For hour after hour
He sat peacefully fishing,
And striking his nose
Or his cheek or his forehead.
We laughed: ''You don't like
The Korójin mosquitoes?''
He'd boat near the bankside
And shout with enjoyment,
Like one in the bath-house
Who's got to the roof.[49] 350
"'With youths and young maidens
He strolled in the forest
(They were not for nothing
Those strolls in the forest!)—
''Well, if you can't pay
You should work, little peasants.''
"'''What work should we do?''
"'''You should dig some deep ditches
To drain off the bog-lands.''
We dug some deep ditches. 360
"'''And now trim the forest.''
"'''Well, well, trim the forest….''
We hacked and we hewed
As the German directed,
And when we look round
There's a road through the forest!
"'The German went driving
To town with three horses;
Look! now he is coming
With boxes and bedding, 370
And God knows wherefrom
Has this bare-footed German
Raised wife and small children!
And now he's established
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 Korójins! 380
He sucked us all dry
To the very last farthing;
And flog!—like the soul
Of Shaláshnikov flogged he!
Shaláshnikov 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, Matróna,
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 Savyéli.
"'I know not, Matróna,
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
Savyéli?'
"'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, Savyéli?'
"'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
Shaláshnikov flogged us?
I spit at the floggings
I got in the prison!
Ah, he was a Master!
He knew how to flog you!
49
In Russian vapour-baths there are shelves ranged round the walls for the bathers to recline upon. The higher the shelf the hotter the atmosphere.