And what is your trouble?"
"But put up the pistol!
That's right! Now we'll tell you:
We are not assassins, 60
But peaceable peasants,
From Government 'Hard-pressed,'
From District 'Most Wretched,'
From 'Destitute' Parish,
From neighbouring hamlets,--
'Patched,' 'Bare-Foot,' and 'Shabby,'
'Bleak,' 'Burnt-out,' and 'Hungry.'
From 'Harvestless,' too.
We met in the roadway,
And one asked another, 70
Who is he--the man
Free and happy in Russia?
Luka said, 'The pope,'
And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,'
Demyan, 'The official.'
'The round-bellied merchant,'
Said both brothers Goobin,
Mitrodor and Ivan;
Pakhom said, 'His Highness,
The Tsar's Chief Adviser,' 80
And Prov said, 'The Tsar.'
"Like bulls are the peasants;
Once folly is in them
You cannot dislodge it,
Although you should beat them
With stout wooden cudgels,
They stick to their folly,
And nothing can move them!
We argued and argued,
While arguing quarrelled, 90
While quarrelling fought,
Till at last we decided
That never again
Would we turn our steps homeward
To kiss wives and children,
To see the old people,
Until we have settled
The subject of discord;
Until we have found
The reply to our question-- 100
Of who can, in Russia,
Be happy and free?
"Now tell us, Pomyeshchick,
Is your life a sweet one?
And is the Pomyeshchick
Both happy and free?"
Gavril Afanasich
Springs out of the "troika"
And comes to the peasants.
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