"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, Grisha, 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 Vla.s.s, the old Elder, Has placed his great palm On the head of his G.o.dson.

"Is serfdom revived?

Will they drive you to barschin Or pilfer your hayfields?"

Says Grisha 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 Klimka 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 n.o.bles, To Jacob the Faithful's And also to Gleb's.

For, see, without serfdom Had been no Pomyeshchick 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 Grisha 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 Klimka, with glee.

The words about serfdom Were quickly caught up By the crowd, and went pa.s.sing From one to another: 260 "Yes, if there's no big snake There cannot be small ones!"

And Klimka is swearing Again at the carter: "You ignorant fool!"

They're ready to grapple!

The deacon is sobbing And kissing his Grisha: "Just see what a headpiece The Lord is creating! 270 No wonder he longs For the college in Moscow!"

Old Vla.s.s, too, is patting His shoulder and saying, "May G.o.d send thee silver And gold, and a healthy And diligent wife!"

"I wish not for silver Or gold," replies Grisha.

"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.

The dawn is approaching.

The peasants make ready 290 To cross by the ferry.

"Eh, Vla.s.s," says the carter, As, stooping, he raises The span of his harness, "Who's this on the ground?"

The Elder approaches, And Klimka behind him, Our seven as well.

(They're always most anxious To see what is pa.s.sing.) 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 Klimka 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 Vlasuchka 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 Tiskov To punish this Shutov Whenever we catch him, And so we obey.

When people from Tiskov Pa.s.s 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 Demyansky, 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 Klim at the seven.

"D'you think that the people Of Tiskov are fools?

It isn't long since, mind, That many were flogged there, One man in each ten.

Ah, Shutov, you rendered A dastardly service, Your duties are evil, You d.a.m.nable wretch! 360 And who deserves beating As richly as Shutov?

Not we alone beat him: From Tiskov, 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, Justinutchka sits (His niece, and an orphan, His prop in old age).