An accident happened One year to old Jacob: He bought some small pictures To hang in the cottage 390 For his little son; The old man himself, too, Was fond of the pictures. God's curse had then fallen; The village was burnt, And the old fellow's money, The fruit of a life-time (Some thirty-five roubles),[24] Was lost in the flames. He ought to have saved it, 400 But, to his misfortune, He thought of the pictures And seized them instead. His wife in the meantime Was saving the icons.[25] And so, when the cottage Fell in, all the roubles Were melted together In one lump of silver. Old Jacob was offered 410 Eleven such roubles For that silver lump.
"O old brother Jacob, You paid for them dearly, The little chap's pictures! I warrant you've hung them Again in the new hut."
"I've hung them--and more," He replied, and was silent.
The Barin was looking, 420 Examining Jacob, The toiler, the earth-worm, His chest thin and meagre, His stomach as shrunk As though something had crushed it, His eyes and mouth circled By numberless wrinkles, Like drought-shrivelled earth. And he altogether Resembled the earth, 430 Thought the Barin, while noting His throat, like a dry lump Of clay, brown and hardened; His brick-coloured face; His hands--black and horny, Like bark on the tree-trunk; His hair--stiff and sandy....
The peasants, remarking That old Jacob's speech Had not angered the Barin, 440 Themselves took his words up: "Yes, yes, he speaks truly, We must drink, it saves us, It makes us feel strong. Why, if we did not drink Black gloom would engulf us. If work does not kill us Or trouble destroy us, We shan't die from drink!"
They go to buy vodka And drink it together. To Jacob the Barin Has offered two cups. "Ah, Barin," says Jacob, "I see you're not angry. A wise little head, yours, And how could a wise head 460 Judge falsely of peasants? Why, only the pig Glues his nose to the garbage And never sees Heaven!"
Then suddenly singing Is heard in a chorus Harmonious and bold. A row of young fellows, Half drunk, but not falling, Come staggering onwards, 470 All lustily singing; They sing of the Volga, The daring of youths And the beauty of maidens ... A hush falls all over The road, and it listens; And only the singing Is heard, broadly rolling In waves, sweet and tuneful, Like wind-ruffled corn. 480 The hearts of the peasants Are touched with wild anguish, And one little woman Grows pensive and mournful, And then begins weeping And sobs forth her grief: "My life is like day-time With no sun to warm it! My life is like night With no glimmer of moon! 490 And I--the young woman-- Am like the swift steed On the curb, like the swallow With wings crushed and broken; My jealous old husband Is drunken and snoring, But even while snoring He keeps one eye open, And watches me always, Me--poor little wife!" 500