Chapter III

Owls are calling, sleeps the forest,
Stars are shining brightly.
O’er the path and o’er the bushes
Larks are singing freely.
All good people now can slumber,--
Each has been so wearied.
Joy or tears have wearied each one
But the night doth hide them.
The dark night is come to hide them
Like a bird a-nesting;
Where has it Katrusya hidden--
In the woods? a cabin?
Or is she her son amusing
’Neath an open haymow?
In a forest is she fearing
Wolves behind each treetrunk?
God grant that no one may ever
Have such fine black tresses,
If they must such heavy payment
Make for their possession!
What can yet the future give her?
’Twill be evil, evil!
Yellow sands are on her pathway,
Strangers are there many;
Savage winter will confront her ...
And the man she’s seeking,
Will he know his Katerina,
Give his son a greeting?
With him would the black haired maiden
Roads, sands, woe not notice;
If he greets her as a mother,
Speaks as does a brother ...
Let us notice, let us listen ...
And meanwhile--I’m resting
And I’m asking at this hour
For the road to Moscow.
It is far, my noble brothers,
That is true, I tell you!
Now my heart is chilled and downcast,
When I think upon it.
I have measured it before this,
May no one repeat it!
I would tell about the hardships--
No one would believe them!
“He who tells them sure is raving,
(That’s their talk in secret)
He is only telling stories
To deceive the people.”
That’s your truth, your truth, O people!
Why should it concern you
That I shed my tears before you
From my hard bought knowledge!
Why is this? Each living person
Has his own misfortune!
Devil take it! At this moment
Give to them tobacco
And a match, that they may never
Be at home unhappy,
Or they will tell you so quickly,
They have evil visions.--
Let the devil seize them firmly--
’Tis my task to notice
Where my wretched Katerina
With her Ivas travels.

Far past Kiev and the Dniper,
’Mid a darksome forest,
On the carters’ road they’re going,
Of the Owl they’re singing.
There she is, a-pressing onward,
Like a pious pilgrim!
Why is she so sad and gloomy,
Why are her eyes weeping?
On her head is but her kerchief,
On her back a basket,
In one hand her staff she carries,
Bears her sleeping baby.
She has met with some stray carters,
Has the baby hidden,
And she asks of them, “Good people!
Where’s the road to Moscow?”
--“Road to Moscow? You are on it!
But it’s a long journey.”
“Yes, to Moscow, I implore you,
Give me money for it.”
That’s the first step--how she hates it!
Begging is not easy!
Why is this? The baby needs it,
And she is his mother!
So she wept, pressed on her journey,
In Brovary[2] rested,
With the coin she bought a cookie
For her little baby ...
Long, so long she walked exhausted
And she asked assistance;
Then at last, all spent and weary,
’Neath a hedge she rested....

O, why was she granted those black eyes so sparkling,
For them to weep sorely beneath a strange hedge!
O maidens, look now and regret when you’ve seen her,
That you had no need for your Moskal to search,
That you did not need, as Katruysa is needing,
So then do not ask why the people abuse her,
And why they will turn her away from their doors,--

Do not ask, O black haired maidens;
People cannot answer.
Him whom God deems right to punish
They will punish also.
People bend as do the willows
As the wind is blowing.
For an orphan, when the sun shines,
Warmth is always lacking.
People would obscure the sunlight,
If they had the power,
That it might not light the orphan,
Dry away his weeping.
Why is this, O God most loving?
Why is light so painful?
What has she done unto people?
What do they want of her?
That she weep? O my poor darling!
Weep not, Katerina!
Do not show your tears to people,
Hold them till you perish!
Let not your bright face be darkened
With its clear black tresses--
Until sunset, in the forest
Wash your face with weeping!
Weep away!--they will not notice
And they cannot mock you
And your heart can find some solace,
While your tears are flowing.

So notice, O maidens, how great is the evil!
The Moskal has lightly forsaken his love.
Misfortune sees not him with whom she was loving,
And people may see but no mercy they know.
“’Tis right, so they say, that this wretched girl perish,
For she did not know to be careful with love!”
Restrain yourselves, beauties, at times inauspicious,
That you may not need a bad Moskal to seek.

Where’s Katrusya straying?
She slept nights beneath the hedgerows,
Rose up in the morning,
Unto Muscovy she hastened.
Then the winter opens.
O’er the fields the blizzard’s howling.
Katerina travels
In light sandals--it is awful--
And without warm clothing,
Katya goes--her feet grow sorer--
And she sees disaster.
Then behold, here come the Moskals--
No ... her heart is dying ...
She flies up and goes to greet them,
Asks: “Is there among you,
My own Ivan, my dear lover?”
But they say: “He is not.”
Then as is the Moskal habit,
They laugh loud and murmur,
“What a woman! We have talent!
Whom are we not fooling?”
Katerina looked in wonder,--
“But you seem like people!
Do not weep, my son, my burden!
What must be, is coming!
I’ll go further--I’ve been coming ...
And perhaps I’ll meet him.
I will give you up, my darling,
And myself will perish!”

Meanwhile howls and roars the blizzard,
O’er the field it eddies.
In the fields is Katya standing,
Weeping without measure.
Then the blizzard seems to tire,
Here and there relaxes;
Katerina would be weeping,
But her tears are lacking.
Then she looked upon the baby;
Drenched with tears, it’s ruddy
As the flower in the morning
Shining in the dewdrops.
Katerina smiled a little,
But her smile was bitter;
Round her heart, a coal black serpent
Wound itself around it.
Near at hand she heard some voices.
Nearby is the forest.
At its edge, hard by the roadside,
There’s a little cabin.
“Let us go, my son! ’Tis twilight.
They may let us enter.
If they don’t, within the courtyard
We can find some shelter.
Near the cabin we will rest us,
Ivas, my poor baby!
Where will you find nightly shelter,
When I am not with you?
From the dogs, my darling baby,
You must seek for friendship!
Dogs are evil--they will bite you.
But they will not blame you,
Will not say amid their jesting,
‘Go, eat with the puppies!’ ...
O my poor, unhappy person,
What will happen to me?”

A parentless dog will have its own fortune.
An orphan can find a good word in the world;
They beat him, growl at him, and bind him in fetters,
But no one tries ever his mother to mock.
Ivas they will ask and before he can answer,
They give not the child e’en a moment to speak.
At whom on the street are the dogs wont to bark?
The naked and hungry who sleep ’neath the hedge.
Who leads the blind beggars? The black-haired young bastards ...
For one is their fate.... They have little, black eyebrows,
And people all envy the beauty they have.