"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 Sitnikov 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