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Nikolay Nekrasov - Who is happy in Russia?
Work rating: Medium

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Were heard,-the Pomyeshchick
  Returning from hunting.
I ran to him, crying,
  'Oh, save us! Protect us!'
"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!'
  And then, in an instant,
  The matter is settled: 320
'The shepherd is tiny-
  His youth and his folly
May well be forgiven.
  The woman's presumption
You'll punish severely!'
  "'Oh, Barin, God bless you!'
I danced with delight!
  'Fedotka is safe now!
Run home, quick, Fedotka.'
  "'Your will shall be done, sir,' 330
The Elder said, bowing;
  'Now, woman, prepare;
You can dance later on!'
  "A gossip then whispered,
'Fall down at the feet
  Of the Elder-beg mercy!'
"'Fedotka-go home!'

  "Then I kissed him, and told him:
'Remember, Fedotka,
  That I shall be angry 340
If once you look backwards.
  Run home!'
    "Well, my brothers,
To leave out a word
  Of the song is to spoil it,-
I lay on the ground..."
* * * * *

  "I crawled like a cat
To Fedotushka's corner
  That night. He was sleeping,
He tossed in his dream. 350
One hand was hung down,
While the other, clenched tightly,
Was shielding his eyes:
  'You've been crying, my treasure;
  Sleep, darling, it's nothing-
See, Mother is near!'
  I'd lost little Djoma
While heavy with this one;
  He was but a weakling,
But grew very clever. 360
  He works with his dad now,
And built such a chimney
  With him, for his master,
The like of it never
  Was seen. Well, I sat there
The whole of the night
  By the sweet little shepherd.
At daybreak I crossed him,
  I fastened his laputs,
I gave him his wallet, 370
  His horn and his whip.
The rest began stirring,
  But nothing I told them
Of all that had happened,
  But that day I stayed
From the work in the fields.
"I went to the banks
  Of the swift little river,
I sought for a spot
  Which was silent and lonely 380
Amid the green rushes
  That grow by the bank.
"And on the grey stone
  I sat down, sick and weary,
And leaning my head
  On my hands, I lamented,
  Poor sorrowing orphan.
And loudly I called
  On the names of my parents:
'Oh, come, little Father, 390
  My tender protector!
Oh, look at the daughter
  You cherished and loved!'
"In vain do I call him!
  The loved one has left me;
The guest without lord,
  Without race, without kindred,
Named Death, has appeared,
  And has called him away.
"And wildly I summon 400
  My mother, my mother!
The boisterous wind cries,
  The distant hills answer,
But mother is dead,
  She can hear me no longer!
  "You grieved day and night,
And you prayed for me always,
  But never, beloved,
Shall I see you again;
  You cannot turn back now, 410
And I may not follow.
  "A pathway so strange,
So unknown, you have chosen,
  The beasts cannot find it,
The winds cannot reach it,
My voice will be lost
  In the terrible distance...
"My loving protectors,
  If you could but see me!
Could know what your daughter 420
  Must suffer without you!
Could learn of the people
  To whom you have left her!
"By night bathed in tears,
  And by day weak and trembling,
I bow like the grass
  To the wind, but in secret
A heart full of fury
  Is gnawing my breast!"
CHAPTER VI

AN UNLUCKY YEAR

  "Strange stars played that year
On the face of the Heavens;
  And some said, 'The Lord rides
Abroad, and His angels
  With long flaming brooms sweep
The floor of the Heavens
  In front of his carriage.'
But others were frightened,-
  They said, 'It is rather
The Antichrist coming! 10
  It signals misfortune!'
And they read it truly.
  A terrible year came,
A terrible famine,
  When brother denied
To his brother a morsel.
  And then I remembered
The wolf that was hungry,
  For I was like her,
Craving food for my children. 20
  Now Mother-in-law found
A new superstition:
  She said to the neighbours
That I was the reason
  Of all the misfortune;
And why? I had caused it
  By changing my shirt
On the day before Christmas!
  Well, I escaped lightly,
For I had a husband 30
  To shield and protect me,
But one woman, having
  Offended, was beaten
To death by the people.
  To play with the starving
Is dangerous, my friends.
  "The famine was scarcely
At end, when another
  Misfortune befell us-
The dreaded recruiting. 40
  But I was not troubled
By that, because PhIlip
  Was safe: one already
Had served of his people.
  One night I sat working,
My husband, his brothers,
  The family, all had
Been out since the morning.
  My Father-in-law
Had been called to take part 50
  In the communal meeting.
The women were standing
  And chatting with neighbours.
But I was exhausted,
  For then I was heavy
With child. I was ailing,
  And hourly expected
My time. When the children
  Were fed and asleep
I lay down on the oven. 60
  The women came home soon
And called for their suppers;
  But Father-in-law
Had not come, so we waited.
  He came, tired and gloomy:
'Eh, wife, we are ruined!
  I'm weary with running,
But nothing can save us:
They've taken the eldest-
  Now give them the youngest! 70
I've counted the years
  To a day-I have proved them;
They listen to nothing.
  They want to take PhIlip!
I prayed to the commune-
  But what is it worth?
I ran to the bailiff;
  He swore he was sorry,
But couldn't assist us.
  I went to the clerk then; 80
You might just as well
  Set to work with a hatchet
To chop out the shadows
  Up there, on the ceiling,
As try to get truth
  Out of that little rascal!
He's bought. They are all bought,-
  Not one of them honest!
If only he knew it-
  The Governor-he'd teach them! 90
If he would but order
  The commune to show him
  The lists of the volost,
And see how they cheat us!'
  The mother and daughters
Are groaning and crying;
  But I! .. I am cold...
I am burning in fever! ..
  My thoughts .. I have no thoughts!
I think I am dreaming! 100
  My fatherless children
Are standing before me,
  And crying with hunger.
The family, frowning,
  Looks coldly upon them...
At home they are 'noisy,'
  At play they are 'clumsy,'
At table they're 'gluttons'!
  And somebody threatens
To punish my children- 110
  They slap them and pinch them!
Be silent, you mother!
  You wife of a soldier!"
* * * * *

  "I now have no part
In the village allotments,
  No share in the building,
The clothes, and the cattle,
  And these are my riches:
Three lakes of salt tear-drops,
  Three fields sown with grief!" 120
* * * * *

"And now, like a sinner,
  I bow to the neighbours;
I ask their forgiveness;
  I hear myself saying,
'Forgive me for being
  So haughty and proud!
I little expected
  That God, for my pride,
Would have left me forsaken!
  I pray you, good people, 130
To show me more wisdom,
  To teach me to live
And to nourish my children,
  What food they should have,
And what drink, and what teaching.'"
* * * * *

"I'm sending my children
  To beg in the village;
'Go, children, beg humbly,
  But dare not to steal.'
The children are sobbing, 140
  'It's cold, little Mother,
Our clothes are in rags;
  We are weary of passing
From doorway to doorway;
  We stand by the windows
And shiver. We're frightened
  To beg of the rich folk;
The poor ones say, ''God will
  Provide for the orphans!''
We cannot come home, 150
  For if we bring nothing
We know you'll be angry!'"
* * * * *

  "To go to God's church
I have made myself tidy;
  I hear how the neighbours
Are laughing around me:
  'Now who is she setting
Her cap at?' they whisper."
* * * * *

"Don't wash yourself clean.
  And don't dress yourself nicely; 160
The neighbours are sharp-
  They have eyes like the eagle
And tongues like the serpent.
  Walk humbly and slowly,
Don't laugh when you're cheerful,
  Don't weep when you're sad."
* * * * *

"The dull, endless winter
  Has come, and the fields
And the pretty green meadows
  Are hidden away 170
'Neath the snow. Nothing living
  Is seen in the folds
Of the gleaming white grave-clothes.
  No friend under Heaven
There is for the woman,
  The wife of the soldier.
Who knows what her thoughts are?
  Who cares for her words?
Who is sad for her sorrow?
  And where can she bury 180
The insults they cast her?
Perhaps in the woods?-
  But the woods are all withered!
Perhaps in the meadows?-
  The meadows are frozen!
The swift little stream?-
  But its waters are sleeping!
No,-carry them with you
  To hide in your grave!"
* * * * *

"My husband is gone; 190
  There is no one to shield me.
Hark, hark! There's the drum!
  And the soldiers are coming!
They halt;-they are forming
  A line in the market.
'Attention!' There's PhIlip!
  There's PhIlip! I see him!
'Attention! Eyes front!'
  It's Shalashnikov shouting...
Oh, PhIlip has fallen! 200
  Have mercy! Have mercy!
'Try that-try some physic!
  You'll soon get to like it!
Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!'
  He is striking my husband!
'I flog, not with whips,
  But with knouts made for giants!'"
* * * * *

"I sprang from the stove,
  Though my burden was heavy;
I listen... All silent... 210
  The family sleeping.
I creep to the doorway
  And open it softly,
I pass down the street
  Through the night... It is frosty.
In Domina's hut,
  Where the youths and young maidens
Assemble at night,
  They are singing in chorus
My favourite song: 220
"'The fir tree on the mountain stands,
The little cottage at its foot,
And Mashenka is there.
Her father comes to look for her,
He wakens her and coaxes her:
''Eh, Mashenka, come home,'' he cries,
''Efeemovna, come home!''
  "'''I won't come, and I won't listen!
  Black the night-no moon in Heaven!
  Swift the stream-no bridge, no ferry!
  Dark the wood-no guards.'' 231
"'The fir tree on the mountain stands,
The little cottage at its foot,
And Mashenka is there.
Her mother comes to look for her,
She wakens her and coaxes her:
''Now, Mashenka, come home,'' she says,
''Efeemovna, come home!''
  "'''I won't come, and I won't listen!
  Black the night-no moon in Heaven!
  Swift the stream-no bridge, no ferry!
  Dark the wood-no guards!'' 242
"'The fir tree on the mountain stands,
The little cottage at its foot,
And Mashenka is there.
Young Peter comes to look for her,
He wakens her, and coaxes her:
''Oh, Mashenka, come home with me!
My little dove, Efeemovna,
Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250
  "'''I will come, and I will listen,
  Fair the night-the moon in Heaven,
  Calm the stream with bridge and ferry,
  In the wood strong guards.'''"
CHAPTER VII

THE GOVERNOR'S LADY

  "I'm hurrying blindly,
I've run through the village;
  Yet strangely the singing
From Domina's cottage
  Pursues me and rings
In my ears. My pace slackens,
  I rest for awhile,
And look back at the village:
  I see the white snowdrift
O'er valley and meadow, 10
  The moon in the Heavens,
My self, and my shadow...
  "I do not feel frightened;
A flutter of gladness
  Awakes in my bosom,
'You brisk winter breezes,
  My thanks for your freshness!
I crave for your breath
  As the sick man for water.'
My mind has grown clear, 20
  To my knees I am falling:
'O Mother of Christ!
  I beseech Thee to tell me
Why God is so angry
  With me. Holy Mother!
No tiniest bone
  In my limbs is unbroken;
No nerve in my body
  Uncrushed. I am patient,-
I have not complained. 30
  All the strength that God gave me
I've spent on my work;
  All the love on my children.
But Thou seest all things,
  And Thou art so mighty;
Oh, succour thy slave!'
  "I love now to pray
On a night clear and frosty;
  To kneel on the earth
'Neath the stars in the winter. 40
  Remember, my brothers,
If trouble befall you,
  To counsel your women
To pray in that manner;
In no other place
  Can one pray so devoutly,
At no other season...
  "I prayed and grew stronger;
I bowed my hot head
  To the cool snowy napkin, 50
And quickly my fever
  Was spent. And when later
I looked at the roadway
  I found that I knew it;
I'd passed it before
  On the mild summer evenings;
At morning I'd greeted
  The sunrise upon it
In haste to be off
  To the fair. And I walked now 60
The whole of the night
  Without meeting a soul...
But now to the cities
  The sledges are starting,
Piled high with the hay
  Of the peasants. I watch them,
And pity the horses:
Their lawful provision
  Themselves they are dragging
Away from the courtyard; 70
  And afterwards they
Will be hungry. I pondered:
  The horses that work
Must eat straw, while the idlers
  Are fed upon oats.
But when Need comes he hastens
  To empty your corn-lofts,
Won't wait to be asked...
  "I come within sight
Of the town. On the outskirts 80
  The merchants are cheating
And wheedling the peasants,
  There's shouting and swearing,
Abusing and coaxing.
  "I enter the town
As the bell rings for matins.
  I make for the market
Before the cathedral.
  I know that the gates
Of the Governor's courtyard 90
  Are there. It is dark still,
The square is quite empty;
  In front of the courtyard
A sentinel paces:
  'Pray tell me, good man,
Does the Governor rise early?'
  "'Don't know. Go away.
I'm forbidden to chatter.'
  (I give him some farthings.)
'Well, go to the porter; 100
  He knows all about it.'
"'Where is he? And what
  Is his name, little sentry?'
"'Makhar Fedosseich,
  He stands at the entrance.'
I walk to the entrance,
  The doors are not opened.
I sit on the doorsteps
  And think...
"It grows lighter, 110
  A man with a ladder
Is turning the lamps down.
  "'Heh, what are you doing?
And how did you enter?'
"I start in confusion,
  I see in the doorway
A bald-headed man
  In a bed-gown. Then quickly
I come to my senses,
  And bowing before him 120
(Makhar Fedosseich),
  I give him a rouble.
"'I come in great need
  To the Governor, and see him
I must, little Uncle!'
  "'You can't see him, woman.
Well, well... I'll consider...
  Return in two hours.'
  "I see in the market
A pedestal standing, 130
  A peasant upon it,
He's just like Savyeli,
  And all made of brass:
It's Susanin's memorial.
While crossing the market
  I'm suddenly startled-
A heavy grey drake
  From a cook is escaping;
The fellow pursues
  With a knife. It is shrieking. 140
My God, what a sound!
  To the soul it has pierced me.
('Tis only the knife
  That can wring such a shriek.)
The cook has now caught it;
  It stretches its neck,
Begins angrily hissing,
  As if it would frighten
The cook,-the poor creature!
  I run from the market, 150
I'm trembling and thinking,
  'The drake will grow calm
'Neath the kiss of the knife!'
"The Governor's dwelling
  Again is before me,
With balconies, turrets,
  And steps which are covered
With beautiful carpets.
I gaze at the windows
  All shaded with curtains. 160
'Now, which is your chamber,'
  I think, 'my desired one?
Say, do you sleep sweetly?
  Of what are you dreaming?'
I creep up the doorsteps,
  And keep to the side
Not to tread on the carpets;
  And there, near the entrance,
I wait for the porter.
  "'You're early, my gossip!' 170
Again I am startled:
  A stranger I see,-
For at first I don't know him;
  A livery richly
Embroidered he wears now;
  He holds a fine staff;
He's not bald any longer!
  He laughs-'You were frightened?'
"'I'm tired, little Uncle.'

"'You've plenty of courage, 180
  God's mercy be yours!
Come, give me another,
  And I will befriend you.'
  "(I give him a rouble.)
'Now come, I will make you
  Some tea in my office.'
"His den is just under
  The stairs. There's a bedstead,
A little iron stove,
  And a candlestick in it, 190
A big samovar,
  And a lamp in the corner.
Some pictures are hung
  On the wall. 'That's His Highness,'
The porter remarks,
  And he points with his finger.
I look at the picture:
  A warrior covered
With stars. 'Is he gentle?'
  "'That's just as you happen 200
To find him. Why, neighbour,
  The same is with me:
To-day I'm obliging,
  At times I'm as cross
As a dog.'
  "'You are dull here,
Perhaps, little Uncle?'
"'Oh no, I'm not dull;
  I've a task that's exciting:
Ten years have I fought 210
  With a foe: Sleep his name is.
And I can assure you
  That when I have taken
An odd cup of vodka,
  The stove is red hot,
And the smuts from the candle
  Have blackened the air,
It's a desperate struggle!'
  "There's somebody knocking.
Makhar has gone out; 220
  I am sitting alone now.
I go to the door
  And look out. In the courtyard
A carriage is waiting.
  I ask, 'Is he coming?'
'The lady is coming,'
  The porter makes answer,
And hurries away
  To the foot of the staircase.
A lady descends, 230
  Wrapped in costliest sables,
A lackey behind her.
I know not what followed
  (The Mother of God
Must have come to my aid),
It seems that I fell
  At the feet of the lady,
And cried, 'Oh, protect us!
  They try to deceive us!
My husband-the only 240
  Support of my children-
They've taken away-
  Oh, they've acted unjustly!'..
"'Who are you, my pigeon?'

  "My answer I know not,
Or whether I gave one;
  A sudden sharp pang tore
My body in twain."
* * * * *

"I opened my eyes
  In a beautiful chamber, 250
  In bed I was laid
'Neath a canopy, brothers,
  And near me was sitting
A nurse, in a head-dress
  All streaming with ribbons.
She's nursing a baby.
  'Who's is it?' I ask her.
"'It's yours, little Mother.'
  I kiss my sweet child.
It seems, when I fell 260
  At the feet of the lady,
I wept so and raved so,
  Already so weakened
By grief and exhaustion,
  That there, without warning,
My labour had seized me.
  I bless the sweet lady,
Elyen Alexandrovna,
  Only a mother
Could bless her as I do. 270
  She christened my baby,
Lidorushka called him."
"And what of your husband?"

"They sent to the village
  And started enquiries,
And soon he was righted.
  Elyen Alexandrovna
Brought him herself
  To my side. She was tender
And clever and lovely, 280
  And healthy, but childless,
For God would not grant her
  A child. While I stayed there
My baby was never
  Away from her bosom.
She tended and nursed him
  Herself, like a mother.
The spring had set in
  And the birch trees were budding,
Before she would let us 290
  Set out to go home.
  "Oh, how fair and bright
  In God's world to-day!
  Glad my heart and gay!
  "Homewards lies our way,
  Near the wood we pause,
  See, the meadows green,
  Hark! the waters play.
  Rivulet so pure,
  Little child of Spring, 300
  How you leap and sing,
  Rippling in the leaves!
  High the little lark
  Soars above our heads,
  Carols blissfully!
  Let us stand and gaze;
  Soon our eyes will meet,
  I will laugh to thee,
  Thou wilt smile at me,
  Wee Lidorushka! 310
  "Look, a beggar comes,
  Trembling, weak, old man,
  Give him what we can.
  'Do not pray for us,'
  Let us to him say,
  'Father, you must pray
  For Elyenushka,
  For the lady fair,
  Alexandrovna!'
  "Look, the church of God! 320
  Sign the cross we twain
  Time and time again...
  'Grant, O blessed Lord,
  Thy most fair reward
  To the gentle heart
  Of Elyenushka,
  Alexandrovna!'
  "Green the forest grows,
  Green the pretty fields,
  In each dip and dell 330
  Bright a mirror gleams.
  Oh, how fair it is
  In God's world to-day,
  Glad my heart and gay!
  Like the snowy swan
  O'er the lake I sail,
  O'er the waving steppes
  Speeding like the quail.
  "Here we are at home.
  Through the door I fly 340
  Like the pigeon grey;
  Low the family
  Bow at sight of me,
  Nearly to the ground,
  Pardon they beseech
  For the way in which
  They have treated me.
  'Sit you down,' I say,
  'Do not bow to me.
  Listen to my words: 350
  You must bow to one
  Better far than I,
  Stronger far than I,
  Sing your praise to her.'
  "'Sing to whom,' you say?
  'To Elyenushka,
  To the fairest soul
  God has sent on earth:
  Alexandrovna!'"
CHAPTER VIII

THE WOMAN'S LEGEND

  Matrona is silent.
You see that the peasants
  Have seized the occasion-
They are not forgetting
  To drink to the health
Of the beautiful lady!
  But noticing soon
That Matrona is silent,
  In file they approach her.
"What more will you tell us?" 10

  "What more?" says Matrona,
"My fame as the 'lucky one'
  Spread through the volost,
Since then they have called me
  'The Governor's Lady.'
You ask me, what further?
  I managed the household,
And brought up my children.
  You ask, was I happy?
Well, that you can answer 20
Yourselves. And my children?
  Five sons! But the peasant's
Misfortunes are endless:
  They've robbed me of one."
She lowers her voice,
  And her lashes are trembling,
But turning her head
  She endeavours to hide it.
The peasants are rather
  Confused, but they linger: 30
"Well, neighbour," they say,
  "Will you tell us no more?"
"There's one thing: You're foolish
  To seek among women
For happiness, brothers."
"That's all?"

  "I can tell you
That twice we were swallowed
  By fire, and that three times
The plague fell upon us; 40
  But such things are common
To all of us peasants.
  Like cattle we toiled,
My steps were as easy
  As those of a horse
In the plough. But my troubles
Were not very startling:
  No mountains have moved
From their places to crush me;
  And God did not strike me 50
With arrows of thunder.
  The storm in my soul
Has been silent, unnoticed,
  So how can I paint it
To you? O'er the Mother
  Insulted and outraged,
The blood of her first-born
  As o'er a crushed worm
Has been poured; and unanswered
  The deadly offences 60
That many have dealt her;
  The knout has been raised
Unopposed o'er her body.
  But one thing I never
Have suffered: I told you
  That SItnikov died,
That the last, irreparable
  Shame had been spared me.
You ask me for happiness?
  Brothers, you mock me! 70
Go, ask the official,
  The Minister mighty,
The Tsar-Little Father,
But never a woman!
  God knows-among women
Your search will be endless,
  Will lead to your graves.
"A pious old woman
  Once asked us for shelter;
The whole of her lifetime 80
  The Flesh she had conquered
By penance and fasting;
  She'd bathed in the Jordan,
And prayed at the tomb
  Of Christ Jesus. She told us
The keys to the welfare
  And freedom of women
Have long been mislaid-
  God Himself has mislaid them.
And hermits, chaste women, 90
  And monks of great learning,
Have sought them all over
  The world, but not found them.
They're lost, and 'tis thought
  By a fish they've been swallowed.
God's knights have been seeking
  In towns and in deserts,
Weak, starving, and cold,
  Hung with torturing fetters.
They've asked of the seers, 100
  The stars they have counted
To learn;-but no keys!
  Through the world they have journeyed;
In underground caverns,
  In mountains, they've sought them.
At last they discovered
  Some keys. They were precious,
But only-not ours.
  Yet the warriors triumphed:
They fitted the lock 110
  On the fetters of serfdom!
A sigh from all over
  The world rose to Heaven,
A breath of relief,
  Oh, so deep and so joyful!
Our keys were still missing...
  Great champions, though,
Till to-day are still searching,
  Deep down in the bed
Of the ocean they wander, 120
  They fly to the skies,
In the clouds they are seeking,
  But never the keys.
Do you think they will find them?
Who knows? Who can say?
  But I think it is doubtful,
For which fish has swallowed
  Those treasures so priceless,
In which sea it swims-
  God Himself has forgotten!" 130
PART IV.

Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin

A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE

PROLOGUE

A very old willow
  There is at the end
Of the village of "Earthworms,"
  Where most of the folk
Have been diggers and delvers
From times very ancient
  (Though some produced tar).
This willow had witnessed
  The lives of the peasants:
Their holidays, dances, 10
  Their communal meetings,
Their floggings by day,
  In the evening their wooing,
And now it looked down
  On a wonderful feast.
  The feast was conducted
In Petersburg fashion,
  For KlImka, the peasant
(Our former acquaintance),
  Had seen on his travels 20
Some noblemen's banquets,
  With toasts and orations,
And he had arranged it.
The peasants were sitting
  On tree-trunks cut newly
For building a hut.
  With them, too, our seven
(Who always were ready
  To see what was passing)
Were sitting and chatting 30
  With Vlass, the old Elder.
As soon as they fancied
  A drink would be welcome,
The Elder called out
  To his son, "Run for Trifon!"
With Trifon the deacon,
  A jovial fellow,
A chum of the Elder's,
  His sons come as well.
Two pupils they are 40
  Of the clerical college
Named Sava and Grisha.
  The former, the eldest,
Is nineteen years old.
He looks like a churchman
  Already, while Grisha
Has fine, curly hair,
  With a slight tinge of red,
And a thin, sallow face.
Both capital fellows 50
  They are, kind and simple,
They work with the ploughshare,
  The scythe, and the sickle,
Drink vodka on feast-days,
  And mix with the peasants
Entirely as equals...
The village lies close
  To the banks of the Volga;
A small town there is
  On the opposite side. 60
(To speak more correctly,
  There's now not a trace
Of the town, save some ashes:
  A fire has demolished it
Two days ago.)
Some people are waiting
  To cross by the ferry,
While some feed their horses
  (All friends of the peasants).
Some beggars have crawled 70
  To the spot; there are pilgrims,
Both women and men;
  The women loquacious,
The men very silent.
The old Prince Yutiatin
  Is dead, but the peasants
Are not yet aware
  That instead of the hayfields
His heirs have bequeathed them
A long litigation. 80
  So, drinking their vodka,
They first of all argue
  Of how they'll dispose
Of the beautiful hayfields.
You were not all cozened,[54]
  You people of Russia,
And robbed of your land.
In some blessed spots
  You were favoured by fortune!
By some lucky chance- 90
  The Pomyeshchick's long absence,
Some slip of posrednik's,
By wiles of the commune,
  You managed to capture
A slice of the forest.
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