Part 3 — CHAPTER VI

AN UNLUCKY YEAR

"Strange stars played that year On the face of the Heavens; And some said, 'The Lord rides Abroad, and His angels With long flaming brooms sweep The floor of the Heavens In front of his carriage.' But others were frightened,— They said, 'It is rather The Antichrist coming! 10 It signals misfortune!' And they read it truly. A terrible year came, A terrible famine, When brother denied To his brother a morsel. And then I remembered The wolf that was hungry, For I was like her, Craving food for my children. 20 Now Mother-in-law found A new superstition: She said to the neighbours That I was the reason Of all the misfortune; And why? I had caused it By changing my shirt On the day before Christmas! Well, I escaped lightly, For I had a husband 30 To shield and protect me, But one woman, having Offended, was beaten To death by the people. To play with the starving Is dangerous, my friends.

"The famine was scarcely At end, when another Misfortune befell us— The dreaded recruiting. 40 But I was not troubled By that, because Philip Was safe: one already Had served of his people. One night I sat working, My husband, his brothers, The family, all had Been out since the morning. My Father-in-law Had been called to take part 50 In the communal meeting. The women were standing And chatting with neighbours. But I was exhausted, For then I was heavy With child. I was ailing, And hourly expected My time. When the children Were fed and asleep I lay down on the oven. 60 The women came home soon And called for their suppers; But Father-in-law Had not come, so we waited. He came, tired and gloomy: 'Eh, wife, we are ruined! I'm weary with running, But nothing can save us: They've taken the eldest— Now give them the youngest! 70 I've counted the years To a day—I have proved them; They listen to nothing. They want to take Philip! I prayed to the commune— But what is it worth? I ran to the bailiff; He swore he was sorry, But couldn't assist us. I went to the clerk then; 80 You might just as well Set to work with a hatchet To chop out the shadows Up there, on the ceiling, As try to get truth Out of that little rascal! He's bought. They are all bought,— Not one of them honest! If only he knew it— The Governor—he'd teach them! 90 If he would but order The commune to show him The lists of the volost, And see how they cheat us!' The mother and daughters Are groaning and crying; But I! … I am cold…. I am burning in fever! … My thoughts … I have no thoughts! I think I am dreaming! 100 My fatherless children Are standing before me, And crying with hunger. The family, frowning, Looks coldly upon them…. At home they are 'noisy,' At play they are 'clumsy,' At table they're 'gluttons'! And somebody threatens To punish my children— 110 They slap them and pinch them! Be silent, you mother! You wife of a soldier!"

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"I now have no part In the village allotments, No share in the building, The clothes, and the cattle, And these are my riches: Three lakes of salt tear-drops, Three fields sown with grief!" 120

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"And now, like a sinner, I bow to the neighbours; I ask their forgiveness; I hear myself saying, 'Forgive me for being So haughty and proud! I little expected That God, for my pride, Would have left me forsaken! I pray you, good people, 130 To show me more wisdom, To teach me to live And to nourish my children, What food they should have, And what drink, and what teaching.'"

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"I'm sending my children To beg in the village; 'Go, children, beg humbly, But dare not to steal.' The children are sobbing, 140 'It's cold, little Mother, Our clothes are in rags; We are weary of passing From doorway to doorway; We stand by the windows And shiver. We're frightened To beg of the rich folk; The poor ones say, ''God will Provide for the orphans!'' We cannot come home, 150 For if we bring nothing We know you'll be angry!'"

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"To go to God's church I have made myself tidy; I hear how the neighbours Are laughing around me: 'Now who is she setting Her cap at?' they whisper."

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"Don't wash yourself clean. And don't dress yourself nicely; 160 The neighbours are sharp— They have eyes like the eagle And tongues like the serpent. Walk humbly and slowly, Don't laugh when you're cheerful, Don't weep when you're sad."

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"The dull, endless winter Has come, and the fields And the pretty green meadows Are hidden away 170 'Neath the snow. Nothing living Is seen in the folds Of the gleaming white grave-clothes. No friend under Heaven There is for the woman, The wife of the soldier. Who knows what her thoughts are? Who cares for her words? Who is sad for her sorrow? And where can she bury 180 The insults they cast her? Perhaps in the woods?— But the woods are all withered! Perhaps in the meadows?— The meadows are frozen! The swift little stream?— But its waters are sleeping! No,—carry them with you To hide in your grave!"

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"My husband is gone; 190 There is no one to shield me. Hark, hark! There's the drum! And the soldiers are coming! They halt;—they are forming A line in the market. 'Attention!' There's Philip! There's Philip! I see him! 'Attention! Eyes front!' It's Shalashnikov shouting…. Oh, Philip has fallen! 200 Have mercy! Have mercy! 'Try that—try some physic! You'll soon get to like it! Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!' He is striking my husband! 'I flog, not with whips, But with knouts made for giants!'"

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"I sprang from the stove, Though my burden was heavy; I listen…. All silent…. 210 The family sleeping. I creep to the doorway And open it softly, I pass down the street Through the night…. It is frosty. In Domina's hut, Where the youths and young maidens Assemble at night, They are singing in chorus My favourite song: 220

"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, The little cottage at its foot, And Mashenka is there. Her father comes to look for her, He wakens her and coaxes her: ''Eh, Mashenka, come home,'' he cries, ''Efeemovna, come home!''

"'''I won't come, and I won't listen! Black the night—no moon in Heaven! Swift the stream—no bridge, no ferry! Dark the wood—no guards.'' 231

"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, The little cottage at its foot, And Mashenka is there. Her mother comes to look for her, She wakens her and coaxes her: ''Now, Mashenka, come home,'' she says, ''Efeemovna, come home!''

"'''I won't come, and I won't listen! Black the night—no moon in Heaven! Swift the stream—no bridge, no ferry! Dark the wood—no guards!'' 242

"'The fir tree on the mountain stands, The little cottage at its foot, And Mashenka is there. Young Peter comes to look for her, He wakens her, and coaxes her: ''Oh, Mashenka, come home with me! My little dove, Efeemovna, Come home, my dear, with me.'' 250

"'''I will come, and I will listen, Fair the night—the moon in Heaven, Calm the stream with bridge and ferry, In the wood strong guards.'''"