"I see in the market A pedestal standing, 130 A peasant upon it, He's just like Savyéli, And all made of brass: It's Susánin's memorial. While crossing the market I'm suddenly startled-- A heavy grey drake From a cook is escaping; The fellow pursues With a knife. It is shrieking. 140 My God, what a sound! To the soul it has pierced me. ('Tis only the knife That can wring such a shriek.) The cook has now caught it; It stretches its neck, Begins angrily hissing, As if it would frighten The cook,--the poor creature! I run from the market, 150 I'm trembling and thinking, 'The drake will grow calm 'Neath the kiss of the knife!'
"The Governor's dwelling Again is before me, With balconies, turrets, And steps which are covered With beautiful carpets. I gaze at the windows All shaded with curtains. 160 'Now, which is your chamber,' I think, 'my desired one? Say, do you sleep sweetly? Of what are you dreaming?' I creep up the doorsteps, And keep to the side Not to tread on the carpets; And there, near the entrance, I wait for the porter.
"'You're early, my gossip!' 170 Again I am startled: A stranger I see,-- For at first I don't know him; A livery richly Embroidered he wears now; He holds a fine staff; He's not bald any longer! He laughs--'You were frightened?'
"'You've plenty of courage, 180 God's mercy be yours! Come, give me another, And I will befriend you.'
"(I give him a rouble.) 'Now come, I will make you Some tea in my office.'
"His den is just under The stairs. There's a bedstead, A little iron stove, And a candlestick in it, 190 A big samovar, And a lamp in the corner. Some pictures are hung On the wall. 'That's His Highness,' The porter remarks, And he points with his finger. I look at the picture: A warrior covered With stars. 'Is he gentle?'
"'That's just as you happen 200 To find him. Why, neighbour, The same is with me: To-day I'm obliging, At times I'm as cross As a dog.'
"'You are dull here, Perhaps, little Uncle?'
"'Oh no, I'm not dull; I've a task that's exciting: Ten years have I fought 210 With a foe: Sleep his name is. And I can assure you That when I have taken An odd cup of vodka, The stove is red hot, And the smuts from the candle Have blackened the air, It's a desperate struggle!'