"Maybe, a month ago,—was it not?—news came here, They wanted, deeper down, good workmen fit to rear A church and roof it in. 'We'll go,' my husband said: 'None understands like me to melt and mould their lead.' So, friends here helped us off—Ivàn, dear, you the first! How gay we jingled forth, all five—(my heart will burst)— While Dmìtri shook the reins, urged Droug upon his track! "Well, soon the month ran out, we just were coming back, When yesterday—behold, the village was on fire! Fire ran from house to house. What help, as, nigh and nigher, The flames came furious? 'Haste,' cried Dmìtri, 'men must do The little good man may: to sledge and in with you, You and our three! We check the fire by laying flat Each building in its path,—I needs must stay for that,— But you ... no time for talk! Wrap round you every rug, Cover the couple close,—you'll have the babe to hug. No care to guide old Droug, he knows his way, by guess, Once start him on the road: but chirrup, none the less! The snow lies glib as glass and hard as steel, and soon You'll have rise, fine and full, a marvel of a moon. Hold straight up, all the same, this lighted twist of pitch! Once home and with our friend Ivàn Ivànovitch, All 's safe: I have my pay in pouch, all 's right with me, So I but find as safe you and our precious three! Off, Droug!'—because the flames had reached us, and the men Shouted, 'But lend a hand, Dmìtri—as good as ten!' "So, in we bundled—I and those God gave me once; Old Droug, that 's stiff at first, seemed youthful for the nonce: He understood the case, galloping straight ahead. Out came the moon: my twist soon dwindled, feebly red In that unnatural day—yes, daylight bred between Moonlight and snow-light, lamped those grotto-depths which screen Such devils from God's eye. Ah, pines, how straight you grow, Nor bend one pitying branch, true breed of brutal snow! Some undergrowth had served to keep the devils blind While we escaped outside their border!
"Was that—wind? Anyhow, Droug starts, stops, back go his ears, he snuffs, Snorts,—never such a snort! then plunges, knows the sough 's Only the wind: yet, no—our breath goes up too straight! Still the low sound,—less low, loud, louder, at a rate There 's no mistaking more! Shall I lean out—look—learn The truth whatever it be? Pad, pad! At last, I turn—
"'T is the regular pad of the wolves in pursuit of the life in the sledge! An army they are: close-packed they press like the thrust of a wedge: They increase as they hunt: for I see, through the pine-trunks ranged each side, Slip forth new fiend and fiend, make wider and still more wide The four-footed steady advance. The foremost—none may pass: They are the elders and lead the line, eye and eye —green-glowing brass! But a long way distant still. Droug, save us! He does his best: Yet they gain on us, gain, till they reach,—one reaches ... How utter the rest? O that Satan-faced first of the band! How he lolls out the length of his tongue, How he laughs and lets gleam his white teeth! He is on me, his paws pry among The wraps and the rugs! O my pair, my twin-pigeons, lie still and seem dead! Stepàn, he shall never have you for a meal,— here's your mother instead! No, he will not be counselled—must cry, poor Stiòpka, so foolish! though first Of my boy-brood, he was not the best: nay, neighbors called him the worst: He was puny, an undersized slip,—a darling to me, all the same! But little there was to be praised in the boy, and a plenty to blame. I loved him with heart and soul, yes—but, deal him a blow for a fault, He would sulk for whole days. 'Foolish boy! lie still or the villain will vault, Will snatch you from over my head!' No use! he cries, he screams,—who can hold Fast a boy in frenzy of fear! It follows—as I foretold! The Satan-face snatched and snapped: I tugged, I tore, and then His brother too needs must shriek! If one must go, 't is men The Tsar needs, so we hear, not ailing boys! Perhaps My hands relaxed their grasp, got tangled in the wraps: God, he was gone! I looked: there tumbled the cursed crew, Each fighting for a share: too busy to pursue! That's so far gain at least: Droug, gallop another verst Or two, or three—God sends we beat them, arrive the first! A mother who boasts two boys was ever accounted rich: Some have not a boy: some have, but lose him,—God knows which Is worse: how pitiful to see your weakling pine And pale and pass away! Strong brats, this pair of mine!
"O misery! for while I settle to what near seems Content, I am 'ware again of the tramp, and again there gleams— Point and point—the line, eyes, levelled green brassy fire! So soon is resumed your chase? Will nothing appease, naught tire The furies? And yet I think—I am certain the race is slack, And the numbers are nothing like. Not a quarter of the pack! Feasters and those full-fed are staying behind ... Ah, why? We 'll sorrow for that too soon! Now,—gallop, reach home and die, Nor ever again leave house, to trust our life in the trap For life—we call a sledge! Teriòscha, in my lap! Yes, I 'll lie down upon you, tight-tie you with the strings Here—of my heart! No fear, this time, your mother flings ... Flings? I flung? Never! But think!—a woman, after all, Contending with a wolf! Save you I must and shall, Terentiì!
"How now? What, you still head the race, Your eyes and tongue and teeth crave fresh food, Satan-face? Flash again? There and there! Plain I struck green fire out! All a poor fist can do to damage eyes proves vain! My fist—why not crunch that? He is wanton for ... O God, Why give this wolf his taste? Common wolves scrape and prod The earth till out they scratch some corpse—mere putrid flesh! Why must this glutton leave the faded, choose the fresh? Terentiì—God, feel!—his neck keeps fast thy bag Of holy things, saints' bones, this Satan-face will drag Forth, and devour along with him, our Pope declared The relics were to save from danger!
"Spurned, not spared! 'T was through my arms, crossed arms, he—nuzzling now with snout, Now ripping, tooth and claw—plucked, pulled Terentiì out, A prize indeed! I saw—how could I else but see?— My precious one—I bit to hold back—pulled from me! Up came the others, fell to dancing—did the imps!— Skipped as they scampered round. There 's one is gray, and limps: Who knows but old bad Màrpha—she always owed me spite And envied me my births—skulks out of doors at night And turns into a wolf, and joins the sisterhood, And laps the youthful life, then slinks from out the wood, Squats down at the door by dawn, spins there demure as erst —No strength, old crone—not she!—to crawl forth half a verst!
"Well, I escaped with one: 'twixt one and none there lies The space 'twixt heaven and hell. And see, a rose-light dyes The endmost snow: 't is dawn, 't is day, 't is safe at home! We have outwitted you! Ay, monsters, snarl and foam, Fight each the other fiend, disputing for a share,— Forgetful in your greed, our finest off we bear, Tough Droug and I,—my babe, my boy that shall be man, My man that shall be more, do all a hunter can To trace and follow and find and catch and crucify Wolves, wolfkins, all your crew! A thousand deaths shall die The whimperingest cub that ever squeezed the teat! 'Take that!' we 'll stab you with,—'the tenderness we met When, wretches, you danced round,—not this, thank God—not this! Hellhounds, we balk you!'
"But—Ah, God above!—Bliss, bliss,— Not the band, no! And yet—yes, for Droug knows him! One— This only of them all has said 'She saves a son!' His fellows disbelieve such luck: but he believes, He lets them pick the bones, laugh at him in their sleeves: He's off and after us,—one speck, one spot, one ball Grows bigger, bound on bound,—one wolf as good as all! Oh, but I know the trick! Have at the snaky tongue! That 's the right way with wolves! Go, tell your mates I wrung The panting morsel out, left you to howl your worst! Now for it—now! Ah me, I know him—thrice-accurst Satan-face,—him to the end my foe!
"All fight's in vain: This time the green brass points pierce to my very brain. I fall—fall as I ought—quite on the babe I guard: I overspread with flesh the whole of him. Too hard To die this way, torn piecemeal? Move hence? Not I—one inch! Gnaw through me, through and through: flat thus I lie nor flinch! O God, the feel of the fang furrowing my shoulder!—see! It grinds—it grates the bone. O Kìrill under me, Could I do more? Besides he knew the wolf's way to win: I clung, closed round like wax: yet in he wedged and in, Past my neck, past my breasts, my heart, until ... how feels The onion-bulb your knife parts, pushing through its peels, Till out you scoop its clove wherein lie stalk and leaf And bloom and seed unborn?
"That slew me: yes, in brief, I died then, dead I lay doubtlessly till Droug stopped Here, I suppose. I come to life, I find me propped Thus,—how or when or why—I know not. Tell me, friends, All was a dream: laugh quick and say the nightmare ends! Soon I shall find my house: 't is over there: in proof, Save for that chimney heaped with snow, you'd see the roof Which holds my three—my two—my one—not one?