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

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] Inhabitants of the village Korojin.

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.''

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