Delphi Collected Poetical Works of Nikolay Nekrasov (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series Book 69) by Nikolay Nekrasov

Author:Nikolay Nekrasov [Nekrasov, Nikolay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Poetry
Publisher: Delphi Classics
Published: 2017-02-09T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IV

THE HAPPY ONES

In crowds gay and noisy

Our peasants are mixing,

Proclaiming their mission:

“Let any man here

Who esteems himself happy

Stand forth! If he prove it

A pailful of vodka

Is at his disposal;

As much as he wishes

So much he shall have!” 10

This fabulous promise

Sets sober folk smiling;

The tipsy and wise ones

Are ready to spit

In the beards of the pushing

Impertinent strangers!

But many are willing

To drink without payment,

And so when our peasants

Go back to the birch-tree 20

A crowd presses round them.

The first to come forward,

A lean discharged deacon,

With legs like two matches,

Lets forth a great mouthful

Of indistinct maxims:

That happiness lies not

In broad lands, in jewels,

In gold, and in sables —

“In what, then?” 30

A peaceful

And undisturbed conscience.

That all the dominions

Of land-owners, nobles,

And Tsars are but earthly

And limited treasures;

But he who is godly

Has part in Christ’s kingdom

Of boundless extent:

“When warm in the sun, 40

With a cupful of vodka,

I’m perfectly happy,

I ask nothing more!”

“And who’ll give you vodka?”

“Why, you! You have promised.”

“Be off, you lean scamp!”

A one-eyed old woman

Comes next, bent and pock-marked,

And bowing before them

She says she is happy; 50

That in her allotment

A thousand fine turnips

Have grown, this last autumn.

“Such turnips, I tell you!

Such monsters! and tasty!

In such a small plot, too,

In length only one yard,

And three yards in width!”

They laugh at the woman,

But give her no vodka; 60

“Go, get you home, Mother!

You’ve vodka enough there

To flavour the turnips!”

A soldier with medals,

Quite drunk but still thirsty,

Says firmly, “I’m happy!”

“Then tell us, old fellow,

In what he is happy —

The soldier? Take care, though,

To keep nothing back!” 70

“Well, firstly, I’ve been

Through at least twenty battles,

And yet I’m alive.

And, secondly, mark you

(It’s far more important),

In times of peace, too,

Though I’m always half-famished,

Death never has conquered!

And, third, though they flogged me

For every offence, 80

Great or small, I’ve survived it!”

“Here, drink, little soldier!

With you one can’t argue;

You’re happy indeed!”

Then comes a young mason,

A huge, weighty hammer

Swung over his shoulder:

“I live in content,”

He declares, “with my wife

And beloved old mother; 90

We’ve nought to complain of.”

“In what are you happy?”

“In this!” — like a feather

He swings the great hammer.

“Beginning at sunrise

And setting my back straight

As midnight draws near,

I can shatter a mountain!

Before now, it’s happened

That, working one day, 100

I’ve piled enough stones up

To earn my five roubles!”

Pakhóm tries to lift it —

The “happiness.” After

Prodigiously straining

And cracking all over,

He sets it down, gladly,

And pours out some vodka.

“Well, weighty it is, man!

But will you be able 110

To bear in old age

Such a ‘happiness,’ think you?”

“Don’t boast of your strength!”

Gasped a wheezing old peasant,

Half stifled with asthma.

(His nose pinched and shrivelled

Like that of a dead man,

His eyes bright and sunken,

His hands like a rake —

Stiffened, scraggy, and bony, 120

His legs long and narrow

Like spokes of a wheel,

A human mosquito.)

“I was not a worse man

Than he, the young mason,

And boasted of my strength.

God punished me for it!

The manager knew

I was simple — the villain!

He flattered and praised me. 130

I was but a youngster,

And pleased at his notice

I laboured like four men.

One day I had mounted

Some bricks to my shoulder,

When, just then, the devil

Must bring him in sight.

“‘What’s that!’

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