As evening is falling Appears on the high-road A pope in his cart. The peasants uncover Their heads, and draw up In a line on the roadway, Thus barring the passage In front of the gelding. The pope raised his head, 70 Looked inquiringly at them. "Fear not, we won't harm you," Luka said in answer. (Luka was thick-bearded, Was heavy and stolid, Was obstinate, stupid, And talkative too; He was like to the windmill Which differs in one thing Alone from an eagle: 80 No matter how boldly It waves its broad pinions It rises no higher.) "We, orthodox peasants, From District 'Most Wretched,' From Province 'Hard Battered,' From 'Destitute' Parish, From neighbouring hamlets, 'Patched,' 'Barefoot,' and 'Shabby,' 'Bleak,' 'Burnt-Out,' and 'Hungry,' 90 From 'Harvestless' also, Are striving to settle A thing of importance; A trouble torments us, It draws us away From our wives and our children, Away from our work, Kills our appetites too. Pray, give us your promise To answer us truly, 100 Consulting your conscience And searching your knowledge, Not feigning nor mocking The question we put you. If not, we will go Further on." "I will promise If you will but put me A serious question To answer it gravely, 110 With truth and with reason, Not feigning nor mocking, Amen!" "We are grateful, And this is our story: We all had set out On particular errands, And met in the roadway. Then one asked another: Who is he,--the man 120 Free and happy in Russia? And I said, 'The pope,' And Roman, 'The Pomyeshchick,' And Prov said, 'The Tsar,' And Demyan, 'The official'; 'The round-bellied merchant,' Said both brothers Goobin, Mitrodor and Ivan; Pakhom said, 'His Lordship, The Tsar's Chief Adviser.' 130 "Like bulls are the peasants; Once folly is in them You cannot dislodge it Although you should beat them With stout wooden cudgels, They stick to their folly And nothing can move them. We argued and argued, While arguing quarrelled, While quarrelling fought, 140 Till at last we decided That never again Would we turn our steps homeward To kiss wives and children, To see the old people, Until we have found The reply to our question, Until we've discovered For once and forever The man who, in Russia, 150 Is happy and free. Then say, in God's truth, Is the pope's life a sweet one? Would you, honoured father, Proclaim yourself happy?" The pope in his cart Cast his eyes on the roadway, Fell thoughtful and answered: "Then, Christians, come, hear me: I will not complain 160 Of the cross that I carry, But bear it in silence. I'll tell you my story, And you try to follow As well as you can." "Begin."