Nikolay Nekrasov - Who is happy in Russia?Nikolay Nekrasov - Who is happy in Russia?
Work rating:
Medium
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
A village ispravnik,[50]
They live like two brothers.
His courtyard at all times
Is teeming with strangers,
And woe to the peasants-
The fallen Korojins! 380
He sucked us all dry
To the very last farthing;
And flog!-like the soul
Of Shalashnikov flogged he!
Shalashnikov 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, Matrona,
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 Savyeli.
"'I know not, Matrona,
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
Savyeli?'
"'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]-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, Savyeli?'
"'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
Shalashnikov 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, Matrona:
First twenty years prison,
Then twenty years exile.
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 Matrona.
"'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.
CHAPTER IV
DJoMUSHKA
"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 Savyeli,
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 Savyeli
Creep trembling towards me, 70
His face white as death:
'Forgive me, Matrona!
Forgive me, Matrona!
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...
Savyeli had fallen 90
Asleep in the sunshine,
And Djoma-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]
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 Savyeli, 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
Savyeli in sin?'
"I whisper in answer, 140
'Kind sir, you are joking.
I am to my husband
A wife without stain,
And the peasant Savyeli
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 Savyeli
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 Djoma,
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
My men, here, to bind you.'
"I sank on the bench,
I was trembling all over;
I shook like a leaf
As I gazed at the doctor;
His sleeves were rolled backwards,
A knife was in one hand,
A cloth in the other, 220
And blood was upon it;
His glasses were fixed
On his nose. All was silent.
The officer's pen
Began scratching on paper;
The motionless peasants
Stood gloomy and mournful;
The pope lit his pipe
And sat watching the doctor.
He said, 'You are reading 230
A heart with a knife.'
I started up wildly;
I knew that the doctor
Was piercing the heart
Of my little dead baby.
"'Now, bind her, the vixen!'
The officer shouted;-
She's mad!' He began
To inquire of the peasants,
'Have none of you noticed 240
Before that the woman
Korchagin is crazy?'
"'No,' answered the peasants.
And then PhIlip's parents
He asked, and their children;
They answered, 'Oh, no, sir!
We never remarked it.'
He asked old Savyeli,-
There's one thing,' he answered,
'That might make one think 250
That Matrona is crazy:
She's come here this morning
Without bringing with her
A present of money
Or cloth to appease you.'
"And then the old man
Began bitterly crying.
The officer frowning
Sat down and said nothing.
And then I remembered: 260
In truth it was madness-
The piece of new linen
Which I had made ready
Was still in my box-
I'd forgotten to bring it;
And now I had seen them
Seize Djomushka's body
And tear it to pieces.
I think at that moment
I turned into marble: 270
I watched while the doctor
Was drinking some vodka
And washing his hands;
I saw how he offered
The glass to the pope,
And I heard the pope answer,
'Why ask me? We mortals
Are pitiful sinners,-
We don't need much urging
To empty a glass!' 280
"The peasants are standing
In fear, and are thinking:
'Now, how did these vultures
Get wind of the matter?
Who told them that here
There was chance of some profit?
They dashed in like wolves,
Seized the beards of the peasants,
And snarled in their faces
Like savage hyenas!' 290
"And now they are feasting,
Are eating and drinking;
They chat with the pope,
He is murmuring to them,
'The people in these parts
Are beggars and drunken;
They owe me for countless
Confessions and weddings;
They'll take their last farthing
To spend in the tavern; 300
And nothing but sins
Do they bring to their priest.'
"And then I hear singing
In clear, girlish voices-
I know them all well:
There's Natasha and Glasha,
And Dariushka,-Jesus
Have mercy upon them!
Hark! steps and accordion;
Then there is silence. 310
I think I had fallen
Asleep; then I fancied
That somebody entering
Bent over me, saying,
'Sleep, woman of sorrows,
Exhausted by sorrow,'
And making the sign
Of the cross on my forehead.
I felt that the ropes
On my body were loosened, 320
And then I remembered
No more. In black darkness
I woke, and astonished
I ran to the window:
Deep night lay around me-
What's happened? Where am I?
I ran to the street,-
It was empty, in Heaven
No moon and no stars,
And a great cloud of darkness 330
Spread over the village.
The huts of the peasants
Were dark; only one hut
Was brilliantly lighted,
It shone like a palace-
The hut of Savyeli.
I ran to the doorway,
And then .. I remembered.
"The table was gleaming
With yellow wax candles, 340
And there, in the midst,
Lay a tiny white coffin,
And over it spread
Was a fine coloured napkin,
An icon was placed
At its head...
O you builders,
For my little son
What a house you have fashioned!
No windows you've made 350
That the sunshine may enter,
No stove and no bench,
And no soft little pillows...
Oh, Djomushka will not
Feel happy within it,
He cannot sleep well...
'Begone!'-I cried harshly
On seeing Savyeli;
He stood near the coffin
And read from the book 360
In his hand, through his glasses.
I cursed old Savyeli,
Cried-'Branded one! Convict!
Begone! 'Twas you killed him!
You murdered my, Djoma,
Begone from my sight!'
"He stood without moving;
He crossed himself thrice
And continued his reading.
But when I grew calmer 370
Savyeli approached me,
And said to me gently,
'In winter, Matrona,
I told you my story,
But yet there was more.
Our forests were endless,
Our lakes wild and lonely,
Our people were savage;
By cruelty lived we:
By snaring the wood-grouse, 380
By slaying the bears:-
You must kill or you perish!
I've told you of Barin
Shalashnikov, also
Of how we were robbed
By the villainous German,
And then of the prison,
The exile, the mines.
My heart was like stone,
I grew wild and ferocious. 390
My winter had lasted
A century, Grandchild,
But your little Djoma
Had melted its frosts.
One day as I rocked him
He smiled of a sudden,
And I smiled in answer...
A strange thing befell me
Some days after that:
As I prowled in the forest 400
I aimed at a squirrel;
But suddenly noticed
How happy and playful
It was, in the branches:
Its bright little face
With its paw it sat washing.
I lowered my gun:-
'You shall live, little squirrel!'
I rambled about
In the woods, in the meadows, 410
And each tiny floweret
I loved. I went home then
And nursed little Djoma,
And played with him, laughing.
God knows how I loved him,
The innocent babe!
And now .. through my folly,
My sin, .. he has perished...
Upbraid me and kill me,
But nothing can help you, 420
With God one can't argue...
Stand up now, Matrona,
And pray for your baby;
God acted with reason:
He's counted the joys
In the life of a peasant!'
"Long, long did Savyeli
Stand bitterly speaking,
The piteous fate
Of the peasant he painted; 430
And if a rich Barin,
A merchant or noble,
If even our Father
The Tsar had been listening,
Savyeli could not
Have found words which were truer,
Have spoken them better...
"'Now Djoma is happy
And safe, in God's Heaven,'
He said to me later. 440
His tears began falling...
"'I do not complain
That God took him, Savyeli,'
I said,-'but the insult
They did him torments me,
It's racking my heart.
Why did vicious black ravens
Alight on his body
And tear it to pieces?
Will neither our God 450
Nor our Tsar-Little Father-
Arise to defend us?'
"'But God, little Grandchild,
Is high, and the Tsar
Far away,' said Savyeli.
"I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!'
"But Grandfather answered,
'Now hush, little Grandchild,
You woman of sorrow,
Bow down and have patience; 460
No truth you will find
In the world, and no justice.'
"'But why then, Savyeli?'
"'A bondswoman, Grandchild,
You are; and for such
Is no hope,' said Savyeli.
"For long I sat darkly
And bitterly thinking.
The thunder pealed forth
And the windows were shaken; 470
I started! Savyeli
Drew nearer and touched me,
And led me to stand
By the little white coffin:
"'Now pray that the Lord
May have placed little Djoma
Among the bright ranks
Of His angels,' he whispered;
A candle he placed
In my hand... And I knelt there 480
The whole of the night
Till the pale dawn of daybreak:
The grandfather stood
Beside Djomushka's coffin
And read from the book
In a measured low voice..."
CHAPTER V
THE SHE-WOLF
"'Tis twenty years now
Since my Djoma was taken,
Was carried to sleep
'Neath his little grass blanket;
And still my heart bleeds,
And I pray for him always,
No apple till Spassa[53]
I touch with my lips...
"For long I lay ill,
Not a word did I utter, 10
My eyes could not suffer
The old man, Savyeli.
No work did I do,
And my Father-in-law thought
To give me a lesson
And took down the horse-reins;
I bowed to his feet,
And cried-'Kill me! Oh, kill me!
I pray for the end!'
He hung the reins up, then. 20
I lived day and night
On the grave of my Djoma,
I dusted it clean
With a soft little napkin
That grass might grow green,
And I prayed for my lost one.
I yearned for my parents:
'Oh, you have forgotten,
Forgotten your daughter!'
"'We have not forgotten 30
Our poor little daughter,
But is it worth while, say,
To wear the grey horse out
By such a long journey
To learn about your woes,
To tell you of ours?
Since long, little daughter,
Would father and mother
Have journeyed to see you,
But ever the thought rose: 40
She'll weep at our coming,
She'll shriek when we leave!'
"In winter came Philip,
Our sorrow together
We shared, and together
We fought with our grief
In the grandfather's hut."
"The grandfather died, then?"
"Oh, no, in his cottage
For seven whole days 50
He lay still without speaking,
And then he got up
And he went to the forest;
And there old Savyeli
So wept and lamented,
The woods were set throbbing.
In autumn he left us
And went as a pilgrim
On foot to do penance
At some distant convent... 60
"I went with my husband
To visit my parents,
And then began working
Again. Three years followed,
Each week like the other,
As twin to twin brother,
And each year a child.
There was no time for thinking
And no time for grieving;
Praise God if you have time 70
For getting your work done
And crossing your forehead.
You eat-when there's something
Left over at table,
When elders have eaten,
When children have eaten;
You sleep-when you're ill...
"In the fourth year came sorrow
Again; for when sorrow
Once lightens upon you 80
To death he pursues you;
He circles before you-
A bright shining falcon;
He hovers behind you-
An ugly black raven;
He flies in advance-
But he will not forsake you;
He lingers behind-
But he will not forget...
"I lost my dear parents. 90
The dark nights alone knew
The grief of the orphan;
No need is there, brothers,
To tell you about it.
With tears did I water
The grave of my baby.
From far once I noticed
A wooden cross standing
Erect at its head,
And a little gilt icon; 100
A figure is kneeling
Before it-'Savyeli!
From whence have you come?'
"'I have come from Pesotchna.
I've prayed for the soul
Of our dear little Djoma;
I've prayed for the peasants
Of Russia... Matrona,
Once more do I pray-
Oh, Matrona .. Matrona... 110
I pray that the heart
Of the mother, at last,
May be softened towards me...
Forgive me, Matrona!'
"'Oh, long, long ago
I forgave you, Savyeli.'
"'Then look at me now
As in old times, Matrona!'
"I looked as of old.
Then up rose Savyeli, 120
And gazed in my eyes;
He was trying to straighten
His stiffened old back;
Like the snow was his hair now.
I kissed the old man,
And my new grief I told him;
For long we sat weeping
And mourning together.
He did not live long
After that. In the autumn 130
A deep wound appeared
In his neck, and he sickened.
He died very hard.
For a hundred days, fully,
No food passed his lips;
To the bone he was shrunken.
He laughed at himself:
'Tell me, truly, Matrona,
Now am I not like
A Korojin mosquito?' 140
"At times the old man
Would be gentle and patient;
At times he was angry
And nothing would please him;
He frightened us all
By his outbursts of fury:
'Eh, plough not, and sow not,
You downtrodden peasants!
You women, sit spinning
And weaving no longer! 150
However you struggle,
You fools, you must perish!
You will not escape
What by fate has been written!
Three roads are spread out
For the peasant to follow-
They lead to the tavern,
The mines, and the prison!
Three nooses are hung
For the women of Russia: 160
The one is of white silk,
The second of red silk,
The third is of black silk-
Choose that which you please!'
And Grandfather laughed
In a manner which caused us
To tremble with fear
And draw nearer together...
He died in the night,
And we did as he asked us: 170
We laid him to rest
In the grave beside Djoma.
The Grandfather lived
To a hundred and seven...
"Four years passed away then,
The one like the other,
And I was submissive,
The slave of the household,
For Mother-in-law
And her husband the drunkard, 180
For Sister-in-law
By all suitors rejected.
I'd draw off their boots-
Only,-touch not my children!
For them I stood firm
Like a rock. Once it happened
A pilgrim arrived
At our village-a holy
And pious-tongued woman;
She spoke to the people 190
Of how to please God
And of how to reach Heaven.
She said that on fast-days
No woman should offer
The breast to her child.
The women obeyed her:
On Wednesdays and Fridays
The village was filled
By the wailing of babies;
And many a mother 200
Sat bitterly weeping
To hear her child cry
For its food-full of pity,
But fearing God's anger.
But I did not listen!
I said to myself
That if penance were needful
The mothers must suffer,
But not little children.
I said, 'I am guilty, 210
My God-not my children!'
"It seems God was angry
And punished me for it
Through my little son;
My Father-in-law
To the commune had offered
My little Fedotka
As help to the shepherd
When he was turned eight...
One night I was waiting 220
To give him his supper;
The cattle already
Were home, but he came not.
I went through the village
And saw that the people
Were gathered together
And talking of something.
I listened, then elbowed
My way through the people;
Fedotka was set 230
In their midst, pale and trembling,
The Elder was gripping
His ear. 'What has happened?
And why do you hold him?'
I said to the Elder.
"'I'm going to beat him,-
He threw a young lamb
To the wolf,' he replied.
"I snatched my Fedotka
Away from their clutches; 240
And somehow the Elder
Fell down on the ground!
"The story was strange:
It appears that the shepherd
Went home for awhile,
Leaving little Fedotka
In charge of the flock.
'I was sitting,' he told me,
'Alone on the hillside,
When all of a sudden 250
A wolf ran close by me
And picked Masha's lamb up.
I threw myself at her,
I whistled and shouted,
I cracked with my whip,
Blew my horn for Valetka,
And then I gave chase.
I run fast, little Mother,
But still I could never
Have followed the robber 260
If not for the traces
She left; because, Mother,
Her breasts hung so low
(She was suckling her children)
They dragged on the earth
And left two tracks of blood.
But further the grey one
Went slower and slower;
And then she looked back
And she saw I was coming. 270
At last she sat down.
With my whip then I lashed her;
''Come, give me the lamb,
You grey devil!'' She crouched,
But would not give it up.
I said-''I must save it
Although she should kill me.''
I threw myself on her
And snatched it away,
But she did not attack me. 280
The lamb was quite dead,
She herself was scarce living.
She gnashed with her teeth
And her breathing was heavy;
And two streams of blood ran
From under her body.
Her ribs could be counted,
Her head was hung down,
But her eyes, little Mother,
Looked straight into mine .. 290
Then she groaned of a sudden,
She groaned, and it sounded
As if she were crying.
I threw her the lamb...'
"Well, that was the story.
And foolish Fedotka
Ran back to the village
And told them about it.
And they, in their anger,
Were going to beat him 300
When I came upon them.
The Elder, because
Of his fall, was indignant,
He shouted-'How dare you!
Do you want a beating
Yourself?' And the woman
Whose lamb had been stolen
Cried, 'Whip the lad soundly,
'Twill teach him a lesson!'
Fedotka she pulled from 310
My arms, and he trembled,
He shook like a leaf.
"Then the horns of the huntsmen
The script ran 0.005 seconds.
