CHAPTER IV
THE HAPPY ONES
In crowds gay and noisy
Our peasants are mixing,
Proclaiming their mission:
"Let any man here
Who esteems himself happy
Stand forth! If he prove it
A pailful of vodka
Is at his disposal;
As much as he wishes
So much he shall have!" 10
This fabulous promise
Sets sober folk smiling;
The tipsy and wise ones
Are ready to spit
In the beards of the pushing
Impertinent strangers!
But many are willing
To drink without payment,
And so when our peasants
Go back to the birch-tree 20
A crowd presses round them.
The first to come forward,
A lean discharged deacon,
With legs like two matches,
Lets forth a great mouthful
Of indistinct maxims:
That happiness lies not
In broad lands, in jewels,
In gold, and in sables--
"In what, then?" 30
A peaceful
And undisturbed conscience.
That all the dominions
Of land-owners, nobles,
And Tsars are but earthly
And limited treasures;
But he who is godly
Has part in Christ's kingdom
Of boundless extent:
"When warm in the sun, 40
With a cupful of vodka,
I'm perfectly happy,
I ask nothing more!"
"And who'll give you vodka?"
"Why, you! You have promised."
"Be off, you lean scamp!"
A one-eyed old woman
Comes next, bent and pock-marked,
And bowing before them
She says she is happy; 50
That in her allotment
A thousand fine turnips
Have grown, this last autumn.
"Such turnips, I tell you!
Such monsters! and tasty!
In such a small plot, too,
In length only one yard,
And three yards in width!"
They laugh at the woman,
But give her no vodka; 60
"Go, get you home, Mother!
You've vodka enough there
To flavour the turnips!"
A soldier with medals,
Quite drunk but still thirsty,
Says firmly, "I'm happy!"
"Then tell us, old fellow,
In what he is happy--
The soldier? Take care, though,
To keep nothing back!" 70
"Well, firstly, I've been
Through at least twenty battles,
And yet I'm alive.
And, secondly, mark you
(It's far more important),
In times of peace, too,
Though I'm always half-famished,
Death never has conquered!
And, third, though they flogged me
For every offence, 80
Great or small, I've survived it!"
"Here, drink, little soldier!
With you one can't argue;
You're happy indeed!"
Then comes a young mason,
A huge, weighty hammer
Swung over his shoulder:
"I live in content,"
He declares, "with my wife
And beloved old mother; 90
We've nought to complain of."
"In what are you happy?"
"In this!"--like a feather
He swings the great hammer.
"Beginning at sunrise
And setting my back straight
As midnight draws near,
I can shatter a mountain!
Before now, it's happened
That, working one day, 100
I've piled enough stones up
To earn my five roubles!"
Pakhom tries to lift it--
The "happiness." After
Prodigiously straining
And cracking all over,
He sets it down, gladly,
And pours out some vodka.
"Well, weighty it is, man!
But will you be able 110
To bear in old age
Such a 'happiness,' think you?"
"Don't boast of your strength!"
Gasped a wheezing old peasant,
Half stifled with asthma.
(His nose pinched and shrivelled
Like that of a dead man,
His eyes bright and sunken,
His hands like a rake--
Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120
His legs long and narrow
Like spokes of a wheel,
A human mosquito.)
"I was not a worse man
Than he, the young mason,
And boasted of _my_ strength.
God punished me for it!
The manager knew
I was simple--the villain!
He flattered and praised me. 130
I was but a youngster,
And pleased at his notice
I laboured like four men.
One day I had mounted
Some bricks to my shoulder,
When, just then, the devil
Must bring him in sight.
"'What's that!' he said laughing,
'Tis surely not Trifon
With such a light burden? 140
Ho, does it not shame
Such a strapping young fellow?'
'Then put some more bricks on,
I'll carry them, master,'
Said I, sore offended.
For full half an hour
I stood while he piled them,
He piled them--the dog!
I felt my back breaking,
But would not give way, 150
And that devilish burden
I carried right up
To the high second story!
He stood and looked on,
He himself was astounded,
And cried from beneath me:
'Well done, my brave fellow!
You don't know yourself, man,
What you have been doing!
It's forty stone, Trifon, 160
You've carried up there!'
"I _did_ know; my heart
Struck my breast like a hammer,
The blood stood in circles
Round both of my eyeballs;
My back felt disjointed,
My legs weak and trembling ...
'Twas then that I withered.
Come, treat me, my friends!"
"But why should we treat you?
In what are you happy? 171
In what you have told us?"
"No, listen--that's coming,
It's this: I have also,
Like each of us peasants,
Besought God to let me
Return to the village
To die. And when coming
From Petersburg, after
The illness I suffered 180
Through what I have told you,
Exhausted and weakened,
Half-dazed, half-unconscious,
I got to the station.
And all in the carriage
Were workmen, as I was,
And ill of the fever;
And all yearned for one thing:
To reach their own homes
Before death overcame them. 190
'Twas then I was lucky;
The heat then was stifling,
And so many sick heads
Made Hell of the waggon.
Here one man was groaning,
There, rolling all over
The floor, like a lunatic,
Shouting and raving
Of wife or of mother.
And many such fellows 200
Were put out and left
At the stations we came to.
I looked at them, thinking,
Shall I be left too?
I was burning and shaking,
The blood began starting
All over my eyeballs,
And I, in my fever,
Half-waking, was dreaming
Of cutting of cocks' throats 210
(We once were cock-farmers,
And one year it happened
We fattened a thousand).
They came to my thoughts, now,
The damnable creatures,
I tried to start praying,
But no!--it was useless.
And, would you believe me?
I saw the whole party
In that hellish waggon 220
Come quivering round me,
Their throats cut, and spurting
With blood, and still crowing,
And I, with the knife, shrieked:
'Enough of your noise!'
And yet, by God's mercy,
Made no sound at all.
I sat there and struggled
To keep myself silent.
At last the day ended, 230
And with it the journey,
And God had had pity
Upon His poor orphan;
I crawled to the village.
And now, by His mercy,
I'm better again."
"Is that what you boast of--
Your happiness, peasant?"
Exclaims an old lackey
With legs weak and gouty. 240
"Treat me, little brothers,
I'm happy, God sees it!
For I was the chief serf
Of Prince Peremeteff,
A rich prince, and mighty,
My wife, the most favoured
By him, of the women;
My daughter, together
With his, the young lady,
Was taught foreign languages, 250
French and some others;
And she was permitted
To _sit_, and not stand,
In her mistress's presence.
Good Lord! How it bites!"
(He stoops down to rub it,
The gouty right knee-cap.)
The peasants laugh loudly!
"What laugh you at, stupids?"
He cries, getting angry, 260
"I'm ill, I thank God,
And at waking and sleeping
I pray, 'Leave me ever
My honoured complaint, Lord!
For that makes me noble!'
I've none of your low things,
Your peasants' diseases,
My illness is lofty,
And only acquired
By the most elevated, 270
The first in the Empire;
I suffer, you villains,
From gout, gout its name is!
It's only brought on
By the drinking of claret,
Of Burgundy, champagne,
Hungarian syrup,
By thirty years' drinking!
For forty years, peasants,
I've stood up behind it-- 280
The chair of His Highness,
The Prince Peremeteff,
And swallowed the leavings
In plates and in glasses,
The finest French truffles,
The dregs of the liquors.
Come, treat me, you peasants!"
"Excuse us, your Lordship,
Our wine is but simple,
The drink of the peasants! 290
It wouldn't suit _you_!"
A bent, yellow-haired man
Steals up to the peasants,
A man from White Russia.
He yearns for the vodka.
"Oh, give me a taste!"
He implores, "I am happy!"
"But wait! You must tell us
In what you are happy."
"In bread I am happy; 300
At home, in White Russia,
The bread is of barley,
All gritty and weedy.
At times, I can tell you,
I've howled out aloud,
Like a woman in labour,
With pains in my stomach!
But now, by God's mercy,
I work for Gubonine,
And there they give rye-bread, 310
I'm happy in that."
A dark-looking peasant,
With jaw turned and twisted,
Which makes him look sideways,
Says next, "I am happy.
A bear-hunter I am,
And six of my comrades
Were killed by old Mishka;[26]
On me God has mercy."
"Look round to the left side." 320
He tries to, but cannot,
For all his grimaces!
"A bear knocked my jaw round,
A savage young female."
"Go, look for another,
And give her the left cheek,
She'll soon put it straight!"
They laugh, but, however,
They give him some vodka.
Some ragged old beggars 330
Come up to the peasants,
Drawn near by the smell
Of the froth on the vodka;
They say they are happy.
"Why, right on his threshold
The shopman will meet us!
We go to a house-door,
From there they conduct us
Right back to the gate!
When we begin singing 340
The housewife runs quickly
And brings to the window
A loaf and a knife.
And then we sing loudly,
'Oh, give us the whole loaf,
It cannot be cut
And it cannot be crumbled,
For you it is quicker,
For us it is better!'"
The peasants observe 350
That their vodka is wasted,
The pail's nearly empty.
They say to the people,
"Enough of your chatter,
You, shabby and ragged,
You, humpbacked and corny,
Go, get you all home!"
"In your place, good strangers,"
The peasant, Fedocy,
From "Swallow-Smoke" village, 360
Said, sitting beside them,
"I'd ask Ermil Girin.
If he will not suit you,
If he is not happy,
Then no one can help you."
"But who is this Ermil,
A noble--a prince?"
"No prince--not a noble,
But simply a peasant."
"Well, tell us about him." 370
"I'll tell you; he rented
The mill of an orphan,
Until the Court settled
To sell it at auction.
Then Ermil, with others,
Went into the sale-room.
The small buyers quickly
Dropped out of the bidding;
Till Ermil alone,
With a merchant, Alternikoff, 380
Kept up the fight.
The merchant outbid him,
Each time by a farthing,
Till Ermil grew angry
And added five roubles;
The merchant a farthing
And Ermil a rouble.
The merchant gave in then,
When suddenly something
Unlooked for occurred: 390
The sellers demanded
A third of the money
Paid down on the spot;
'Twas one thousand roubles,
And Ermil had not brought
So much money with him;
'Twas either his error,
Or else they deceived him.
The merchant said gaily,
'The mill comes to me, then?' 400
'Not so,' replied Ermil;
He went to the sellers;
'Good sirs, will you wait
Thirty minutes?' he asked.
"'But how will that help you?'
'I'll bring you the money.'
"'But where will you find it?
You're out of your senses!
It's thirty-five versts
To the mill; in an hour now 410
The sales will be finished.'
"'You'll wait half an hour, sirs?'
'An hour, if you wish.'
Then Ermil departed,
The sellers exchanging
Sly looks with the merchant,
And grinning--the foxes!
But Ermil went out
And made haste to the market-place
Crowded with people 420
('Twas market-day, then),
And he mounted a waggon,
And there he stood crossing
Himself, and low bowing
In all four directions.
He cried to the people,
'Be silent a moment,
I've something to ask you!'
The place became still
And he told them the story: 430
"'Since long has the merchant
Been wooing the mill,
But I'm not such a dullard.
Five times have I been here
To ask if there _would_ be
A second day's bidding,
They answered, 'There will.'
You know that the peasant
Won't carry his money
All over the by-ways 440
Without a good reason,
So I have none with me;
And look--now they tell me
There's no second bidding
And ask for the money!
The cunning ones tricked me
And laughed--the base heathens!
And said to me sneering:
'But, what can you do
In an hour? Where find money?' 450
"'They're crafty and strong,
But the people are stronger!
The merchant is rich--
But the people are richer!
Hey! What is _his_ worth
To _their_ treasury, think you?
Like fish in the ocean
The wealth of the people;
You'll draw it and draw it--
But not see its end! 460
Now, brother, God hears me,
Come, give me this money!
Next Friday I'll pay you
The very last farthing.
It's not that I care
For the mill--it's the insult!
Whoever knows Ermil,
Whoever believes him,
Will give what he can.'
"A miracle happened; 470
The coat of each peasant
Flew up on the left
As though blown by a wind!
The peasants are bringing
Their money to Ermil,
Each gives what he can.
Though Ermil's well lettered
He writes nothing down;
It's well he can count it
So great is his hurry. 480
They gather his hat full
Of all kinds of money,
From farthings to bank-notes,
The notes of the peasant
All crumpled and torn.
He has the whole sum now,
But still the good people
Are bringing him more.
"'Here, take this, too, Ermil,
You'll pay it back later!' 490
"He bows to the people
In all four directions,
Gets down from the waggon,
And pressing the hat
Full of money against him,
Runs back to the sale-room
As fast as he can.
"The sellers are speechless
And stare in amazement,
The merchant turns green 500
As the money is counted
And laid on the table.
"The sellers come round him
All craftily praising
His excellent bargain.
But Ermil sees through them;
He gives not a farthing,
He speaks not a word.
"The whole town assembles
At market next Friday, 510
When Ermil is paying
His debt to the people.
How can he remember
To whom he must pay it?
No murmur arises,
No sound of discussion,
As each man tells quietly
The sum to be paid him.
"And Ermil himself said,
That when it was finished 520
A rouble was lying
With no one to claim it;
And though till the evening
He went, with purse open,
Demanding the owner,
It still was unclaimed.
The sun was just setting
When Ermil, the last one
To go from the market,
Assembled the beggars 530
And gave them the rouble." ...
"'Tis strange!" say the peasants,
"By what kind of magic
Can one single peasant
Gain such a dominion
All over the country?"
"No magic he uses
Save truthfulness, brothers!
But say, have you ever
Heard tell of Prince Yurloff's 540
Estate, Adovshina?"
"We have. What about it?"
"The manager there
Was a Colonel, with stars,
Of the Corps of Gendarmes.
He had six or seven
Assistants beneath him,
And Ermil was chosen
As principal clerk.
He was but a boy, then, 550
Of nineteen or twenty;
And though 'tis no fine post,
The clerk's--to the peasants
The clerk is a great man;
To him they will go
For advice and with questions.
Though Ermil had power to,
He asked nothing from them;
And if they should offer
He never accepted. 560
(He bears a poor conscience,
The peasant who covets
The mite of his brother!)
Well, five years went by,
And they trusted in Ermil,
When all of a sudden
The master dismissed him
For sake of another.
And sadly they felt it.
The new clerk was grasping; 570
He moved not a finger
Unless it was paid for;
A letter--three farthings!
A question--five farthings!
Well, he was a pope's son
And God placed him rightly!
But still, by God's mercy,
He did not stay long:
"The old Prince soon died,
And the young Prince was master. 580
He came and dismissed them--
The manager-colonel,
The clerk and assistants,
And summoned the peasants
To choose them an Elder.
They weren't long about it!
And eight thousand voices
Cried out, 'Ermil Girin!'
As though they were one.
Then Ermil was sent for 590
To speak with the Barin,
And after some minutes
The Barin came out
On the balcony, standing
In face of the people;
He cried, 'Well, my brothers,
Your choice is elected
With my princely sanction!
But answer me this:
Don't you think he's too youthful?' 600
"'No, no, little Father!
He's young, but he's wise!'
"So Ermil was Elder,
For seven years ruled
In the Prince's dominion.
Not once in that time
Did a coin of the peasants
Come under his nail,
Did the innocent suffer,
The guilty escape him, 610
He followed his conscience."
"But stop!" exclaimed hoarsely
A shrivelled grey pope,
Interrupting the speaker,
"The harrow went smoothly
Enough, till it happened
To strike on a stone,
Then it swerved of a sudden.
In telling a story
Don't leave an odd word out 620
And alter the rhythm!
Now, if you knew Ermil
You knew his young brother,
Knew Mityenka, did you?"
The speaker considered,
Then said, "I'd forgotten,
I'll tell you about it:
It happened that once
Even Ermil the peasant
Did wrong: his young brother, 630
Unjustly exempted
From serving his time,
On the day of recruiting;
And we were all silent,
And how could we argue
When even the Barin
Himself would not order
The Elder's own brother
To unwilling service?
And only one woman, 640
Old Vlasevna, shedding
Wild tears for her son,
Went bewailing and screaming:
'It wasn't our turn!'
Well, of course she'd be certain
To scream for a time,
Then leave off and be silent.
But what happened then?
The recruiting was finished,
But Ermil had changed; 650
He was mournful and gloomy;
He ate not, he drank not,
Till one day his father
Went into the stable
And found him there holding
A rope in his hands.
Then at last he unbosomed
His heart to his father:
'Since Vlasevna's son |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기