Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia? Part 18

"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 h.e.l.l, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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. G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.sful, 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 gra.s.ses 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 n.o.ble Pomyeshchick," 540 Said Klim to the peasants.

"Be G.o.d 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 bl.u.s.ter 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."