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

"'When the Barin was sated

We went from the town,

But we stopped on the outskirts 300

To share what was over.

And plenty there was, too!

Shaláshnikov, heh,

You're a fool! It was our turn

To laugh at the Barin;

Ah, they were proud peasants—

The plucky Korójins!

But nowadays show them

The tail of a knout,

And they'll fly to the Barin, 310

And beg him to take

The last coin from their pockets.

Well, that's why we all lived

Like merchants in those days.

One summer came tidings

To us that our Barin

Now owned us no longer,

That he had, at Varna,

Been killed. We weren't sorry,

But somehow we thought then: 320

''The peasants' good fortune

Has come to an end!''

The heir made a new move:

He sent us a German. [48] Germans were often employed as managers of the Pomyéshchicks' estates.

Through vast, savage forests,

Through sly sucking bogs

And on foot came the German,

As bare as a finger.

"'As melting as butter

At first was the German: 330

''Just give what you can, then,''

He'd say to the peasants.

"'''We've nothing to give!''

"'''I'll explain to the Barin.''

"'''Explain,'' we replied,

And were troubled no more.

It seemed he was going

To live in the village;

He soon settled down.

On the banks of the river, 340

For hour after hour

He sat peacefully fishing,

And striking his nose

Or his cheek or his forehead.

We laughed: ''You don't like

The Korójin mosquitoes?''

He'd boat near the bankside

And shout with enjoyment,

Like one in the bath-house

Who's got to the roof. [49] In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the atmosphere. 350

"'With youths and young maidens

He strolled in the forest

(They were not for nothing

Those strolls in the forest!)—

''Well, if you can't pay

You should work, little peasants.''

"'''What work should we do?''

"'''You should dig some deep ditches

To drain off the bog-lands.''

We dug some deep ditches. 360

"'''And now trim the forest.''

"'''Well, well, trim the forest….''

We hacked and we hewed

As the German directed,

And when we look round

There's a road through the forest!

"'The German went driving

To town with three horses;

Look! now he is coming

With boxes and bedding, 370

And God knows wherefrom

Has this bare-footed German

Raised wife and small children!

And now he's established

A village ispravnik, [50] Police-official.Police-official.

They live like two brothers.

His courtyard at all times

Is teeming with strangers,

And woe to the peasants—

The fallen Korójins! 380

He sucked us all dry

To the very last farthing;

And flog!—like the soul

Of Shaláshnikov flogged he!

Shaláshnikov stopped

When he got what he wanted;

He clung to our backs

Till he'd glutted his stomach,

And then he dropped down

Like a leech from a dog's ear. 390

But he had the grip

Of a corpse—had this German;

Until he had left you

Stripped bare like a beggar

You couldn't escape.'

"'But how could you bear it?'

"'Ah, how could we bear it?

Because we were giants—

Because by their patience

The people of Russia

Are great, little Grandchild. 400

You think, then, Matróna,

That we Russian peasants

No warriors are?

Why, truly the peasant

Does not live in armour,

Does not die in warfare,

But nevertheless

He's a warrior, child.

His hands are bound tight, 410

And his feet hung with fetters;

His back—mighty forests

Have broken across it;

His breast—I will tell you,

The Prophet Elijah

In chariot fiery

Is thundering within it;

And these things the peasant

Can suffer in patience.

He bends—but he breaks not; 420

He reels—but he falls not;

Then is he not truly

A warrior, say?'

"'You joke, little Grandad;

Such warriors, surely,

A tiny mouse nibbling

Could crumble to atoms,'

I said to Savyéli.

"'I know not, Matróna,

But up till to-day 430

He has stood with his burden;

He's sunk in the earth

'Neath its weight to his shoulders;

His face is not moistened

With sweat, but with heart's blood.

I don't know what may

Come to pass in the future,

I can't think what will

Come to pass—only God knows.

For my part, I know 440

When the storm howls in winter,

When old bones are painful,

I lie on the oven,

I lie, and am thinking:

''Eh, you, strength of giants,

On what have they spent you?

On what are you wasted?

With whips and with rods

They will pound you to dust!'''

"'But what of the German, 450

Savyéli?'

"'The German?

Well, well, though he lived

Like a lord in his glory

For eighteen long years,

We were waiting our day.

Then the German considered

A factory needful,

And wanted a pit dug.

'Twas work for nine peasants. 460

We started at daybreak

And laboured till mid-day,

And then we were going

To rest and have dinner,

When up comes the German:

''Eh, you, lazy devils!

So little work done?''

He started to nag us,

Quite coolly and slowly,

Without heat or hurry; 470

For that was his way.

"'And we, tired and hungry,

Stood listening in silence.

He kicked the wet earth

With his boot while he scolded,

Not far from the edge

Of the pit. I stood near him.

And happened to give him

A push with my shoulder;

Then somehow a second 480

And third pushed him gently….

We spoke not a word,

Gave no sign to each other,

But silently, slowly,

Drew closer together,

And edging the German

Respectfully forward,

We brought him at last

To the brink of the hollow….

He tumbled in headlong! 490

''A ladder!'' he bellows;

Nine shovels reply.

''Naddai!'' [51] Heave-to! —the word fell

From my lips on the instant,

The word to which people

Work gaily in Russia;

''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!''

And we laboured so bravely

That soon not a trace

Of the pit was remaining, 500

The earth was as smooth

As before we had touched it;

And then we stopped short

And we looked at each other….'

"The old man was silent.

'What further, Savyéli?'

"'What further? Ah, bad times:

The prison in Buy-Town

(I learnt there my letters),

Until we were sentenced; 510

The convict-mines later;

And plenty of lashes.

But I never frowned

At the lash in the prison;

They flogged us but poorly.

And later I nearly

Escaped to the forest;

They caught me, however.

Of course they did not

Pat my head for their trouble; 520

The Governor was through

Siberia famous

For flogging. But had not

Shaláshnikov flogged us?

I spit at the floggings

I got in the prison!

Ah, he was a Master!

He knew how to flog you!

He toughened my hide so

You see it has served me 530

For one hundred years,

And 'twill serve me another.

But life was not easy,

I tell you, Matróna:

First twenty years prison,

Then twenty years exile.