Chapter V: The She-Wolf

"'Tis twenty years nowSince my Djoma was taken,Was carried to sleep'Neath his little grass blanket;And still my heart bleeds,And I pray for him always,No apple till SpassaI touch with my lips....

"For long I lay ill,Not a word did I utter,My eyes could not sufferThe old man, Savyeli.No work did I do,And my Father-in-law thoughtTo give me a lessonAnd 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.I lived day and nightOn the grave of my Djoma,I dusted it cleanWith a soft little napkinThat grass 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 forgottenOur poor little daughter,But is it worth while, say,To wear the grey horse outBy such a long journeyTo learn about your woes,To tell you of ours?Since long, little daughter,Would father and motherHave journeyed to see you,But ever the thought rose:She'll weep at our coming,She'll shriek when we leave!'

"In winter came Philip,Our sorrow togetherWe shared, and togetherWe fought with our griefIn the grandfather's hut."

"The grandfather died, then?"

"Oh, no, in his cottageFor seven whole daysHe lay still without speaking,And then he got upAnd he went to the forest;And there old SavyeliSo wept and lamented,The woods were set throbbing.In autumn he left usAnd went as a pilgrimOn foot to do penanceAt some distant convent....

"I went with my husbandTo visit my parents,And then began workingAgain. Three years followed,Each week like the other,As twin to twin brother,And each year a child.There was no time for thinkingAnd no time for grieving;Praise God if you have timeFor getting your work doneAnd crossing your forehead.You eat--when there's somethingLeft over at table,When elders have eaten,When children have eaten;You sleep--when you're ill....

"In the fourth year came sorrowAgain; for when sorrowOnce lightens upon youTo 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.The dark nights alone knewThe grief of the orphan;No need is there, brothers,To tell you about it.With tears did I waterThe grave of my baby.From far once I noticedA wooden cross standingErect at its head,And a little gilt icon;A figure is kneelingBefore it--'Savyeli!From whence have you come?'

"'I have come from Pesotchna.I've prayed for the soulOf our dear little Djoma;I've prayed for the peasantsOf Russia.... Matrona,Once more do I pray--Oh, Matrona ... Matrona....I pray that the heartOf the mother, at last,May be softened towards me....Forgive me, Matrona!'

"'Oh, long, long agoI forgave you, Savyeli.'

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

"I looked as of old.Then up rose Savyeli,And gazed in my eyes;He was trying to straightenHis 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 weepingAnd mourning together.He did not live longAfter that. In the autumnA deep wound appearedIn his neck, and he sickened.He died very hard.For a hundred days, fully,No food passed his lips;To the bone he was shrunken.He laughed at himself:'Tell me, truly, Matrona,Now am I not likeA Korojin mosquito?'

"At times the old manWould be gentle and patient;At times he was angryAnd nothing would please him;He frightened us allBy his outbursts of fury:'Eh, plough not, and sow not,You downtrodden peasants!You women, sit spinningAnd weaving no longer!However you struggle,You fools, you must perish!You will not escapeWhat by fate has been written!Three roads are spread outFor the peasant to follow--They lead to the tavern,The mines, and the prison!Three nooses are hungFor the women of Russia:The one is of white silk,The second of red silk,The third is of black silk--Choose that which you please!'And Grandfather laughedIn a manner which caused usTo tremble with fearAnd draw nearer together....He died in the night,And we did as he asked us:We laid him to restIn the grave beside Djoma.The Grandfather livedTo a hundred and seven....

"Four years passed away then,The one like the other,And I was submissive,The slave of the household,For Mother-in-lawAnd her husband the drunkard,For Sister-in-lawBy all suitors rejected.I'd draw off their boots--Only,--touch not my children!For them I stood firmLike a rock. Once it happenedA pilgrim arrivedAt our village--a holyAnd pious-tongued woman;She spoke to the peopleOf how to please GodAnd of how to reach Heaven.She said that on fast-daysNo woman should offerThe breast to her child.The women obeyed her:On Wednesdays and FridaysThe village was filledBy the wailing of babies;And many a motherSat bitterly weepingTo hear her child cryFor its food--full of pity,But fearing God's anger.But I did not listen!I said to myselfThat if penance were needfulThe mothers must suffer,But not little children.I said, 'I am guilty,My God--not my children!'

"It seems God was angryAnd punished me for itThrough my little son;My Father-in-lawTo the commune had offeredMy little FedotkaAs help to the shepherdWhen he was turned eight....One night I was waitingTo give him his supper;The cattle alreadyWere home, but he came not.I went through the villageAnd saw that the peopleWere gathered togetherAnd talking of something.I listened, then elbowedMy way through the people;Fedotka was setIn their midst, pale and trembling,The Elder was grippingHis ear. 'What has happened?And why do you hold him?'I said to the Elder.

"'I'm going to beat him,--He threw a young lambTo the wolf,' he replied.

"I snatched my FedotkaAway from their clutches;And somehow the ElderFell down on the ground!

"The story was strange:It appears that the shepherdWent home for awhile,Leaving little FedotkaIn charge of the flock.'I was sitting,' he told me,'Alone on the hillside,When all of a suddenA wolf ran close by meAnd picked Masha's lamb up.I threw myself at her,I whistled and shouted,I cracked with my whip,Blew my horn for Valetka,And then I gave chase.I run fast, little Mother,But still I could neverHave followed the robberIf not for the tracesShe left; because, Mother,Her breasts hung so low(She was suckling her children)They dragged on the earthAnd left two tracks of blood.But further the grey oneWent slower and slower;And then she looked backAnd she saw I was coming.At last she sat down.With my whip then I lashed her;''Come, give me the lamb,You grey devil!'' She crouched,But would not give it up.I said--''I must save itAlthough she should kill me.''I threw myself on herAnd snatched it away,But she did not attack me.The lamb was quite dead,She herself was scarce living.She gnashed with her teethAnd her breathing was heavy;And two streams of blood ranFrom under her body.Her ribs could be counted,Her head was hung down,But her eyes, little Mother,Looked straight into mine ...Then she groaned of a sudden,She groaned, and it soundedAs if she were crying.I threw her the lamb....'

"Well, that was the story.And foolish FedotkaRan back to the villageAnd told them about it.And they, in their anger,Were going to beat himWhen I came upon them.The Elder, becauseOf his fall, was indignant,He shouted--'How dare you!Do you want a beatingYourself?' And the womanWhose lamb had been stolenCried, 'Whip the lad soundly,'Twill teach him a lesson!'Fedotka she pulled fromMy arms, and he trembled,He shook like a leaf.

"Then the horns of the huntsmenWere heard,--the PomyeshchickReturning from hunting.I ran to him, crying,'Oh, save us! Protect us!'

"'What's wrong? Call the Elder!'And then, in an instant,The matter is settled:'The shepherd is tiny--His youth and his follyMay well be forgiven.The woman's presumptionYou'll punish severely!'

"'Oh, Barin, God bless you!'I danced with delight!'Fedotka is safe now!Run home, quick, Fedotka.'

"'Your will shall be done, sir,'The Elder said, bowing;'Now, woman, prepare;You can dance later on!'

"A gossip then whispered,'Fall down at the feetOf the Elder--beg mercy!'

"'Fedotka--go home!'

"Then I kissed him, and told him:'Remember, Fedotka,That I shall be angryIf once you look backwards.Run home!'

"Well, my brothers,To leave out a wordOf the song is to spoil it,--I lay on the ground...."

"I crawled like a catTo Fedotushka's cornerThat night. He was sleeping,He tossed in his dream.One hand was hung down,While the other, clenched tightly,Was shielding his eyes:'You've been crying, my treasure;Sleep, darling, it's nothing--See, Mother is near!'I'd lost little DjomaWhile heavy with this one;He was but a weakling,But grew very clever.He works with his dad now,And built such a chimneyWith him, for his master,The like of it neverWas seen. Well, I sat thereThe whole of the nightBy the sweet little shepherd.At daybreak I crossed him,I fastened his laputs,I gave him his wallet,His horn and his whip.The rest began stirring,But nothing I told themOf all that had happened,But that day I stayedFrom the work in the fields.

"I went to the banksOf the swift little river,I sought for a spotWhich was silent and lonelyAmid the green rushesThat grow by the bank.

"And on the grey stoneI sat down, sick and weary,And leaning my headOn my hands, I lamented,Poor sorrowing orphan.And loudly I calledOn the names of my parents:'Oh, come, little Father,My tender protector!Oh, look at the daughterYou cherished and loved!'

"In vain do I call him!The loved one has left me;The guest without lord,Without race, without kindred,Named Death, has appeared,And has called him away.

"And wildly I summonMy mother, my mother!The boisterous wind cries,The distant hills answer,But mother is dead,She can hear me no longer!

"You grieved day and night,And you prayed for me always,But never, beloved,Shall I see you again;You cannot turn back now,And I may not follow.

"A pathway so strange,So unknown, you have chosen,The beasts cannot find it,The winds cannot reach it,My voice will be lostIn the terrible distance....

"My loving protectors,If you could but see me!Could know what your daughterMust suffer without you!Could learn of the peopleTo whom you have left her!

"By night bathed in tears,And by day weak and trembling,I bow like the grassTo the wind, but in secretA heart full of furyIs gnawing my breast!"