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!