Stand up now, Matrona, And pray for your baby; G.o.d acted with reason: He's counted the joys In the life of a peasant!'

"Long, long did Savyeli Stand bitterly speaking, The piteous fate Of the peasant he painted; 430 And if a rich Barin, A merchant or n.o.ble, If even our Father The Tsar had been listening, Savyeli could not Have found words which were truer, Have spoken them better....

"'Now Djoma is happy And safe, in G.o.d's Heaven,'

He said to me later. 440 His tears began falling....

"'I do not complain That G.o.d took him, Savyeli,'

I said,--'but the insult They did him torments me, It's racking my heart.

Why did vicious black ravens Alight on his body And tear it to pieces?

Will neither our G.o.d 450 Nor our Tsar--Little Father-- Arise to defend us?'

"'But G.o.d, little Grandchild, Is high, and the Tsar Far away,' said Savyeli.

"I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!'

"But Grandfather answered, 'Now hush, little Grandchild, You woman of sorrow, Bow down and have patience; 460 No truth you will find In the world, and no justice.'

"'But why then, Savyeli?'

"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, You are; and for such Is no hope,' said Savyeli.

"For long I sat darkly And bitterly thinking.

The thunder pealed forth And the windows were shaken; 470 I started! Savyeli Drew nearer and touched me, And led me to stand By the little white coffin:

"'Now pray that the Lord May have placed little Djoma Among the bright ranks Of His angels,' he whispered; A candle he placed In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 The whole of the night Till the pale dawn of daybreak: The grandfather stood Beside Djomushka's coffin And read from the book In a measured low voice...."

CHAPTER V

THE SHE-WOLF

"'Tis twenty years now Since my Djoma was taken, Was carried to sleep 'Neath his little gra.s.s blanket; And still my heart bleeds, And I pray for him always, No apple till Spa.s.sa[53]

I touch with my lips....

"For long I lay ill, Not a word did I utter, 10 My eyes could not suffer The old man, Savyeli.

No work did I do, And my Father-in-law thought To give me a lesson And took down the horse-reins; I bowed to his feet, And cried--'Kill me! Oh, kill me!

I pray for the end!'

He hung the reins up, then. 20 I lived day and night On the grave of my Djoma, I dusted it clean With a soft little napkin That gra.s.s might grow green, And I prayed for my lost one.

I yearned for my parents: 'Oh, you have forgotten, Forgotten your daughter!'

"'We have not forgotten 30 Our poor little daughter, But is it worth while, say, To wear the grey horse out By such a long journey To learn about your woes, To tell you of ours?

Since long, little daughter, Would father and mother Have journeyed to see you, But ever the thought rose: 40 She'll weep at our coming, She'll shriek when we leave!'

"In winter came Philip, Our sorrow together We shared, and together We fought with our grief In the grandfather's hut."

"The grandfather died, then?"

"Oh, no, in his cottage For seven whole days 50 He lay still without speaking, And then he got up And he went to the forest; And there old Savyeli So wept and lamented, The woods were set throbbing.

In autumn he left us And went as a pilgrim On foot to do penance At some distant convent.... 60

"I went with my husband To visit my parents, And then began working Again. Three years followed, Each week like the other, As twin to twin brother, And each year a child.

There was no time for thinking And no time for grieving; Praise G.o.d if you have time 70 For getting your work done And crossing your forehead.

You eat--when there's something Left over at table, When elders have eaten, When children have eaten; You sleep--when you're ill....

"In the fourth year came sorrow Again; for when sorrow Once lightens upon you 80 To death he pursues you; He circles before you-- A bright shining falcon; He hovers behind you-- An ugly black raven; He flies in advance-- But he will not forsake you; He lingers behind-- But he will not forget....

"I lost my dear parents. 90 The dark nights alone knew The grief of the orphan; No need is there, brothers, To tell you about it.

With tears did I water The grave of my baby.

From far once I noticed A wooden cross standing Erect at its head, And a little gilt icon; 100 A figure is kneeling Before it--'Savyeli!

From whence have you come?'

"'I have come from Pesotchna.

I've prayed for the soul Of our dear little Djoma; I've prayed for the peasants Of Russia.... Matrona, Once more do I pray-- Oh, Matrona ... Matrona.... 110 I pray that the heart Of the mother, at last, May be softened towards me....

Forgive me, Matrona!'

"'Oh, long, long ago I forgave you, Savyeli.'

"'Then look at me now As in old times, Matrona!'

"I looked as of old.

Then up rose Savyeli, 120 And gazed in my eyes; He was trying to straighten His stiffened old back; Like the snow was his hair now.

I kissed the old man, And my new grief I told him; For long we sat weeping And mourning together.

He did not live long After that. In the autumn 130 A deep wound appeared In his neck, and he sickened.

He died very hard.

For a hundred days, fully, No food pa.s.sed his lips; To the bone he was shrunken.

He laughed at himself: 'Tell me, truly, Matrona, Now am I not like A Korojin mosquito?' 140

"At times the old man Would be gentle and patient; At times he was angry And nothing would please him; He frightened us all By his outbursts of fury: 'Eh, plough not, and sow not, You downtrodden peasants!

You women, sit spinning And weaving no longer! 150 However you struggle, You fools, you must perish!

You will not escape What by fate has been written!

Three roads are spread out For the peasant to follow-- They lead to the tavern, The mines, and the prison!

Three nooses are hung For the women of Russia: 160 The one is of white silk, The second of red silk, The third is of black silk-- Choose that which you please!'

And Grandfather laughed In a manner which caused us To tremble with fear And draw nearer together....

He died in the night, And we did as he asked us: 170 We laid him to rest In the grave beside Djoma.

The Grandfather lived To a hundred and seven....

"Four years pa.s.sed away then, The one like the other, And I was submissive, The slave of the household, For Mother-in-law And her husband the drunkard, 180 For Sister-in-law By all suitors rejected.

I'd draw off their boots-- Only,--touch not my children!

For them I stood firm Like a rock. Once it happened A pilgrim arrived At our village--a holy And pious-tongued woman; She spoke to the people 190 Of how to please G.o.d And of how to reach Heaven.

She said that on fast-days No woman should offer The breast to her child.

The women obeyed her: On Wednesdays and Fridays The village was filled By the wailing of babies; And many a mother 200 Sat bitterly weeping To hear her child cry For its food--full of pity, But fearing G.o.d's anger.

But I did not listen!

I said to myself That if penance were needful The mothers must suffer, But not little children.

I said, 'I am guilty, 210 My G.o.d--not my children!'

"It seems G.o.d was angry And punished me for it Through my little son; My Father-in-law To the commune had offered My little Fedotka As help to the shepherd When he was turned eight....