Why we should read Part 25

"A very old man Wearing long white moustaches (He seems to be all white); His cap, broad and high-crowned, Is white, with a peak, In the front, of red satin.

His body is lean As a hare's in the winter, His nose like a hawk's beak.

His eyes--well, they differ: The one, sharp and s.h.i.+ning, The other--the left eye-- Is sightless and blank, Like a dull leaden farthing.

Some woolly white poodles With tufts on their ankles Are in the boat too."

This venerable barin Prince Yutiatin believes that the old regime still exists and his serfs have agreed to humour him in order to keep him alive.

They agree to

"'Keep silent and act still As if all this trouble Had never existed: Give way to him, bow to him Just as in old days.'"

So the Prince has all his whims satisfied and peasants are beaten (voluntarily) at his pleasure. He orders his sons to dance and girls to sing.

"The golden-haired lady Does not want to sing, But the old man will have it.

The lady is singing A song low and tender, It sounds like the breeze On a soft summer evening In velvety gra.s.ses Astray, like spring raindrops That kiss the young leaves, And it soothes the Pomyeschick, The feeble old man: He is falling asleep now ...

And gently they carry him Down to the water, And into the boat.

And he lies there, still sleeping.

Above him stands, holding A big green umbrella, The faithful old servant, His other hand guarding The sleeping Pomyeschick From gnats and mosquitoes.

The oarsmen are silent, The faint-sounding music Can hardly be heard As the boat moving gently Glides on through the water...."

In Part III., having failed to elicit a satisfactory answer to their question from the men, they decide to try the women. They go to the woman Matrna

[Who] "Is tall, finely moulded, Majestic in bearing, And strikingly handsome.

Of thirty-eight years She appears, and her black hair Is mingled with grey.

Her complexion is swarthy, Her eyes large and dark And severe, with rich lashes."

They manage to prevail upon her to tell her life story:

"'My girl-hood was happy, For we were a thrifty And diligent household: And I, the young maiden, With father and mother Knew nothing but joy.

My father got up And went out before sunrise, He woke me with kisses And tender caresses: My brother, while dressing, Would sing little verses: "Get up, little sister, Get up, little sister, In no little beds now Are people delaying, In all little churches The peasants are praying; Get up, now, get up, It is time, little sister.

The shepherd has gone To the field with the sheep, And no little maidens Are lying asleep, They've gone to pick raspberries, Merrily singing...."

I never ran after The youths, and the forward I checked very sharply.

To those who were gentle And shy, I would whisper: "My cheeks will grow hot, And sharp eyes has my mother: Be wise, now, and leave me Alone" ... and they left me.'"

At last came the man to whom she was destined to give her heart:

"'And Philip was handsome, Was rosy and l.u.s.ty, Was strong and broad-shouldered, With fair curling hair, With a voice low and tender....

Ah, well ... I was won....

"Don't fear, little pigeon, We shall not regret it,"

Said Philip, but still I was timid and doubtful.

Of course I was fairer And sweeter and dearer Than any that lived, And his arms were about me....

Then all of a sudden I made a sharp effort To wrench myself free.

"How now? What's the matter?

You're strong, little pigeon!"

Said Philip, astonished, But still held me tight.

"Ah, Philip, if you had Not held me so firmly You would not have won me: I did it to try you, To measure your strength: You were strong and it pleased me."

We must have been happy In those fleeting moments When softly we whispered And argued together: I think that we never Were happy again....'"

She marries Philip and joins his family.

"'A quarrelsome household It was--that of Philip's To which I belonged now: And I from my girlhood Stepped straight into h.e.l.l.

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 s.h.i.+eld me, But many to scold....

Well, you know yourselves, friends, How quarrels arise In the homes of the peasants.

A young married sister Of Philip's one day Came to visit her parents.

She found she had holes In her boots, and it vexed her.

Then Philip 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 Philip 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....

Again Philip struck me ...

And again Philip 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.'"

A baby is born to her, and her life becomes more and more of a burden to her: one friend alone of Philip's relatives, an old man called Savyeli, has pity on her. Savyeli has been branded as a convict for burying a German alive. She relates now the story of his life and more particularly the account of his crime:

"'"He (the German) started to nag us, Quite coolly and slowly, Without heat or hurry; For that was his way.

And we, tired and hungry, Stood listening in silence.

He kicked the wet earth With his boot while he scolded, Not far from the edge Of the pit. I stood near him, And happened to give him A push with my shoulder: Then somehow a second And third pushed him gently....

We spoke not a word, Gave no sign to each other, But silently, slowly, Drew closer together, And edging the German Respectfully forward, We brought him at last To the brink of the hollow ...

He tumbled in headlong!

'A ladder,' he bellows: Nine shovels reply.

'Heave-to'--the words fell From my lips on the instant, The word to which people Work gaily in Russia: 'Heave-to,' and 'Heave-to,'

And we laboured so bravely That soon not a trace Of the pit was remaining, The earth was as smooth As before we had touched it: And then we stopped short And we looked at each other."'"

Matrna gets Savyeli to look after her infant Djma, and while she is away the pigs attacked and killed him. The country police as the custom is in Russia threatened to hold an inquest unless they were bribed: this Matrna could not afford.

"'"My G.o.d, give me patience, And let me not strangle The wicked blasphemer!"

I looked at the doctor And shuddered in terror; Before him lay lancets, Sharp scissors and knives.

I conquered myself, For I knew why they lay there.

I answered him trembling, "I loved little Djma, I would not have harmed him."

"And did you not poison him, Give him some powder?"'"

They refuse to listen to her piteous cries:

"'They have lifted the napkin Which covered my baby: His little white body With scissors and lancets They worry and torture ...

The room has grown darker, I'm struggling and screaming, You butchers! You fiends!

Oh, hear me, just G.o.d!

May thy curse fall and strike them!

Ordain that their garments May rot on their bodies!

Their eyes be struck blind, And their brains scorch in madness!

Their wives be unfaithful, Their children be crippled!...

The pope lit his pipe And sat watching the doctor.

He said, 'You are rending A heart with a knife.'

I started up wildly: I knew that the doctor Was piercing the heart Of my little dead baby."