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

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."

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;