Two pupils they are 40
Of the clerical college
Named Sava and Grisha.
The former, the eldest,
Is nineteen years old.
He looks like a churchman
Already, while Grisha
Has fine, curly hair,
With a slight tinge of red,
And a thin, sallow face.
Both capital fellows 50
They are, kind and simple,
They work with the ploughshare,
The scythe, and the sickle,
Drink vodka on feast-days,
And mix with the peasants
Entirely as equals….
The village lies close
To the banks of the Volga;
A small town there is
On the opposite side. 60
(To speak more correctly,
There's now not a trace
Of the town, save some ashes:
A fire has demolished it
Two days ago.)
Some people are waiting
To cross by the ferry,
While some feed their horses
(All friends of the peasants).
Some beggars have crawled 70
To the spot; there are pilgrims,
Both women and men;
The women loquacious,
The men very silent.
The old Prince Yutiátin
Is dead, but the peasants
Are not yet aware
That instead of the hayfields
His heirs have bequeathed them
A long litigation. 80
So, drinking their vodka,
They first of all argue
Of how they'll dispose
Of the beautiful hayfields.
You were not all cozened,[54]
You people of Russia,
And robbed of your land.
In some blessed spots
You were favoured by fortune!
By some lucky chance— 90
The Pomyéshchick's long absence,
Some slip of posrédnik's,
By wiles of the commune,
You managed to capture
A slice of the forest.
How proud are the peasants
In such happy corners!
The Elder may tap
At the window for taxes,
The peasant will bluster,— 100
One answer has he:
"Just sell off the forest,
And don't bother me!"
So now, too, the peasants
Of "Earthworms" decided
To part with the fields
To the Elder for taxes.
They calculate closely:
"They'll pay both the taxes
And dues—with some over, 110
Heh, Vlásuchka, won't they?"
"Once taxes are paid
I'll uncover to no man.
I'll work if it please me,
I'll lie with my wife,
Or I'll go to the tavern."
"Bravo!" cry the peasants,
In answer to Klímka,
"Now, Vlásuchka, do you
Agree to our plan?" 120
"The speeches of Klímka
Are short, and as plain
As the public-house signboard,"
Says Vlásuchka, joking.
"And that is his manner:
To start with a woman
And end in the tavern."
"Well, where should one end, then?
Perhaps in the prison?
Now—as to the taxes, 130
Don't croak, but decide."
But Vlásuchka really
Was far from a croaker.
The kindest soul living
Was he, and he sorrowed
For all in the village,
Not only for one.
His conscience had pricked him
While serving his haughty
And rigorous Barin, 140
Obeying his orders,
So cruel and oppressive.
While young he had always
Believed in 'improvements,'
But soon he observed
That they ended in nothing,
Or worse—in misfortune.
So now he mistrusted
The new, rich in promise.
The wheels that have passed 150
O'er the roadways of Moscow
Are fewer by far
Than the injuries done
To the soul of the peasant.
There's nothing to laugh at
In that, so the Elder
Perforce had grown gloomy.
But now, the gay pranks
Of the peasants of "Earthworms"
Affected him too. 160
His thoughts became brighter:
No taxes … no barschin …
No stick held above you,
Dear God, am I dreaming?
Old Vlásuchka smiles….
A miracle surely!
Like that, when the sun
From the splendour of Heaven
May cast a chance ray
In the depths of the forest: 170
The dew shines like diamonds,
The mosses are gilded.