"Eh, that's a fine song!
'Tis a shame to forget it."
Our peasants regret
That their memories trick them.
And, meanwhile, the peasants
Of "Earthworms" are saying,
"We lived but for 'barschin,'
Pray, how would you like it?
You see, we grew up
'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30
Our noses were glued
To the earth. We'd forgotten
The faces of neighbours,
Forgot how to speak.
We got tipsy in silence,
Gave kisses in silence,
Fought silently, too."
"Eh, who speaks of silence?
We'd more cause to hate it
Than you," said a peasant 40
Who came from a Volost
Near by, with a waggon
Of hay for the market.
(Some heavy misfortune
Had forced him to sell it.)
"For once our young lady,
Miss Gertrude, decided
That any one swearing
Must soundly be flogged.
Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50
Until we stopped swearing!
Of course, not to swear
For the peasant means—silence.
We suffered, God knows!
Then freedom was granted,
We feasted it finely,
And then we made up
For our silence, believe me:
We swore in such style
That Pope John was ashamed 60
For the church-bells to hear us.
(They rang all day long.)
What stories we told then!
We'd no need to seek
For the words. They were written
All over our backs."
"A funny thing happened
In our parts,—a strange thing,"
Remarked a tall fellow
With bushy black whiskers. 70
(He wore a round hat
With a badge, a red waistcoat
With ten shining buttons,
And stout homespun breeches.
His legs, to contrast
With the smartness above them,
Were tied up in rags!
There are trees very like him,
From which a small shepherd
Has stripped all the bark off 80
Below, while above
Not a scratch can be noticed!
And surely no raven
Would scorn such a summit
For building a nest.)
"Well, tell us about it."
"I'll first have a smoke."
And while he is smoking
Our peasants are asking,
"And who is this fellow? 90
What sort of a goose?"
"An unfortunate footman
Inscribed in our Volost,
A martyr, a house-serf
Of Count Sinegúsin's.
His name is Vikénti.
He sprang from the foot-board
Direct to the ploughshare;
We still call him 'Footman.'
He's healthy enough, 100
But his legs are not strong,
And they're given to trembling.
His lady would drive
In a carriage and four
To go hunting for mushrooms.
He'll tell you some stories:
His memory's splendid;
You'd think he had eaten
The eggs of a magpie." [55]
Now, setting his hat straight, 110
Vikénti commences
To tell them the story.
The Dutiful Serf—Jacob the Faithful
Once an official, of rather low family,
Bought a small village from bribes he had stored,
Lived in it thirty-three years without leaving it,
Feasted and hunted and drank like a lord.
Greedy and miserly, not many friends he made,
Sometimes he'd drive to his sister's to tea.
Cruel was his nature, and not to his serfs alone:
On his own daughter no pity had he, 120
Horsewhipped her husband, and drove them both penniless
Out of his house; not a soul dare resist.
Jacob, his dutiful servant,
Ever of orders observant,
Often he'd strike in the mouth with his fist.