Some pots and basins, and the rest
Well, almost all that they possessed.
The servants fussed and raised the dickens
About the stable, many cried;
Then eighteen nags were led outside.
32
They're harnessed to the coach and steadied;
The cooks make lunch for one and all;
The heaped-up wagons now are readied;
The wenches and the drivers brawl.
Atop a lean and shaggy trotter
The bearded postboy sits as spotter.
Retainers crowd the gate pell-mell
To bid their mistresses farewell.
They're all aboard and, slowly gliding,
The ancient coach creeps out the gate.
'Farewell, my peaceful home and fate!
Farewell, secluded place of hiding!
Shall I return?' And Tanya sighs,
As tears well up to dim her eyes.
33
When we have broadened education,
The time will come without a doubt
(By scientific computation,
Within five hundred years about),
When our old roads' decayed condition
Will change beyond all recognition.
Paved highways, linking every side,
Will cross our Russia far and wide;
Above our waters iron bridges
Will stride in broadly arching sweep;
We'll dig bold tunnels 'neath the deep
And even part whole mountain ridges;
And Christendom will institute
An inn at every stage
34
But roads are bad now in our nation;
Neglected bridges rot and fall;
Bedbugs and fleas at every station
Won't let the traveller sleep at all.
No inns exist. At posting stages
They hang pretentious menu pages,
But just for show, as if to spite
The traveller's futile appetite;
While some rude Cyclops at his fire
Treats Europe's dainty artefacts
With mighty Russian hammer whacks,
And thanks the Lord for ruts and mire
And all the ditches that abound
