherous Gleb. + +'Twas Prov of all others + Who listened to Grísha +With deepest attention +And joy most apparent. + And when he had finished +He cried to the others 250 + In accents of triumph, +Delightedly smiling, + "Now, brothers, mark _that_!" +"So now, there's an end + Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" +Cries Klímka, with glee. +The words about serfdom + Were quickly caught up +By the crowd, and went passing + From one to another: 260 +"Yes, if there's no big snake + There cannot be small ones!" +And Klímka is swearing + Again at the carter: +"You ignorant fool!" +They're ready to grapple! + The deacon is sobbing +And kissing his Grísha: + "Just see what a headpiece +The Lord is creating! 270 + No wonder he longs +For the college in Moscow!" + Old Vlass, too, is patting +His shoulder and saying, + "May God send thee silver +And gold, and a healthy + And diligent wife!" + +"I wish not for silver + Or gold," replies Grísha. +"But one thing I wish: 280 + I wish that my comrades, +Yes, all the poor peasants + In Russia so vast, +Could be happy and free!" + Thus, earnestly speaking, +And blushing as shyly + As any young maiden, +He walks from their midst. + +The dawn is approaching. + The peasants make ready 290 +To cross by the ferry. +"Eh, Vlass," says the carter, + As, stooping, he raises +The span of his harness, + "Who's this on the ground?" + +The Elder approaches, + And Klímka behind him, +Our seven as well. + (They're always most anxious +To see what is passing.) 300 + +Some fellow is lying + Exhausted, dishevelled, +Asleep, with the beggars + Behind some big logs. +His clothing is new, + But it's hanging in ribbons. +A crimson silk scarf + On his neck he is wearing; +A watch and a waistcoat; + His blouse, too, is red. 310 +Now Klímka is stooping +To look at the sleeper, + Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly +Stamps straight on his mouth. + +The fellow springs up, + Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep, +And old Vlásuchka strikes him. + He squeals like a rat +'Neath the heel of your slipper, + And makes for the forest 320 +On long, lanky legs. + Four peasants pursue him, +The others cry, "Beat him!" + Until both the man +And the band of pursuers + Are lost in the forest. + +"Who is he?" our seven + Are asking the Elder, +"And why do they beat him?" + +"We don't know the reason, 330 + But we have been told +By the people of Tískov + To punish this Shútov +Whenever we catch him, + And so we obey. +When people from Tískov + Pass by, they'll explain it. +What luck? Did you catch him?" + He asks of the others +Returned from the chase. 340 + +"We caught him, I warrant, + And gave him a lesson. +He's run to Demyánsky, + For there he'll be able +To cross by the ferry." + +"Strange people, to beat him + Without any cause!" +"And why? If the commune + Has told us to do it +There must be some reason!" 350 + Shouts Klím at the seven. +"D'you think that the people +Of Tískov are fools? + It isn't long since, mind, +That many were flogged there, +One man in each ten. + Ah, Shútov, you rendered +A dastardly service, + Your duties are evil, +You damnable wretch! 360 + And who deserves beating +As richly as Shútov? + Not we alone beat him: +From Tískov, you know, + Fourteen villages lie +On the banks of the Volga; + I warrant through each +He's been driven with blows." + +The seven are silent. + They're longing to get 370 +At the root of the matter. + But even the Elder +Is now growing angry. + +It's daylight. The women + Are bringing their husbands +Some breakfast, of rye-cakes + And--goose! (For a peasant +Had driven some geese + Through the village to market, +And three were grown weary, 380 + And had to be carried.) +"See here, will you sell them? + They'll die ere you get there." +And so, for a trifle, + The geese had been bought. + +We've often been told + How the peasant loves drinking; +Not many there are, though, + Who know how he eats. +He's greedier far 390 + For his food than for vodka, +So one man to-day +(A teetotaller mason) + Gets perfectly drunk +On his breakfast of goose! +A shout! "Who is coming? + Who's this?" Here's another +Excuse for rejoicing + And noise! There's a hay-cart +With hay, now approaching, 400 + And high on its summit +A soldier is sitting. + He's known to the peasants +For twenty versts round. + And, cosy beside him, +Justínutchka sits + (His niece, and an orphan, +His prop in old age). +He now earns his living + By means of his peep-show, 410 +Where, plainly discerned, + Are the Kremlin and Moscow, +While music plays too. + The instrument once +Had gone wrong, and the soldier, + No capital owning, +Bought three metal spoons, +Which he beat to make music; + But the words that he knew +Did not suit the new music, 420 +And folk did not laugh. + The soldier was sly, though: +He made some new words up + That went with the music. + +They hail him with rapture! + "Good-health to you, Grandad! +Jump down, drink some vodka, + And give us some music." + +"It's true I got _up_ here, + But how to get-down?" 430 + +"You're going, I see, + To the town for your pension, +But look what has happened: + It's burnt to the ground." + +"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly! + What then? Then I'll go + To St. Petersburg for it; +For all my old comrades + Are there with their pensions, +They'll show me the way." 440 + +"You'll go by the train, then?" + +The old fellow whistles: + "Not long you've been serving +Us, orthodox Christians, + You, infidel railway! +And welcome you were + When you carried us cheaply +From Peters to Moscow. + (It cost but three roubles.) +But now you want seven, 450 + So, go to the devil! + +"Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! +Hiss like a snake as you glide! +_Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!_ +Puff at the whole countryside! +Crushing and maiming your toll you extort, +Straight in the face of the peasant you snort, +Soon all the people of Russia you may +Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!" + +"Come, give us some music," 460 + Says Vlass to the soldier, +"For here there are plenty + Of holiday people, +'Twill be to your profit. + You see to it, Klímka!" +(Though Vlass doesn't like him, + Whenever there's something +That calls for arranging + He leaves it to Klímka: +"You see to it, Klímka!" 470 + And Klimka is pleased.) + +And soon the old soldier + Is helped from the hay-cart: +He's weak on his legs,--tall, + And strikingly thin. +His uniform seems + To be hung from a pole; +There are medals upon it. + +It cannot be said + That his face is attractive, 480 +Especially when + It's distorted by _tic_: +His mouth opens wide + And his eyes burn like charcoal,-- +A regular demon! + +The music is started, + The people run back +From the banks of the Volga. +He sings to the music. + + * * * * * + +A spasm has seized him: 490 + He leans on his niece, +And his left leg upraising + He twirls it around +In the air like a weight. + His right follows suit then, +And murmuring, "Curse it!" + He suddenly masters +And stands on them both. + +"You see to it, Klímka!" + Of course he'll arrange it 500 +In Petersburg fashion: + He stands them together, +The niece and the uncle; + Takes two wooden dishes +And gives them one each, + Then springs on a tree-trunk +To make an oration. + +(The soldier can't help + Adding apt little words +To the speech of the peasant, 510 + And striking his spoons.) + + * * * * * + +The soldier is stamping + His feet. One can hear +His dry bones knock together. + When Klímka has finished +The peasants come crowding, + Surrounding the soldier, +And some a kopéck give, + And others give half: +In no time a rouble 520 + Is piled on the dishes. + + + +EPILOGUE + +GRÍSHA DOBROSKLONOW + + +A CHEERFUL SEASON--CHEERFUL SONGS + +The feast was continued + Till morning--a splendid, +A wonderful feast! + Then the people dispersing +Went home, and our peasants + Lay down 'neath the willow; +Ióna--meek pilgrim + Of God--slept there too. +And Sáva and Grísha, + The sons of the deacon, 10 +Went home, with their parent + Unsteady between them. +They sang; and their voices, + Like bells on the Volga, +So loud and so tuneful, + Came chiming together: + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "That which will surely 20 + Banish the night + He[60] has awarded-- + Freedom and Light! + + "Praise to the hero + Bringing the nation + Peace and salvation! + + "Blessings from Heaven, + Grace from above, + Rained on the battle, + Conquered by Love. 30 + + "Little we ask Thee-- + Grant us, O Lord, + Strength to be honest, + Fearing Thy word! + + "Brotherly living, + Sharing in part, + That is the roadway + Straight to the heart. + + "Turn from that teaching + Tender and wise-- 40 + Cowards and traitors + Soon will arise. + + "People of Russia, + Banish the night! + You have been granted + That which is needful-- + Freedom and Light!" + +The deacon was poor + As the poorest of peasants: +A mean little cottage 50 + Like two narrow cages, +The one with an oven + Which smoked, and the other +For use in the summer,-- + Such was his abode. +No horse he possessed + And no cow. He had once had +A dog and a cat, + But they'd both of them left him. + +His sons put him safely 60 + To bed, snoring loudly; +Then Sávushka opened + A book, while his brother +Went out, and away + To the fields and the forest. + +A broad-shouldered youth + Was this Grísha; his face, though, +Was terribly thin. + In the clerical college +The students got little 70 + To eat. Sometimes Grísha +Would lie the whole night + Without sleep; only longing +For morning and breakfast,-- + The coarse piece of bread +And the glassful of sbeeten.[61] +The village was poor + And the food there was scanty, +But still, the two brothers + Grew certainly plumper 80 +When home for the holidays-- + Thanks to the peasants. + +The boys would repay them + By all in their power, +By work, or by doing + Their little commissions +In town. Though the deacon + Was proud of his children, +He never had given + Much thought to their feeding. 90 +Himself, the poor deacon, + Was endlessly hungry, +His principal thought + Was the manner of getting +The next piece of food. + He was rather light-minded +And vexed himself little; + But Dyómna, his wife, +Had been different entirely: + She worried and counted, 100 +So God took her soon. + The whole of her life +She by salt[62] had been troubled: + If bread has run short +One can ask of the neighbours; + But salt, which means money, +Is hard to obtain. + The village with Dyómna +Had shared its bread freely; + And long, long ago 110 +Would her two little children + Have lain in the churchyard +If not for the peasants. + +And Dyómna was ready + To work without ceasing +For all who had helped her; + But salt was her trouble, +Her thought, ever present. + She dreamt of it, sang of it, +Sleeping and waking, 120 + While washing, while spinning, +At work in the fields, + While rocking her darling +Her favourite, Grísha. + And many years after +The death of his mother, + His heart would grow heavy +And sad, when the peasants + Remembered one song, +And would sing it together 130 + As Dyómna had sung it; +They called it "The Salt Song." + + + +_The Salt Song_ + + Now none but God + Can save my son: + He's dying fast, + My little one.... + + I give him bread--- + He looks at it, + He cries to me, + "Put salt on it." 140 + I have no salt-- + No tiny grain; + "Take flour," God whispers, + "Try again...." + + He tastes it once, + Once more he tries; + "That's not enough, + More salt!" he cries. + + The flour again.... + My tears fall fast 150 + Upon the bread,-- + He eats at last! + + The mother smiles + In pride and joy: + Her tears so salt + Have saved the boy. + + * * * * * + +Young Grísha remembered + This song; he would sing it +Quite low to himself + In the clerical college. 160 +The college was cheerless, +And singing this song + He would yearn for his mother, +For home, for the peasants, + His friends and protectors. +And soon, with the love + Which he bore to his mother, +His love for the people + Grew wider and stronger.... +At fifteen years old 170 + He was firmly decided +To spend his whole life + In promoting their welfare, +In striving to succour + The poor and afflicted. +The demon of malice + Too long over Russia +Has scattered its hate; + The shadow of serfdom +Has hidden all paths 180 + Save corruption and lying. +Another song now + Will arise throughout Russia; +The angel of freedom + And mercy is flying +Unseen o'er our heads, + And is calling strong spirits +To follow the road + Which is honest and clean. + +Oh, tread not the road 190 +So shining and broad: +Along it there speed +With feverish tread +The multitudes led +By infamous greed. + +There lives which are spent +With noble intent +Are mocked at in scorn; +There souls lie in chains, +And bodies and brains 200 +By passions are torn, + +By animal thirst +For pleasures accurst +Which pass in a breath. +There hope is in vain, +For there is the reign +Of darkness and death. + + * * * * * + +In front of your eyes +Another road lies-- +'Tis honest and clean. 210 +Though steep it appears +And sorrow and tears +Upon it are seen: + +It leads to the door +Of those who are poor, +Who hunger and thirst, +Who pant without air. +Who die in despair-- +Oh, there be the first! + +The song of the angel 220 + Of Mercy not vainly +Was sung to our Grísha. + The years of his study +Being passed, he developed + In thought and in feeling; +A passionate singer + Of Freedom became he, +Of all who are grieving, + Down-trodden, afflicted, +In Russia so vast. 230 + + * * * * * + +The bright sun was shining, + The cool, fragrant morning +Was filled with the sweetness + Of newly-mown hay. +Young Grísha was thoughtful, + He followed the first road +He met--an old high-road, + An avenue, shaded +By tall curling birch trees. + The youth was now gloomy, 240 +Now gay; the effect + Of the feast was still with him; +His thoughts were at work, + And in song he expressed them: + +"I know that you suffer, +O Motherland dear, +The thought of it fills me with woe: +And Fate has much sorrow +In store yet, I fear, +But you will not perish, I know. 250 + +"How long since your children +As playthings were used, +As slaves to base passions and lust; +Were bartered like cattle, +Were vilely abused +By masters most cruel and unjust? + +"How long since young maidens +Were dragged to their shame, +Since whistle of whips filled the land, +Since 'Service' possessed 260 +A more terrible fame +Than death by the torturer's hand? + +"Enough! It is finished, +This tale of the past; +'Tis ended, the masters' long sway; +The strength of the people +Is stirring at last, +To freedom 'twill point them the way. + +"Your burden grows lighter, +O Motherland dear, 270 +Your wounds less appalling to see. +Your fathers were slaves, +Smitten helpless by fear, +But, Mother, your children are free!" + + * * * * * + +A small winding footpath + Now tempted young Grísha, +And guided his steps + To a very broad hayfield. +The peasants were cutting + The hay, and were singing 280 +His favourite song. + Young Grísha was saddened +By thoughts of his mother, + And nearly in anger +He hurried away + From the field to the forest. +Bright echoes are darting + About in the forest; +Like quails in the wheat + Little children are romping 290 +(The elder ones work + In the hay fields already). +He stopped awhile, seeking + For horse-chestnuts with them. +The sun was now hot; + To the river went Grísha +To bathe, and he had + A good view of the ruins +That three days before + Had been burnt. What a picture! +No house is left standing; 301 + And only the prison +Is saved; just a few days + Ago it was whitewashed; + It stands like a little +White cow in the pastures. + The guards and officials +Have made it their refuge; + But all the poor peasants +Are strewn by the river 310 + Like soldiers in camp. +Though they're mostly asleep now, + A few are astir, +And two under-officials + Are picking their way +To the tent for some vodka + 'Mid tables and cupboards +And waggons and bundles. + A tailor approaches +The vodka tent also; 320 + A shrivelled old fellow. + His irons and his scissors +He holds in his hands, + Like a leaf he is shaking. +The pope has arisen + From sleep, full of prayers. +He is combing his hair; + Like a girl he is holding +His long shining plait. + Down the Volga comes floating 330 +Some wood-laden rafts, + And three ponderous barges +Are anchored beneath + The right bank of the river. +The barge-tower yesterday + Evening had dragged them +With songs to their places, +And there he is standing, + The poor harassed man! +He is looking quite gay though, 340 + As if on a holiday, +Has a clean shirt on; + Some farthings are jingling +Aloud in his pocket. + Young Grísha observes him +For long from the river, + And, half to himself, +Half aloud, begins singing: + + + +_The Barge-Tower_ + +With shoulders back and breast astrain, +And bathed in sweat which falls like rain, +Through midday heat with gasping song, +He drags the heavy barge along. 352 +He falls and rises with a groan, +His song becomes a husky moan.... +But now the barge at anchor lies, +A giant's sleep has sealed his eyes; +And in the bath at break of day +He drives the clinging sweat away. +Then leisurely along the quay +He strolls refreshed, and roubles three 360 +Are sewn into his girdle wide; +Some coppers jingle at his side. +He thinks awhile, and then he goes +Towards the tavern. There he throws +Some hard-earned farthings on the seat; +He drinks, and revels in the treat, +The sense of perfect ease and rest. +Soon with the cross he signs his breast: +The journey home begins to-day. +And cheerfully he goes away; 370 +On presents spends a coin or so: +For wife some scarlet calico, +A scarf for sister, tinsel toys +For eager little girls and boys. +God guide him home--'tis many a mile-- +And let him rest a little while.... + + * * * * * + + The barge-tower's fate + Lead the thoughts of young Grisha + To dwell on the whole + Of mysterious Russia-- 380 + The fate of her people. + For long he was roving + About on the bank, + Feeling hot and excited, + His brain overflowing + With new and new verses. + + _Russia_ + +"The Tsar was in mood +To dabble in blood: +To wage a great war. +Shall we have gold enough? 390 +Shall we have strength enough? +Questioned the Tsar. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet thou art powerful, +Thy wealth is plentiful, +Russia, my Mother!) + +"By misery chastened, +By serfdom of old, +The heart of thy people, 400 +O Tsar, is of gold. + +"And strong were the nation, +Unyielding its might, +If standing for conscience, +For justice and right. + +"But summon the country +To valueless strife, +And no man will hasten +To offer his life. + +"So Russia lies sleeping 410 +In obstinate rest;-- +But should the spark kindle +That's hid in her breast-- + +"She'll rise without summons, +Go forth without call, +With sacrifice boundless, +Each giving his all! + +"A host she will gather +Of strength unsurpassed, +With infinite courage 420 +Will fight to the last. + +"(Thou art so pitiful, +Poor, and so sorrowful, +Yet of great treasure full, +Mighty, all-powerful, +Russia, my Mother!)" + + * * * * * + +Young Grísha was pleased + With his song; and he murmured. +"Its message is true; + I will sing it to-morrow 430 +Aloud to the peasants. + Their songs are so mournful, +It's well they should hear + Something joyful,--God help them! +For just as with running + The cheeks begin burning, +So acts a good song + On the spirit despairing, +Brings comfort and strength." + But first to his brother 440 +He sang the new song, +And his brother said, "Splendid!" + + Then Grísha tried vainly +To sleep; but half dreaming + New songs he composed. +They grew brighter and stronger.... + + Our peasants would soon +Have been home from their travels + If they could have known +What was happening to Grísha: 450 + With what exaltation +His bosom was burning; + What beautiful strains +In his ears began chiming; + How blissfully sang he +The wonderful anthem + Which tells of the freedom +And peace of the people. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] Many years later, after his mother's death, Nekrassov found this +letter among her papers. It was a letter written to her by her own +mother after her flight and subsequent marriage. It announced to her her +father's curse, and was filled with sad and bitter reproaches: "To whom +have you entrusted your fate? For what country have you abandoned +Poland, your Motherland? You, whose hand was sought, a priceless gift, +by princes, have chosen a savage, ignorant, uncultured.... Forgive +me, but my heart is bleeding...." + +[2] Priest. + +[3] Landowner. + +[4] The peasants assert that the cuckoo chokes himself with young ears +of corn. + +[5] A kind of home-brewed cider. + +[6] _Laput_ is peasants' footgear made of bark of saplings. + +[7] Priest + +[8] New huts are built only when the village has been destroyed by fire. + +[9] The lines of asterisks throughout the poem represent passages that +were censored in the original. + +[10] There is a superstition among the Russian peasants that it is an +ill omen to meet the "pope" when going upon an errand. + +[11] Landowners + +[12] Dissenters in Russia are subjected to numerous religious +restrictions. Therefore they are obliged to bribe the local orthodox +pope, in order that he should not denounce them to the police. + +[13] There is a Russian superstition that a round rainbow is sent as a +sign of coming dry weather. + +[14] _Kasha_ and _stchee_ are two national dishes. + +[15] The mud and water from the high lands on both sides descend and +collect in the villages so situated, which are often nearly transformed +into swamps during the rainy season. + +[16] On feast days the peasants often pawn their clothes for drink. + +[17] Well-known popular characters in Russia. + +[18] Each landowner kept his own band of musicians. + +[19] The halting-place for prisoners on their way to Siberia. + +[20] The tax collector, the landlord, and the priest. + +[21] Fire. + +[22] Popular name for Petrograd. + +[23] The primitive wooden plough still used by the peasants in Russia. + +[24] Three pounds. + +[25] Holy pictures of the saints. + +[26] The Russian nickname for the bear. + +[27] Chief of police. + +[28] An administrative unit consisting of a group of villages. + +[29] The end of the story is omitted because of the interference of the +Censor. + +[30] A three-horsed carriage. + +[31] The Pomyeshchick is still bitter because his serfs have been set +free by the Government. + +[32] The Russian warriors of olden times. + +[33] Russian Easter dishes. + +[34] Russians embrace one another on Easter Sunday, recalling the +resurrection of Christ. + +[35] The Russians press their foreheads to the ground while worshipping. + +[36] The official appointed to arrange terms between the Pomyéshchicks +and their emancipated serfs. + +[37] The haystacks. + +[38] A long-skirted coat. + +[39] The forced labour of the serfs for their owners. + +[40] Holy images. + +[41] Meenin--a famous Russian patriot in the beginning of the +seventeenth century. He is always represented with an immense beard. + +[42] It is a sign of respect to address a person by his own name and +the name of his father. + +[43] Ukhá--fish soup. + +[44] A national loose sleeveless dress worn with a separate shirt +or blouse. + +[45] The marriage agent. + +[46] The marriage agent. + +[47] Inhabitants of the village Korojin. + +[48] Germans were often employed as managers of the Pomyéshchicks' +estates. + +[49] In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls +for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the +atmosphere. + +[50] Police-official. + +[51] Heave-to! + +[52] This paragraph refers to the custom of the country police in +Russia, who, on hearing of the accidental death of anybody in a village, +will, in order to extract bribes from the villagers, threaten to hold an +inquest on the corpse. The peasants are usually ready to part with +nearly all they possess in order to save their dead from what they +consider desecration. + +[53] The Saviour's day. + +[54] A reference to the arranging of terms between the Pomyéshchicks +and peasants with regard to land at the time of the emancipation of +the serfs. + +[55] There is a Russian superstition that a good memory is gained by +eating magpies' eggs. + +[56] Chief of Police. + +[57] A wooden splinter prepared and used for lighting purposes. + +[58] Polish title for nobleman or gentleman. + +[59] Serfs. + +[60] Alexander II., who gave emancipation to the peasants. + +[61] A popular Russian drink composed of hot water +and honey. + +[62] There was a very heavy tax laid upon salt at the time. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Who Can Be Happy And Free In Russia? +by Nicholas Nekrassov + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO HAPPY IN RUSSIA *** + +This file should be named 8whrs10.txt or 8whrs10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8whrs11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8whrs10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen +and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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