Another narrow road is honest. H

The director, chief engineer and party organizer walked through the factory yard. Heading in the direction of the plant management, Sokolov and Veselov were talking quietly among themselves. And Grischuk listened, and a grin curled his lips. “Isn't it his belief in Makarov that he is less tired than me,” he thought of the director of the plant. He did not want to aggravate the dispute that had begun in the morning.

Vlasov's complaint is an attempt to muddy the waters, Pavel Ivanovich, ”Sokolov said, turning his head to Grischuk. - Saying: “my students”, he seeks to impoverish the individuality of each of them. And you should have told him long ago: stop puffing! And in general, I think that's enough already! He expressed himself in his statement in a completely exhaustive manner. What is your opinion, Grigory Lukich?

My opinion, Semyon Petrovich? .. - asked the Party organizer. - I would like to answer your question in verse. Can?

Curious? - Sokolov grinned. - Don't you compose them?

No. But listen. The poems are very good!

In the midst of the world For free hearts

There are two ways. Weighing a proud power, Weighing a strong will, -

Which way to go?

Here's how! - said Sokolov.

One spacious Road is tornaya. The passions of a slave ...

And the other one? - Sokolov grinned and he himself continued:

The other is the narrow Road; honest,

Only strong souls, loving ones, walk along it,

For battle, for work.

Yes, I remembered! .. - the director sighed. - "To the battle, to work! .." This also concerns us. Do you hear, Pavel Ivanovich?

I personally never thought that it was worth lending a hand - and what we want is at our disposal, - objected the director. - Glory is gained by exerting the mind and nerves, as in a battle!

Why then leave the battlefield? ..

And then, in order to gather strength and from the other side rush at the enemy. You say - we will break through to the "sound barrier" - and glory! Bunchikov once almost came close to him, but, having jumped a thousand kilometers of speed, he stopped feeling the car, lost his connection with it, lost control. If he had not been cool, he would not have been saved by a parachute.

But the wreckage of the plane, Semyon Petrovich, told us a lot. Having studied them, we have corrected ...

Yes, of course, - interrupting Grischuk, exclaimed Sokolov, - having studied them, we built two new test fighters. One of them has passed destructive tests in the strength laboratory. The second was lifted into the air. Not Bunchikov, but Bobrov. This tester is less cold-blooded, but more careful and calculating. But he also had a failure! .. Something absolutely incredible happened: the car began to break into pieces. Therefore, Makarov correctly concluded that we should not rush to lift the third car into the air, relying only on one engine thrust force. It is necessary to look for the causes of vibrations in the body of the fuselage itself. This is the kind of "happiness" we should count on.

And that "happiness" that is ready or almost ready will remain in the design room? - Grischuk asked after a moment's thought. - I absolutely cannot find an excuse for not trying it in the air ...

You know perfectly well why we do not try a ready-made or, as you say, an almost finished design, ”Sokolov said sternly. - I do not want to claim that it is worse than those that we had in the post-war period. There is a lot of original in the design. But it is not new in principle. You, Pavel Ivanovich, you know very well. How long have we been hovering around us? ”The director glanced at the party organizer.

Well, and you, Grigory Lukich, don't you agree with me?

I want to say about the "trampling", Semyon Petrovich, - Veselov scratched his head. - Maybe they are not so scary, by God! .. Major discoveries by themselves never suddenly fall from the ceiling.

In fact of the matter! Grischuk said quickly. - You are right, Grigory Lukich. It is, as you say, that success is prepared by many successes and failures. Vlasov also shares this point of view, I had a long conversation with him yesterday.

Nonsense! - Sokolov objected with heart. -You had a long conversation with Vlasov, and yesterday I sat in Makarov's office until five in the morning. I heard a lot of interesting things there. I advise you, Pavel Ivanovich, to get acquainted with what has already been done by Makarov. However, why postpone? Let's go to the design department this very minute!

Grischuk glanced at his watch.

Excuse me, Semyon Petrovich, my people have been summoned from the workshops. I'll be free in fifteen minutes.

Fine! - agreed Sokolov. - Grigory Lukich and I will wait for you at Makarov's.

A few minutes later the director and party organizer were in Makarov's office. After short mutual greetings and an exchange of views on the friendly spring, Sokolov sat down in a chair in the corner and suggested:

Come on, Fyodor Ivanovich, lay out everything that is in your heart. We must stop talking, it's time to get down to business.

Makarov was a little embarrassed by this formulation of the question.

Semyon Petrovich, you ask me to lay out everything that is in my heart ... And if I show you what I already have on paper?

Suddenly, ahead of the promised time, the chief engineer entered the office. After greeting the designer, he sat down next to Sokolov. Makarov turned to the guests a large copy board that stood against the wall and pulled off the blue curtain. On a sheet of Whatman paper, everyone saw the outlines of the cone-shaped body of the fighter. The swept wings, pulled back and slightly bent to the bottom, gave the plane the appearance of an athlete preparing to jump into the water. Sokolov, Grischuk and Veselov immediately got up from their seats and approached the board. Makarov took a step back and, trying not to detect his own excitement, began to surreptitiously watch their faces. Silence fell in the office, only a huge, human-sized clock ticked rhythmically in the wall between the windows.

In the large hall, next to the office, the designers were busy with their own business. Vlasov, drawing some detail, from time to time glanced at the door of the presenter's office, as if trying to guess what the plant managers were talking about. Sokolov left the office. and Grischuk. Vlasov looked into the director's face and was convinced that at that moment he was in a much better mood than when he went to Makarov; Grischuk, on the other hand, had confusion on his face. Vlasov waited for the Party organizer to come out. Why was he staying at Makarov's again? .. Suddenly the door opened, and Veselov stood in it.

Vasily Vasilievich, come in, please! - he suggested to the designer.

Entering the office, Vlasov did not sit down on the chair suggested by Makarov, but stood dryly asked:

How can I serve, Grigory Lukich?

Veselov went up to him, looked into his eyes and asked:

Vasily Vasilievich, everyone expects that you help Makarov ...

Vlasov shrugged his shoulders.

I once wanted to help, but it didn’t work. And now, all the more, I’ll hardly be useful.

But why? Explain.

The fact is, Grigory Lukich, that I do not see the point at which our views with Fyodor Ivanovich could converge.

-― Don't you see?- with regret asked the Party organizer. ―Look more carefully. Here it is, that “point” where your views must converge by all means! ”With these words, he pulled the curtain off the board and showed with a broad gesture.

Admire, Vasily Vasilyevich, what a car is born!

Vlasov glanced at the drawing and turned away. Then he slowly walked closer to the board and began to gaze intently at the arrow-shaped outlines of the plane with understanding eyes.

On this day, Vlasov left the plant along with the workers of the first shift. Entering the tram car, sat in the corner on a side bench. Soon Maria Alekseevna Aksenova, the pilot's sister Bobrov, entered the same car. Vlasov was about to touch his hat to say hello, but the tram started abruptly, and Maria Alekseevna, staggering, was far ahead.

Vlasov was glad that she did not notice him. He had no doubt that she knew of his current position. And my brother could tell, and Veselov, as a member of the party bureau. He was ashamed now in front of a woman whom he once loved in his youth and for whom he still had a bright feeling. "Maybe I should get off unnoticed? .." - the thought flashed.

It was hard in my soul. Yesterday he cherished the dream of fame and personal well-being. He was sure that Makarov would "break through", that he would not have enough strength to break through the wall, that the created aircraft structure, already embodied in a visible model, would be built and lifted into the air ... But everything collapsed! What he saw today on the drawing board in Makarov's office killed his dream.

At the first stop, Vlasov got off the tram. Descending from the front platform, he did not even look back, fearing that Aksenova would ask why he was leaving. But as soon as he walked a dozen steps, he suddenly heard a familiar voice behind him.

Vasily Vasilievich, hello! Have you decided to walk on foot? Me too…

Vlasov shuddered and stopped. Next to him stood Maria Alekseevna, putting her hands in the pockets of her brown jacket. On her tired, still beautiful face, there was an affectionate smile.

Having greeted, Maria Alekseevna explained:

I, in fact, live nearby, look, look, - she pointed to a suburban house, lost in the green of young poplars, tightly wrapped around it on three sides. - Would have spent, Vasily Vasilyevich ...

Vlasov raised his eyes, looked into the intelligent face of Maria Alekseevna and involuntarily compared her with his wife. The conclusion was not made in favor of the wife. This unpleasantly embarrassed, and at the same time a strong desire arose to be a little alone with this woman who was far from indifferent to him at one time, to have a heart-to-heart talk, maybe even complain to her about her fate. I wanted to calm down and somehow forget, at least for a while, this offensive day in his life.

Maria Alekseevna's room was quiet and comfortable; there were four chairs around a table covered with a green tablecloth. One wall has a sofa, the other has a bed with a lush slide of pillows. Books are stacked in neat piles on the writing table in the corner, next to them is a beautiful malachite ink-set, an open book, at the very edge there is a radio receiver.

You live alone, Maria Alekseevna ... - Vlasov spoke up, sitting down at the table.

Yes, like that ... - answered evasively. - Sit down, I'll warm up the tea.

Vlasov suddenly got up, put his hand to his chest.

Excuse me, Maria Alekseevna, I probably won't bother you ... And I have a lot of work at home. Trust the word, ”he hastened to assure her. “I’ll visit you in the next few days. Don't be angry, please!

Maria Alekseevna approached him so close that he could hear her even breathing.

What's the matter with you, Vasily Vasilievich? she asked sympathetically.

Vlasov looked helplessly and frowned.

Am I not your friend? Maria Alekseevna reproached affectionately.

Vlasov smiled guiltily, but continued to be silent, did not know what to answer.

You probably know that at work I have "disagreements"? - asked after a short pause.

I was turned into an assistant! - he raised his voice. - The apprentice began to rule.

But this is your student!

Not so much with words as with an affectionate smile, Maria Alekseevna nevertheless made Vlasov sit down at the table, she sat down opposite, the first to speak:

I know everything, Vasily Vasilyevich ... But before that I will say: how we once rejoiced seeing the unanimity of the designers. Everyone had the feeling that the heart of the plant was beating smoothly and beautifully. It was nice to see, to feel stubborn persistence. And suddenly…

You say, Maria Alekseevna ... as if at a meeting, - Vlasov grinned. - Did we really care so much about our affairs?

Maria Alekseevna replied with fervor:

Yes Yes! If you only knew how the whole plant was waiting, how it is now waiting for the day when the order will be given to build a new plane! They believed it would be a wonderful car by Vlasov and Makarov. And now…

Don't believe it anymore? Vlasov asked fearfully.

You - almost ... But they believe Makarov. Vlasov got up and took his hat.

Maria Alekseevna, - said gloomily, - I do not belong to that category of people who calmly listen to injustices even from very close friends. No need to persuade me! Life will show which of us is right. Farewell! Do not be angry…

He put on his hat, nodded and left.

In the midst of the world
For a free heart
There are two ways.

Weigh the proud strength
Suspension of solid will:
Which way to go?

One spacious -
The road is torn
The passion of a slave

It is huge
To temptation greedy,
There is a crowd.

About sincere life
About the loftiest goal
The thought is ridiculous there.

Eternal boils there
Inhuman
Enmity-war

For perishable goods ...
There are captive souls
Full of sin.

Looks shiny
Life is deadening there
Good deaf.

The other is tight
Road, honest,
They walk along it

Only strong souls
Loving
To fight, to work

For the bypassed,
For the oppressed
Multiply their circle

Go to the humiliated
Go to the offended -
And be their friend! Amid the longitudinal world
For the heart of the free
There are two ways.

The slurry was proud force,
The suspension will firm:
How to go?

One spacious -
Thorne Road,
Passion slave

According to her enormous,
By temptation greedy,
There is a crowd.

On the life of a sincere,
On the purpose of high-flown
There "s the idea ridiculous.

Boils there forever
Inhuman
Hostility-war

For the good of the mortal ...
There the souls of prisoners
Full of sin.

In view of the brilliant,
There "s life deadening
For better deaf.

Other - close
Road, honest,
On it goes

Only a strong soul,
Loving
In the fight for labor

For crawled,
For the oppressed,
Multiply their circle,

Go to the humiliated,
Go to hurt -
And whether his friend!

I

Poorer than a seedy one
The last peasant
Lived Tryphon. Two closets:
One with a smoking stove
Another fathom - summer,
And all this is short-lived;
There is no cow, no horse,
There was a dog Zudushka,
There was a cat - and they left.
Sleep with a parent,
I took up the book of Savvushka.
And Grisha could not sit.
He went into the fields, into the meadows.
Grisha has a wide bone,
But very emaciated
Face - they were undernourished
Housekeeper grabber.
Gregory in the seminary
Wakes up at one in the morning
And only then until the sun
He does not sleep - he is waiting eagerly for a sitnik,
Which was issued to them
With a shot in the morning.
No matter how poor Vakhlachina is,
They ate in it.
Thanks to Vlas-godfather
And other men!
The thugs paid them.
As much as possible, work,
According to their deeds, chores
Celebrated in the city.
The sexton boasted about his children.
And what do they eat -
And forgot to think.
He himself was always hungry,
All was spent on searches.
Where to drink, where to eat.
And he had a light temper,
And if it were otherwise, it would hardly be
And he lived to be gray.
His mistress Domnushka
I was much caring
But also durability
God didn't give her. Deceased
All my life I thought about salt:
No bread - somebody
He will ask, but for the salt
You need to give clean money,
And they are all over the Vakhlachina,
Driven to corvee.
There was not a penny for a year!
Vahlak pulled "Hungry"
And without salt - flavored
I chewed bread with bark.
And that's really good: with Domna
Shared it; babies
Long ago in the ground would decay
Her dear children,
Don't be a wahlack hand
Generous than God sent.
Unrequited old lady
For everyone who is something
Helped her on a rainy day
All my life I thought about salt
Domnushka sang about salt -
Whether washed or mowed,
Did she cradle Grishenka,
Beloved son.
How the boy's heart sank
When the peasant women remembered
And they sang a song to Domnin
(He called her "Salt"
Resourceful wahlak).

Salty

Nobody like a god!
Doesn't eat, doesn't drink
Little son,
Look - it will die!
Gave a piece
Gave another -
Doesn't eat, shouts:
"Sprinkle with salt!"
And there is no salt,
At least a pinch!
"Sprinkle with flour" -
The Lord whispered.
I bit it once or twice,
He twisted his mouth.
"More salt!" -
Sonny screams.
Flour again ...
And for a piece
A tear like a river!
Sonny ate!
Mother boasted -
I saved my son ...
Know solona
There was a tear! ..

Grisha remembered a song
And in a prayer voice
Quietly in the seminary
Where it was dark, cold
Gloomy, stern, hungry,
Singing - grieving for mother
And about the whole Vakhlachina,
To her nurse.
And soon in the heart of a boy
With love for poor mother
Love for all Vakhlachina
Merged - and fifteen years
Gregory already knew for sure
To whom will he give his whole life
And for whom he will die.
Pretty demon of rage
Flying with a punishing sword
Over the Russian land.
Rather slavery is grievous
Some are crafty ways
Open, enticing
Kept in Russia!
Over Russia reviving
The holy song is heard:
That is the angel of mercy
Flying invisibly
Above her, strong souls
Calls for an honest path.

In the midst of the world
For a free heart
There are two ways.
Weigh the proud strength.
Suspension of solid will:
Which way to go?
One spacious -
The road is torn,
The passion of a slave
It is huge
To temptation greedy
There is a crowd.
About sincere life
About the loftiest goal
The thought is ridiculous there.
Eternal boils there.
Inhuman
Enmity-war
For perishable goods ...
There are captive souls
Full of sin.
Looks shiny
Life is deadening there
Good deaf.
The other is tight
Road, honest,
They walk along it
Only strong souls
Loving,
To fight, to work
For the neglected.
For the oppressed -
Multiply their circle
Go to the humiliated
Go to the offended -
And be their friend!

And the angel of mercy
No wonder the recruiting song
Sings - she hears the clean, -
Russia has already sent a lot
His sons, marked
The seal of the gift of God.
On honest paths
I mourned many of them
(Alas! The star of the fall
They are sweeping!).
No matter how dark Vakhlachina is.
No matter how crowded with corvee
And slavery - and she,
Blessing, set
In Grigorie Dobrosklonov
Such a messenger ...
Fate prepared for him.

II

Gregory walked thoughtfully
First on the big road
(Vintage: with high
Curly birches
Straight like an arrow).
It was fun for him
It's sad. Excited
Vakhlak revel,
The thought worked strongly in him
And poured out in the song:

In moments of despondency, O Motherland!
I fly forward with a thought.
You are still destined to suffer a lot.
But you won't die, I know.
The darkness over you was thicker than ignorance,
The deepest sleep is stifling,
You were a deeply unhappy country
Suppressed, slavishly free from judgment.
How long have people served as your toy
To the shameful passions of the master?
The descendant of the Tatars, like a horse, brought
To the market of a slave slave,
And the Russian maiden was drawn to shame,
The scourge raged without fear,
And the horror of the people at the word "set"
Was it like the horror of execution?
Enough! Completed with the past calculation,
The settlement with the master is over!
The Russian people are gathering strength
And learns to be a citizen.
And your burden was made easier by fate,
A companion of the days of the Slav!
You are also a slave in the family,
But the mother is already a free son! ..

Lured Grisha narrow,
A winding path
Running through the bread
In a wide meadow decimated
He went down it.
Dried grass in the meadow
Peasant women Grisha met
His favorite song.
The young man felt sad
According to the mother-sufferer,
And more than taking anger,
He went into the forest. Auckay,
In the forest like quails
In the rye, the little ones wandered
Guys (and older
They were turning over the senzo).
He is with them a body of saffron milk caps
I typed. The sun is already burning;
He went to the river. Bathing, -
Of the charred city
The picture in front of him:
No survivor's house
One prison saved
Recently whitewashed
Like a white cow
On the pasture, worth it.
The bosses hid there,
And the inhabitants under the shore
As an army, we became a camp.
Everything is still asleep, not many
Woke up: two clerks,
Holding the shelves
Robes making their way
Between wardrobes, chairs,
Nodes, crews
To the tavern tent.
There the tailor is twisted
Arshin, iron and scissors
Carries - like a leaf trembles.
Rising from sleep with prayer,
Combing her head
And keeps on flying away,
Like a girl, a long braid
Tall and dignified
Protoerey Stefan.
Slowly along the sleepy Volga
The rafts with firewood are drawn.
Stand under the right bank
Three loaded barges:
Yesterday barge haulers with songs
They were brought here.
And here he is - exhausted
Burlak! festive gait
Goes, the shirt is clean,
Copper rings in my pocket.
Grigory walked, looked
On a happy haulers,
And words came off my lips
Now in a whisper, then loud.
Gregory thought aloud:

Burlak

Shoulders, chest and back
He pulled the string barge,
Half-day heat scorched him,
And sweat poured from him in streams.
And he fell and rose again,
Wheezing, "Dubinushka" groaned;
The barge reached its place
And fell asleep in a heroic dream,
And, in the bath, washing off the sweat in the morning,
Carelessly walks along the pier.
Three rubles are sewn into the belt.
The remainder - copper - stirring,
I thought for a moment, went into a tavern
And silently threw it on the workbench
Hard-earned pennies
And, having drunk, grunted heartily,
I crossed my chest onto the church.
It's time to go! it's time to go!
He walked briskly, chewed a roll,
As a gift he carried kumach to his wife.
A handkerchief for the sister, and for the children
Horses in gold leaf.
He walked home - a long way
God grant to walk and rest!

No school, wherever they argue
About the Russian peasant.)
He remembered everything at once,
What I have seen, what I have heard.
Living with the people, myself.
What I thought, what I read,
Everything - even teachers,
Father Apollinarius,
Recent words:
"Since ancient times, Russia has been saved
People's impulses. "
(The people with Ilya Muromets
Compared by the scholar pop.)
And for a long time Grisha by the shore
I wandered, worried, thinking You are abundant
You and mighty
You are powerless
Mother Russia!
Saved in slavery
Free heart -
Gold, gold
The heart of the people!
Strength of the people,
A mighty force -
A calm conscience
The truth is tenacious!
Strength with unrighteousness
Doesn't get along
Sacrifice of unrighteousness
Not called, -
Russia does not budge
Russia - as killed!
And caught fire in her
The hidden spark, -
They got up - not bugged,
They went out - not asked,
Grain by grain
The mountains are worn!
The host rises -
Innumerable!
The strength in it will affect
Unbreakable!
You and wretched
You are abundant
The great truth in her was hotly spoken!
Vakhlachkov, I will learn to sing it - not all of them
Sing your "Hungry" ... Help, oh God, them!
As from the game and from the run, the cheeks flare up,
So from a good song, the spirit rises
Poor, downtrodden ... "Having read solemnly
Brother's new song (brother said: "Divine!"),
Grisha tried to sleep. Sleeping, not sleeping,
More beautiful than the previous one, the song was composed half asleep;
To be our wanderers under their own roof,
If only they could know what happened to Grisha.
He heard immense strength in his chest,
His blessed sounds delighted the ear,
The radiant sounds of the noble anthem -
He sang the embodiment of the people's happiness! ..

This work has come into the public domain. The work was written by an author who died more than seventy years ago, and was published in his lifetime or posthumously, but more than seventy years have also passed since the publication. It can be freely used by anyone without anyone's consent or permission and without paying any royalties.

Nobody like a god!
Doesn't eat, doesn't drink
Little son,
Look - it will die!

Gave a piece
Gave another -
Doesn't eat, shouts:
"Sprinkle with salt!"

And there is no salt,
At least a pinch!
"Sprinkle with flour" -
The Lord whispered.

I bit it once or twice,
He twisted his mouth.
"More salt!"
Sonny screams.

Flour again ...
And for a piece
A tear like a river!
Sonny ate!

Mother boasted -
I saved my son ...
Know solona
There was a tear! ..

Pretty demon of rage
Flying with a punishing sword
Over the Russian land.
Rather slavery is grievous
Some are crafty ways
Open, enticing
Kept in Russia!
Over the dying Rus
Another song is heard:
That is the angel of mercy
Flying invisibly
Above her, strong souls
Calls for an honest path.

In the midst of the world
For a free heart
There are two ways.

Weigh the proud strength
A suspension of solid will, -
Which way to go?

One spacious
The road is torn
The passion of a slave

It is huge
To temptation greedy
There is a crowd.

About sincere life
About the loftiest goal
The thought is ridiculous there.

Eternal boils there,
Inhuman
Enmity-war

For perishable goods.
There are captive souls
Full of sin.

Looks shiny
Life is deadening there
Good deaf.

The other is tight
The road, honest,
They walk along it

Only strong souls
Loving,
For battle, for work.

For the bypassed
For the oppressed -
In their footsteps

Go to the humiliated
Go to the offended -
Be the first there!

And the angel of mercy
No wonder the recruiting song
Sings over the Russian youth, -
Russia has already sent a lot
His sons, marked
The seal of the gift of God,
On honest paths
I mourned many of them
(While the star is falling
They are sweeping!).
No matter how dark Vakhlachina is,
No matter how crowded with corvee
And slavery - and she,
Blessing, set
In Grigorie Dobrosklonov
Such a messenger.
Fate prepared for him
Glorious path, loud name
People's defender,
Consumption and Siberia.

The sun was shining tenderly
The early morning breathed
Cool, flavors
Mowed grasses everywhere ...

"In moments of despondency, O Motherland!
I fly away with a thought.
You are still destined to suffer a lot
But you won't die, I know.

The darkness over you was thicker than ignorance,
The deepest sleep is stifling,
You were a deeply unhappy country
Suppressed, slavishly free from judgment.

How long have people served as your toy
To the shameful passions of the master?
The descendant of the Tatars, like a horse, brought
To the market of a slave slave,

And the Russian maiden was drawn to shame,
The scourge raged without fear,
And the horror of the people at the word "set"
Was it like the horror of execution?

Enough! Completed with the past checkout,
The settlement with the master is over!
The Russian people are gathering strength
And learns to be a citizen.

And your burden was made easier by fate,
A companion of the days of the Slav!
You are also a slave in the family,
But the mother is already a free son! "

Lured Grisha narrow,
A winding path
Running through the bread
In a wide meadow decimated
He went down it.
Dried grass in the meadow
Peasant women Grisha met
His favorite song.
The young man felt sad
According to the mother-sufferer,
And more than that, she took anger.
He went into the forest. Auckay,
In the forest, like quails
In the rye, the little ones wandered
Guys (and older
They were turning over the senzo).
He is with them a body of saffron milk caps
I typed. The sun is already burning;
He went to the river. Bathing, -
Burned three days ago
Of the charred city
The picture in front of him:
No survivor's house
One prison saved
Recently whitewashed
Like a white cow
On the pasture, worth it.
The bosses hid there,
And the inhabitants under the shore
As an army, we became a camp,
Everything is still asleep, few
Woke up: two clerks,
Holding the shelves
Robes making their way
Between wardrobes, chairs,
Nodes, crews
To the tavern tent.
There the tailor is twisted
Arshin, iron and scissors
Carries - like a leaf trembles.
Rising from sleep with prayer,
Combs his head
And keeps on flying away
Like a girl, a long braid
Tall and dignified
Protoerey Stefan.
Slowly along the sleepy Volga
The rafts with firewood are drawn
Stand under the right bank
Three loaded barges:
Yesterday barge haulers with songs
They were brought here.
And here he is - exhausted
Burlak! festive gait
It goes, the shirt is clean,
Copper rings in my pocket.
Grigory walked, looked
On a happy haulers,
And words fell from my lips
Now in a whisper, then loud.