"'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?'