Again the poor peasants 120
Are sunk in the depths
Of the bottomless gulf!
Dejected and silent,
They lie on their stomachs
Absorbed in reflection.
But then they start singing;
And slowly the song,
Like a ponderous cloud-bank,
Rolls mournfully onwards.
They sing it so clearly 130
That quickly our seven
Have learnt it as well.
The Hungry One
The peasant stands
With haggard gaze,
He pants for breath,
He reels and sways;
From famine food,
From bread of bark,
His form has swelled,
His face is dark. 140
Through endless grief
Suppressed and dumb
His eyes are glazed,
His soul is numb.
As though in sleep,
With footsteps slow,
He creeps to where
The rye doth grow.
Upon his field
He gazes long, 150
He stands and sings
A voiceless song:
"Grow ripe, grow ripe,
O Mother rye,
I fostered thee,
Thy lord am I.
"Yield me a loaf
Of monstrous girth,
A cake as vast
As Mother-Earth. 160
"I'll eat the whole—
No crumb I'll spare;
With wife, with child,
I will not share."
"Eh, brothers, I'm hungry!"
A voice exclaims feebly.
It's one of the peasants.
He fetches a loaf
From his bag, and devours it.
"They sing without voices, 170
And yet when you listen
Your hair begins rising,"
Another remarks.
It's true. Not with voices
They sing of the famine—
But something within them.
One, during the singing,
Has risen, to show them
The gait of the peasant
Exhausted by hunger, 180
And swayed by the wind.
Restrained are his movements
And slow. After singing
"The Hungry One," thirsting
They make for the bucket,
One after another
Like geese in a file.
They stagger and totter
As people half-famished,
A drink will restore them. 190
"Come, let us be joyful!"
The deacon is saying.
His youngest son, Grísha,
Approaches the peasants.
"Some vodka?" they ask him.
"No, thank you. I've had some.
But what's been the matter?
You look like drowned kittens."
"What should be the matter?"
(And making an effort 200
They bear themselves bravely.)
And Vlass, the old Elder,
Has placed his great palm
On the head of his godson.
"Is serfdom revived?
Will they drive you to barschin
Or pilfer your hayfields?"
Says Grísha in jest.
"The hay-fields? You're joking!"
"Well, what has gone wrong, then?
And why were you singing 211
'The Hungry One,' brothers?
To summon the famine?"
"Yes, what's all the pother?"
Here Klímka bursts out
Like a cannon exploding.
The others are scratching
Their necks, and reflecting:
"It's true! What's amiss?"
"Come, drink, little 'Earthworms,'
Come, drink and be merry! 221
All's well—as we'd have it,
Aye, just as we wished it.
Come, hold up your noddles!
But what about Gleb?"
A lengthy discussion
Ensues; and it's settled
That they're not to blame
For the deed of the traitor:
'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230
For just as the big snake
Gives birth to the small ones,
So serfdom gave birth
To the sins of the nobles,
To Jacob the Faithful's
And also to Gleb's.
For, see, without serfdom
Had been no Pomyéshchick
To drive his true servant
To death by the noose, 240
No terrible vengeance
Of slave upon master
By suicide fearful,
No treacherous Gleb.
'Twas Prov of all others
Who listened to Grísha
With deepest attention
And joy most apparent.
And when he had finished
He cried to the others 250
In accents of triumph,
Delightedly smiling,
"Now, brothers, mark that!"
"So now, there's an end
Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!"
Cries Klímka, with glee.
The words about serfdom
Were quickly caught up
By the crowd, and went passing
From one to another: 260
"Yes, if there's no big snake
There cannot be small ones!"
And Klímka is swearing
Again at the carter:
"You ignorant fool!"
They're ready to grapple!
The deacon is sobbing
And kissing his Grísha:
"Just see what a headpiece
The Lord is creating! 270
No wonder he longs
For the college in Moscow!"
Old Vlass, too, is patting
His shoulder and saying,
"May God send thee silver
And gold, and a healthy
And diligent wife!"
"I wish not for silver
Or gold," replies Grísha.
"But one thing I wish: 280
I wish that my comrades,
Yes, all the poor peasants
In Russia so vast,
Could be happy and free!"
Thus, earnestly speaking,
And blushing as shyly
As any young maiden,
He walks from their midst.