"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?'
"'But God, little Grandchild,
Is high, and the Tsar
Far away,' said Savyéli.
"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, Savyéli?'
"'A bondswoman, Grandchild,
You are; and for such
Is no hope,' said Savyéli.
"For long I sat darkly
And bitterly thinking.
The thunder pealed forth
And the windows were shaken; 470
I started! Savyéli
Drew nearer and touched me,
And led me to stand
By the little white coffin:
"'Now pray that the Lord
May have placed little Djóma
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 Djómushka's coffin
And read from the book
In a measured low voice…."
CHAPTER V
THE SHE-WOLF