"Look, the church of God! 320 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 330 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 340 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: 350 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!'"
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?" 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."
"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.