I. THE POPE
II. THE WEDDING
II. SAVYÉLI
IV. Nekrassov seemed destined to dwell from his birth amid such surroundings
as are necessary for the creation of a great national poet. They sped away, and were married at
the first church they reached. "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. He had
no time to devote to the working out of his poems, and it would not have
"paid" him. They devoted their energies to philosophy, literature, and art. 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. Nekrassov became the idol of Russia. Nekrassov one day greeted his doctor with the following remark:
"Now you see what our profession, literature, means. His disease was the
outcome, he declared, of the privations he had suffered in his youth. Nekrassov is dead. Each shouts, nothing hearing,
And time does not wait. Yet no one can catch you, 90
Entice, or embrace you! Thus, blaming the devil,
The peasants make ready
To sleep by the roadside. Luká cries, "The pope!" And Román, "The Pomyéshchick!" And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" And Demyán, "The official!" Bawl both brothers Goóbin,
Mitródor and Ívan. "The Pomyéshchick!" They laugh--birds of night--
And their huge yellow eyes gleam
Like fourteen wax candles. 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." "Salt cucumbers, also,
Each morning a dozen!" they say, laughing. "Yourselves you will find it,
But I will direct you
To where you will find it." 330
"Well, speak. The casket is magic,
And in it there lies
An enchanted white napkin. 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. "Our coats, that they fall not
In tatters," Román said. "Our shirts, that the fleas
May not breed and annoy us,"
Luká added lastly. They cry in a chorus,
"O napkin enchanted,
Give food to the peasants!" Look, look! "The cucumbers, tea,
And sour qwass--where are they then?" PART I. CHAPTER I. The pope raised his head, 70
Looked inquiringly at them. If not, we will go
Further on." Then say, in God's truth,
Is the pope's life a sweet one? I'll tell you my story,
And you try to follow
As well as you can." "Begin." They answer, "It is so." Now you see, friends,
The peace that the pope gets." "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.... At whom do you shout
Ho, ho, ho, in derision
When once you are past him?" The others approve him:
"It isn't our own fault,
It comes from our parents." The pope said, "So be it! [11]
They lived and increased,
And they let us live too. Then taking his hat off
He crossed himself thrice,
And the peasants did likewise. Amen...."
* * * * *
The pope finished
His speech, and touched lightly
The back of the gelding. "Now, what have you got?--
You great obstinate blockhead,
You log of the village! It wasn't a life--
'Twas a strawberry, brethren; 470
Pope's kasha[14] is made
And served up with fresh butter. Upon the raft, near her,
A duck and some ducklings
Are sleeping together. The man swims, the horse swims;
The horse neighs, the man neighs;
They make a fine uproar! "Say, why is your village
So empty of people? "Three versts, I should fancy." A row of small shops, too,
There is in the village. Oh, you, thirst of Russia,
Unquenchable, endless
You are! You see, you can't do me
The least little service. "Well, Uncle, pay up now,
Or else be off quickly,"
The seller says sharply. But wait! He's very dejected. The crowd was as pleased, too,
As if had been given
To each one a rouble. "'Tis generals, _you_ want!" "Well, give us some generals;
But look--on your conscience--
Now let them be real ones,
Be fat and ferocious." They're great. "What door do you want, man?" "The puppet-show, brothers!" The play is not too deep,
But not stupid, either. "How now, my fine fellows,
And where do you come from?" "Hi, you with the waggon,
Look after your corn!" "But where are you off to, 50
Olyénushka? "Give way there, you people!" "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?" "An accident's happened
Down here, and a man's killed." "How thin you've got, Dashka!" "Heh, you, silly fellow,
Come hither and love me! The dirty, dishevelled,
And tipsy old woman. "Now, what are you doing?" Roll into the ditch,
Dip your snout in the water. 100
'Twill cool you, perhaps." "Enough there, you madmen!"... The other, "You braggart! In my house, I tell you,
It's worse than in yours. "Enough, enough, darling! Say, what's your complaint? Well, where were the people? Our fields may be broad,
But they don't give too freely. Hey, you mighty monster! "The vodka prostrates us;
But does not our labour,
Our trouble, prostrate us? Hey, fellows! Hey, maidens! "Hey you, peasant kingdom! You, hatless and drunken! "Come, what's your name, uncle?" "I've hung them--and more,"
He replied, and was silent. Why, if we did not drink
Black gloom would engulf us. Is it not, sir?" 450
"Yes, God will protect us!" "Come, drink with us, Barin!" "Ah, Barin," says Jacob,
"I see you're not angry. cries her husband,
The jealous old man. 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!" "Why, you! You have promised." "Be off, you lean scamp!" "Such turnips, I tell you! 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! "Here, drink, little soldier! "In this!" "Well, weighty it is, man! "I was not a worse man
Than he, the young mason,
And boasted of _my_ strength. You don't know yourself, man,
What you have been doing! Come, treat me, my friends!" And many such fellows 200
Were put out and left
At the stations we came to. And, would you believe me? And yet, by God's mercy,
Made no sound at all. And now, by His mercy,
I'm better again." "Is that what you boast of--
Your happiness, peasant?" (He stoops down to rub it,
The gouty right knee-cap.) "What laugh you at, stupids?" Come, treat me, you peasants!" "Oh, give me a taste!" He implores, "I am happy!" "But wait! 320
He tries to, but cannot,
For all his grimaces! "A bear knocked my jaw round,
A savage young female." They laugh, but, however,
They give him some vodka. "Why, right on his threshold
The shopman will meet us! 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." he asked. "'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?' 'An hour, if you wish.' And said to me sneering:
'But, what can you do
In an hour? Hey! Whoever knows Érmil,
Whoever believes him,
Will give what he can.' 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!' No murmur arises,
No sound of discussion,
As each man tells quietly
The sum to be paid him. 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! "We have. Well, he was a pope's son
And God placed him rightly! 600
"'No, no, little Father! He's young, but he's wise!' Now, if you knew Érmil
You knew his young brother,
Knew Mítyenka, did you?" Well, of course she'd be certain
To scream for a time,
Then leave off and be silent. But he only answered:
'A villain I am,
And a criminal; bind me,
And bring me to justice!' Be my judges!' He rented the mill, then,
And more than of old
Was beloved by the people. Have mercy!" "Ho! where has it gone to,
Your noble complaint? 850
"Well, well, Little Father,
Now finish the story!" A portly Pomyéshchick,
With long grey moustaches,
Some sixty years old. Don't move, or I shoot!" "I promise. "No, don't give us that--
Not the oath of a noble! "Eh-heh, that's a new creed! Well, let it be so, then. From 'Harvestless,' too. "Now tell us, Pomyéshchick,
Is your life a sweet one? "But we are not gentry;
We'd rather stand up 130
In your presence, your worship." "Sit down, worthy _citizens_,
Here on the bank." Hey, Proshka! Some sherry,
My rug and a cushion!" He sits on the rug. We have seen all kinds
Of trees," say the peasants. And now, gentle peasants,
Did you understand?" "Be it so, then! "Well, apple, then, call it,
So long as it please you. And now, you yourselves
Understand--the more ancient
A family is 220
The more noble its members. Is that so, good peasants?" "Exactly. I see, friends,
You quite understand me." And the sly fox is ready;
Fat, furry old Reynard
Is flying before us,
His bushy tail waving! Now, my horse,
Let your swiftness not fail me! My hounds, you are staunch
And you will not betray me! Faster, faster! Now, _at him_, my children!"... The law is my wish,
And my fist is my hangman! Now, wasn't that nice?" "Yes," answer the peasants;
"Yes, well might one envy
The noble Pomyéshchick! "And now it is past.... Heh, Proshka!" (The brandy
Is given, and quickly
He empties the glass.) And now?... It is to his profit
To ravish the park, 650
And his mission delights him. The land that we keep
Is our mother no longer,
Our stepmother rather. They babble, 'Enough
Of your lordly pretensions! Get up, now, and work!' To whom, in God's name,
Do you think you are speaking? PART II. They are approaching 10
The banks of the Volga. "The fields are enormous,"
Remarks old Pakhóm,
"Why, the folk must be giants." "Our thanks to you, brothers!" "It's long since we've stretched ourselves,
Come, let us help you!" "Oh, that's the Pomyéshchick
Returning from boating!" Says Vlásuchka, running
To busy the mowers:
"Wake up! You women, stop cackling! Yes, Your Highness, 200
It's done, at your bidding!" 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. "Please, the luncheon is served." "Our Pomyéshchick,
The great Prince Yutiátin." 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!" "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." "We will not be surly
Like you. We will tell you. We're said to be strange here,
But you are still stranger." "Well, drink some more vodka
And tell us your tale." 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. It wasn't his pocket
That pinched, but his pride
That was touched and enraged him. 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." He springs on them straight
Like a wounded old tiger,
He bellows like thunder. He said to his sons,
'Oh, you dastardly cowards! But you!--you have sprung
From the house of Yutiátin,
The Princes Yu-tiá-tin
You are! Go!... Go, leave me! His name is Ipát,
And when we were made free
He refused to believe it;
'The great Prince Yutiátin 180
Be left without peasants! 210
He did it in such
A remarkable way, too! play now,
Ipát.' Then the driver
Would shout to the horses,
And urge them to gallop. These changes will kill him,
He cannot sustain them. Think well of our offer,
And let the posrédnik
Be sent for to witness
And settle the matter.' 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 bottle at once
He'll consume, like a mouthful. Why, then, let him do it! He has not a notion
That they are not _his_ fields,
But ours. "The bride will be seventy,
Seven the bridegroom! Well, who could help laughing? He bustles about
And in everything meddles,
And even drinks less. He knew, the old fellow,
From whence it had come. Petrov stood there silent,
And what could he answer? "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. He said to the Barin. 640
"He bellows, 'I'll kill you! You've lost your strong grip
On the soul of the peasant,
The last one you are. "The Barin is gasping,
'You rebel ... you rebel!' 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. 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. "Now tell me, how soon
Will the mowing be finished?" 80
"'The Barin's term,' say you? Now, what do you mean, pray?" The Elder is hanging
His head in confusion. That's so,--is it not?" Oh, you blockhead! ha! It's the 'Barin's term,' say you? Ha, ha! fool, ha, ha! they ask him. Says Vlásuchka, crossly.) "You see!" "Go, find him!" he hisses, 300
"Go, fetch him! The Elder dives straight
In the midst of the people;
He asks himself wildly,
"Now, what's to be done?" "I'd rather you went, though!" Then Klím looses patience;
"Now, Vlásuchka, help us! "Yes! says Klím sharply,
"What lies did I tell? The others laugh loudly. 360
"Well, let him alone, then. Cast lots for a culprit,
We'll pay him. Oh, no. You trust me, I'll save you!" O my Father, don't kill me! I have but one child,
Oh, have pity upon him! He is crazy. 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. That will do him
More good than his physic,"
Says Vlásuchka, watching. He wants to be nearer
The girls, and he rises. He says to his sons,
And the two pretty ladies. They can't help themselves,
There they are dancing! "Sing, Luiba!" he orders. "Be God with you, Barin! And now, brothers,
Come, praise me and thank me! On some hasty errand
Of yours, or another's? And not for our pleasure,
For money or fun,
Not for two or three months,
But for life. What has changed, though? Oh, beautiful summer! No time is so gorgeous, 30
So regal, so rich. 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! ... They're like a plump maiden--
The peas--for whoever
Goes by must needs pinch them. He says to the friends,
"The Pomyéshchick's abroad now,
The manager's dying." "Heh! Have you caught something, brothers?" "Yes, balcony railings." "See here. They're like tinder;
Don't blow on them, Mother! "No, no! Drive on, little carriage! Gee-up, little horses! He says, "Will you buy it?" The heads of the peasants
Are eagerly lifted,
They gaze at the tower. I go to drink vodka,
I'm going ... "Well, what do you want
With Matróna Korchágin?" Pakhóm said, 'His Highness,
The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' We've questioned the pope,
We've asked the Pomyéshchick,
And now we ask you. Then say, in God's name,
If the rumour be true." "But look for yourselves, now,
The corn-ears are bursting. "I never ran after
The youths, and the forward
I checked very sharply. Ah, what shall I do? You're strong, little pigeon!' Said Phílip astonished,
But still held me tight. We'll begin
With the bride," say the others. "An old woman, brothers,
And not drink some vodka?" How his mother snarls,
"Cannibal!" at her. She is "slovenly"
And "disorderly,"
She's a "wicked one"! "Yes, we know it well;
Gossip, you begin,
We will all join in." Up, up, up, lazy-head! Up, up, up, lie-abed! Slut! Up, up, up, lazy-head! 60
Up, up, up, lie-abed! Slut! Well, some superstitions
Of course may be right;
But they're most of them evil. Matróna was plainly
Confused by the question;
"Once, only, he beat me,"
She said, very low. She found she had holes
In her boots, and it vexed her. Then Phílip said, 'Wife,
Fetch some boots for my sister.' 170
"Well, that is the story. ... ...
"Cruel hated husband,
Hark! he is coming! Ai, leli, leli! ... ...
"Run to his father! Ai, leli, leli! 220
Ai, leli, leli! And not longer
I worried and fretted;
I worked, and in silence
I let them upbraid. Remember, the berry
Is not in _your_ forest!' She said. I ran to Savyéli,
The grandfather, begging
His aid and advice. His own son would shout at him, 30
'Branded one! Or, 'Ai, you toy heroes! "'Be patient ... and perish,
Impatient ... and perish!' And many such sayings 90
He had,--I forget them. "'I was once a convict,'
Said he. "'You, Savyéli!' "'Yes I, little Grandchild,
Yes, I have been branded. "'You're joking, Savyéli!' I mean it,' he said,
And he told me the story. "'But why, little Grandad?' She flung herself at me,
And straight on my bear-spear
Was fixed. Now, do I not look like
A hook, little Grandchild?' He said, and they flogged us. Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'' They both had been yelling,
''We're beggars! ''Well, well, you may cackle!'' 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. And plenty there was, too! Well, that's why we all lived
Like merchants in those days. "'''Explain,'' we replied,
And were troubled no more. We dug some deep ditches. "'Ah, how could we bear it? Well, well, though he lived
Like a lord in his glory
For eighteen long years,
We were waiting our day. "'And we, tired and hungry,
Stood listening in silence. I stood near him. 'What further, Savyéli?' Ah, he was a Master! I saved up some money,
And when I came home,
Built this hut for myself. Eh, you plucky toy heroes! "And now for your story,"
They answer Matróna. Soon, though,
Another arose,
I will tell you about it." say the peasants
(They love the word well),
They are filling the glasses. Oh, come, little Mother! And I was so timid,
So tired of her scolding,
I left him behind. Forgive me, Matróna! "Oh, stay, little swallow! 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. And God in His wrath
Has sent guests that are hateful,
Has sent unjust judges. "I whisper in answer, 140
'Kind sir, you are joking. I conquered myself,
For I knew why they lay there. I answer him trembling,
'I loved little Djóma,
I would not have harmed him.' I kneel to him crying,
'Be gentle! Have mercy! Oh, I am his mother!' Oh, hear me, just God! Their wives be unfaithful,
Their children be crippled! Oh, hear me, just God! "'She's crazy, the woman!' Or else I shall order
My men, here, to bind you.' "'Now, bind her, the vixen!' "'No,' answered the peasants. 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. I ran to the doorway,
And then ... I cursed old Savyéli,
Cried--'Branded one! You murdered my, Djóma,
Begone from my sight!' My heart was like stone,
I grew wild and ferocious. I went home then
And nursed little Djóma,
And played with him, laughing. God knows how I loved him,
The innocent babe! "I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!' "'But why then, Savyéli?' Oh, kill me! He hung the reins up, then. "The grandfather died, then?" "'Oh, long, long ago
I forgave you, Savyéli.' "'Then look at me now
As in old times, Matróna!' "I looked as of old. I kissed the old man,
And my new grief I told him;
For long we sat weeping
And mourning together. He died very hard. For a hundred days, fully,
No food passed his lips;
To the bone he was shrunken. You women, sit spinning
And weaving no longer! I'd draw off their boots--
Only,--touch not my children! 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. I said to myself
That if penance were needful
The mothers must suffer,
But not little children. I said to the Elder. "The story was strange:
It appears that the shepherd
Went home for awhile,
Leaving little Fedótka
In charge of the flock. I threw myself at her,
I whistled and shouted,
I cracked with my whip,
Blew my horn for Valétka,
And then I gave chase. She crouched,
But would not give it up. I threw myself on her
And snatched it away,
But she did not attack me. I threw her the lamb....'
"Well, that was the story. And they, in their anger,
Were going to beat him 300
When I came upon them. I ran to him, crying,
'Oh, save us! "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!' Run home, quick, Fedótka.' He was sleeping,
He tossed in his dream. I'd lost little Djóma
While heavy with this one;
He was but a weakling,
But grew very clever. Oh, look at the daughter
You cherished and loved!' "And wildly I summon 400
My mother, my mother! To play with the starving
Is dangerous, my friends. 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. He came, tired and gloomy:
'Eh, wife, we are ruined! I ran to the bailiff;
He swore he was sorry,
But couldn't assist us. He's bought. They are all bought,--
Not one of them honest! ... I am cold.... Be silent, you mother! they whisper." No friend under Heaven
There is for the woman,
The wife of the soldier. No,--carry them with you
To hide in your grave!" Hark, hark! I see him! It's Shaláshnikov shouting....
Oh, Phílip has fallen! Have mercy! Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' It is frosty. "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! "'''I won't come, and I won't listen! Swift the stream--no bridge, no ferry! My little dove, Efeémovna,
Come home, my dear, with me.'' I am patient,--
I have not complained. But Thou seest all things,
And Thou art so mighty;
Oh, succour thy slave!' Go away. 'Well, go to the porter; 100
He knows all about it.' And what
Is his name, little sentry?' "'Makhár Fedosséich,
He stands at the entrance.' I walk to the entrance,
The doors are not opened. "'Heh, what are you doing? "'You can't see him, woman. Well, well.... It is shrieking. 140
My God, what a sound! Say, do you sleep sweetly? "'You're early, my gossip!' "'I'm tired, little Uncle.' Come, give me another,
And I will befriend you.' 'Now come, I will make you
Some tea in my office.' 'That's His Highness,'
The porter remarks,
And he points with his finger. 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?' I ask, 'Is he coming?' "'Who are you, my pigeon?' I ask her. "'It's yours, little Mother.' I bless the sweet lady,
Elyén Alexándrovna,
Only a mother
Could bless her as I do. 270
She christened my baby,
Lidórushka called him." "They sent to the village
And started enquiries,
And soon he was righted. She tended and nursed him
Herself, like a mother. "Look, the church of God! Like the snowy swan
O'er the lake I sail,
O'er the waving steppes
Speeding like the quail. "Here we are at home. 'Sit you down,' I say,
'Do not bow to me. "'Sing to whom,' you say? But noticing soon
That Matróna is silent,
In file they approach her. You ask, was I happy? Well, that you can answer 20
Yourselves. Like cattle we toiled,
My steps were as easy
As those of a horse
In the plough. Brothers, you mock me! The former, the eldest,
Is nineteen years old. You were not all cozened,[54]
You people of Russia,
And robbed of your land. 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!" 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?" "Well, where should one end, then? Now--as to the taxes, 130
Don't croak, but decide." The kindest soul living
Was he, and he sorrowed
For all in the village,
Not only for one. So now he mistrusted
The new, rich in promise. But now, the gay pranks
Of the peasants of "Earthworms"
Affected him too. "Drink, drink, little peasants! Yes, is it not striking,
And is it not tragic? 20
"Eh, that's a fine song! 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 suffered, God knows! His legs, to contrast
With the smartness above them,
Were tied up in rags! "Well, tell us about it." His name is Vikénti. He's healthy enough, 100
But his legs are not strong,
And they're given to trembling. "Her name is Arisha, sir." Thunders the Barin, "You'd better be dead!" "Why do you wince, little Jacob?" says he. he murmurs unceasingly,
"Leave me! Queries his lord, "What's the meaning of this?" No, Barin, _you_ shall not die. See, how he sways
Backwards and forwards.... The Barin, unfortunate,
Shouts for assistance, and struggles and prays. Gloomy the hollow now lies in its winding-sheet,
Black is the night. Ah, me!" As for Klímka,
His wrath is unbounded,
"You fool!" Why, who's the worst sinner? "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. "The case of the robber
Defending the robber,"
The other retorts. "Now, pray!" bellows Klímka,
And leaping upon him,
He punches his jaw. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! "I'll kill you, I'll kill you! 310
Heh, send for the pope!" Cries, "Stop, that's enough!" "Come on, then! The rest, without speaking,
Sit down on the ground. They beg, and esteem it
A paying profession. 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. For, who begs the money
For building the churches? The Elders are nudging him:
"Now, then, be silent!" Bondsmen, I mourn for you! Though you're in rags, e'en the rags shall be torn from you! The women adore her,
They pray to her almost. But wait. It rolls to a distance,
The thread is unwound. Glory he sang to the Trinity,
Scraped the hard wood with his blade. Though he tarried not,
Slow was the progress he made. Only a Samson could vanquish it,
Not an old man, spent and frail. "Ho!" Lo! He crosses himself,
And the people are silent. Ho, ferry ahoy!" About Kudeár, now--"
"Ho, ferry ahoy!" His hens begin clucking;
He shouts at them, "Silence!" 20
The calf, which is shifting
About in the cart. 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!" What is it, then, tell us,
The sin of the peasant?" Buried! His relative soon
Calls Gleb, the Elder, with him to commune. Yes, but Judas's crime
Ne'er will be pardoned till end of all time. The others sigh deeply
And rise. They're exclaiming,
"So, that's what it is, then,
The sin of the peasant. He's right. "The story speaks truly;
Our grief shall be endless,
Ah, me!" says the Elder. Dejected and silent,
They lie on their stomachs
Absorbed in reflection. "Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!" He fetches a loaf
From his bag, and devours it. It's true. 190
"Come, let us be joyful!" His youngest son, Grísha,
Approaches the peasants. they ask him. "No, thank you. I've had some. And Vlass, the old Elder,
Has placed his great palm
On the head of his godson. "Well, what has gone wrong, then? "Yes, what's all the pother?" The others are scratching
Their necks, and reflecting:
"It's true! "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! "So now, there's an end
Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" Cries Klímka, with glee. "I wish not for silver
Or gold," replies Grísha. The Elder approaches,
And Klímka behind him,
Our seven as well. His clothing is new,
But it's hanging in ribbons. Four peasants pursue him,
The others cry, "Beat him!" our seven
Are asking the Elder,
"And why do they beat him?" When people from Tískov
Pass by, they'll explain it. He's run to Demyánsky,
For there he'll be able
To cross by the ferry." "See here, will you sell them? And so, for a trifle,
The geese had been bought. And, cosy beside him,
Justínutchka sits
(His niece, and an orphan,
His prop in old age). "Good-health to you, Grandad! Jump down, drink some vodka,
And give us some music." Yes, and rightly! 440
"You'll go by the train, then?" "Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! You see to it, Klímka!" The music is started,
The people run back
From the banks of the Volga. His right follows suit then,
And murmuring, "Curse it!" "You see to it, Klímka!" "People of Russia,
Banish the night! He had once had
A dog and a cat,
But they'd both of them left him. I give him bread---
He looks at it,
He cries to me,
"Put salt on it." he cries. There hope is in vain,
For there is the reign
Of darkness and death. Who die in despair--
Oh, there be the first! His irons and his scissors
He holds in his hands,
Like a leaf he is shaking. He thinks awhile, and then he goes
Towards the tavern. Questioned the Tsar. [20] The tax collector, the landlord, and the priest. [60] Alexander II., who gave emancipation to the peasants.