Nikolai Nekrasov - Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia?

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] The Pomyeshchick is still bitter because his serfs have been set free by the Government.

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,

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