"'At last the Korójins[47]
Awoke, and they paid him,
They paid him, they paid him,
They paid the whole debt!'
And many such sayings 90
He had,—I forget them.
When Father-in-law grew
Too noisy I always
Would run to Savyéli,
And we two, together,
Would fasten the door.
Then I began working,
While Djómushka climbed
To the grandfather's shoulder,
And sat there, and looked 100
Like a bright little apple
That hung on a hoary
Old tree. Once I asked him:
"'And why do they call you
A convict, Savyéli?'
"'I was once a convict,'
Said he.
"'You, Savyéli!'
"'Yes I, little Grandchild,
Yes, I have been branded. 110
I buried a German
Alive—Christian Vogel.'
"'You're joking, Savyéli!'
"'Oh no, I'm not joking.
I mean it,' he said,
And he told me the story.
"'The peasants in old days
Were serfs as they now are,
But our race had, somehow,
Not seen its Pomyéshchick; 120
No manager knew we,
No pert German agent.
And barschin we gave not,
And taxes we paid not
Except when it pleased us,—
Perhaps once in three years
Our taxes we'd pay.'
"'But why, little Grandad?'
"'The times were so blessed,—
And folk had a saying 130
That our little village
Was sought by the devil
For more than three years,
But he never could find it.
Great forests a thousand
Years old lay about us;
And treacherous marshes
And bogs spread around us;
No horseman and few men
On foot ever reached us. 140
It happened that once
By some chance, our Pomyéshchick,
Shaláshnikov, wanted
To pay us a visit.
High placed in the army
Was he; and he started
With soldiers to find us.
They soon got bewildered
And lost in the forest,
And had to turn back; 150
Why, the Zemsky policeman
Would only come once
In a year! They were good times!
In these days the Barin
Lives under your window;
The roadways go spreading
Around, like white napkins—
The devil destroy them!
We only were troubled
By bears, and the bears too 160
Were easily managed.
Why, I was a worse foe
By far than old Mishka,
When armed with a dagger
And bear-spear. I wandered
In wild, secret woodpaths,
And shouted, ''My forest!''
And once, only once,
I was frightened by something:
I stepped on a huge 170
Female bear that was lying
Asleep in her den
In the heart of the forest.
She flung herself at me,
And straight on my bear-spear
Was fixed. Like a fowl
On the spit she hung twisting
An hour before death.
It was then that my spine snapped.
It often was painful 180
When I was a young man;
But now I am old,
It is fixed and bent double.
Now, do I not look like
A hook, little Grandchild?'