Chapter II A Song
Stand before your judge—
And your legs will quake!
Stand before the priest
On your wedding-day,—
How your head will ache!
How your head will ache!
You will call to mind
Songs of long ago,
Songs of gloom and woe:
Telling how the guests
Crowd into the yard,
Run to see the bride
Whom the husband brings
Homeward at his side.
How his parents both
Fling themselves on her;
How his brothers soon
Call her “wasteful one”;
How his sisters next
Call her “giddy one”;
How his father growls,
“Greedy little bear!”
How his mother snarls,
“Cannibal!” at her.
She is “slovenly”
And “disorderly,”
She’s a “wicked one”!
“All that’s in the song
Happened now to me.
Do you know the song?
Have you heard it sung?”
“Yes, we know it well;
Gossip, you begin,
We will all join in.”
Matróna
So sleepy, so weary
I am, and my heavy head
Clings to the pillow.
But out in the passage
My Father-in-law
Begins stamping and swearing.
Peasants in Chorus
Stamping and swearing!
Stamping and swearing!
He won’t let the poor woman
Rest for a moment.
Up, up, up, lazy-head!
Up, up, up, lie-abed!
Lazy-head!
Lie-abed!
Slut!
Matróna
So sleepy, so weary
I am, and my heavy head
Clings to the pillow;
But out in the passage
My Mother-in-law
Begins scolding and nagging.
Peasants in Chorus
Scolding and nagging!
Scolding and nagging!
She won’t let the poor woman
Rest for a moment.
Up, up, up, lazy-head!
Up, up, up, lie-abed!
Lazy-head!
Lie-abed!
Slut!
“A quarrelsome household
It was—that of Philip’s
To which I belonged now;
And I from my girlhood
Stepped straight into Hell.
My husband departed
To work in the city,
And leaving, advised me
To work and be silent,
To yield and be patient:
‘Don’t splash the red iron
With cold water—it hisses!’
With father and mother
And sisters-in-law he
Now left me alone;
Not a soul was among them
To love or to shield me,
But many to scold.
One sister-in-law—
It was Martha, the eldest,—
Soon set me to work
Like a slave for her pleasure.
And Father-in-law too
One had to look after,
Or else all his clothes
To redeem from the tavern.
In all that one did
There was need to be careful,
Or Mother-in-law’s
Superstitions were troubled
(One never could please her).
Well, some superstitions
Of course may be right;
But they’re most of them evil.
And one day it happened
That Mother-in-law
Murmured low to her husband
That corn which is stolen
Grows faster and better.
So Father-in-law
Stole away after midnight….
It chanced he was caught,
And at daybreak next morning
Brought back and flung down
Like a log in the stable.
“But I acted always
As Phílip had told me:
I worked, with the anger
Hid deep in my bosom,
And never a murmur
Allowed to escape me.
And then with the winter
Came Phílip, and brought me
A pretty silk scarf;
And one feast-day he took me
To drive in the sledges;
And quickly my sorrows
Were lost and forgotten:
I sang as in old days
At home, with my father.
For I and my husband
Were both of an age,
And were happy together
When only they left us
Alone, but remember
A husband like Phílip
Not often is found.”
“Do you mean to say
That he never once beat you?”
Matróna was plainly
Confused by the question;
“Once, only, he beat me,”
She said, very low.
“And why?” asked the peasants.
“Well, you know yourselves, friends,
How quarrels arise
In the homes of the peasants.
A young married sister
Of Phílip’s one day
Came to visit her parents.
She found she had holes
In her boots, and it vexed her.
Then Phílip said, ‘Wife,
Fetch some boots for my sister.’
And I did not answer
At once; I was lifting
A large wooden tub,
So, of course, couldn’t speak.
But Phílip was angry
With me, and he waited
Until I had hoisted
The tub to the oven,
Then struck me a blow
With his fist, on my temple.
“‘We’re glad that you came,
But you see that you’d better
Keep out of the way,’
Said the other young sister
To her that was married.
“Again Philip struck me!
“‘It’s long since I’ve seen you,
My dearly-loved daughter,
But could I have known
How the baggage would treat you!’…
Whined Mother-in-law.
“And again Phílip struck me!
“Well, that is the story.
’Tis surely not fitting
For wives to sit counting
The blows of their husbands,
But then I had promised
To keep nothing back.”
“Ah, well, with these women—
The poisonous serpents!—
A corpse would awaken
And snatch up a horsewhip,”
The peasants say, smiling.
Matróna said nothing.
The peasants, in order
To keep the occasion
In manner befitting,
Are filling the glasses;
And now they are singing
In voices of thunder
A rollicking chorus,
Of husbands’ relations,
And wielding the knout.
… …
“Cruel hated husband,
Hark! he is coming!
Holding the knout….”
Chorus
“Hear the lash whistle!
See the blood spurt!
Ai, leli, leli!
See the blood spurt!”
… …
“Run to his father!
Bowing before him—
‘Save me!’ I beg him;
‘Stop my fierce husband—
Venomous serpent!’
Father-in-law says,
‘Beat her more soundly!
Draw the blood freely!’”
Chorus
“Hear the lash whistle!
See the blood spurt!
Ai, leli, leli!
See the blood spurt!”
… …
“Quick—to his mother!
Bowing before her—
‘Save me!’ I beg her;
‘Stop my cruel husband!
Venomous serpent!’
Mother-in-law says,
‘Beat her more soundly,
Draw the blood freely!’”
Chorus
“Hear the lash whistle!
See the blood spurt!
Ai, leli, leli!
See the blood spurt!”
“On Lady-day Phílip
Went back to the city;
A little while later
Our baby was born.
Like a bright-coloured picture
Was he—little Djóma;
The sunbeams had given
Their radiance to him,
The pure snow its whiteness;
The poppies had painted
His lips; by the sable
His brow had been pencilled;
The falcon had fashioned
His eyes, and had lent them
Their wonderful brightness.
At sight of his first
Angel smile, all the anger
And bitterness nursed
In my bosom was melted;
It vanished away
Like the snow on the meadows
At sight of the smiling
Spring sun. And not longer
I worried and fretted;
I worked, and in silence
I let them upbraid.
But soon after that
A misfortune befell me:
The manager by
The Pomyéshchick appointed,
Called Sitnikov, hotly
Began to pursue me.
‘My lovely Tsaritsa!
‘My rosy-ripe berry!’
Said he; and I answered,
‘Be off, shameless rascal!
Remember, the berry
Is not in your forest!’
I stayed from the field-work,
And hid in the cottage;
He very soon found me.
I hid in the corn-loft,
But Mother-in-law
Dragged me out to the courtyard;
‘Now don’t play with fire, girl!’
She said. I besought her
To send him away,
But she answered me roughly,
‘And do you want Phílip
To serve as a soldier?’
I ran to Savyéli,
The grandfather, begging
His aid and advice.
“I haven’t yet told you
A word of Savyéli,
The only one living
Of Phílip’s relations
Who pitied and loved me.
Say, friends, shall I tell you
About him as well?”
“Yes, tell us his tale,
And we’ll each throw a couple
Of sheaves in to-morrow,
Above what we promised.”
“Well, well,” says Matróna,
“And ’twould be a pity
To give old Savyéli
No place in the story;
For he was a happy one,
Too—the old man….”