"I once on suspicion 50 Was put into prison, And met there a peasant Called Sedor, a strange man, Arrested for horse-stealing, If I remember; And he from the prison Would send to the Barin His taxes. (The prisoner's Income is scanty, He gets what he begs 60 Or a trifle for working.) The others all laughed at him; 'Why should you send them And you off for life To hard labour?' they asked him.

But he only said, 'All the same ... it is better.'"

"Well, now, little Uncle, Go on with the story."

"A mite is a small thing, 70 Except when it happens To be in the eye!

The Pomyeshchick lay senseless, And many were sure That he'd never recover.

His children were sent for, Those black-moustached footguards (You saw them just now With their wives, the fine ladies), The eldest of them 80 Was to settle all matters Concerning his father.

He called the posrednik To draw up the papers And sign the agreement, When suddenly--there Stands the old man before them!

He springs on them straight Like a wounded old tiger, He bellows like thunder. 90 It was but a short time Ago, and it happened That I was then Elder, And chanced to have entered The house on some errand, And I heard myself How he cursed the Pomyeshchicks; The words that he spoke I have never forgotten: 'The Jews are reproached 100 For betraying their Master; But what are _you_ doing?

The rights of the n.o.bles By centuries sanctioned You fling to the beggars!'

He said to his sons, 'Oh, you dastardly cowards!

My children no longer!

It is for small reptiles-- The pope's crawling breed-- 110 To take bribes from vile traitors, To purchase base peasants, And they may be pardoned!

But you!--you have sprung From the house of Yutiatin, The Princes Yu-tia-tin You are! Go!... Go, leave me!

You pitiful puppies!'

The heirs were alarmed; How to tide matters over 120 Until he should die?

For they are not small items, The forests and lands That belong to our father; His money-bags are not So light as to make it A question of nothing Whose shoulders shall bear them; We know that our father Has three 'private' daughters 130 In Petersburg living, To Generals married, So how do we know That they may not inherit His wealth?... The Pomyeshchick Once more is prostrated, His death is a question Of time, and to make it Run smoothly till then An agreement was come to, 140 A plan to deceive him: So one of the ladies (The fair one, I fancy, She used at that time To attend the old master And rub his left side With a brush), well, she told him That orders had come From the Government lately That peasants set free 150 Should return to their bondage.

And he quite believed it.

(You see, since his illness The Prince had become Like a child.) When he heard it He cried with delight; And the household was summoned To prayer round the icons;[40]

And Thanksgiving Service Was held by his orders 160 In every small village, And bells were set ringing.

And little by little His strength returned partly.

And then as before It was hunting and music, The servants were caned And the peasants were punished.

The heirs had, of course, Set things right with the servants, 170 A good understanding They came to, and one man (You saw him go running Just now with the napkin) Did not need persuading--- He so loved his Barin.

His name is Ipat, And when we were made free He refused to believe it; 'The great Prince Yutiatin 180 Be left without peasants!

What pranks are you playing?'

At last, when the 'Order Of Freedom' was shown him, Ipat said, 'Well, well, Get you gone to your pleasures, But I am the slave Of the Princes Yutiatin!'

He cannot get over The old Prince's kindness 190 To him, and he's told us Some curious stories Of things that had happened To him in his childhood, His youth and old age.

(You see, I had often To go to the Prince On some matter or other Concerning the peasants, And waited and waited 200 For hours in the kitchens, And so I have heard them A hundred times over.) 'When I was a young man Our gracious young Prince Spent his holidays sometimes At home, and would dip me (His meanest slave, mind you) Right under the ice In the depths of the Winter. 210 He did it in such A remarkable way, too!

He first made two holes In the ice of the river, In one he would lower Me down in a net-- Pull me up through the other!'

And when I began To grow old, it would happen That sometimes I drove 220 With the Prince in the Winter; The snow would block up Half the road, and we used To drive five-in-a-file.

Then the fancy would strike him (How whimsical, mark you!) To set me astride On the horse which was leading, Me--last of his slaves!

Well, he dearly loved music, 230 And so he would throw me A fiddle: 'Here! play now, Ipat.' Then the driver Would shout to the horses, And urge them to gallop.

The snow would half-blind me, My hands with the music Were occupied both; So what with the jolting, The snow, and the fiddle, 240 Ipat, like a silly Old noodle, would tumble.

Of course, if he landed Right under the horses The sledge must go over His ribs,--who could help it?

But that was a trifle; The cold was the worst thing, It bites you, and you Can do nothing against it! 250 The snow lay all round On the vast empty desert, I lay looking up At the stars and confessing My sins. But--my friends, This is true as the Gospel-- I heard before long How the sledge-bells came ringing, Drew nearer and nearer: The Prince had remembered, 260 And come back to fetch me!'

"(The tears began falling And rolled down his face At this part of the story.

Whenever he told it He always would cry Upon coming to this!) 'He covered me up With some rugs, and he warmed me, He lifted me up, 270 And he placed me beside him, Me--last of his slaves-- Beside his Princely Person!

And so we came home.'"

They're amused at the story.

Old Vlasuchka, when He has emptied his fourth cup, Continues: "The heirs came And called us together-- The peasants and servants; 280 They said, 'We're distressed On account of our father.

These changes will kill him, He cannot sustain them.

So humour his weakness: Keep silent, and act still As if all this trouble Had never existed; Give way to him, bow to him Just as in old days. 290 For each stroke of barschin, For all needless labour, For every rough word We will richly reward you.

He cannot live long now, The doctors have told us That two or three months Is the most we may hope for.

Act kindly towards us, And do as we ask you, 300 And we as the price Of your silence will give you The hayfields which lie On the banks of the Volga.

Think well of our offer, And let the posrednik Be sent for to witness And settle the matter.'

"Then gathered the commune To argue and clamour; 310 The thought of the hayfields (In which we are sitting), With promises boundless And plenty of vodka, Decided the question: The commune would wait For the death of the Barin.

"Then came the posrednik, And laughing, he said: 'It's a capital notion! 320 The hayfields are fine, too, You lose nothing by it; You just play the fool And the Lord will forgive you.

You know, it's forbidden To no one in Russia To bow and be silent.'

"But I was against it: I said to the peasants, 'For you it is easy, 330 But how about me?

Whatever may happen The Elder must come To accounts with the Barin, And how can I answer His babyish questions?

And how can I do His nonsensical bidding?'

"'Just take off your hat And bow low, and say nothing, 340 And then you walk out And the thing's at an end.

The old man is ill, He is weak and forgetful, And nothing will stay In his head for an instant.'

"Perhaps they were right; To deceive an old madman Is not very hard.

But for my part, I don't want 350 To play at buffoon.

For how many years Have I stood on the threshold And bowed to the Barin?

Enough for my pleasure!

I said, 'If the commune Is pleased to be ruled By a crazy Pomyeshchick To ease his last moments I don't disagree, 360 I have nothing against it; But then, set me free From my duties as Elder.'

"The whole matter nearly Fell through at that moment, But then Klimka Lavin said, 'Let _me_ be Elder, I'll please you on both sides, The master and you.

The Lord will soon take him, 370 And then the fine hayfields Will come to the commune.

I swear I'll establish Such order amongst you You'll die of the fun!'

"The commune took long To consider this offer: A desperate fellow Is Klimka the peasant, A drunkard, a rover, 380 And not very honest, No lover of work, And acquainted with gipsies; A vagabond, knowing A lot about horses.

A scoffer at those Who work hard, he will tell you: 'At work you will never Get rich, my fine fellow; You'll never get rich,-- 390 But you're sure to get crippled!'

But he, all the same, Is well up in his letters; Has been to St. Petersburg.

Yes, and to Moscow, And once to Siberia, too, With the merchants.

A pity it was That he ever returned!

He's clever enough, 400 But he can't keep a farthing; He's sharp--but he's always In some kind of trouble.

He's picked some fine words up From out of his travels: 'Our Fatherland dear,'

And 'The soul of great Russia,'

And 'Moscow, the mighty, Ill.u.s.trious city!'

'And I,' he will shout, 410 'Am a plain Russian peasant!'

And striking his forehead He'll swallow the vodka.

A bottle at once He'll consume, like a mouthful.

He'll fall at your feet For a bottle of vodka.

But if he has money He'll share with you, freely; The first man he meets 420 May partake of his drink.

He's clever at shouting And cheating and fooling, At showing the best side Of goods which are rotten, At boasting and lying; And when he is caught He'll slip out through a cranny, And throw you a jest, Or his favourite saying: 430 'A crack in the jaw Will your honesty bring you!'

"Well, after much thinking The commune decided That I must remain The responsible Elder; But Klimka might act In my stead to the Barin As though he were Elder.

Why, then, let him do it! 440 The right kind of Elder He is for his Barin, They make a fine pair!

Like putty his conscience; Like Meenin's[41] his beard, So that looking upon him You'd think a sedater, More dutiful peasant Could never be found.

The heirs made his kaftan, 450 And he put it on, And from Klimka the 'scapegrace'

He suddenly changed Into Klim, Son-of-Jacob,[42]

Most worthy of Elders.

So that's how it is;-- And to our great misfortune The Barin is ordered A carriage-drive daily.

Each day through the village 460 He drives in a carriage That's built upon springs.

Then up you jump, quickly, And whip off your hat, And, G.o.d knows for what reason, He'll jump down your throat, He'll upbraid and abuse you; But you must keep silent.

He watches a peasant At work in the fields, 470 And he swears we are lazy And lie-abed sluggards (Though never worked peasant With half such a will In the time of the Barin).

He has not a notion That they are not _his_ fields, But ours. When we gather We laugh, for each peasant Has something to tell 480 Of the crazy Pomyeshchick; His ears burn, I warrant, When we come together!

And Klim, Son-of-Jacob, Will run, with the manner Of bearing the commune Some news of importance (The pig has got proud Since he's taken to scratching His sides on the steps 490 Of the n.o.bleman's manor).