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The dawn is approaching.   The peasants make ready 290 To cross by the ferry.
"Eh, Vlass," says the carter,   As, stooping, he raises The span of his harness,   "Who's this on the ground?"
The Elder approaches,   And Klímka behind him, Our seven as well.
  (They're always most anxious To see what is passing.) 300
Some fellow is lying   Exhausted, dishevelled, Asleep, with the beggars   Behind some big logs.
His clothing is new,   But it's hanging in ribbons.
A crimson silk scarf   On his neck he is wearing; A watch and a waistcoat;   His blouse, too, is red. 310
Now Klímka is stooping To look at the sleeper,   Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly Stamps straight on his mouth.
The fellow springs up,   Rubs his eyes, dim with sleep, And old Vlásuchka strikes him.
  He squeals like a rat 'Neath the heel of your slipper,   And makes for the forest 320 On long, lanky legs.   Four peasants pursue him,
The others cry, "Beat him!"   Until both the man And the band of pursuers   Are lost in the forest.
"Who is he?" our seven   Are asking the Elder, "And why do they beat him?"
"We don't know the reason, 330   But we have been told By the people of Tískov   To punish this Shútov Whenever we catch him,   And so we obey.
When people from Tískov   Pass by, they'll explain it. What luck? Did you catch him?"
  He asks of the others Returned from the chase. 340
"We caught him, I warrant,   And gave him a lesson. He's run to Demyánsky,   For there he'll be able
To cross by the ferry."
"Strange people, to beat him   Without any cause!"
"And why? If the commune   Has told us to do it There must be some reason!" 350
  Shouts Klím at the seven. "D'you think that the people Of Tískov are fools?   It isn't long since, mind, That many were flogged there, One man in each ten.
  Ah, Shútov, you rendered A dastardly service,   Your duties are evil, You damnable wretch! 360
  And who deserves beating As richly as Shútov?
  Not we alone beat him: From Tískov, you know,   Fourteen villages lie On the banks of the Volga;
  I warrant through each He's been driven with blows."
The seven are silent.
  They're longing to get 370 At the root of the matter.   But even the Elder Is now growing angry.
It's daylight. The women   Are bringing their husbands Some breakfast, of rye-cakes   And—goose! (For a peasant Had driven some geese   Through the village to market, And three were grown weary, 380   And had to be carried.)
"See here, will you sell them?   They'll die ere you get there."
And so, for a trifle,   The geese had been bought.
We've often been told   How the peasant loves drinking; Not many there are, though,   Who know how he eats.
He's greedier far 390   For his food than for vodka, So one man to-day (A teetotaller mason)   Gets perfectly drunk On his breakfast of goose!
A shout! "Who is coming?   Who's this?" Here's another Excuse for rejoicing   And noise! There's a hay-cart With hay, now approaching, 400   And high on its summit A soldier is sitting.
  He's known to the peasants For twenty versts round.
  And, cosy beside him, Justínutchka sits   (His niece, and an orphan, His prop in old age).
He now earns his living   By means of his peep-show, 410 Where, plainly discerned,   Are the Kremlin and Moscow, While music plays too.
  The instrument once Had gone wrong, and the soldier,   No capital owning, Bought three metal spoons, Which he beat to make music;
  But the words that he knew Did not suit the new music, 420 And folk did not laugh.
  The soldier was sly, though: He made some new words up   That went with the music. They hail him with rapture!
  "Good-health to you, Grandad! Jump down, drink some vodka,   And give us some music."
"It's true I got up here,   But how to get-down?" 430
"You're going, I see,   To the town for your pension, But look what has happened:   It's burnt to the ground."
"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly!   What then? Then I'll go   To St. Petersburg for it; For all my old comrades   Are there with their pensions, They'll show me the way." 440
"You'll go by the train, then?" The old fellow whistles:   "Not long you've been serving Us, orthodox Christians,   You, infidel railway!
And welcome you were   When you carried us cheaply From Peters to Moscow.   (It cost but three roubles.)
But now you want seven, 450   So, go to the devil! "Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant! Hiss like a snake as you glide!
Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!