The Tale of the Priest and Balda, his Hired Hand
Alexander Pushkin, 1931. Translated from the Russian by Barry Link
There once was a priest,
An oatmeal noggin,
This priest went to market
To shop for something or other.
He bumps into Balda,
Not looking where he’s going.
“Why up so early, Pops?
What might you be collecting?”
Said the priest, “I could use a worker,
A cook, groom, and carpenter.
But where can I find an employee
Like that and not pay too much?”
Said Balda, “I’ll do fine work for you,
Eagerly, and oh so precisely,
For just three flicks to your brow per year
And boiled spelt for me to eat.”
The priest thought it over,
Scratched his noggin a bit.
Well, who’s to say that a flick is a flick.
He was counting on a little Russian luck.
The priest said to Balda, “Ok,
We’ll both get something from this,
Come stay a while at my farm,
Let’s see how eager you are.”
So Balda comes to live in the priest’s house,
He sleeps on straw,
He eats for four,
He works for seven,
Till dawn it all dances for him.
Harness the horse, till the field,
Light the stove, buy and store everything,
Bake and peel a little egg, all on his own.
The priest’s wife can’t say enough about Balda,
The priest’s daughter will be sad just for Balda,
The priest’s son calls him daddy.
He stirs the porridge, he nurses the baby,
Only the priest Balda doesn’t love.
Never is that one his little darling.
He thinks non-stop of the reckoning.
Time goes by, and the day is near.
The priest isn’t eating, isn’t drinking, isn’t sleeping,
His head is splitting, anticipating.
Now he blurts to his wife,
“What can we do, anyway?”
The old lady’s no fool,
She’s not short of tricks.
She says, “I know how to fix this,
To get us out of this mess.
Make Balda’s job unbearable,
And see he does it just so.
Then you and your forehead won’t pay the price,
And Balda will be off empty-handed.”
The priest was elated,
And gave Balda bolder looks.
Now he’s shouting, “Get over here,
Balda, my trusty employee.
Listen: for as long as I live
The devils have sworn to pay me rent.
Do I need the money, no.
But it’s three years now they owe.
As you’ve been eating your fill of spelt
Collect me this rent from the devils in full.”
Balda, wasting no time arguing,
Goes and sits at the seashore,
And there begins to twist some rope,
Leaving the end to soak in the sea.
Out of the water crept an old demon.
“Balda, what brings you sneaking around here?”
–”Well, I want to furrow the sea with this rope
And all you damned lot twist up good.”
Here the old demon was stunned.
“What grievance is this?”
–“How can you even ask? You haven’t paid rent,
You’ve forgotten when it’s due.
I’m going to enjoy this,
Because you, curs, are stuck.”
–”Baldushka, hold up with this tossing,
The rent in full will soon be yours.
Just wait, I’ll send my grandson.”
Balda is thinking, “Not like this is a trick!”
The summoned imp popped up,
Meowing like a hungry kitten.
“Hello Balda, my man,
Which rent do you need?
A hundred years we haven’t heard about rent,
That wasn’t our problem, us devils.
Anyway, so be it, let’s settle
The matter like this, right here,
And, from now on, no troubles for anyone.
Whichever one of us is quicker round the sea
He will have all the rent.
Meantime we’ll put a sack together.”
Balda began to chuckle to himself,
“Really, this is your plan?
Where you go up against me,
Me, Blockhead himself?
What a scoundrel they’ve sent!
Wait just a minute for my little brother.”
Balda ducked into the woods nearby,
Grabbed two bunnies, put them in a sack.
Returning to the sea
On the shore he finds the imp.
He holds up a bunny by the ears,
“Now dance to our balalaika
You imp, still wet behind the ears,
A little too delicate to challenge me.
What a waste of time.
First outrun little brother.
Ready, set, go! Catch up.”
Off go the bunny and the imp,
Imp along the shore,
And the bunny home to the woods.
Now all round the sea,
His tongue sticking out, his mug upturned,
The imp has run gasping,
Dripping wet, wiping with his paw,
Thinking; that’s wrapped up.
But what’s this? Balda petting little brother
As he says, “Little dear brother,
So tired, poor thing! Rest my pet”.
Imp rubbed his eyes,
Tucked his tail, and shut his mouth,
Glancing sidelong at the bunny.
“Wait”, he says, “I’ll fetch the rent.”
He went to grandpa, says “Trouble!
That little Balda outran me!”
Old devil stood lost in thought,
But Balda kicked up such a racket
The whole sea was upset
And waves burst open.
The imp climbs out, “Enough, man,
We’re giving you the rent, all of it –
Just listen. See this club?
Pick any target you like.
Whoever throws the club farthest,
Let him claim the rent.
So? Afraid to throw out your arm?
What are you waiting for?” “I’m watching this storm cloud,
That’s where I’m throwing this club,
Then, devils, I will fight you all.”
The imp, frightened, is off to grandpa
To tell him of Balda’s victory.
But Balda started back to making a racket
And threatening devils, again, with his rope.
Again the imp climbs out. “Why such fuss?
The rent is yours, whenever…”
–”No,” says Balda,--
“My turn now,
On my terms,
I’m putting you, my foe, to the test.
We’ll see how strong you are.
You see that gray mare?
Go lift the mare,
Carry her half a verst.
You carry her, the rent is yours.
If you can’t, it’s mine.”
Poor devil,
Crawled under the mare,
He grunted,
He strained,
He lifted the mare and took two steps.
At the third he crumpled, toes pointed to the sky.
Said Balda, “You stupid devil,
Where were you going?
Can’t carry that with your arms,
Watch, I’ll carry it between my legs.”
Balda sat astride the mare
And galloped a verst in a cloud of dust.
Scared, the imp returns to grandpa
Another victory to admit.
Stood in a circle the devils.
Nothing else to do – put up the whole rent
And tossed the sack to Balda.
Balda goes, he squawks,
And the priest, catching sight, leaps up,
Hides himself behind his wife,
And squirms in fear.
Balda spotted him,
Handed over the rent, demanded his pay.
Poor priest,
He offered up his forehead.
With the first flick
He flew to the ceiling.
With the second flick
The priest lost his tongue.
And the third flick
Knocked the old man clean out of his mind.
Balda sentenced him reproaching:
“This is how it goes, priest, with cheapskates.”
