"No, listen--that's coming, It's this: I have also, Like each of us peasants, Besought God to let me Return to the village To die. And when coming From Petersburg, after The illness I suffered 180 Through what I have told you, Exhausted and weakened, Half-dazed, half-unconscious, I got to the station. And all in the carriage Were workmen, as I was, And ill of the fever; And all yearned for one thing: To reach their own homes Before death overcame them. 190 'Twas then I was lucky; The heat then was stifling, And so many sick heads Made Hell of the waggon. Here one man was groaning, There, rolling all over The floor, like a lunatic, Shouting and raving Of wife or of mother. And many such fellows 200 Were put out and left At the stations we came to. I looked at them, thinking, Shall I be left too? I was burning and shaking, The blood began starting All over my eyeballs, And I, in my fever, Half-waking, was dreaming Of cutting of cocks' throats 210 (We once were cock-farmers, And one year it happened We fattened a thousand). They came to my thoughts, now, The damnable creatures, I tried to start praying, But no!--it was useless. And, would you believe me? I saw the whole party In that hellish waggon 220 Come quivering round me, Their throats cut, and spurting With blood, and still crowing, And I, with the knife, shrieked: 'Enough of your noise!' And yet, by God's mercy, Made no sound at all. I sat there and struggled To keep myself silent. At last the day ended, 230 And with it the journey, And God had had pity Upon His poor orphan; I crawled to the village. And now, by His mercy, I'm better again."