Chapter 14

DJOMUSHKA

"The little tree burns For the lightning has struck it. The nightingale's nest Has been built in its branches. The little tree burns, It is sighing and groaning; The nightingale's children Are crying and calling: 'Oh, come, little Mother! Oh, come, little Mother! 10 Take care of us, Mother, Until we can fly, Till our wings have grown stronger, Until we can fly To the peaceful green forest, Until we can fly To the far silent valleys....' The poor little tree-- It is burnt to grey ashes; The poor little fledgelings 20 Are burnt to grey ashes. The mother flies home, But the tree ... and the fledgelings ... The nest.... She is calling, Lamenting and calling; She circles around, She is sobbing and moaning; She circles so quickly, She circles so quickly, Her tiny wings whistle. 30 The dark night has fallen, The dark world is silent, But one little creature Is helplessly grieving And cannot find comfort;-- The nightingale only Laments for her children.... She never will see them Again, though she call them Till breaks the white day.... 40 I carried my baby Asleep in my bosom To work in the meadows. But Mother-in-law cried, 'Come, leave him behind you, At home with Savyeli, You'll work better then.' And I was so timid, So tired of her scolding, I left him behind. 50

"That year it so happened The harvest was richer Than ever we'd known it; The reaping was hard, But the reapers were merry, I sang as I mounted The sheaves on the waggon. (The waggons are loaded To laughter and singing; The sledges in silence, 60 With thoughts sad and bitter; The waggons convey the corn Home to the peasants, The sledges will bear it Away to the market.)

"But as I was working I heard of a sudden A deep groan of anguish: I saw old Savyeli Creep trembling towards me, 70 His face white as death: 'Forgive me, Matrona! Forgive me, Matrona! I sinned....I was careless.' He fell at my feet.

"Oh, stay, little swallow! Your nest build not there! Not there 'neath the leafless Bare bank of the river: The water will rise, 80 And your children will perish. Oh, poor little woman, Young wife and young mother, The daughter-in-law And the slave of the household, Bear blows and abuse, Suffer all things in silence, But let not your baby Be torn from your bosom.... Savyeli had fallen 90 Asleep in the sunshine, And Djoma--the pigs Had attacked him and killed him.

"I fell to the ground And lay writhing in torture; I bit the black earth And I shrieked in wild anguish; I called on his name, And I thought in my madness My voice must awake him.... 100

"Hark!--horses' hoofs stamping,[52] And harness-bells jangling-- Another misfortune! The children are frightened, They run to the houses; And outside the window The old men and women Are talking in whispers And nodding together. The Elder is running 110 And tapping each window In turn with his staff; Then he runs to the hayfields, He runs to the pastures, To summon the people. They come, full of sorrow-- Another misfortune! And God in His wrath Has sent guests that are hateful, Has sent unjust judges. 120 Perhaps they want money? Their coats are worn threadbare? Perhaps they are hungry?

"Without greeting Christ They sit down at the table, They've set up an icon And cross in the middle; Our pope, Father John, Swears the witnesses singly.

"They question Savyeli, 130 And then a policeman Is sent to find me, While the officer, swearing, Is striding about Like a beast in the forest.... 'Now, woman, confess it,' He cries when I enter, 'You lived with the peasant Savyeli in sin?'

"I whisper in answer, 140 'Kind sir, you are joking. I am to my husband A wife without stain, And the peasant Savyeli Is more than a hundred Years old;--you can see it.'

"He's stamping about Like a horse in the stable; In fury he's thumping His fist on the table. 150 'Be silent! Confess, then, That you with Savyeli Had plotted to murder Your child!'

"Holy Mother! What horrible ravings! My God, give me patience, And let me not strangle The wicked blasphemer! I looked at the doctor 160 And shuddered in terror: Before him lay lancets, Sharp scissors, and knives. I conquered myself, For I knew why they lay there. I answer him trembling, 'I loved little Djoma, I would not have harmed him.'

"'And did you not poison him. Give him some powder?' 170

"'Oh, Heaven forbid!' I kneel to him crying, 'Be gentle! Have mercy! And grant that my baby In honour be buried, Forbid them to thrust The cruel knives in his body! Oh, I am his mother!'

"Can anything move them? No hearts they possess, 180 In their eyes is no conscience, No cross at their throats....

"They have lifted the napkin Which covered my baby; His little white body With scissors and lancets They worry and torture ... The room has grown darker, I'm struggling and screaming, 'You butchers! You fiends! 190 Not on earth, not on water, And not on God's temple My tears shall be showered; But straight on the souls Of my hellish tormentors! Oh, hear me, just God! May Thy curse fall and strike them! Ordain that their garments May rot on their bodies! Their eyes be struck blind, 200 And their brains scorch in madness! Their wives be unfaithful, Their children be crippled! Oh, hear me, just God! Hear the prayers of a mother, And look on her tears,-- Strike these pitiless devils!'

"'She's crazy, the woman!' The officer shouted, 'Why did you not tell us 210 Before? Stop this fooling! Or else I shall order My men, here, to bind you.'

"I sank on the bench, I was trembling all over; I shook like a leaf As I gazed at the doctor; His sleeves were rolled backwards, A knife was in one hand, A cloth in the other, 220 And blood was upon it; His glasses were fixed On his nose. All was silent. The officer's pen Began scratching on paper; The motionless peasants Stood gloomy and mournful; The pope lit his pipe And sat watching the doctor. He said, 'You are reading 230 A heart with a knife.' I started up wildly; I knew that the doctor Was piercing the heart Of my little dead baby.

"'Now, bind her, the vixen!' The officer shouted;-- She's mad!' He began To inquire of the peasants, 'Have none of you noticed 240 Before that the woman Korchagin is crazy?'

"'No,' answered the peasants. And then Philip's parents He asked, and their children; They answered, 'Oh, no, sir! We never remarked it.' He asked old Savyeli,-- There's one thing,' he answered, 'That might make one think 250 That Matrona 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 Djomushka'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 Natasha and Glasha, And Dariushka,--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 Savyeli. 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, Djomushka will not Feel happy within it, He cannot sleep well.... 'Begone!'--I cried harshly On seeing Savyeli; He stood near the coffin And read from the book 360 In his hand, through his glasses. I cursed old Savyeli, Cried--'Branded one! Convict! Begone! 'Twas you killed him! You murdered my, Djoma, Begone from my sight!'

"He stood without moving; He crossed himself thrice And continued his reading. But when I grew calmer 370 Savyeli approached me, And said to me gently, 'In winter, Matrona, 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 Shalashnikov, 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 Djoma 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 Djoma, 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, Matrona, And pray for your baby; God acted with reason: He's counted the joys In the life of a peasant!'

"Long, long did Savyeli 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, Savyeli could not Have found words which were truer, Have spoken them better....

"'Now Djoma 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, Savyeli,' 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?'

"'But God, little Grandchild, Is high, and the Tsar Far away,' said Savyeli.

"I cried, 'Yet I'll reach them!'

"But Grandfather answered, 'Now hush, little Grandchild, You woman of sorrow, Bow down and have patience; 460 No truth you will find In the world, and no justice.'

"'But why then, Savyeli?'

"'A bondswoman, Grandchild, You are; and for such Is no hope,' said Savyeli.

"For long I sat darkly And bitterly thinking. The thunder pealed forth And the windows were shaken; 470 I started! Savyeli Drew nearer and touched me, And led me to stand By the little white coffin:

"'Now pray that the Lord May have placed little Djoma Among the bright ranks Of His angels,' he whispered; A candle he placed In my hand.... And I knelt there 480 The whole of the night Till the pale dawn of daybreak: The grandfather stood Beside Djomushka's coffin And read from the book In a measured low voice...."