Around, like white napkins—
The devil destroy them!
We only were troubled
By bears, and the bears too 160
Were easily managed.
Why, I was a worse foe
By far than old Mishka,
When armed with a dagger
And bear-spear. I wandered
In wild, secret woodpaths,
And shouted, ''My forest!''
And once, only once,
I was frightened by something:
I stepped on a huge 170
Female bear that was lying
Asleep in her den
In the heart of the forest.
She flung herself at me,
And straight on my bear-spear
Was fixed. Like a fowl
On the spit she hung twisting
An hour before death.
It was then that my spine snapped.
It often was painful 180
When I was a young man;
But now I am old,
It is fixed and bent double.
Now, do I not look like
A hook, little Grandchild?'
"'But finish the story.
You lived and were not much
Afflicted. What further?'
"'At last our Pomyéshchick
Invented a new game: 190
He sent us an order,
''Appear!'' We appeared not.
Instead, we lay low
In our dens, hardly breathing.
A terrible drought
Had descended that summer,
The bogs were all dry;
So he sent a policeman,
Who managed to reach us,
To gather our taxes, 200
In honey and fish;
A second time came he,
We gave him some bear-skins;
And when for the third time
He came, we gave nothing,—
We said we had nothing.
We put on our laputs,
We put our old caps on,
Our oldest old coats,
And we went to Korójin 210
(For there was our master now,
Stationed with soldiers).
''Your taxes!'' ''We have none,
We cannot pay taxes,
The corn has not grown,
And the fish have escaped us.''
''Your taxes!'' ''We have none.''
He waited no longer;
''Hey! Give them the first round!''
He said, and they flogged us. 220
"'Our pockets were not
Very easily opened;
Shaláshnikov, though, was
A master at flogging.
Our tongues became parched,
And our brains were set whirling,
And still he continued.
He flogged not with birch-rods,
With whips or with sticks,
But with knouts made for giants. 230
At last we could stand it
No longer; we shouted,
''Enough! Let us breathe!''
We unwound our foot-rags
And took out our money,
And brought to the Barin
A ragged old bonnet
With roubles half filled.
"'The Barin grew calm,
He was pleased with the money; 240
He gave us a glass each
Of strong, bitter brandy,
And drank some himself
With the vanquished Korójins,
And gaily clinked glasses.
''It's well that you yielded,''
Said he, ''For I swear
I was fully decided
To strip off the last shred
Of skins from your bodies 250
And use it for making
A drum for my soldiers!
Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!''
(He was pleased with the notion.)
''A fine drum indeed!''
"'In silence we left;
But two stalwart old peasants
Were chuckling together;
They'd two hundred roubles
In notes, the old rascals! 260
Safe hidden away
In the end of their coat-tails.
They both had been yelling,
''We're beggars! We're beggars!''
So carried them home.
''Well, well, you may cackle!''
I thought to myself,
''But the next time, be certain,
You won't laugh at me!''
The others were also 270
Ashamed of their weakness,
And so by the ikons
We swore all together
That next time we rather
Would die of the beating
Than feebly give way.
It seems the Pomyéshchick
Had taken a fancy
At once to our roubles,
Because after that 280
Every year we were summoned
To go to Korójin,
We went, and were flogged.
"'Shaláshnikov flogged like
A prince, but be certain
The treasures he thrashed from
The doughty Korójins
Were not of much weight.
The weak yielded soon,
But the strong stood like iron 290
For the commune. I also
Bore up, and I thought:
''Though never so stoutly
You flog us, you dog's son,
You won't drag the whole soul
From out of the peasant;
Some trace will be left.''
"'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]
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