Chapter II: Prologue

The year doesn't matter,
The land's not important,
But seven good peasants
Once met on a high-road.
From Province "Hard-Battered,"
From District "Most Wretched,"
From "Destitute" Parish,
From neighbouring hamlets--
"Patched," "Barefoot," and "Shabby,"
"Bleak," "Burnt-Out," and "Hungry,"
From "Harvestless" also, 11
They met and disputed
Of who can, in Russia,
Be happy and free?

Luka said, "The pope," [2]
And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick," [3]
Demyan, "The official,"
"The round-bellied merchant,"
Said both brothers Goobin,
Mitrodor and Ivan. 20
Pakhom, who'd been lost
In profoundest reflection,
Exclaimed, looking down
At the earth, "'Tis his Lordship,
His most mighty Highness,
The Tsar's Chief Adviser,"
And Prov said, "The Tsar."

Like bulls are the peasants:
Once folly is in them
You cannot dislodge it 30
Although you should beat them
With stout wooden cudgels:
They stick to their folly,
And nothing can move them.
They raised such a clamour
That those who were passing
Thought, "Surely the fellows
Have found a great treasure
And share it amongst them!"

They all had set out 40 On particular errands: The one to the blacksmith's, Another in haste To fetch Father Prokoffy To christen his baby. Pakhom had some honey To sell in the market; The two brothers Goobin Were seeking a horse Which had strayed from their herd. 50

Long since should the peasants Have turned their steps homewards, But still in a row They are hurrying onwards As quickly as though The grey wolf were behind them. Still further, still faster They hasten, contending. Each shouts, nothing hearing, And time does not wait. 60 In quarrel they mark not The fiery-red sunset Which blazes in Heaven As evening is falling, And all through the night They would surely have wandered If not for the woman, The pox-pitted "Blank-wits," Who met them and cried:

"Heh, God-fearing peasants, 70
Pray, what is your mission?
What seek ye abroad
In the blackness of midnight?"

So shrilled the hag, mocking,
And shrieking with laughter
She slashed at her horses
And galloped away.

The peasants are startled, Stand still, in confusion, Since long night has fallen, 80 The numberless stars Cluster bright in the heavens, The moon gliding onwards. Black shadows are spread On the road stretched before The impetuous walkers. Oh, shadows, black shadows, Say, who can outrun you, Or who can escape you? Yet no one can catch you, 90 Entice, or embrace you!

Pakhom, the old fellow,
Gazed long at the wood,
At the sky, at the roadway,
Gazed, silently searching
His brain for some counsel,
And then spake in this wise:
"Well, well, the wood-devil
Has finely bewitched us!
We've wandered at least 100
Thirty versts from our homes.
We all are too weary
To think of returning
To-night; we must wait
Till the sun rise to-morrow."

Thus, blaming the devil, The peasants make ready To sleep by the roadside. They light a large fire, And collecting some farthings 110 Send two of their number To buy them some vodka, The rest cutting cups From the bark of a birch-tree. The vodka's provided, Black bread, too, besides, And they all begin feasting: Each munches some bread And drinks three cups of vodka-- But then comes the question 120 Of who can, in Russia, Be happy and free?

Luka cries, "The pope!" And Roman, "The Pomyeshchick!" And Prov shouts, "The Tsar!" And Demyan, "The official!" "The round-bellied merchant!" Bawl both brothers Goobin, Mitrodor and Ivan. Pakhom shrieks, "His Lordship, 130 His most mighty Highness, The Tsar's Chief Adviser!"

The obstinate peasants Grow more and more heated, Cry louder and louder, Swear hard at each other; I really believe They'll attack one another! Look! now they are fighting! Roman and Pakhom close, 140 Demyan clouts Luka, While the two brothers Goobin Are drubbing fat Prov, And they all shout together. Then wakes the clear echo, Runs hither and thither, Runs calling and mocking As if to encourage The wrath of the peasants. The trees of the forest 150 Throw furious words back:

"The Tsar!" "The Pomyeshchick!" "The pope!" "The official!" Until the whole coppice Awakes in confusion; The birds and the insects, The swift-footed beasts And the low crawling reptiles Are chattering and buzzing And stirring all round. 160 The timid grey hare Springing out of the bushes Speeds startled away; The hoarse little jackdaw Flies off to the top Of a birch-tree, and raises A harsh, grating shriek, A most horrible clamour. A weak little peewit Falls headlong in terror 170 From out of its nest, And the mother comes flying In search of her fledgeling. She twitters in anguish. Alas! she can't find it. The crusty old cuckoo Awakes and bethinks him To call to a neighbour: Ten times he commences And gets out of tune, 180 But he won't give it up....

Call, call, little cuckoo,
For all the young cornfields
Will shoot into ear soon,
And then it will choke you--
The ripe golden grain,
And your day will be ended![4]

From out the dark forest Fly seven brown owls, And on seven tall pine-trees 190 They settle themselves To enjoy the disturbance. They laugh--birds of night-- And their huge yellow eyes gleam Like fourteen wax candles. The raven--the wise one-- Sits perched on a tree In the light of the fire, Praying hard to the devil That one of the wranglers, 200 At least, should be beaten To death in the tumult. A cow with a bell Which had strayed from its fellows The evening before, Upon hearing men's voices Comes out of the forest And into the firelight, And fixing its eyes, Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 Stands listening in silence Some time to their raving, And then begins mooing, Most heartily moos. The silly cow moos, The jackdaw is screeching, The turbulent peasants Still shout, and the echo Maliciously mocks them-- The impudent echo 220 Who cares but for mocking And teasing good people, For scaring old women And innocent children: Though no man has seen it We've all of us heard it; It lives--without body; It speaks--without tongue.

The pretty white owl Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 Comes plunging about In the midst of the peasants, Now circling above them, Now striking the bushes And earth with her body. And even the fox, too, The cunning old creature, With woman's determined And deep curiosity, Creeps to the firelight 240 And stealthily listens; At last, quite bewildered, She goes; she is thinking, "The devil himself Would be puzzled, I know!"

And really the wranglers Themselves have forgotten The cause of the strife.

But after awhile Having pummelled each other 250 Sufficiently soundly, They come to their senses; They drink from a rain-pool And wash themselves also, And then they feel sleepy. And, meanwhile, the peewit, The poor little fledgeling, With short hops and flights Had come fluttering towards them. Pakhom took it up 260 In his palm, held it gently Stretched out to the firelight, And looked at it, saying, "You are but a mite, Yet how sharp is your claw; If I breathed on you once You'd be blown to a distance, And if I should sneeze You would straightway be wafted Right into the flames. 270 One flick from my finger Would kill you entirely. Yet you are more powerful, More free than the peasant: Your wings will grow stronger, And then, little birdie, You'll fly where it please you. Come, give us your wings, now, You frail little creature, And we will go flying 280 All over the Empire, To seek and inquire, To search and discover The man who in Russia-- Is happy and free."

"No wings would be needful If we could be certain Of bread every day; For then we could travel On foot at our leisure," 290 Said Prov, of a sudden Grown weary and sad.

"But not without vodka, A bucket each morning," Cried both brothers Goobin, Mitrodor and Ivan, Who dearly loved vodka.

"Salt cucumbers, also, Each morning a dozen!" The peasants cry, jesting. 300

"Sour qwass,[5] too, a jug
To refresh us at mid-day!"

"A can of hot tea
Every night!" they say, laughing.

But while they were talking
The little bird's mother
Was flying and wheeling
In circles above them;
She listened to all,
And descending just near them 310
She chirruped, and making
A brisk little movement
She said to Pakhom
In a voice clear and human:
"Release my poor child,
I will pay a great ransom."

"And what is your offer?"

"A loaf each a day
And a bucket of vodka,
Salt cucumbers also, 320
Each morning a dozen.
At mid-day sour qwass
And hot tea in the evening."

"And where, little bird,"
Asked the two brothers Goobin,
"And where will you find
Food and drink for all seven?"

"Yourselves you will find it,
But I will direct you
To where you will find it." 330
"Well, speak. We will listen."

"Go straight down the road, Count the poles until thirty: Then enter the forest And walk for a verst. By then you'll have come To a smooth little lawn With two pine-trees upon it. Beneath these two pine-trees Lies buried a casket 340 Which you must discover. The casket is magic, And in it there lies An enchanted white napkin. Whenever you wish it This napkin will serve you With food and with vodka: You need but say softly, 'O napkin enchanted, Give food to the peasants!' 350 At once, at your bidding, Through my intercession The napkin will serve you. And now, free my child."

"But wait. We are poor,
And we're thinking of making
A very long journey,"
Pakhom said. "I notice
That you are a bird
Of remarkable talent. 360
So charm our old clothing
To keep it upon us."

"Our coats, that they fall not
In tatters," Roman said.

"Our laputs,[6] that they too May last the whole journey," Demyan next demanded.

"Our shirts, that the fleas May not breed and annoy us," Luka added lastly. 370

The little bird answered,
"The magic white napkin
Will mend, wash, and dry for you.
Now free my child."

Pakhom then spread open His palm, wide and spacious, Releasing the fledgeling, Which fluttered away To a hole in a pine-tree. The mother who followed it 380 Added, departing: "But one thing remember: Food, summon at pleasure As much as you fancy, But vodka, no more Than a bucket a day. If once, even twice You neglect my injunction Your wish shall be granted; The third time, take warning: 390 Misfortune will follow."

The peasants set off In a file, down the road, Count the poles until thirty And enter the forest, And, silently counting Each footstep, they measure A verst as directed. They find the smooth lawn With the pine-trees upon it, 400 They dig all together And soon reach the casket; They open it--there lies The magic white napkin! They cry in a chorus, "O napkin enchanted, Give food to the peasants!"

Look, look! It's unfolding! Two hands have come floating From no one sees where; 410 Place a bucket of vodka, A large pile of bread On the magic white napkin, And dwindle away.

"The cucumbers, tea, And sour qwass--where are they then?" At once they appear!

The peasants unloosen Their waistbelts, and gather Around the white napkin 420 To hold a great banquet. In joy, they embrace One another, and promise That never again Will they beat one another Without sound reflection, But settle their quarrels In reason and honour As God has commanded; That nought shall persuade them 430 To turn their steps homewards To kiss wives and children, To see the old people, Until they have settled For once and forever The subject of discord: Until they've discovered The man who, in Russia, Is happy and free.

They swear to each other 440
To keep this, their promise,
And daybreak beholds them
Embosomed in slumber
As deep and as dreamless
As that of the dead.