The cattle are now
Coming home, and the evening
Is filled with the fragrance
Of milk; and the woman,
The mother of Mítyenka,
Sighs; she is thinking,
"If only one cow
Would turn into the courtyard!"
But hark! In the distance 360
Some voices in chorus!
"Good-bye, you poor mourners,
May God send you comfort!
The people are coming,
We're going to meet them."
The peasants are filled
With relief; because after
The whining old servants
The people who meet them
Returning from work 370
In the fields seem such healthy
And beautiful people.
The men and the women
And pretty young girls
Are all singing together.
"Good health to you! Which is
Among you the woman
Matróna Korchágin?"
The peasants demand.
"And what do you want 380
With Matróna Korchágin?"
The woman Matróna
Is tall, finely moulded,
Majestic in bearing,
And strikingly handsome.
Of thirty-eight years
She appears, and her black hair
Is mingled with grey.
Her complexion is swarthy,
Her eyes large and dark 390
And severe, with rich lashes.
A white shirt, and short
Sarafán[44] she is wearing,
She walks with a hay-fork
Slung over her shoulder.
"Well, what do you want
With Matróna Korchágin?"
The peasants are silent;
They wait till the others
Have gone in advance, 400
And then, bowing, they answer:
"We come from afar,
And a trouble torments us,
A trouble so great
That for it we've forsaken
Our homes and our work,
And our appetites fail.
We're orthodox peasants,
From District 'Most Wretched,'
From 'Destitute Parish,' 410
From neighbouring hamlets—
'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,'
'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,'
And 'Harvestless,' too.
We met in the roadway
And argued about
Who is happy in Russia.
Luká said, 'The pope,'
And Demyán, 'The Pomyéshchick,'
And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' 420
And Román, 'The official.'
'The round-bellied merchant,'
Said both brothers Goóbin,
Mitródor and Ívan.
Pakhóm said, 'His Highness,
The Tsar's Chief Adviser.'
Like bulls are the peasants:
Once folly is in them
You cannot dislodge it
Although you should beat them 430
With stout wooden cudgels,
They stick to their folly
And nothing will move them.
We argued and quarrelled,
While quarrelling fought,
And while fighting decided
That never again
Would we turn our steps homewards
To kiss wives and children,
To see the old people, 440
Until we have found
The reply to our question,
Of who can in Russia
Be happy and free?
We've questioned the pope,
We've asked the Pomyéshchick,
And now we ask you.
We'll seek the official,
The Minister, merchant,
We even will go 450
To the Tsar—Little Father,
Though whether he'll see us
We cannot be sure.
But rumour has told us
That you're free and happy.
Then say, in God's name,
If the rumour be true."
Matróna Korchágin
Does not seem astonished,
But only a sad look 460
Creeps into her eyes,
And her face becomes thoughtful.
"Your errand is surely
A foolish one, brothers,"
She says to the peasants,
"For this is the season
Of work, and no peasant
For chatter has time."
"Till now on our journey
Throughout half the Empire 470
We've met no denial,"
The peasants protest.