The seven are silent.
They're longing to get 370
At the root of the matter.
But even the Elder
Is now growing angry.
It's daylight. The women
Are bringing their husbands
Some breakfast, of rye-cakes
And—goose! (For a peasant
Had driven some geese
Through the village to market,
And three were grown weary, 380
And had to be carried.)
"See here, will you sell them?
They'll die ere you get there."
And so, for a trifle,
The geese had been bought.
We've often been told
How the peasant loves drinking;
Not many there are, though,
Who know how he eats.
He's greedier far 390
For his food than for vodka,
So one man to-day
(A teetotaller mason)
Gets perfectly drunk
On his breakfast of goose!
A shout! "Who is coming?
Who's this?" Here's another
Excuse for rejoicing
And noise! There's a hay-cart
With hay, now approaching, 400
And high on its summit
A soldier is sitting.
He's known to the peasants
For twenty versts round.
And, cosy beside him,
Justínutchka sits
(His niece, and an orphan,
His prop in old age).
He now earns his living
By means of his peep-show, 410
Where, plainly discerned,
Are the Kremlin and Moscow,
While music plays too.
The instrument once
Had gone wrong, and the soldier,
No capital owning,
Bought three metal spoons,
Which he beat to make music;
But the words that he knew
Did not suit the new music, 420
And folk did not laugh.
The soldier was sly, though:
He made some new words up
That went with the music.
They hail him with rapture!
"Good-health to you, Grandad!
Jump down, drink some vodka,
And give us some music."
"It's true I got up here,
But how to get-down?" 430
"You're going, I see,
To the town for your pension,
But look what has happened:
It's burnt to the ground."
"Burnt down? Yes, and rightly!
What then? Then I'll go
To St. Petersburg for it;
For all my old comrades
Are there with their pensions,
They'll show me the way." 440
"You'll go by the train, then?"
The old fellow whistles:
"Not long you've been serving
Us, orthodox Christians,
You, infidel railway!
And welcome you were
When you carried us cheaply
From Peters to Moscow.
(It cost but three roubles.)
But now you want seven, 450
So, go to the devil!
"Lady so insolent, lady so arrogant!
Hiss like a snake as you glide!
Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you! Fig for you!
Puff at the whole countryside!
Crushing and maiming your toll you extort,
Straight in the face of the peasant you snort,
Soon all the people of Russia you may
Cleaner than any big broom sweep away!"