310
And if a Pomyeshchick
Should chance for some reason
To live in a city,
He cherished one longing,
To die in his birthplace;
But did the Lord will it
That he should die suddenly
Far from the village,
An order was found
In his papers, most surely, 320
That he should be buried
At home with his fathers.
Then see--the black car
With the six mourning horses,--
The heirs are conveying
The dead to the graveyard;
And think--what a lift
For the pope, and what feasting
All over the village!
But now that is ended, 330
Pomyeshchicks are scattered
Like Jews over Russia
And all foreign countries.
They seek not the honour
Of lying with fathers
And mothers together.
How many estates
Have passed into the pockets
Of rich speculators!
O you, bones so pampered 340
Of great Russian gentry,
Where are you not buried,
What far foreign graveyard
Do you not repose in?
"Myself from dissenters[12]
(A source of pope's income)
I never take money,
I've never transgressed,
For I never had need to;
Because in my parish 350
Two-thirds of the people
Are Orthodox churchmen.
But districts there are
Where the whole population
Consists of dissenters--
Then how can the pope live?
"But all in this world
Is subjected to changes:
The laws which in old days
Applied to dissenters 360
Have now become milder;
And that in itself
Is a check to pope's income.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40