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NIKOLAI M. KARAMZIN
Poor Liza
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in life have disappeared, all his feelings have died, save those
of illness and feebleness. Over there a young monk—with a
pale face and languishing gaze-—looks out at the field through
the grating of his window and sees the joyous birds sailing
freely in the sea of air-—he sees, and bitter tears stream from
his eyes. He pines, fades, and wastes away—-and the cheerless
tolling of the bell heralds for me his untimely death. From
time to time I examine on the portals of the temple the repre-
sentations of the miracles that took place in the monastery:
there fish fall from the sky to sate the inhabitants of the
monastery, besieged by numerous enemies; here an icon of
the Blessed Mother turns the enemy to flight. All this refreshes
in my memory the history of pur Fatherland—the sad history
of those times when the rapacious Tatars and Lithuanians
plundered with fire and sword the environs of the Russian
capital, when hapless Moscow, .like a defenseless widow,
looked to God alone for aid in her bitter misfortunes.
But most often I am attracted to the walls of the Si. . . nov
Monastery by the memory of the deplorable fate of Liza, poor
Liza. Ah! I love those objects that touch my heart and force
me to shed tears of tender grief!
About a hundred and fifty yards from the monastery wall,
by a birch grove, in the middle of a green meadow stands an
empty cabin with no doors, no windows, and no floor. The
roof has long since rotted and caved in. In this cabin thirty
years or so ago lived the beautiful, dear Liza with her old
mother.
• Liza's father was a rather well-to-do settler, for he loved
work, tilled the land well, and always led a sober life. But
soon after his death, his wife and daughter grew poor, The
lazy hand of a hired man worked the land poorly, and the
grain ceased to thrive. They were forced to rent out their
land, and for a pittance of a sum. And what is more; the poor
widow, almost constantly shedding tears over the death of her
husband—for indeed peasant women know how to love!—
from day to day became weaker and weaker and finally could
not work at all. Liza alone—who was fifteen years old at her
father's death—only Liza, sparing neither her tender youth
nor her rare beauty, worked day and night; she wove flax,
knitted stockings, gathered flowers in the spring and picked
berries in the summer and sold them in Moscow. Observing
her untiring daughter, the sensitive and good mother often
pressed her to her weakly beating heart, called her the grace
of God, her provider, a joy in her old age, and prayed to God
that He reward her for all she was doing for her mother.
"God gave me hands in order to work," Liza would say, "you
fed me at your breast and watched after me when I was a
child: now my turn has come to watch after you. Only do
stop grieving,' stop weeping; our tears will not bring dear
father back to life." But often the tender Liza could not hold
back her own tears. Oh! She would remember that she once
had a father and that he was no more; but to soothe her
mother she tried to hide the grief in her heart and appear at
ease and gay. "In the next world, dear Liza," the bereaved
old woman .would answer, "in the next world I will stop
weeping. There, so they say, everyone will be happy; I am
sure I'll be happy when I see your father. Only, I don't want
to die now—what will become of you without me? Whom
can I leave you to? No, God grant you will get settled some-
where first! Perhaps a good man will turn up soon. Then,
having given you my blessing, dear children, I shall cross
myself and peacefully lie down in the damp earth."
About two years had passed since the death of Liza's
father. The meadows were covered with flowers, arid Liza
had come to Moscow with lilies of the valley. A young, well-
dressed man with a pleasant appearance greeted her on the
street. She showed him the flowers—-and blushed. "Are you
selling these, Miss?" he asked with a smile. ''I am," she
answered. "How much are you asking?"—"Five kopecks."—
"That's too little. Here's a ruble for you.'' Liza was amazed,
then dared glance at the young man. She blushed even more,
and casting her eyes to the ground, she told him she would
not take the ruble, "Why not?"—"I do not need any extra."—
"I think that beautiful lilies of the valley, plucked by the hand
of a beautiful girl, are worth a ruble. But since you will not
take it, here is five kopecks, I would like to buy flowers from
you all the time; I would like you to gather them only for
me." Liza gave him the flowers, took the five kopecks, bowed
and wanted to go; but the stranger held her by the arm. "But
where are you going, Miss? ''Home. "—"And where is your
home?" Liza told him where she lived; she told him, and left.
The young man did :not want ,to hold her back, perhaps
because the passers-by were beginning to stop arid stare and
snigger at them.