Chapter IV

Beneath the hill’s a narrow valley
And like the brows of noble sires,
The oaks of Hetmans proudly stand;
There is a pond, a dam, and willows,
The ice holds fast the little pond,
A very little open water
Is shining like a kettle red--
By heavy clouds the sun is shaded,
The wind blows up and how it howls,
There’s nothing near, around all’s white,
And loud’s the roaring of the woods.

So the blizzard moans and whistles,
Howling through the forest.
Like the sea, the field is whitened
By the driving snowflakes.
From the cabin comes a woodsman
To inspect the forest.
What is that? It is a pity
That you can see nothing!
“That is wild and devilish music!
Keep from out the forest!
In again!... But what is coming?
Who the devil are they?
Misery has sent them onward,
It must be real trouble.
O the devil! Just look at them!
See, they are snow-covered!”
--“Are these Moskals? Are they really?”
--“What is this? You’re crazy.”
--“Where are now my darling Moskals?”
--“Here they are. Look at them!”
Katerina came a-flying,
And she did not falter.
Maybe Muscovy this moment
Comes where she can find it,
For she only knows in sorrow
That she calls a Moskal.
Through the stumps and through the hedges
She flies out, scarce breathing,
Stood barefooted in the roadway,
Rubbed her face--it’s freezing.
Then the Moskals came to meet her,
Every one on horseback,
“This is ill! This is my fortune!”
With them, as she’s looking,
In the van the captain’s riding.
“Ivan, O my darling!
O my heart! my dearest lover!
Where have you been hiding?”
She ran to him, caught his stirrup ...
He looked on in wonder ...
With his spur his horse he’s striking ...
“Whither are you fleeing?
You remember Katerina?
Have you now forgotten?
Look again, my darling sweetheart!
Look again upon me!
I am your beloved Katrusya!
Why do you dash from me?”
But his horse he spurred on wildly
And he will not notice.
“Wait a moment, darling sweetheart!
See, I am not weeping.
Ivan, have you now remembered?
Darling, look one moment!
Yes, by God, I am Katrusya!”
--“Fool, let go my stirrup!
Take away this crazy woman!”
--“God! you do this, Ivan!
Are you leaving me forever?
After all you’ve promised?”
--“Take her off! What is the matter?”
--“What’s this? Take me from you?
Why? O tell me, O my darling!
To whom are you giving
Your Katrusya, who once followed
You into the garden,--
Your own Katya, who bore to you
Your own son and baby?
O my father, darling brother!
If you will avoid me!
I will be a servant to you ...
Go and love another ...
Love the world!... I will forget it
That you were my lover,
That I bore a son unto you,
Bore it out of wedlock,
Wedlock! What an awful scandal!
Why must I die for it?
Leave me now, forget me always,
But don’t fail your offspring!
You’re not leaving? O my darling!
Do not hurry from me.
I will bring your son to see you....”
She has dropped his stirrup,
Rushes to the house. Returning
She is bringing Ivas;
Dirty, swaddled, stained with weeping
Is the child unhappy.
“Here he is! Just look upon him!
Where have you been hidden?
He is gone and vanished, baby!
Father has disowned you!
O my God! My child unhappy!
What can I do with you?
O you Moskals! O my darlings!
Take him with you from me!
Oh, my friends! Do not forsake him!
He is but an orphan!
Take him with you; hand him over!
He’s your captain’s offspring!
Take him with you! I will leave him,
As his father left him,--
May God grant an evil hour
Will not leave him also!
’Twas in sin your mother bore you
Into God’s bright world.
Grow on up, a jest for people.”
On the road she laid him.
“Let him go and seek his father,
As I have been seeking.”
Then she vanished in the forest,
Leaving him behind her.
The child wept--It made no difference
Unto them--They left it.
There it is and to its sorrow
Did the woodsman find it.
Katya, barefoot, ran a-crying,
Ran into the forest,
Cursing Ivan, her base lover,
Weeping, weeping, pleading.
So she ran into the clearing,
Cast one glance around her,
Saw the pond, ran to it, stood there,
Waited for a moment,
“God, accept my sinful spirit!
Pond, you take my body!”
In she leaped--passed ’neath the surface,
And the water gurgled.

So the black haired Katerina
Found what she was seeking.
Then the wind howled o’er the surface--
There was no trace of her.
It is not the stormy breezes
That the oak will shatter.
’Tis not hard and ’tis not evil,
When the mother dieth;
Little children are not orphans,
Who have lost their mother,
For her good name stays behind her,
And her tomb stays also.
Evil people all are laughing
At the little orphan;
At the tomb his tears are flowing,
But his heart is quiet.
But what is there for that orphan,
What can be left for him,
When his father has not seen him,
And his mother leaves him?
What is there for that poor bastard?
Who will speak unto him?
He has neither folk nor cabin;
Woe and sand and highways ...
Noble face and mother’s tresses ...
Why? For men to know him!
She has stamped him, cannot hide it.
Would his beauty withered!