(This song was not really A song of the people: The deacon's son Grisha Had sung it them first. But since the great day When the Tsar, Little Father, Had broken the chains 210 Of his suffering children, They always had danced To this tune on the feast-days. The "popes" and the house-serfs Could sing the words also, The peasants could not, But whenever they heard it They whistled and stamped, And the "Merry Song" called it.) CHAPTER I BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS _The Merry Song_ * * * * * The "Merry Song" finished, They struck up a chorus, A song of their own, A wailing lament (For, as yet, they've no others). And is it not strange That in vast Holy Russia, With masses and masses Of people unnumbered, No song has been born 10 Overflowing with joy Like a bright summer morning? Yes, is it not striking, And is it not tragic? O times that are coming, You, too, will be painted In songs of the people, But how? In what colours? And will there be ever A smile in their hearts? 20 "Eh, that's a fine song! 'Tis a shame to forget it." Our peasants regret That their memories trick them. And, meanwhile, the peasants Of "Earthworms" are saying, "We lived but for 'barschin,' Pray, how would you like it? You see, we grew up 'Neath the snout of the Barin, 30 Our noses were glued To the earth. We'd forgotten The faces of neighbours, Forgot how to speak. We got tipsy in silence, Gave kisses in silence, Fought silently, too." "Eh, who speaks of silence? We'd more cause to hate it Than you," said a peasant 40 Who came from a Volost Near by, with a waggon Of hay for the market. (Some heavy misfortune Had forced him to sell it.) "For once our young lady, Miss Gertrude, decided That any one swearing Must soundly be flogged. Dear Lord, how they flogged us 50 Until we stopped swearing! Of course, not to swear For the peasant means--silence. We suffered, God knows! Then freedom was granted, We feasted it finely, And then we made up For our silence, believe me: We swore in such style That Pope John was ashamed 60 For the church-bells to hear us. (They rang all day long.) What stories we told then! We'd no need to seek For the words. They were written All over our backs." "A funny thing happened In our parts,--a strange thing," Remarked a tall fellow With bushy black whiskers. 70 (He wore a round hat With a badge, a red waistcoat With ten shining buttons, And stout homespun breeches. His legs, to contrast With the smartness above them, Were tied up in rags! There are trees very like him, From which a small shepherd Has stripped all the bark off 80 Below, while above Not a scratch can be noticed! And surely no raven Would scorn such a summit For building a nest.)