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

I saved up some money,

And when I came home,

Built this hut for myself.

And here I have lived 540

For a great many years now.

They loved the old grandad

So long as he'd money,

But now it has gone

They would part with him gladly,

They spit in his face.

Eh, you plucky toy heroes!

You're fit to make war

Upon old men and women!'

"And that was as much 550

As the grandfather told me."

"And now for your story,"

They answer Matróna.

"'Tis not very bright.

From one trouble God

In His goodness preserved me;

For Sitnikov died

Of the cholera. Soon, though,

Another arose,

I will tell you about it." 560

"Naddai!" say the peasants

(They love the word well),

They are filling the glasses.

"The little tree burns

For the lightning has struck it.

The nightingale's nest

Has been built in its branches.

The little tree burns,

It is sighing and groaning;

The nightingale's children

Are crying and calling:

'Oh, come, little Mother!

Oh, come, little Mother! 10

Take care of us, Mother,

Until we can fly,

Till our wings have grown stronger,

Until we can fly

To the peaceful green forest,

Until we can fly

To the far silent valleys….'

The poor little tree—

It is burnt to grey ashes;

The poor little fledgelings 20

Are burnt to grey ashes.

The mother flies home,

But the tree … and the fledgelings …

The nest…. She is calling,

Lamenting and calling;

She circles around,

She is sobbing and moaning;

She circles so quickly,

She circles so quickly,

Her tiny wings whistle. 30

The dark night has fallen,

The dark world is silent,

But one little creature

Is helplessly grieving

And cannot find comfort;—

The nightingale only

Laments for her children….

She never will see them

Again, though she call them

Till breaks the white day…. 40

I carried my baby

Asleep in my bosom

To work in the meadows.

But Mother-in-law cried,

'Come, leave him behind you,

At home with Savyéli,

You'll work better then.'

And I was so timid,

So tired of her scolding,

I left him behind. 50

"That year it so happened

The harvest was richer

Than ever we'd known it;

The reaping was hard,

But the reapers were merry,

I sang as I mounted

The sheaves on the waggon.

(The waggons are loaded

To laughter and singing;

The sledges in silence, 60

With thoughts sad and bitter;

The waggons convey the corn

Home to the peasants,

The sledges will bear it

Away to the market.)

"But as I was working

I heard of a sudden

A deep groan of anguish:

I saw old Savyéli

Creep trembling towards me, 70

His face white as death:

'Forgive me, Matróna!

Forgive me, Matróna!

I sinned….I was careless.'

He fell at my feet.

"Oh, stay, little swallow!

Your nest build not there!

Not there 'neath the leafless

Bare bank of the river:

The water will rise, 80

And your children will perish.

Oh, poor little woman,

Young wife and young mother,

The daughter-in-law

And the slave of the household,

Bear blows and abuse,

Suffer all things in silence,

But let not your baby

Be torn from your bosom….

Savyéli had fallen 90

Asleep in the sunshine,

And Djóma—the pigs

Had attacked him and killed him.

"I fell to the ground

And lay writhing in torture;

I bit the black earth

And I shrieked in wild anguish;

I called on his name,

And I thought in my madness

My voice must awake him…. 100

"Hark!—horses' hoofs stamping, [52] This paragraph refers to the custom of the country police in Russia, who, on hearing of the accidental death of anybody in a village, will, in order to extract bribes from the villagers, threaten to hold an inquest on the corpse. The peasants are usually ready to part with nearly all they possess in order to save their dead from what they consider desecration.

And harness-bells jangling—

Another misfortune!

The children are frightened,

They run to the houses;

And outside the window

The old men and women

Are talking in whispers

And nodding together.

The Elder is running 110

And tapping each window

In turn with his staff;

Then he runs to the hayfields,

He runs to the pastures,

To summon the people.

They come, full of sorrow—

Another misfortune!

And God in His wrath

Has sent guests that are hateful,

Has sent unjust judges. 120

Perhaps they want money?

Their coats are worn threadbare?

Perhaps they are hungry?

"Without greeting Christ

They sit down at the table,

They've set up an icon

And cross in the middle;

Our pope, Father John,

Swears the witnesses singly.

"They question Savyéli, 130

And then a policeman

Is sent to find me,

While the officer, swearing,

Is striding about

Like a beast in the forest….

'Now, woman, confess it,'

He cries when I enter,

'You lived with the peasant

Savyéli in sin?'

"I whisper in answer, 140

'Kind sir, you are joking.

I am to my husband

A wife without stain,

And the peasant Savyéli

Is more than a hundred

Years old;—you can see it.'

"He's stamping about

Like a horse in the stable;

In fury he's thumping

His fist on the table. 150

'Be silent! Confess, then,

That you with Savyéli

Had plotted to murder

Your child!'

"Holy Mother!

What horrible ravings!

My God, give me patience,

And let me not strangle

The wicked blasphemer!

I looked at the doctor 160

And shuddered in terror:

Before him lay lancets,

Sharp scissors, and knives.

I conquered myself,

For I knew why they lay there.

I answer him trembling,

'I loved little Djóma,

I would not have harmed him.'

"'And did you not poison him.

Give him some powder?' 170

"'Oh, Heaven forbid!'

I kneel to him crying,

'Be gentle! Have mercy!

And grant that my baby

In honour be buried,

Forbid them to thrust

The cruel knives in his body!

Oh, I am his mother!'

"Can anything move them?

No hearts they possess, 180

In their eyes is no conscience,

No cross at their throats….

"They have lifted the napkin

Which covered my baby;

His little white body

With scissors and lancets

They worry and torture …

The room has grown darker,

I'm struggling and screaming,

'You butchers! You fiends! 190

Not on earth, not on water,

And not on God's temple

My tears shall be showered;

But straight on the souls

Of my hellish tormentors!

Oh, hear me, just God!

May Thy curse fall and strike them!

Ordain that their garments

May rot on their bodies!

Their eyes be struck blind, 200

And their brains scorch in madness!

Their wives be unfaithful,

Their children be crippled!

Oh, hear me, just God!

Hear the prayers of a mother,

And look on her tears,—

Strike these pitiless devils!'

"'She's crazy, the woman!'

The officer shouted,

'Why did you not tell us 210

Before? Stop this fooling!

Or else I shall order