DJÓMUSHKA
"The little tree burns
For the lightning has struck it.
The nightingale's nest
Has been built in its branches.
The little tree burns,
It is sighing and groaning;
The nightingale's children
Are crying and calling:
'Oh, come, little Mother!
Oh, come, little Mother! 10
Take care of us, Mother,
Until we can fly,
Till our wings have grown stronger,
Until we can fly
To the peaceful green forest,
Until we can fly
To the far silent valleys....'
The poor little tree--
It is burnt to grey ashes;
The poor little fledgelings 20
Are burnt to grey ashes.
The mother flies home,
But the tree ... and the fledgelings ...
The nest.... She is calling,
Lamenting and calling;
She circles around,
She is sobbing and moaning;
She circles so quickly,
She circles so quickly,
Her tiny wings whistle. 30
The dark night has fallen,
The dark world is silent,
But one little creature
Is helplessly grieving
And cannot find comfort;--
The nightingale only
Laments for her children....
She never will see them
Again, though she call them
Till breaks the white day.... 40
I carried my baby
Asleep in my bosom
To work in the meadows.
But Mother-in-law cried,
'Come, leave him behind you,
At home with Savyéli,
You'll work better then.'
And I was so timid,
So tired of her scolding,
I left him behind. 50
"That year it so happened
The harvest was richer
Than ever we'd known it;
The reaping was hard,
But the reapers were merry,
I sang as I mounted
The sheaves on the waggon.
(The waggons are loaded
To laughter and singing;
The sledges in silence, 60
With thoughts sad and bitter;
The waggons convey the corn
Home to the peasants,
The sledges will bear it
Away to the market.)
"But as I was working
I heard of a sudden
A deep groan of anguish:
I saw old Savyéli
Creep trembling towards me, 70
His face white as death:
'Forgive me, Matróna!
Forgive me, Matróna!
I sinned....I was careless.'
He fell at my feet.
"Oh, stay, little swallow!
Your nest build not there!
Not there 'neath the leafless
Bare bank of the river:
The water will rise, 80
And your children will perish.
Oh, poor little woman,
Young wife and young mother,
The daughter-in-law
And the slave of the household,
Bear blows and abuse,
Suffer all things in silence,
But let not your baby
Be torn from your bosom....
Savyéli had fallen 90
Asleep in the sunshine,
And Djóma--the pigs
Had attacked him and killed him.
"I fell to the ground
And lay writhing in torture;
I bit the black earth
And I shrieked in wild anguish;
I called on his name,
And I thought in my madness
My voice must awake him.... 100
"Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52]
And harness-bells jangling--
Another misfortune!
The children are frightened,
They run to the houses;
And outside the window
The old men and women
Are talking in whispers
And nodding together.
The Elder is running 110
And tapping each window
In turn with his staff;
Then he runs to the hayfields,
He runs to the pastures,
To summon the people.
They come, full of sorrow--
Another misfortune!
And God in His wrath
Has sent guests that are hateful,
Has sent unjust judges. 120
Perhaps they want money?
Their coats are worn threadbare?
Perhaps they are hungry?
"Without greeting Christ
They sit down at the table,
They've set up an icon
And cross in the middle;
Our pope, Father John,
Swears the witnesses singly.
"They question Savyéli, 130
And then a policeman
Is sent to find me,
While the officer, swearing,
Is striding about
Like a beast in the forest....
'Now, woman, confess it,'
He cries when I enter,
'You lived with the peasant
Savyéli in sin?'
"I whisper in answer, 140
'Kind sir, you are joking.
I am to my husband
A wife without stain,
And the peasant Savyéli
Is more than a hundred
Years old;--you can see it.'
"He's stamping about
Like a horse in the stable;
In fury he's thumping
His fist on the table. 150
'Be silent! Confess, then,
That you with Savyéli
Had plotted to murder
Your child!'
"Holy Mother!
What horrible ravings!
My God, give me patience,
And let me not strangle
The wicked blasphemer!
I looked at the doctor 160
And shuddered in terror:
Before him lay lancets,
Sharp scissors, and knives.
I conquered myself,
For I knew why they lay there.
I answer him trembling,
'I loved little Djóma,
I would not have harmed him.'
"'And did you not poison him.
Give him some powder?' 170
"'Oh, Heaven forbid!'
I kneel to him crying,
'Be gentle! Have mercy!
And grant that my baby
In honour be buried,
Forbid them to thrust
The cruel knives in his body!
Oh, I am his mother!'
"Can anything move them?
No hearts they possess, 180
In their eyes is no conscience,
No cross at their throats....
"They have lifted the napkin
Which covered my baby;
His little white body
With scissors and lancets
They worry and torture ...
The room has grown darker,
I'm struggling and screaming,
'You butchers! You fiends! 190
Not on earth, not on water,
And not on God's temple
My tears shall be showered;
But straight on the souls
Of my hellish tormentors!
Oh, hear me, just God!
May Thy curse fall and strike them!
Ordain that their garments
May rot on their bodies!
Their eyes be struck blind, 200
And their brains scorch in madness!
Their wives be unfaithful,
Their children be crippled!
Oh, hear me, just God!
Hear the prayers of a mother,
And look on her tears,--
Strike these pitiless devils!'
"'She's crazy, the woman!'
The officer shouted,
'Why did you not tell us 210
Before? Stop this fooling!
Or else I shall order
My men, here, to bind you.'
"I sank on the bench,
I was trembling all over;
I shook like a leaf
As I gazed at the doctor;
His sleeves were rolled backwards,
A knife was in one hand,
A cloth in the other, 220
And blood was upon it;
His glasses were fixed
On his nose. All was silent.
The officer's pen
Began scratching on paper;
The motionless peasants
Stood gloomy and mournful;
The pope lit his pipe
And sat watching the doctor.
He said, 'You are reading 230
A heart with a knife.'
I started up wildly;
I knew that the doctor
Was piercing the heart
Of my little dead baby.
"'Now, bind her, the vixen!'
The officer shouted;--
She's mad!' He began
To inquire of the peasants,
'Have none of you noticed 240
Before that the woman
Korchágin is crazy?'
"'No,' answered the peasants.
And then Phílip's parents
He asked, and their children;
They answered, 'Oh, no, sir!
We never remarked it.'
He asked old Savyéli,--
There's one thing,' he answered,
'That might make one think 250
That Matróna is crazy:
She's come here this morning
Without bringing with her
A present of money
Or cloth to appease you.'
"And then the old man
Began bitterly crying.
The officer frowning
Sat down and said nothing.
And then I remembered: 260
In truth it was madness--
The piece of new linen
Which I had made ready
Was still in my box--
I'd forgotten to bring it;
And now I had seen them
Seize Djómushka's body
And tear it to pieces.
I think at that moment
I turned into marble: 270
I watched while the doctor
Was drinking some vodka
And washing his hands;
I saw how he offered
The glass to the pope,
And I heard the pope answer,
'Why ask me? We mortals
Are pitiful sinners,--
We don't need much urging
To empty a glass!' 280
"The peasants are standing
In fear, and are thinking:
'Now, how did these vultures
Get wind of the matter?
Who told them that here
There was chance of some profit?
They dashed in like wolves,
Seized the beards of the peasants,
And snarled in their faces
Like savage hyenas!' 290
"And now they are feasting,
Are eating and drinking;
They chat with the pope,
He is murmuring to them,
'The people in these parts
Are beggars and drunken;
They owe me for countless
Confessions and weddings;
They'll take their last farthing
To spend in the tavern; 300
And nothing but sins
Do they bring to their priest.'
"And then I hear singing
In clear, girlish voices--
I know them all well:
There's Natásha and Glásha,
And Dáriushka,--Jesus
Have mercy upon them!
Hark! steps and accordion;
Then there is silence. 310
I think I had fallen
Asleep; then I fancied
That somebody entering
Bent over me, saying,
'Sleep, woman of sorrows,
Exhausted by sorrow,'
And making the sign
Of the cross on my forehead.
I felt that the ropes
On my body were loosened, 320
And then I remembered
No more. In black darkness
I woke, and astonished
I ran to the window:
Deep night lay around me--
What's happened? Where am I?
I ran to the street,--
It was empty, in Heaven
No moon and no stars,
And a great cloud of darkness 330
Spread over the village.
The huts of the peasants
Were dark; only one hut
Was brilliantly lighted,
It shone like a palace--
The hut of Savyéli.
I ran to the doorway,
And then ... I remembered.
"The table was gleaming
With yellow wax candles, 340
And there, in the midst,
Lay a tiny white coffin,
And over it spread
Was a fine coloured napkin,
An icon was placed
At its head....
O you builders,
For my little son
What a house you have fashioned!
No windows you've made 350
That the sunshine may enter,
No stove and no bench,
And no soft little pillows....
Oh, Djómushka will not
Feel happy within it,
He cannot sleep well....
'Begone!'--I cried harshly
On seeing Savyéli;
He stood near the coffin
And read from the book 360
In his hand, through his glasses.
I cursed old Savyéli,
Cried--'Branded one! Convict!
Begone! 'Twas you killed him!
You murdered my, Djóma,
Begone from my sight!'
"He stood without moving;
He crossed himself thrice
And continued his reading.
But when I grew calmer 370
Savyéli approached me,
And said to me gently,
'In winter, Matróna,
I told you my story,
But yet there was more.
Our forests were endless,
Our lakes wild and lonely,
Our people were savage;
By cruelty lived we:
By snaring the wood-grouse, 380
By slaying the bears:--
You must kill or you perish!
I've told you of Barin
Shaláshnikov, also
Of how we were robbed
By the villainous German,
And then of the prison,
The exile, the mines.
My heart was like stone,
I grew wild and ferocious. 390
My winter had lasted
A century, Grandchild,
But your little Djóma
Had melted its frosts.
One day as I rocked him
He smiled of a sudden,
And I smiled in answer....
A strange thing befell me
Some days after that:
As I prowled in the forest 400
I aimed at a squirrel;
But suddenly noticed
How happy and playful
It was, in the branches:
Its bright little face
With its paw it sat washing.
I lowered my gun:--
'You shall live, little squirrel!'
I rambled about
In the woods, in the meadows, 410
And each tiny floweret
I loved. I went home then
And nursed little Djóma,
And played with him, laughing.
God knows how I loved him,
The innocent babe!
And now ... through my folly,
My sin, ... he has perished....
Upbraid me and kill me,
But nothing can help you, 420
With God one can't argue....
Stand up now, Matróna,
And pray for your baby;
God acted with reason:
He's counted the joys
In the life of a peasant!'
"Long, long did Savyéli
Stand bitterly speaking,
The piteous fate
Of the peasant he painted; 430
And if a rich Barin,
A merchant or noble,
If even our Father
The Tsar had been listening,
Savyéli could not
Have found words which were truer,
Have spoken them better....
"'Now Djóma is happy
And safe, in God's Heaven,'
He said to me later. 440
His tears began falling....
"'I do not complain
That God took him, Savyéli,'
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 God 450
Nor our Tsar--Little Father--
Arise to defend us?'
"'But God, little Grandchild,
Is high, and the Tsar
Far away,' said Savyéli.
"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, Savyéli?'
"'A bondswoman, Grandchild,
You are; and for such
Is no hope,' said Savyéli.
"For long I sat darkly
And bitterly thinking.
The thunder pealed forth
And the windows were shaken; 470
I started! Savyéli
Drew nearer and touched me,
And led me to stand
By the little white coffin:
"'Now pray that the Lord
May have placed little Djóma
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 Djómushka's coffin
And read from the book
In a measured low voice...."