Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia?

  The peasant is saddened 40 
At sight of the dirty 
  And squalid old village; 
But sadder the new ones: 
  The new huts are pretty, 
But they are the token 
  Of heartbreaking ruin.[8]

As morning sets in 
  They begin to meet people, 
But mostly small people: 
  Their brethren, the peasants, 50 
And soldiers and waggoners, 
  Workmen and beggars.

The soldiers and beggars 
  They pass without speaking. 
Not asking if happy 
  Or grievous their lot: 
The soldier, we know, 
  Shaves his beard with a gimlet, 
Has nothing but smoke 
  In the winter to warm him,— 60 
What joy can be his?

As evening is falling 
  Appears on the high-road 
A pope in his cart.

  The peasants uncover 
Their heads, and draw up 
  In a line on the roadway, 
Thus barring the passage 
  In front of the gelding.

  The pope raised his head, 70 
Looked inquiringly at them. 
  "Fear not, we won't harm you," 
Luká said in answer. 
  (Luká was thick-bearded, 
Was heavy and stolid, 
  Was obstinate, stupid, 
And talkative too;

  He was like to the windmill 
Which differs in one thing 
  Alone from an eagle: 80 
No matter how boldly 
  It waves its broad pinions 
It rises no higher.)

  "We, orthodox peasants, 
From District 'Most Wretched,' 
  From Province 'Hard Battered,' 
From 'Destitute' Parish, 
  From neighbouring hamlets, 
'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' 
  'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 
From 'Harvestless' also, 
  Are striving to settle 
A thing of importance; 
A trouble torments us, 
  It draws us away 
From our wives and our children, 
  Away from our work, 
Kills our appetites too.

  Pray, give us your promise 
To answer us truly, 100 
  Consulting your conscience 
And searching your knowledge, 
Not feigning nor mocking 
  The question we put you. 
If not, we will go 
  Further on."

  "I will promise 
If you will but put me 
  A serious question 
To answer it gravely, 110 
  With truth and with reason, 
Not feigning nor mocking, 
  Amen!"

  "We are grateful, 
And this is our story: 
  We all had set out 
On particular errands, 
  And met in the roadway. 
Then one asked another: 
Who is he,—the man 120 
  Free and happy in Russia? 
And I said, 'The pope,' 
  And Román, 'The Pomyéshchick,' 
And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 
  And Demyán, 'The official'; 
'The round-bellied merchant,' 
  Said both brothers Goóbin, 
Mitródor and Ívan; 
  Pakhóm said, 'His Lordship, 
The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 

  "Like bulls are the peasants; 
Once folly is in them 
  You cannot dislodge it 
Although you should beat them 
  With stout wooden cudgels, 
They stick to their folly 
  And nothing can move them. 
We argued and argued, 
  While arguing quarrelled, 
While quarrelling fought, 140 
  Till at last we decided 
That never again 
  Would we turn our steps homeward 
To kiss wives and children, 
  To see the old people, 
Until we have found 
  The reply to our question, 
Until we've discovered 
  For once and forever 
The man who, in Russia, 150 
  Is happy and free.

Then say, in God's truth, 
  Is the pope's life a sweet one? 
Would you, honoured father, 
  Proclaim yourself happy?"

The pope in his cart 
  Cast his eyes on the roadway, 
Fell thoughtful and answered: 
  "Then, Christians, come, hear me: 
I will not complain 160 
  Of the cross that I carry, 
But bear it in silence. 
  I'll tell you my story, 
And you try to follow 
  As well as you can."

"Begin."
  "But first tell me 
The gifts you consider 
  As true earthly welfare; 
Peace, honour, and riches,— 170 
  Is that so, my children?" 
They answer, "It is so."

  "And now let us see, friends, 
What peace does the pope get? 
  In truth, then, I ought 
To begin from my childhood, 
  For how does the son 
Of the pope gain his learning, 
  And what is the price 
That he pays for the priesthood? 180 
  'Tis best to be silent." [9]