# The Kobzar of the Ukraine/Naimechka; or The Servant

Naimechka or The Servant
Prologue.
ON a Sunday, very early, When fields were clad with mist A woman's form was bending 'Mid graves by cloud wreaths kissed. Something to her heart she pressed, In accents low the clouds addressed.
"Oh, you mist and raindrops fine, Pity this ragged luck of mine. Hide me here in grassy meadows, Bury me beneath thy shadows. Why must I 'mid sorrows stray? Pray take them with my life away. In gloomy death would be relief, Where none might know or see my grief. Yet not alone my life was spent, A father and mother my sin lament. Nor yet alone is my course to run For in my arms is my little son. Shall I, then, give to him christian name, To poverty bind, with his mother's shame?
This, brother mist, I shall not do. I alone my fault must rue. Thee, sweet son, shall strangers christen, Thy mother's eyes with teardrops glisten. Thy very name I may not know As on through life I lonely go. I, by my sin, rich fortune lost, With thee, my son, to ill fate, was tossed. Yet curse me not, for evils past. My prayers to heaven shall reach at last. The skies above to my tears shall bend, Another fortune to thee I'll send." Through the fields she sobbing went. The gentle mist its shelter lent. Her tears were falling the path along, As she softly sang the widows song:
"Oh, in the field there is a grave Where the shining grasses wave; There the widow walked apart, Bitter sorrow in her heart. Poison herbs in vain she sought, Whereby evil spells are wrought Two little sons in arms she bore
Wrapped around in dress she wore; Her children to the river carried, In converse with the water tarried; 'Oh, river Dunai, gentle river, I my sons to thee deliver, Thou'lt swaddle them and wrap them, Thy little waves will lap them, Thy yellow sands will cherish them, Thy flowing waters nourish them.'
I.
ALL by themselves lived an old couple fond In a nice little grove just by a millpond. Like birds of a feather Just always together, From childhood the two of them fed sheep together, Got married, got wealthy, got houses and lands, Got a beautiful garden just where the mill stands, An apiary full of behives like boulders. Yet no children were theirs, and death at their shoulders. Who will cheer their passing years? Who will soothe their mortal fears? Who will guard their gathered treasure, In loyal service find his pleasure? Who will be their faithful son When low their sands of life do run?
Hard it is a child to rear, In roofless house 'mid want and fear. Yet just as hard 'mid gathered wealth, When death creeps on with crafty stealth, And one's treasures good At end of life's wandering, Are for strangers rude For mocking and squandering.
II.
ONE fine Sunday, in the bright sunlight, All dressed up in blouses white, The old folks sat on the bench by the door; No cloud in sky, What could they ask more? All peace and love it seemed like Eden. Yet angels above their hearts might read in. A hidden sorrow, a gloomy mood Like lurking beast in darksome wood. In such a heaven Oh, do you see Whatever could the trouble be? I wonder now what ancient sorrow Suddenly sprang into their morrow. Was it quarrel of yesterday Choked off, then revived today, Or yet some newly sprouted ire Arisen to set their heaven on fire?
Perchance they're called to go to God, Nor longer dwell on earth's green sod. Then who for them on that far way Horses and chariot shall array?
"Anastasia, wife of mine, Soon will come our fatal day, Who will lay our bones away?"
"God only knows. With me always was that thought Which gloom into my heart has brought. Together in years and failing health, For what have we gathered all this wealth?"
"Hold a minute, Hearest thou? Something cries Beyond the gate—'tis like a child. Let's run! See'st ought? I thought something was there." Together they sprang And to the gate running; Then stopped in silence wondering.
Before the stile a swaddled child, Not bound tightly, just wrapped lightly, For it was in summer mild.
And the mother with fond caress Had covered it with her own last dress. In wondering prayer stood our fond old pair. The little thing just seemed to plead. In little arms stretched out you'ld read Its prayer,— in silence all. No crying—just a little breath its call. "See, 'Stasia! What did I tell thee? Here is fortune and fate for us; No longer dwell we in loneliness. Take it and dress it. Look at it! Bless it! Quick, bear it inside. To the village I'll ride. Its ours to baptize, God-parents we need for our prize."
In this world things strangely run. There's a fellow that curses his son, Chases him away from home, Into lonely lands to roam.
While other poor creatures, With sorrowful features, With sweat of their toiling Must much money earn; The wage of their moiling Candles to burn. Prayers to repeat, The saints to entreat; For children are none. This world is no fun The way things run.
III.
THEIR joys do now such numbers reach God fathers and mothers 'Mid lots of others Behold they have gathered Three pairs of each. At even they christen him, And Mark is the name of him.
So Mark grows, And so it goes.
For the dear old folk it is no joke, For they don't know where to go, Where to set him, when to pet him. But the year goes and still Mark grows. Yet they care for him, you'd scarce tell how, Just as he were a good milk-cow.
And now a woman young and bright, With eyebrows dark and skin so white, Comes into this blessed place, For servant's task she asks with grace.
"What, what— say we'll take her 'Stasia."
"We'll take her, Trophimus. We are old and little wearies us;
He's almost grown within a year, But yet he'll need more care, I fear."
"Truly he'll need care, And now, praise God, I've done my share. My knees are failing, so now You poor thing, tell us your wage, It is by the year or how?"
"What ever you like to give."
"No, no, it's needful to know, It's needful, my daughter, to count one's wage. This you must learn, count what you earn. This is the proverb— Who counts not his money Hasn't got any. But, child, how will this do? You don't know us, We don't know you. You'll stay with us a few days. Get acquainted with our ways; We'll see you day by day, Bye and bye we'll talk of pay. Is it so, daughter?"
"Very good, uncle."
"We invite you into the house."
And so they to agreement came. The young woman seemed always the same.
Cheerful and happy as she'd married a lord Who'd buy up villages just at her word. She in the house and out doth work From morning light to evening's mirk.
And yet the child is her special care; Whatever befalls, she's the mother there. Nor Monday nor Sunday this mother misses To give its bath and its white dresses. She plays and sings, makes waggons and things, And on a holiday, plays with it all the day.
Wondering, the old folks gaze, But to God they give the praise.
So the servant never rests, But the night her spirit tests. In her chamber then, I ween, Many a tear she sheds unseen. Yet none knows nor sees it all But the little Mark so small.
Nor knows he why in hours of night His tossings break her slumbers light. So from her couch she quickly leaps, The coverings o'er his limbs she keeps. With sign of cross the child she blesses, Her gentle care her love confesses.
Each morning Mark spreads out his hands To the Servant as she stands; Accepts, unknowing, a mother's care. Only to grow is his affair.
IV.
MEANTIME many a year has rolled, Many waters to the sea have flowed, Trouble to the home has come, Many a tear down the cheek has run. Poor old 'Stasia in earth they laid. Hardly old Trophim' from death they saved. The cursed trouble roared so loud. And then it went to sleep, I trow. From the dark woods where she frightened lay Peace came back in the home to stay.
The little Mark is farmer now. With ox-teams great in the fall must go To far Crimea to barter there Skins for salt and goods more rare.
The Servant and Trophimus in counsel wise Plans for his marriage now devise.
Dared she her thoughts utter For the Czar's daughter She'd send in a trice. But the most she could say While thinking this way Was, "Ask Mark's advice."
"My daughter, we'll ask him. And then we'll affiance him."
So they gave him sage advice, And they made decision nice.
Soon his grave friends about him stand. He sends them to woo, a stately band. Back they come with towels on shoulder Ere the day is many hours older. The sacred bread they have exchanged, The bargain now is all arranged. They've found a maiden in noble dress, A princess true, you well may guess. Such a queen is in this affiance As with a general might make alliance. "Hail, and well done," the old man says, And now let's have no more delays. When the marriage, where the priest, What about the wedding feast? Who shall take the mother's place? How we'll miss my 'Stasia's face." The tears along his cheeks do fall, Yet a word does the Servant's heart appall
Hastily rushing from the room, In chamber near she falls in swoon. The house is silent, the light is dim, The sorrowing Servant thinks of him And whispers: "Mother, mother, mother."
V.
ALL the week at the wedding cake Young women in crowds both mix and bake. The old man is in wondrous glee, With all the young women dances he. At sweeping the yard He labors hard. All passers-by on foot and horseback He hales to the court where is no lack Of good home-brew. All comers he asks to the marriage And yet 'tis true He runs around so You'd not guess from his carriage Though his joy is such a wonderful gift, His old legs are 'most too heavy to lift.
Everywhere is disorder and laughter Within the house and in the yard. From store-room keg upon keg follows after, Workers' voices everywhere heard. They bake, they boil, At sweeping toil, Tables and floors they wash them all.
And where is the Servant who cares not for wage? To Kiev she is gone on pilgrimage.
Yes, Anna went. The old man pled, Mark almost wept for her to stay, As mother sit, to see him wed. Her call of duty elsewhere lay.
"No, Mark, such honor must I not take To sit while you your homage make To parents dear. My mind is clear. A servant must not thy mother be Lest wealthy guests may laugh at thee. Now may God's mercy with thee stay, To the saints at Kiev I go to pray. But yet again shall I return Unto your house, if you do not spurn My strength and toil."
With pure heart she blessed her Mark And weeping, passed beyond the gate.
Then the wedding blossomed out; Work for musicians and the joyous rout Of dancing feet; While mead so sweet Of fermented honey with spices dashed Over the benches and tables splashed, Meanwhile the Servant limps along Hastening on the weary road to Kiev. To the city come, she does not rest,
Hires to a woman of the town; For wages carries water. You see she money, money needs For prayers to Holy Barbara. She water carries, never tarries, And mighty store of pennies saves, Then in the Lavra's awesome caves She seeks the blessed wealth she craves.
From St. John she buys a magic cap, For Mark she bears it; And when he wears it, For never a headache need he give e'er a rap And then St. Barbara gives her a ring. To her new daughter back to bring.
'Fore all the saints she makes prostrations, Then home returns having paid her oblations.
She has come back. Fair Kate with Mark makes haste to meet her, Far beyond the gate they greet her, Then into the house they bring her, Draw her to the table there Quickly spread with choicest fare. Her news of Kiev they now request, While Kate arranges her couch for rest.
"Why do they love me, Why this respect? Dear God above me, Do they suspect? Nay, that's not so, 'Tis just goodness, I know."
And still the Servant her secret kept, Yet from the hurt of her penance wept.
VI.
THREE times have the waters frozen Thrice thawed at the touch of spring Three times did the Servant From Kiev her store of blessings bring. And each time gentle Katherine, As daughter, set her on her way, A fourth time led her by the mounds Where many dear departed lay. Then prayed to God for her safe return For whom in absence her heart would yearn.
It was the Sunday of the Virgin, Old Trophimus sat in garments white, On the bench, in wide straw hat, All amid the sunshine bright. Before him with a little dog His frolicsome grandson played, The while his little granddaughter Was in her mother's garb arrayed. Smiling he welcomed her as matron; For so at "visitors" they played.
"But what did you do with the visitor's cake? Did somebody steal it in the wood, Or perhaps you've simply forgotten to bake?" For so they talked in lightsome mood.
But see,—Who comes? 'Tis their Anna at the door! Run old and young! Who'll come before? Anna waits not their welcome wordy.
"Is Mark at home, or still on journey?"
"He's off on journey long enough," Says the old man in accents gruff.
With pain the Servant sadly saith, "Home have I come with failing breath; Nor 'mid strangers would I wait for death. May I but live my Mark to see, For something grievously weighs on me."
From little bag the children's gifts She takes. There's crosses and amulets. For Irene is of beads a string, And pictures too, and for Karpon A nightingale to sweetly sing, Toy horses and a wagon. A fourth time she brings a ring From St. Barbara to Katherine. Next the old man's gift she handles, It's just three holy waxen candles.
For Mark and herself she nothing brought; For want of money she nothing bought.
For want of strength more funds to earn, Half a bun was her wealth on her return. As to how to divide it Let the babes decide it.
VII.
SHE enters now the house so sweet, And daughter Katherine bathes her feet Then sets her down to dine in state, But my Anna nor drank nor ate.
"Katherine! When is our Sunday?"
"After tomorrow's the day." "Prayers for the dead soon will we need Such as St. Nicholas may heed. Then we must an offering pay, For Mark tarries on the way. Perchance somewhere, from our vision hid, Sickness has ta'en him which God forbid." The tears dropped down from the sad old eyes, So wearily did she from the table rise.
"Katherina, My race is run, All my earthly tasks are done. My powers no longer I command Nor on my feet have strength to stand. And yet, my Kate, how can I die While in this dear warm home I lie?"
The sickness harder grows amain, For her the sacred host's appointed, She's been with holy oils anointed, Yet nought relieves her pain. Old Trophim' in courtyard walks a-ring Moving like a stricken thing. Katherine, for the suff'rers sake Doth never rest for her eyelids take, And even the owls upon the roof Of coming evil tell the proof.
The suff'rer now, each day, each hour, Whispers the question, with waning power: "Daughter Katherine, is Mark yet here? So struggle I with doubt and fear, Did I but know I'd see him for sure Through all my pain I might endure."
VIII.
NOW Mark comes on with the caravan Singing blithely as he can. To the inns he makes no speed, Quietly lets the oxen feed. Mark brings home for Katherine Precious cloth of substance rich; For father dear, a girdle sewn Of silk so red. For Servant Anne a gold cloth bonnet To deck her head, And kerchief, too with white lace on it. For the children are shoes with figs and grapes. There's gifts for all, there's none escapes. For all he brings red wine, so fine, From great old city of Constantine. There's buckets three in each barrel put on, And caviar from the river Don. Such gifts he has in his wagon there, Nor knows the sorrow his loved ones bear.
On comes Mark, knows not of worry; But he's come Give God the glory! The gate he opens, Praising God.
"Hear'st thou, Katherine? Run to meet him! Already he's come, Haste to greet him! Quickly bring him in to me. Glory to Thee, my Saviour dear, All the strength has come from Thee."
And she "Our Father" softly said Just as if in dream she read. The old man the team unyokes, Lays away the carven yokes. Kate at her husband strangely looks.
"Where's Anna, Katherine? I've been careless! She's not dead?"
"No, not dead, But very sick and calls for thee."
On the threshold Mark appears, Standing there as torn by fears. But Anna whispers, "Be not afraid, Glory to God, Who my fears allayed.
Go forth, Katherine, though I love you well, I've something to ask him, something to tell."
From the place fair Katherine went; While Mark his head o'er the Servant bent. "Mark, look at me, Look at me well! A secret now I have to tell. On this faded form set no longer store, No servant, I, nor Anna more, I am——" Came silence dumb, Nor yet guessed Mark What was to come.
Yet once again her eyelids raised Into his eyes she deeply gazed 'Mid gathering tears.
"I from thee forgiveness pray; I've penance offered day by day All my life to serve another. Forgive me, son, of me, For I—am thy mother."
She ceased to speak. A sudden faintness Mark did take: It seemed the earth itself did shake. He roused— and to his mother crept, But the mother forever slept.