"Four years passed away then, The one like the other, And I was submissive, The slave of the household, For Mother-in-law And her husband the drunkard, 180 For Sister-in-law By all suitors rejected. I'd draw off their boots-- Only,--touch not my children! For them I stood firm Like a rock. Once it happened A pilgrim arrived At our village--a holy And pious-tongued woman; She spoke to the people 190 Of how to please God And of how to reach Heaven. She said that on fast-days No woman should offer The breast to her child. The women obeyed her: On Wednesdays and Fridays The village was filled By the wailing of babies; And many a mother 200 Sat bitterly weeping To hear her child cry For its food--full of pity, But fearing God's anger. But I did not listen! I said to myself That if penance were needful The mothers must suffer, But not little children. I said, 'I am guilty, 210 My God--not my children!' "It seems God was angry And punished me for it Through my little son; My Father-in-law To the commune had offered My little Fedotka As help to the shepherd When he was turned eight.... One night I was waiting 220 To give him his supper; The cattle already Were home, but he came not. I went through the village And saw that the people Were gathered together And talking of something. I listened, then elbowed My way through the people; Fedotka was set 230 In their midst, pale and trembling, The Elder was gripping His ear. 'What has happened? And why do you hold him?' I said to the Elder. "'I'm going to beat him,-- He threw a young lamb To the wolf,' he replied. "I snatched my Fedotka Away from their clutches; 240 And somehow the Elder Fell down on the ground!