"'Ah, how could we bear it?

Because we were giants-- Because by their patience The people of Russia Are great, little Grandchild. 400 You think, then, Matrona, That we Russian peasants No warriors are?

Why, truly the peasant Does not live in armour, Does not die in warfare, But nevertheless He's a warrior, child.

His hands are bound tight, 410 And his feet hung with fetters; His back--mighty forests Have broken across it; His breast--I will tell you, The Prophet Elijah In chariot fiery Is thundering within it; And these things the peasant Can suffer in patience.

He bends--but he breaks not; 420 He reels--but he falls not; Then is he not truly A warrior, say?'

"'You joke, little Grandad; Such warriors, surely, A tiny mouse nibbling Could crumble to atoms,'

I said to Savyeli.

"'I know not, Matrona, 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 pa.s.s in the future, I can't think what will Come to pa.s.s--only G.o.d 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 Savyeli?'

"'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, Savyeli?'

"'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 Shalashnikov 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, Matrona: 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 Matrona.

"'Tis not very bright.

From one trouble G.o.d 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 gla.s.ses.

CHAPTER IV

DJoMUSHKA

"The little tree burns For the lightning has struck it.

The nightingale's nest Has been built in its branches.

The little tree burns, It is sighing and groaning; The nightingale's children Are crying and calling: 'Oh, come, little Mother!

Oh, come, little Mother! 10 Take care of us, Mother, Until we can fly, Till our wings have grown stronger, Until we can fly To the peaceful green forest, Until we can fly To the far silent valleys....'

The poor little tree-- It is burnt to grey ashes; The poor little fledgelings 20 Are burnt to grey ashes.

The mother flies home, But the tree ... and the fledgelings ...

The nest.... She is calling, Lamenting and calling; She circles around, She is sobbing and moaning; She circles so quickly, She circles so quickly, Her tiny wings whistle. 30 The dark night has fallen, The dark world is silent, But one little creature Is helplessly grieving And cannot find comfort;-- The nightingale only Laments for her children....

She never will see them Again, though she call them Till breaks the white day.... 40 I carried my baby Asleep in my bosom To work in the meadows.

But Mother-in-law cried, 'Come, leave him behind you, At home with Savyeli, You'll work better then.'

And I was so timid, So tired of her scolding, I left him behind. 50

"That year it so happened The harvest was richer Than ever we'd known it; The reaping was hard, But the reapers were merry, I sang as I mounted The sheaves on the waggon.

(The waggons are loaded To laughter and singing; The sledges in silence, 60 With thoughts sad and bitter; The waggons convey the corn Home to the peasants, The sledges will bear it Away to the market.)

"But as I was working I heard of a sudden A deep groan of anguish: I saw old Savyeli Creep trembling towards me, 70 His face white as death: 'Forgive me, Matrona!

Forgive me, Matrona!

I sinned....I was careless.'

He fell at my feet.

"Oh, stay, little swallow!

Your nest build not there!

Not there 'neath the leafless Bare bank of the river: The water will rise, 80 And your children will perish.

Oh, poor little woman, Young wife and young mother, The daughter-in-law And the slave of the household, Bear blows and abuse, Suffer all things in silence, But let not your baby Be torn from your bosom....

Savyeli had fallen 90 Asleep in the sunshine, And Djoma--the pigs Had attacked him and killed him.

"I fell to the ground And lay writhing in torture; I bit the black earth And I shrieked in wild anguish; I called on his name, And I thought in my madness My voice must awake him.... 100

"Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52]

And harness-bells jangling-- Another misfortune!

The children are frightened, They run to the houses; And outside the window The old men and women Are talking in whispers And nodding together.

The Elder is running 110 And tapping each window In turn with his staff; Then he runs to the hayfields, He runs to the pastures, To summon the people.

They come, full of sorrow-- Another misfortune!