Chapter VII The Governor’s Lady
“I’m hurrying blindly,
I’ve run through the village;
Yet strangely the singing
From Domina’s cottage
Pursues me and rings
In my ears. My pace slackens,
I rest for awhile,
And look back at the village:
I see the white snowdrift
O’er valley and meadow,
The moon in the Heavens,
My self, and my shadow….
“I do not feel frightened;
A flutter of gladness
Awakes in my bosom,
‘You brisk winter breezes,
My thanks for your freshness!
I crave for your breath
As the sick man for water.’
My mind has grown clear,
To my knees I am falling:
‘O Mother of Christ!
I beseech Thee to tell me
Why God is so angry
With me. Holy Mother!
No tiniest bone
In my limbs is unbroken;
No nerve in my body
Uncrushed. I am patient,—
I have not complained.
All the strength that God gave me
I’ve spent on my work;
All the love on my children.
But Thou seest all things,
And Thou art so mighty;
Oh, succour thy slave!’
“I love now to pray
On a night clear and frosty;
To kneel on the earth
’Neath the stars in the winter.
Remember, my brothers,
If trouble befall you,
To counsel your women
To pray in that manner;
In no other place
Can one pray so devoutly,
At no other season….
“I prayed and grew stronger;
I bowed my hot head
To the cool snowy napkin,
And quickly my fever
Was spent. And when later
I looked at the roadway
I found that I knew it;
I’d passed it before
On the mild summer evenings;
At morning I’d greeted
The sunrise upon it
In haste to be off
To the fair. And I walked now
The whole of the night
Without meeting a soul….
But now to the cities
The sledges are starting,
Piled high with the hay
Of the peasants. I watch them,
And pity the horses:
Their lawful provision
Themselves they are dragging
Away from the courtyard;
And afterwards they
Will be hungry. I pondered:
The horses that work
Must eat straw, while the idlers
Are fed upon oats.
But when Need comes he hastens
To empty your corn-lofts,
Won’t wait to be asked….
“I come within sight
Of the town. On the outskirts
The merchants are cheating
And wheedling the peasants,
There’s shouting and swearing,
Abusing and coaxing.
“I enter the town
As the bell rings for matins.
I make for the market
Before the cathedral.
I know that the gates
Of the Governor’s courtyard
Are there. It is dark still,
The square is quite empty;
In front of the courtyard
A sentinel paces:
‘Pray tell me, good man,
Does the Governor rise early?’
“‘Don’t know. Go away.
I’m forbidden to chatter.’
(I give him some farthings.)
‘Well, go to the porter;
He knows all about it.’
“‘Where is he? And what
Is his name, little sentry?’
“‘Makhár Fedosséich,
He stands at the entrance.’
I walk to the entrance,
The doors are not opened.
I sit on the doorsteps
And think….
“It grows lighter,
A man with a ladder
Is turning the lamps down.
“‘Heh, what are you doing?
And how did you enter?’
“I start in confusion,
I see in the doorway
A bald-headed man
In a bed-gown. Then quickly
I come to my senses,
And bowing before him
(Makhár Fedosséich),
I give him a rouble.
“‘I come in great need
To the Governor, and see him
I must, little Uncle!’
“‘You can’t see him, woman.
Well, well…. I’ll consider….
Return in two hours.’
“I see in the market
A pedestal standing,
A peasant upon it,
He’s just like Savyéli,
And all made of brass:
It’s Susánin’s memorial.
While crossing the market
I’m suddenly startled—
A heavy grey drake
From a cook is escaping;
The fellow pursues
With a knife. It is shrieking.
My God, what a sound!
To the soul it has pierced me.
(’Tis only the knife
That can wring such a shriek.)
The cook has now caught it;
It stretches its neck,
Begins angrily hissing,
As if it would frighten
The cook,—the poor creature!
I run from the market,
I’m trembling and thinking,
‘The drake will grow calm
‘Neath the kiss of the knife!’
“The Governor’s dwelling
Again is before me,
With balconies, turrets,
And steps which are covered
With beautiful carpets.
I gaze at the windows
All shaded with curtains.
‘Now, which is your chamber,’
I think, ‘my desired one?
Say, do you sleep sweetly?
Of what are you dreaming?’
I creep up the doorsteps,
And keep to the side
Not to tread on the carpets;
And there, near the entrance,
I wait for the porter.
“‘You’re early, my gossip!’
Again I am startled:
A stranger I see,—
For at first I don’t know him;
A livery richly
Embroidered he wears now;
He holds a fine staff;
He’s not bald any longer!
He laughs—‘You were frightened?’
“‘I’m tired, little Uncle.’
“‘You’ve plenty of courage,
God’s mercy be yours!
Come, give me another,
And I will befriend you.’
“(I give him a rouble.)
‘Now come, I will make you
Some tea in my office.’
“His den is just under
The stairs. There’s a bedstead,
A little iron stove,
And a candlestick in it,
A big samovar,
And a lamp in the corner.
Some pictures are hung
On the wall. ‘That’s His Highness,’
The porter remarks,
And he points with his finger.
I look at the picture:
A warrior covered
With stars. ‘Is he gentle?’
“‘That’s just as you happen
To find him. Why, neighbour,
The same is with me:
To-day I’m obliging,
At times I’m as cross
As a dog.’
“‘You are dull here,
Perhaps, little Uncle?’
“‘Oh no, I’m not dull;
I’ve a task that’s exciting:
Ten years have I fought
With a foe: Sleep his name is.
And I can assure you
That when I have taken
An odd cup of vodka,
The stove is red hot,
And the smuts from the candle
Have blackened the air,
It’s a desperate struggle!’
“There’s somebody knocking.
Makhár has gone out;
I am sitting alone now.
I go to the door
And look out. In the courtyard
A carriage is waiting.
I ask, ‘Is he coming?’
‘The lady is coming,’
The porter makes answer,
And hurries away
To the foot of the staircase.
A lady descends,
Wrapped in costliest sables,
A lackey behind her.
I know not what followed
(The Mother of God
Must have come to my aid),
It seems that I fell
At the feet of the lady,
And cried, ‘Oh, protect us!
They try to deceive us!
My husband—the only
Support of my children—
They’ve taken away—
Oh, they’ve acted unjustly!’…
“‘Who are you, my pigeon?’
“My answer I know not,
Or whether I gave one;
A sudden sharp pang tore
My body in twain.”
“I opened my eyes
In a beautiful chamber,
In bed I was laid
’Neath a canopy, brothers,
And near me was sitting
A nurse, in a head-dress
All streaming with ribbons.
She’s nursing a baby.
‘Who’s is it?’ I ask her.
“‘It’s yours, little Mother.’
I kiss my sweet child.
It seems, when I fell
At the feet of the lady,
I wept so and raved so,
Already so weakened
By grief and exhaustion,
That there, without warning,
My labour had seized me.
I bless the sweet lady,
Elyén Alexándrovna,
Only a mother
Could bless her as I do.
She christened my baby,
Lidórushka called him.”
“And what of your husband?”
“They sent to the village
And started enquiries,
And soon he was righted.
Elyén Alexándrovna
Brought him herself
To my side. She was tender
And clever and lovely,
And healthy, but childless,
For God would not grant her
A child. While I stayed there
My baby was never
Away from her bosom.
She tended and nursed him
Herself, like a mother.
The spring had set in
And the birch trees were budding,
Before she would let us
Set out to go home.
“Oh, how fair and bright
In God’s world to-day!
Glad my heart and gay!
“Homewards lies our way,
Near the wood we pause,
See, the meadows green,
Hark! the waters play.
Rivulet so pure,
Little child of Spring,
How you leap and sing,
Rippling in the leaves!
High the little lark
Soars above our heads,
Carols blissfully!
Let us stand and gaze;
Soon our eyes will meet,
I will laugh to thee,
Thou wilt smile at me,
Wee Lidórushka!
“Look, a beggar comes,
Trembling, weak, old man,
Give him what we can.
‘Do not pray for us,’
Let us to him say,
‘Father, you must pray
For Elyénushka,
For the lady fair,
Alexándrovna!’
“Look, the church of God!
Sign the cross we twain
Time and time again….
‘Grant, O blessed Lord,
Thy most fair reward
To the gentle heart
Of Elyénushka,
Alexándrovna!’
“Green the forest grows,
Green the pretty fields,
In each dip and dell
Bright a mirror gleams.
Oh, how fair it is
In God’s world to-day,
Glad my heart and gay!
Like the snowy swan
O’er the lake I sail,
O’er the waving steppes
Speeding like the quail.
“Here we are at home.
Through the door I fly
Like the pigeon grey;
Low the family
Bow at sight of me,
Nearly to the ground,
Pardon they beseech
For the way in which
They have treated me.
‘Sit you down,’ I say,
‘Do not bow to me.
Listen to my words:
You must bow to one
Better far than I,
Stronger far than I,
Sing your praise to her.’
“‘Sing to whom,’ you say?
‘To Elyénushka,
To the fairest soul
God has sent on earth:
Alexándrovna!’”