Chapter I: The Wedding

"My girlhood was happy,For we were a thriftyArid diligent household;And I, the young maiden,With Father and MotherKnew nothing but joy.My father got upAnd went out before sunrise,He woke me with kissesAnd tender caresses;My brother, while dressing,Would sing little verses:'Get up, little Sister,Get up, little Sister,In no little beds nowAre people delaying,In all little churchesThe peasants are praying,Get up, now, get up,It is time, little Sister.The shepherd has goneTo the field with the sheep,And no little maidensAre lying asleep,They've gone to pick raspberries,Merrily singing.The sound of the axeIn the forest is ringing.'

"And then my dear mother,When she had done scouringThe pots and the pans,When the hut was put tidy,The bread in the oven,Would steal to my bedside,And cover me softlyAnd whisper to me:

"'Sleep on, little dove,Gather strength--you will need it--You will not stay alwaysWith Father and Mother,And when you will leave themTo live among strangersNot long will you sleep.You'll slave till past midnight,And rise before daybreak;You'll always be weary.They'll give you a basketAnd throw at the bottomA crust. You will chew it,My poor little dove,And start working again....'

"But, brothers, I did notSpend much time in sleeping;And when I was fiveOn the day of St. Simon,I mounted a horseWith the help of my father,And then was no longerA child. And at six yearsI carried my fatherHis breakfast already,And tended the ducks,And at night brought the cow home,And next--took my rake,And was off to the hayfields!And so by degreesI became a great worker,And yet best of allI loved singing and dancing;The whole day I workedIn the fields, and at nightfallReturned to the cottageAll covered with grime.But what's the hot bath for?And thanks to the bathAnd boughs of the birch-tree,And icy spring water,Again I was cleanAnd refreshed, and was readyTo take out my spinning-wheel,And with companionsTo sing half the night.

"I never ran afterThe youths, and the forwardI checked very sharply.To those who were gentleAnd shy, I would whisper:'My cheeks will grow hot,And sharp eyes has my mother;Be wise, now, and leave meAlone'--and they left me.

"No matter how cleverI was to avoid them,The one came at lastI was destined to wed;And he--to my bitterRegret--was a stranger:Young Philip Korchagin,A builder of ovens.He came from St. Petersburg.Oh, how my motherDid weep: 'Like a fishIn the ocean, my daughter,You'll plunge and be lost;Like a nightingale, strayingAway from its nest,We shall lose you, my daughter!The walls of the strangerAre not built of sugar,Are not spread with honey,Their dwellings are chillyAnd garnished with hunger;The cold winds will nip you,The black rooks will scold you,The savage dogs bite you,The strangers despise you.'

"But Father sat talkingAnd drinking till lateWith the 'swat.' I was frightened.I slept not all night....

"Oh, youth, pray you, tell me,Now what can you findIn the maiden to please you?And where have you seen her?Perhaps in the sledgesWith merry young friendsFlying down from the mountain?Then you were mistaken,O son of your father,It was but the frostAnd the speed and the laughterThat brought the bright tintsTo the cheeks of the maiden.Perhaps at some feastIn the home of a neighbourYou saw her rejoicingAnd clad in bright colours?But then she was plumpFrom her rest in the winter;Her rosy face bloomedLike the scarlet-hued poppy;But wait!--have you beenTo the hut of her fatherAnd seen her at workBeating flax in the barn?Ah, what shall I do?I will take brother falconAnd send him to town:'Fly to town, brother falcon,And bring me some clothAnd six colours of worsted,And tassels of blue.I will make a fine curtain,Embroider each cornerWith Tsar and Tsaritsa,With Moscow and Kiev,And Constantinople,And set the great sunShining bright in the middle,And this I will hangIn the front of my window:Perhaps you will see it,And, struck by its beauty,Will stand and admire it,And will not rememberTo seek for the maiden....'

"And so till the morningI lay with such thoughts.'Now, leave me, young fellow,'I said to the youthWhen he came in the evening;'I will not be foolishEnough to abandonMy freedom in orderTo enter your service.God sees me--I will notDepart from my home!'

"'Do come,' said young Philip,'So far have I travelledTo fetch you. Don't fear me--I will not ill-treat you.'I begged him to leave me,I wept and lamented;But neverthelessI was still a young maiden:I did not forgetSidelong glances to castAt the youth who thus wooed me.And Philip was handsome,Was rosy and lusty,Was strong and broad-shouldered,With fair curling hair,With a voice low and tender....Ah, well ... I was won....

"'Come here, pretty fellow,And stand up against me,Look deep in my eyes--They are clear eyes and truthful;Look well at my rosyYoung face, and bethink you:Will you not regret it,Won't my heart be broken,And shall I not weepDay and night if I trust youAnd go with you, leavingMy parents forever?'

"'Don't fear, little pigeon,We shall not regret it,'Said Philip, but stillI was timid and doubtful.'Do go,' murmured I, and he,'When you come with me.'Of course I was fairerAnd sweeter and dearerThan any that lived,And his arms were about me....Then all of a suddenI made a sharp effortTo wrench myself free.'How now? What's the matter?You're strong, little pigeon!'Said Philip astonished,But still held me tight.'Ah, Philip, if you hadNot held me so firmlyYou would not have won me;I did it to try you,To measure your strength;You were strong, and it pleased me.'We must have been happyIn those fleeting momentsWhen softly we whisperedAnd argued together;I think that we neverWere happy again....

"How well I remember....The night was like this night,Was starlit and silent ...Was dreamy and tenderLike this...."

And the woman,Matrona, sighed deeply,And softly began--Leaning back on the haystack--To sing to herselfWith her thoughts in the past:

"'Tell me, young merchant, pray,Why do you love me so--Poor peasant's daughter?I am not clad in gold,I am not hung with pearls,Not decked with silver.'

"'Silver your chastity,Golden your beauty shines,O my beloved,White pearls are falling nowOut of your weeping eyes,Falling like tear-drops.'

"My father gave ordersTo bring forth the wine-cups,To set them all outOn the solid oak table.My dear mother blessed me:'Go, serve them, my daughter,Bow low to the strangers.'I bowed for the first time,My knees shook and trembled;I bowed for the second--My face had turned white;And then for the third timeI bowed, and foreverThe freedom of girlhoodRolled down from my head...."

"Ah, that means a wedding,"Cry both brothers Goobin,"Let's drink to the healthOf the happy young pair!"

"Well said! We'll beginWith the bride," say the others.

"Will you drink some vodka,Matrona Korchagin?"

"An old woman, brothers,And not drink some vodka?"