Who Can Be Happy and Free in Russia | Page 6

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.
Pakhóm 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 Goóbin,
Mitródor and Ívan,
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 Pakhóm
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 Goóbin,
"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,"
Pakhóm 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," Román 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,"
Luká added
lastly. 370
The little bird answered,
"The magic white napkin
Will mend, wash,
and dry for you.
Now free my child."
Pakhóm 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