Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia?

  But only die quickly,
And leave the poor peasants
  In peace. And now, brothers,
Come, praise me and thank me!
  I've gladdened the commune.

I shook in my shoes there
  Before the Pomyéshchick,
For fear I should trip
  Or my tongue should betray me;

And worse—I could hardly 560
  Speak plain for my laughter!
That eye! How it spins!
  And you look at it, thinking:

  'But whither, my friend,
Do you hurry so quickly?
  On some hasty errand
Of yours, or another's?

  Perhaps with a pass
From the Tsar—Little Father,
  You carry a message 570
From him.' I was standing
  And bursting with laughter!

Well, I am a drunken
  And frivolous peasant,
The rats in my corn-loft
  Are starving from hunger,
My hut is quite bare,
  Yet I call God to witness
That I would not take
  Such an office upon me 580
For ten hundred roubles
  Unless I were certain
That he was the last,
  That I bore with his bluster
To serve my own ends,
  Of my own will and pleasure."

  Old Vlásuchka sadly
And thoughtfully answers,
  "How long, though, how long, though,
Have we—not we only 590
  But all Russian peasants—
Endured the Pomyéshchicks?

  And not for our pleasure,
For money or fun,
  Not for two or three months,
But for life. What has changed, though?

  Of what are we bragging?
For still we are peasants."

  The peasants, half-tipsy,
Congratulate Klímka. 600

  "Hurrah! Let us toss him!"
And now they are placing
  Old Widow Teréntevna
Next to her bridegroom,
  The little child Jóckoff,
Saluting them gaily.

They're eating and drinking
  What's left on the table.

Then romping and jesting
  They stay till the evening, 610
And only at nightfall
  Return to the village.

And here they are met
  By some sobering tidings:
The old Prince is dead.

  From the boat he was taken,
They thought him asleep,
  But they found he was lifeless.

The second stroke—while
  He was sleeping—had fallen! 620

The peasants are sobered,
  They look at each other,
And silently cross themselves.

  Then they breathe deeply;
And never before
  Did the poor squalid village
Called "Ignorant-Duffers,"
  Of Volost "Old-Dustmen,"
Draw such an intense
  And unanimous breath…. 630

Their pleasure, however,
  Was not very lasting,
Because with the death
  Of the ancient Pomyéshchick,
The sweet-sounding words
  Of his heirs and their bounties
Ceased also. Not even
  A pick-me-up after
The yesterday's feast
  Did they offer the peasants. 640

And as to the hayfields—
  Till now is the law-suit
Proceeding between them,
  The heirs and the peasants.

Old Vlásuchka was
  By the peasants appointed
To plead in their name,
  And he lives now in Moscow.

He went to St. Petersburg too,
  But I don't think 650
That much can be done
  For the cause of the peasants.