The people disperse As the dawn is approaching.

Our peasants begin To bethink them of sleeping, 860 When all of a sudden A "troika" [30] comes flying From no one sees where, With its silver bells ringing.

Within it is sitting A plump little Barin, His little mouth smoking A little cigar.

The peasants draw up In a line on the roadway, 870 Thus barring the pa.s.sage In front of the horses; And, standing bareheaded, Bow low to the Barin.

CHAPTER V

THE POMYeSHCHICK

The "troika" is drawing The local Pomyeshchick-- Gavril Afanasich Obolt-Oboldooeff.

A portly Pomyeshchick, With long grey moustaches, Some sixty years old.

His bearing is stately, His cheeks very rosy, He wears a short top-coat, 10 Tight-fitting and braided, Hungarian fashion; And very wide trousers.

Gavril Afanasich Was probably startled At seeing the peasants Unflinchingly barring The way to his horses; He promptly produces A loaded revolver 20 As bulky and round As himself; and directs it Upon the intruders:

"You brigands! You cut-throats!

Don't move, or I shoot!"

"How can we be brigands?"

The peasants say, laughing, "No knives and no pitchforks, No hatchets have we!"

"Who are you? And what 30 Do you want?" said the Barin.

"A trouble torments us, It draws us away From our wives, from our children, Away from our work, Kills our appet.i.tes too, Do give us your promise To answer us truly, Consulting your conscience And searching your knowledge, 40 Not sneering, nor feigning The question we put you, And then we will tell you The cause of our trouble."

"I promise. I give you The oath of a n.o.ble."

"No, don't give us that-- Not the oath of a n.o.ble!

We're better content With the word of a Christian. 50 The n.o.bleman's oaths-- They are given with curses, With kicks and with blows!

We are better without them!"

"Eh-heh, that's a new creed!

Well, let it be so, then.

And what is your trouble?"

"But put up the pistol!

That's right! Now we'll tell you: We are not a.s.sa.s.sins, 60 But peaceable peasants, From Government 'Hard-pressed,'

From District 'Most Wretched,'

From 'Dest.i.tute' Parish, From neighbouring hamlets,-- 'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,'

'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.'

From 'Harvestless,' too.

We met in the roadway, And one asked another, 70 Who is he--the man Free and happy in Russia?

Luka said, 'The pope,'

And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,'

Demyan, 'The official.'

'The round-bellied merchant,'

Said both brothers Goobin, Mitrodor and ivan; Pakhom said, 'His Highness, The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80 And Prov said, 'The Tsar.'

"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, 90 While quarrelling fought, 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 settled The subject of discord; Until we have found The reply to our question-- 100 Of who can, in Russia, Be happy and free?

"Now tell us, Pomyeshchick, Is your life a sweet one?

And is the Pomyeshchick Both happy and free?"

Gavril Afanasich Springs out of the "troika"

And comes to the peasants.

He takes--like a doctor-- 110 The hand of each one, And carefully feeling The pulse gazes searchingly Into their faces, Then clasps his plump sides And stands shaking with laughter.

The clear, hearty laugh Of the healthy Pomyeshchick Peals out in the pleasant Cool air of the morning: 120 "Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!"

Till he stops from exhaustion.

And then he addresses The wondering peasants: "Put on your hats, _gentlemen_, Please to be seated!"

(He speaks with a bitter[31]

And mocking politeness.)

"But we are not gentry; We'd rather stand up 130 In your presence, your worship."

"Sit down, worthy _citizens_, Here on the bank."

The peasants protest, But, on seeing it useless, Sit down on the bank.

"May I sit beside you?

Hey, Proshka! Some sherry, My rug and a cushion!"

He sits on the rug. 140 Having finished the sherry, Thus speaks the Pomyeshchick:

"I gave you my promise To answer your question....

The task is not easy, For though you are highly Respectable people, You're not very learned.

Well, firstly, I'll try To explain you the meaning 150 Of Lord, or Pomyeshchick.

Have you, by some chance, Ever heard the expression The 'Family Tree'?

Do you know what it means?"

"The woods are not closed to us.

We have seen all kinds Of trees," say the peasants.

"Your shot has miscarried!

I'll try to speak clearly; 160 I come of an ancient, Ill.u.s.trious family; One, Oboldooeff, My ancestor, is Amongst those who were mentioned In old Russian chronicles Written for certain Two hundred and fifty Years back. It is written, ''Twas given the Tartar, 170 Obolt-Oboldooeff, A piece of cloth, value Two roubles, for having Amused the Tsaritsa Upon the Tsar's birthday By fights of wild beasts, Wolves and foxes. He also Permitted his own bear To fight with a wild one, Which mauled Oboldooeff, 180 And hurt him severely.'

And now, gentle peasants, Did you understand?"

"Why not? To this day One can see them--the loafers Who stroll about leading A bear!"

"Be it so, then!

But now, please be silent, And hark to what follows: 190 From this Oboldooeff My family sprang; And this incident happened Two hundred and fifty Years back, as I told you, But still, on my mother's side, Even more ancient The family is: Says another old writing: 'Prince Schepin, and one 200 Vaska Gooseff, attempted To burn down the city Of Moscow. They wanted To plunder the Treasury.

They were beheaded.'

And this was, good peasants, Full three hundred years back!

From these roots it was That our Family Tree sprang."

"And you are the ... as one 210 Might say ... little apple Which hangs on a branch Of the tree," say the peasants.