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  'To Elyénushka,   To the fairest soul   God has sent on earth:   Alexándrovna!'"

CHAPTER VIII

THE WOMAN'S LEGEND

  Matróna is silent.  You see that the peasants    Have seized the occasion—  They are not forgetting    To drink to the health  Of the beautiful lady!
  But noticing soon  That Matróna is silent,    In file they approach her.
"What more will you tell us?" 10   "What more?" says Matróna,
"My fame as the 'lucky one'    Spread through the volost,  Since then they have called me    'The Governor's Lady.'
You ask me, what further?    I managed the household,  And brought up my children.    You ask, was I happy?
Well, that you can answer 20  Yourselves. And my children?
  Five sons! But the peasant's  Misfortunes are endless:    They've robbed me of one."
She lowers her voice,    And her lashes are trembling,  But turning her head    She endeavours to hide it.
The peasants are rather    Confused, but they linger: 30  "Well, neighbour," they say,    "Will you tell us no more?"  "There's one thing: You're foolish    To seek among women  For happiness, brothers."
"That's all?"   "I can tell you  That twice we were swallowed    By fire, and that three times  The plague fell upon us; 40
  But such things are common  To all of us peasants.    Like cattle we toiled,  My steps were as easy    As those of a horse  In the plough. But my troubles  Were not very startling:
  No mountains have moved  From their places to crush me;    And God did not strike me 50  With arrows of thunder.
  The storm in my soul  Has been silent, unnoticed,    So how can I paint it  To you? O'er the Mother    Insulted and outraged,  The blood of her first-born    As o'er a crushed worm  Has been poured; and unanswered    The deadly offences 60  That many have dealt her;    The knout has been raised  Unopposed o'er her body.
  But one thing I never  Have suffered: I told you    That Sítnikov died,  That the last, irreparable    Shame had been spared me.
You ask me for happiness?    Brothers, you mock me! 70  Go, ask the official,    The Minister mighty,  The Tsar—Little Father,  But never a woman!
  God knows—among women  Your search will be endless,    Will lead to your graves.
"A pious old woman    Once asked us for shelter;  The whole of her lifetime 80    The Flesh she had conquered  By penance and fasting;
  She'd bathed in the Jordan,  And prayed at the tomb    Of Christ Jesus. She told us  The keys to the welfare    And freedom of women  Have long been mislaid—    God Himself has mislaid them. 
And hermits, chaste women, 90    And monks of great learning,  Have sought them all over    The world, but not found them.
They're lost, and 'tis thought    By a fish they've been swallowed.
God's knights have been seeking    In towns and in deserts,  Weak, starving, and cold,    Hung with torturing fetters.
They've asked of the seers, 100    The stars they have counted  To learn;—but no keys!
  Through the world they have journeyed;  In underground caverns,    In mountains, they've sought them.
At last they discovered    Some keys. They were precious,  But only—not ours.
  Yet the warriors triumphed:  They fitted the lock 110    On the fetters of serfdom!
A sigh from all over    The world rose to Heaven,  A breath of relief,    Oh, so deep and so joyful!  Our keys were still missing….
  Great champions, though,  Till to-day are still searching,    Deep down in the bed  Of the ocean they wander, 120    They fly to the skies,  In the clouds they are seeking,    But never the keys.
Do you think they will find them?  Who knows? Who can say?    But I think it is doubtful,  For which fish has swallowed    Those treasures so priceless,  In which sea it swims—    God Himself has forgotten!" 130

PART IV.

Dedicated to Serge Petrovitch Botkin

A FEAST FOR THE WHOLE VILLAGE 

PROLOGUE

A very old willow    There is at the end  Of the village of "Earthworms,"    Where most of the folk  Have been diggers and delvers  From times very ancient    (Though some produced tar).
This willow had witnessed    The lives of the peasants:  Their holidays, dances, 10    Their communal meetings,  Their floggings by day,    In the evening their wooing,  And now it looked down    On a wonderful feast.
  The feast was conducted  In Petersburg fashion,    For Klímka, the peasant  (Our former acquaintance),    Had seen on his travels 20  Some noblemen's banquets,    With toasts and orations,  And he had arranged it.