"'I know not, Matróna,
But up till to-day 430
He has stood with his burden;
He's sunk in the earth
'Neath its weight to his shoulders;
His face is not moistened
With sweat, but with heart's blood.
I don't know what may
Come to pass in the future,
I can't think what will
Come to pass—only God knows.
For my part, I know 440
When the storm howls in winter,
When old bones are painful,
I lie on the oven,
I lie, and am thinking:
''Eh, you, strength of giants,
On what have they spent you?
On what are you wasted?
With whips and with rods
They will pound you to dust!'''
"'But what of the German, 450
Savyéli?'
"'The German?
Well, well, though he lived
Like a lord in his glory
For eighteen long years,
We were waiting our day.
Then the German considered
A factory needful,
And wanted a pit dug.
'Twas work for nine peasants. 460
We started at daybreak
And laboured till mid-day,
And then we were going
To rest and have dinner,
When up comes the German:
''Eh, you, lazy devils!
So little work done?''
He started to nag us,
Quite coolly and slowly,
Without heat or hurry; 470
For that was his way.
"'And we, tired and hungry,
Stood listening in silence.
He kicked the wet earth
With his boot while he scolded,
Not far from the edge
Of the pit. I stood near him.
And happened to give him
A push with my shoulder;
Then somehow a second 480
And third pushed him gently….
We spoke not a word,
Gave no sign to each other,
But silently, slowly,
Drew closer together,
And edging the German
Respectfully forward,
We brought him at last
To the brink of the hollow….
He tumbled in headlong! 490
''A ladder!'' he bellows;
Nine shovels reply.
''Naddai!''[51]—the word fell
From my lips on the instant,
The word to which people
Work gaily in Russia;
''Naddai!'' and ''Naddai!''
And we laboured so bravely
That soon not a trace
Of the pit was remaining, 500
The earth was as smooth
As before we had touched it;
And then we stopped short
And we looked at each other….'
"The old man was silent.
'What further, Savyéli?'
"'What further? Ah, bad times:
The prison in Buy-Town
(I learnt there my letters),
Until we were sentenced; 510
The convict-mines later;
And plenty of lashes.
But I never frowned
At the lash in the prison;
They flogged us but poorly.
And later I nearly
Escaped to the forest;
They caught me, however.
Of course they did not
Pat my head for their trouble; 520
The Governor was through
Siberia famous
For flogging. But had not
Shaláshnikov flogged us?
I spit at the floggings
I got in the prison!
Ah, he was a Master!
He knew how to flog you!
He toughened my hide so
You see it has served me 530
For one hundred years,
And 'twill serve me another.
But life was not easy,
I tell you, Matróna:
First twenty years prison,
Then twenty years exile.
I saved up some money,
And when I came home,
Built this hut for myself.
And here I have lived 540
For a great many years now.
They loved the old grandad
So long as he'd money,
But now it has gone
They would part with him gladly,
They spit in his face.
Eh, you plucky toy heroes!
You're fit to make war
Upon old men and women!'
"And that was as much 550
As the grandfather told me."
"And now for your story,"
They answer Matróna.
"'Tis not very bright.
From one trouble God
In His goodness preserved me;
For Sitnikov died
Of the cholera. Soon, though,
Another arose,
I will tell you about it." 560
"Naddai!" say the peasants
(They love the word well),
They are filling the glasses.