Chapter VII: The Governor's Lady

"I'm hurrying blindly,I've run through the village;Yet strangely the singingFrom Domina's cottagePursues me and ringsIn my ears. My pace slackens,I rest for awhile,And look back at the village:I see the white snowdriftO'er valley and meadow,The moon in the Heavens,My self, and my shadow....

"I do not feel frightened;A flutter of gladnessAwakes in my bosom,'You brisk winter breezes,My thanks for your freshness!I crave for your breathAs the sick man for water.'My mind has grown clear,To my knees I am falling:'O Mother of Christ!I beseech Thee to tell meWhy God is so angryWith me. Holy Mother!No tiniest boneIn my limbs is unbroken;No nerve in my bodyUncrushed. I am patient,--I have not complained.All the strength that God gave meI've spent on my work;All the love on my children.But Thou seest all things,And Thou art so mighty;Oh, succour thy slave!'

"I love now to prayOn a night clear and frosty;To kneel on the earth'Neath the stars in the winter.Remember, my brothers,If trouble befall you,To counsel your womenTo pray in that manner;In no other placeCan one pray so devoutly,At no other season....

"I prayed and grew stronger;I bowed my hot headTo the cool snowy napkin,And quickly my feverWas spent. And when laterI looked at the roadwayI found that I knew it;I'd passed it beforeOn the mild summer evenings;At morning I'd greetedThe sunrise upon itIn haste to be offTo the fair. And I walked nowThe whole of the nightWithout meeting a soul....But now to the citiesThe sledges are starting,Piled high with the hayOf the peasants. I watch them,And pity the horses:Their lawful provisionThemselves they are draggingAway from the courtyard;And afterwards theyWill be hungry. I pondered:The horses that workMust eat straw, while the idlersAre fed upon oats.But when Need comes he hastensTo empty your corn-lofts,Won't wait to be asked....

"I come within sightOf the town. On the outskirtsThe merchants are cheatingAnd wheedling the peasants,There's shouting and swearing,Abusing and coaxing.

"I enter the townAs the bell rings for matins.I make for the marketBefore the cathedral.I know that the gatesOf the Governor's courtyardAre there. It is dark still,The square is quite empty;In front of the courtyardA sentinel paces:'Pray tell me, good man,Does the Governor rise early?'

"'Don't know. Go away.I'm forbidden to chatter.'(I give him some farthings.)'Well, go to the porter;He knows all about it.'

"'Where is he? And whatIs his name, little sentry?'

"'Makhar Fedosseich,He stands at the entrance.'I walk to the entrance,The doors are not opened.I sit on the doorstepsAnd think....

"It grows lighter,A man with a ladderIs turning the lamps down.

"'Heh, what are you doing?And how did you enter?'

"I start in confusion,I see in the doorwayA bald-headed manIn a bed-gown. Then quicklyI come to my senses,And bowing before him(Makhar Fedosseich),I give him a rouble.

"'I come in great needTo the Governor, and see himI must, little Uncle!'

"'You can't see him, woman.Well, well.... I'll consider....Return in two hours.'

"I see in the marketA pedestal standing,A peasant upon it,He's just like Savyeli,And all made of brass:It's Susanin's memorial.While crossing the marketI'm suddenly startled--A heavy grey drakeFrom a cook is escaping;The fellow pursuesWith a knife. It is shrieking.My God, what a sound!To the soul it has pierced me.('Tis only the knifeThat can wring such a shriek.)The cook has now caught it;It stretches its neck,Begins angrily hissing,As if it would frightenThe cook,--the poor creature!I run from the market,I'm trembling and thinking,'The drake will grow calm'Neath the kiss of the knife!'

"The Governor's dwellingAgain is before me,With balconies, turrets,And steps which are coveredWith beautiful carpets.I gaze at the windowsAll shaded with curtains.'Now, which is your chamber,'I think, 'my desired one?Say, do you sleep sweetly?Of what are you dreaming?'I creep up the doorsteps,And keep to the sideNot to tread on the carpets;And there, near the entrance,I wait for the porter.

"'You're early, my gossip!'Again I am startled:A stranger I see,--For at first I don't know him;A livery richlyEmbroidered he wears now;He holds a fine staff;He's not bald any longer!He laughs--'You were frightened?'"'I'm tired, little Uncle.'

"'You've plenty of courage,God's mercy be yours!Come, give me another,And I will befriend you.'

"(I give him a rouble.)'Now come, I will make youSome tea in my office.'

"His den is just underThe stairs. There's a bedstead,A little iron stove,And a candlestick in it,A big samovar,And a lamp in the corner.Some pictures are hungOn the wall. 'That's His Highness,'The porter remarks,And he points with his finger.I look at the picture:A warrior coveredWith stars. 'Is he gentle?'

"'That's just as you happenTo find him. Why, neighbour,The same is with me:To-day I'm obliging,At times I'm as crossAs a dog.'

"'You are dull here,Perhaps, little Uncle?'

"'Oh no, I'm not dull;I've a task that's exciting:Ten years have I foughtWith a foe: Sleep his name is.And I can assure youThat when I have takenAn odd cup of vodka,The stove is red hot,And the smuts from the candleHave blackened the air,It's a desperate struggle!'

"There's somebody knocking.Makhar has gone out;I am sitting alone now.I go to the doorAnd look out. In the courtyardA carriage is waiting.I ask, 'Is he coming?''The lady is coming,'The porter makes answer,And hurries awayTo the foot of the staircase.A lady descends,Wrapped in costliest sables,A lackey behind her.I know not what followed(The Mother of GodMust have come to my aid),It seems that I fellAt the feet of the lady,And cried, 'Oh, protect us!They try to deceive us!My husband--the onlySupport of my children--They've taken away--Oh, they've acted unjustly!'..."'Who are you, my pigeon?'

"My answer I know not,Or whether I gave one;A sudden sharp pang toreMy body in twain."

"I opened my eyesIn a beautiful chamber,In bed I was laid'Neath a canopy, brothers,And near me was sittingA nurse, in a head-dressAll streaming with ribbons.She's nursing a baby.'Who's is it?' I ask her.

"'It's yours, little Mother.'I kiss my sweet child.It seems, when I fellAt the feet of the lady,I wept so and raved so,Already so weakenedBy grief and exhaustion,That there, without warning,My labour had seized me.I bless the sweet lady,Elyen Alexandrovna,Only a motherCould bless her as I do.She christened my baby,Lidorushka called him."

"And what of your husband?"

"They sent to the villageAnd started enquiries,And soon he was righted.Elyen AlexandrovnaBrought him herselfTo my side. She was tenderAnd clever and lovely,And healthy, but childless,For God would not grant herA child. While I stayed thereMy baby was neverAway from her bosom.She tended and nursed himHerself, like a mother.The spring had set inAnd the birch trees were budding,Before she would let usSet out to go home.

"Oh, how fair and brightIn God's world to-day!Glad my heart and gay!

"Homewards lies our way,Near the wood we pause,See, the meadows green,Hark! the waters play.Rivulet so pure,Little child of Spring,How you leap and sing,Rippling in the leaves!High the little larkSoars above our heads,Carols blissfully!Let us stand and gaze;Soon our eyes will meet,I will laugh to thee,Thou wilt smile at me,Wee Lidorushka!

"Look, a beggar comes,Trembling, weak, old man,Give him what we can.'Do not pray for us,'Let us to him say,'Father, you must prayFor Elyenushka,For the lady fair,Alexandrovna!'

"Look, the church of God!Sign the cross we twainTime and time again....'Grant, O blessed Lord,Thy most fair rewardTo the gentle heartOf Elyenushka,Alexandrovna!'

"Green the forest grows,Green the pretty fields,In each dip and dellBright a mirror gleams.Oh, how fair it isIn God's world to-day,Glad my heart and gay!Like the snowy swanO'er the lake I sail,O'er the waving steppesSpeeding like the quail.

"Here we are at home.Through the door I flyLike the pigeon grey;Low the familyBow at sight of me,Nearly to the ground,Pardon they beseechFor the way in whichThey have treated me.'Sit you down,' I say,'Do not bow to me.Listen to my words:You must bow to oneBetter far than I,Stronger far than I,Sing your praise to her.'

"'Sing to whom,' you say?'To Elyenushka,To the fairest soulGod has sent on earth:Alexandrovna!'"