Puff at the whole countryside!
Crushing and maiming your toll you extort,
Straight in the face of the peasant you snort,
Soon all the people of Russia you may
Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!"
"Come, give us some music," 460
Says Vlass to the soldier,
"For here there are plenty
Of holiday people,
'Twill be to your profit.
You see to it, Klímka!"
(Though Vlass doesn't like him,
Whenever there's something
That calls for arranging
He leaves it to Klímka:
"You see to it, Klímka!" 470
And Klimka is pleased.)
And soon the old soldier
Is helped from the hay-cart:
He's weak on his legs,—tall,
And strikingly thin.
His uniform seems
To be hung from a pole;
There are medals upon it.
It cannot be said
That his face is attractive, 480
Especially when
It's distorted by tic:
His mouth opens wide
And his eyes burn like charcoal,—
A regular demon!
The music is started,
The people run back
From the banks of the Volga.
He sings to the music.
* * * * *
A spasm has seized him: 490
He leans on his niece,
And his left leg upraising
He twirls it around
In the air like a weight.
His right follows suit then,
And murmuring, "Curse it!"
He suddenly masters
And stands on them both.
"You see to it, Klímka!"
Of course he'll arrange it 500
In Petersburg fashion:
He stands them together,
The niece and the uncle;
Takes two wooden dishes
And gives them one each,
Then springs on a tree-trunk
To make an oration.
(The soldier can't help
Adding apt little words
To the speech of the peasant, 510
And striking his spoons.)
* * * * *
The soldier is stamping
His feet. One can hear
His dry bones knock together.
When Klímka has finished
The peasants come crowding,
Surrounding the soldier,
And some a kopéck give,
And others give half:
In no time a rouble 520
Is piled on the dishes.
EPILOGUE
GRÍSHA DOBROSKLONOW
A CHEERFUL SEASON—CHEERFUL SONGS
The feast was continued
Till morning—a splendid,
A wonderful feast!
Then the people dispersing
Went home, and our peasants
Lay down 'neath the willow;
Ióna—meek pilgrim
Of God—slept there too.
And Sáva and Grísha,
The sons of the deacon, 10
Went home, with their parent
Unsteady between them.
They sang; and their voices,
Like bells on the Volga,
So loud and so tuneful,
Came chiming together:
"Praise to the hero
Bringing the nation
Peace and salvation!
"Praise to the hero
Bringing the nation
Peace and salvation!
"Blessings from Heaven,
Grace from above,
Rained on the battle,
Conquered by Love. 30
"Little we ask Thee—
Grant us, O Lord,
Strength to be honest,
Fearing Thy word!
"Brotherly living,
Sharing in part,
That is the roadway
Straight to the heart.
"Turn from that teaching
Tender and wise— 40
Cowards and traitors
Soon will arise.
"People of Russia,
Banish the night!
You have been granted
That which is needful—
Freedom and Light!"
The deacon was poor
As the poorest of peasants:
A mean little cottage 50
Like two narrow cages,
The one with an oven
Which smoked, and the other
For use in the summer,—
Such was his abode.
No horse he possessed
And no cow. He had once had
A dog and a cat,
But they'd both of them left him.
His sons put him safely 60
To bed, snoring loudly;
Then Sávushka opened
A book, while his brother
Went out, and away
To the fields and the forest.
A broad-shouldered youth
Was this Grísha; his face, though,
Was terribly thin.
In the clerical college
The students got little 70
To eat. Sometimes Grísha
Would lie the whole night
Without sleep; only longing
For morning and breakfast,—
The coarse piece of bread
And the glassful of sbeeten.[61]
The village was poor
And the food there was scanty,
But still, the two brothers
Grew certainly plumper 80
When home for the holidays—
Thanks to the peasants.
The boys would repay them
By all in their power,
By work, or by doing
Their little commissions
In town. Though the deacon
Was proud of his children,
He never had given
Much thought to their feeding. 90