Matrona Korchagin Now enters her cottage, And while she is working Within it, the peasants Discover a very Nice spot just behind it, And sit themselves down. There's a barn close beside them And two immense haystacks, A flax-field around them; 500 And lying just near them A fine plot of turnips, And spreading above them A wonderful oak-tree, A king among oaks. They're sitting beneath it, And now they're producing The magic white napkin: "Heh, napkin enchanted, Give food to the peasants!" 510 The napkin unfolds, Two hands have come floating From no one sees where, Place a pailful of vodka, A large pile of bread On the magic white napkin, And dwindle away. The two brothers Goobin Are chuckling together, For they have just pilfered 520 A very big horse-radish Out of the garden-- It's really a monster! The skies are dark blue now, The bright stars are twinkling, The moon has arisen And sails high above them; The woman Matrona Comes out of the cottage To tell them her tale. 530 CHAPTER I THE WEDDING "My girlhood was happy, For we were a thrifty Arid 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; 10 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. 20 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. The sound of the axe In the forest is ringing.' "And then my dear mother, When she had done scouring 30 The pots and the pans, When the hut was put tidy, The bread in the oven, Would steal to my bedside, And cover me softly And whisper to me: "'Sleep on, little dove, Gather strength--you will need it-- You will not stay always With Father and Mother, 40 And when you will leave them To live among strangers Not long will you sleep. You'll slave till past midnight, And rise before daybreak; You'll always be weary. They'll give you a basket And throw at the bottom A crust. You will chew it, My poor little dove, 50 And start working again....'