{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58409/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58409","id":"gutenberg_58409","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58409","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Romance","Category: Russian Literature","Category: Short Stories","Christmas -- Russia -- Fiction","Christmas stories","Cossacks -- Fiction","Ukraine -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature\n\n\n\n\n\nCOSSACK TALES,\n\nBY\n\nNICHOLAS GOGOL.\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL RUSSIAN\n\nBY\n\nGEORGE TOLSTOY.\n\nLONDON\n\nJAMES BLACKWOOD, PATERNOSTER ROW.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nA historical sketch placed before a work of fiction must seem, to many,\na very inconsistent thing, and yet the title of the present volume,\n\"COSSACK TALES,\" obliges the translator to give a short account of this\nsometime warlike race. Such an account is the more wanted, as not only\nin England, but in all Europe, the notion exists that the Cossacks were\nsomething like a _Deus ex machin\u00e2_, emerging from space at the moment\nrequisite to put a stop to the triumphs if Napoleon I., to drive back\nto their respective homes the motley array of the twenty nations he\nbrought into Russia, to pitch their tents in the _Champs \u00c9lys\u00e9es_,\nto put all things right in Paris, and then to vanish once more into\nspace, where, for more than four centuries, Europe had never so much as\nperceived their existence.\n\nThe invasion of the Tartars in the middle of the thirteenth century\ntook place when Russia was torn asunder by two kindred and yet hostile\nbranches of the house of Rurick: the younger branch had settled in the\nnorthern (at the present time the middle) part of the country; the\nelder, after many struggles and reverses, had succeeded in regaining\nits inheritance, the ancient metropolis Kieff, and the whole of the\nsouthern principalities. Both branches bore a revengeful remembrance\nof their mutual feuds, and while the elder viewed with jealousy the\ngradual rise of the northern princes, the latter envied the firm\ngrasp with which the southern princes clutched their long disputed\nsway. Hence it came that, when hordes of Tartars overran the northern\nprincipalities, the princes of the South lent no ear to the entreaties\nof their northern brethren for help. Hence, also, the reason of these\nlatter remaining inert and submissive to their recent conquerors, the\nTartars, when those conquerors laid waste the fertile territories which\nextended along the south of Russia.\n\nSoon afterwards, the trans-Carpathian parts of Russia, _Red Russia_,\ni.e., Galicia, Lodomeria, &c., ceased to be any longer accounted as\nforming part of Russia. The marshy tracts of land to the east of\nPoland, _White Russia_, formed a new and distinct power, Lithuania,\nsoon destined to merge into Poland. The north of Russia, _Great\nRussia_, had yet two centuries more to endure the yoke of the Tartars.\nAt this time Southern or _Little Russia_, called also _Ukraine_ (i.e.,\nthe borders), gave birth to a new race, the _Cossacks_.\n\nThe princes of Southern Russia had forsaken their subjects, and gone\ninto Lithuania to seek for a less disturbed dominion than that over a\ncountry exposed to the incessant depredations of the Crimean Tartars,\nand converted into the battle-field of these Tartars with the Russians\nand the Poles. Their subjects were thus left behind without anybody to\nlook to for protection, or for guidance, in defence of their homes,\nand revenge for their country being annually wasted by fire and sword\nby their Crimean neighbours. Reduced to despair at seeing their homes\nburnt to ashes, their wives and children carried away by those savage\ninvaders, to suffer all the consequences of their rude slavery, these\nmen, to speak in the words of Gogol, \"Left orphans, and seeing their\ncountry left like a widow after the loss of a mighty husband, held out\ntheir hands to one another to be brothers,\" and this brotherhood gave\nrise to the _Cossacks_, whose name for a Russian, even to this day,\nembodies every idea of the utmost freedom,[1] and who ever since have\nbeen ready to fight at the first notice of their country or of their\nfaith being in danger.\n\nAt first, they sought a refuge in the wooded islands of the Dnieper,\namidst the rapids of this river, and, no doubt, first dwelt under the\ncanopy of heaven amidst the trunks of the trees which they felled for\nbuilding their huts. This may, perhaps, account for the community\nassuming the name of _Zaporoghian Ssiecha_,[2] a name which has\nbecome inseparable from the idea of fight and slaughter, of deeds\nof valour and of cruelty. Having no means of livelihood, they, of\ncourse, resolved to procure them at the expense of those by whom they\nwere brought to this desperate situation. They had learnt from their\nown experience that a good sabre was more to be depended upon than a\nplough, and that labour and industry were of no avail at such times\nwhen everything at any moment might be taken by him who dealt the\nheavier blow. As all who have seen the worst of miseries, and have\nnothing to lose in the world, whose life is one of incessant peril,\nthey knew no fear--for them death had lost its horrors. No women were\npermitted to dwell amongst them; no tears were shed in memory of those\nwho fell in battle or were led away captive; but their exploits were\nrepeatedly sung in the Cossacks' circles, and excited revenge in the\nhearts of the older, emulation in the hearts of the younger.\n\nIn a community thus formed, no laws could be enforced, no regular\npartition into regiments, companies, &c., could take place. They chose\nfor their chief some one amongst themselves, whose hand had been seen\nto deal the heaviest blows in battle, whose hair had blanched amidst\nwarlike exploits, and who had become remarkable for his daring and his\ncunning in their unsophisticated mode of warfare. To this chief they\ngave the title of _Ataman_.[3] Eventually with the increase in numbers\nof their community, they divided themselves into _koorens_,[4] each\nof which chose for itself a _koorenno\u00ef ataman_,[5] subordinate to\nthe Ataman of the Ssiecha, who was called _Koschevo\u00ef Ataman_;[6] to\nthe latter (very often an illiterate man) a _writer_ or secretary, a\njudge, and some other officers for transacting the public business of\nthe Ssiecha, were appointed. But these dignitaries held their offices\nonly as long as it pleased their electors; at the first summons of\nany drunken fellow who chose to beat the kettle-drum in the public\nsquare of the Ssiecha, and bring a complaint against the Ataman before\nthe _Rada_ (i.e., the whole assembled Ssiecha), the Ataman and his\ncolleagues were sure to be deposed and new ones elected in their stead.\nNot so during a campaign: then the Koschevo\u00ef Ataman assumed dictatorial\npower, decreed death and granted life at his pleasure, and nobody,\nunder pain of death, might resist his commands or bring a complaint\nagainst him till the return to the Ssiecha.\n\nWhen the Ssiecha had attained this degree of development, the kings of\nPoland, who, at the instigation of the Jesuits, had endeavoured to\nenforce upon Little Russia the tenets of Popery under the disguise\nof the so-called _Union_, had already, under show of protection,\ngarrisoned the most important cities of this country with Polish\ntroops, and sought (though always unavailingly) to make its elective\nchief or prince, the _hetman_, a delegate of their power and a mere\ntool of their pleasure. Consequently, the jealousy of the Cossacks\n(for this name had been assumed by the inhabitants of all Ukraine) was\nalready aroused against the Poles, but when they saw the haughty Polish\nlords treat their religion with contempt, shut up their churches, and\ngive the keys to Jews, who levied taxes on each baptism, marriage, or\nburial: then was it that the whole of the Little Russians, summoning\ntheir brethren of the Zaporoghian Ssiecha to their help, began those\nwars with Poland which continued uninterrupted till the middle of the\nseventeenth century. The history of those wars, on the part of the\nPoles, is but a repetition of the horrors perpetrated by the Spaniards\nin the New World, by the Inquisition in Spain, &c., in a word, by\nsavage fanaticism everywhere when led by the priests of Rome. On the\npart of the Cossacks the reprisals were not less terrible, although\nthe latter, while exterminating every Pole, male or female, young or\nold, put them to immediate death by the sword, fire, or water, and\nnever attained the Popish refinements of torturing their prisoners, of\nflaying them alive, boiling them in oil, roasting them in brazen oxen,\n&c.\n\nThe Zaporoghians, who had parted from their brethren, when these latter\nhad submitted to the Poles, united themselves again to those brethren,\nnow once more free, now once more Cossacks, and from this time the\nexistence of the Ssiecha as a separate community seems to have ceased;\nit became incorporated in Little Russia and remained nothing more than\na standing encampment of Cossacks, ever ready at the command of the\nhetman of Little Russia. With Little Russia, it submitted itself to its\nco-religionary Russian Czar Alexis (1654), and, with Little Russia,\nit remained true to the Emperor Peter I. when on the field of Poltava\n(1709). Hetman Mazeppa proved traitor to him. But by degrees, as the\ncivilization of Western Europe spread in Russia, and a more regular\nmode of administration was enforced in Little Russia, the Zaporoghian\nCossacks began to grow disaffected. At last, when Catherine II. annexed\nto her empire the kingdom of Poland, and achieved the conquest of the\nCrimea and all the north-western part of the sea-board of the Black\nSea, the Ssiecha had no longer any reason to prolong its existence, as\nit lost its position of an outpost against the foes of the country, and\nbecame surrounded by Russian possessions. Some of the Zaporoghians were\nloth to submit to the legislature and administration which the Czarina\nframed for her empire. Headed by their Ataman _Nekrassoff_, they fled\nto Turkey, and the existence of the Ssiecha ceased with the sound of\ntheir horsehoofs dying away in the distance.\n\nThis brief sketch sufficiently proves that the Zaporoghian Cossacks\nhad nothing in common with the Cossacks of the present day. The latter\nform a standing militia, living on their own lands situated oh the\nsouthern and eastern borders of Russia. They are bound to maintain at\ntheir own cost a fixed number of regiments of horse and foot, and are\ngoverned by their respective atamans. The principal of these Cossacks\nare, those of the _Don_, whose ataman was the renowned Platoff; those\nof the _Black Sea_ (_Czernomortzy_); of the _Caucasus_; of _Astrakhan_;\nof _Orenburg_; and of the _Ural_, one of whom was Poogachoff, the\npseudo-Peter III.; of _Siberia_; and a recently formed corps of the\n_Trans-Baikalian Cossacks_, having the guardianship of the Russian\nfrontier towards China.\n\n\n\"THE NIGHT OF CHRISTMAS EYE,\" is a series of comic scenes taken from\nthe life of the peasants in Little Russia in the last century.\n\n\"TARASS BOOLBA,\" is a graphic, lively, and, what is more, a\nhistorically true picture of the state of the Zaporoghian Ssiecha at\nthe beginning of the religious wars with Poland.\n\nThe original tales were written in Russian, mixed up, especially in\nthe conversations, with the native idiom of the author, who was a\nLittle Russian. Now, although, as Sir Jerome Horsey[7] reports, Queen\nElizabeth boasted, when speaking of the Russian language, that \"she\ncould quicklie lern it,\" yet it has always proved a stumbling block\nto foreigners, and few, if any, Englishmen can appreciate at its full\nvalue the peculiarities of \"this famoust and most copius language\nin the worlde,\" especially in conjunction with the Little Russian\nidiom, which even some Russians do not understand. In a translation,\nof course, many of the beauties of the original must disappear,\nparticularly those which depend upon elegance of style, and this was\none of the qualities of Gogol. But Gogol had one quality besides, that\ngave him a prominent place amongst authors, makes him till now the most\npopular writer in Russia, and caused his death to be lamented as an\nirretrievable loss to Russian literature: it was his art of making his\nreader join him in laughter whenever he laughs, in sorrow whenever he\nweeps, and to influence the feelings of his reader with every feeling\nhe feels himself, and, above all, with that one which predominates in\nhis heart-enthousiastic love of his native country.\n\nThe translator will be happy if, in remaining faithful to the original,\nhe has been so fortunate as to give even a faint outline of its\nbeauties.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: \"_Free as a Cossack_\" is a common phrase in Russia.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Zaporoghian_ means \"beyond the rapids.\" _Ssiecha_ has two\nmeanings: first, a place in a forest where trees have be en cut down;\nsecondly, a slaughter, the thickest of a fight.]\n\n[Footnote 3: _Ataman_ (a rank still preserved amongst the Russian\nirregular troops and signifying _chief_) is a title quite different\nfrom that of _hetman_, who was the elective prince of Little Russia.\nThe last who bore the title of _hetman_ was the favourite and supposed\nhusband of the Empress Elizabeth, Count Razumoffsky. Count Platoff, who\nled the Cossacks in the war against Napoleon I. is miscalled _hetman_\nby foreigners: he was in fact only _ataman_.]\n\n[Footnote 4: _Kooren_ is derived from a word signifying \"to smoke.\" It\ndesignated the abode of a company whose fires smoked in common, and who\nhad one common store of provisions.]\n\n[Footnote 5: A _koorenno\u00ef ataman_ was the chief of a kooren, and had to\nsuperintend the distribution of the victuals, and the division of the\nspoil taken by his kooren.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Literally, \"Chief of the encampment.\"]\n\n[Footnote 7: _Sir Jerome Horsey_, originally a clerk of the \"Company\nof English Merchants Adventurers,\" trading with Muscovy, had been\noccasionally employed as diplomatic messenger by Queen Elizabeth and\nby Czar Ivan (the Terrible), and his son Czar Theodore. His travels,\npublished some years ago, contain much highly interesting information\nabout the commercial intercourse between England and Russia in the\nlatter part of the sixteenth century.]\n\n\n\n\nCOSSACK TALES.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIGHT OF CHRISTMAS EVE:\n\n\nA LEGEND OF LITTLE RUSSIA.\n\n\nBY NICHOLAS GOGOL.\n\n\nThe last day before Christmas had just closed. A bright winter night\nhad come on, stars had appeared, and the moon rose majestically in the\nheavens to shine upon good men and the whole of the world, so that they\nmight gaily sing carols and hymns in praise of the nativity of Christ.\nThe frost had grown more severe than during the day; but, to make up\nfor this, everything had become so still that the crisping of the snow\nunder foot might be heard nearly half a verst round. As yet there was\nnot a single group of young peasants to be seen under the windows\nof the cottages; the moon alone peeped stealthily in at them, as if\ninviting the maidens, who were decking themselves, to make haste and\nhave a run on the crisp snow. Suddenly, out of the chimney of one of\nthe cottages, volumes of smoke ascended in clouds towards the heavens,\nand in the midst of those clouds rose, on a besom, a witch.\n\nIf at that time the magistrate of Sorochinsk[1] had happened to pass\nin his carriage, drawn by three horses, his head covered by a lancer\ncap with sheepskin trimming, and wrapped in his great cloak, covered\nwith blue cloth and lined with black sheepskin, and with his tightly\nplaited lash, which he uses for making the driver drive faster--if\nthis worthy gentleman had happened to pass at that time, no doubt he\nwould have seen the witch, because there is no witch who could glide\naway without his seeing her. He knows to a certainty how many sucking\npigs each swine brings forth in each cottage, how much linen lies in\neach box, and what each one has pawned in the brandy-shop out of his\nclothes or his household furniture. But the magistrate of Sorochinsk\nhappened _not_ to pass; and then, what has he to do with those out of\nhis jurisdiction? he has his own circuit. And the witch by this time\nhad risen so high that she only looked like a little dark spot up\nabove; but wherever that spot went, one star after another disappeared\nfrom heaven. In a short time the witch had got a whole sleeveful of\nthem. Some three or four only remained shining. On a sudden, from the\nopposite side, appeared another spot, which went on growing, spreading,\nand soon became no longer a spot. A short-sighted man, had he put,\nnot only spectacles, but even the wheels of a britzka on his nose,\nwould never have been able to make out what it was. In front, it was\njust like a German;[2] a narrow snout, incessantly turning on every\nside, and smelling about, ended like those of our pigs, in a small,\nround, flattened end; its legs were so thin, that had the village\nelder got no better, he would have broken them to pieces in the first\nsquatting-dance. But, as if to make amends for these deficiencies, it\nmight have been taken, viewed from behind, for the provincial advocate,\nso much was its long pointed tail like the skirt of our dress-coats.\nAnd yet, a look at the goat's beard under its snout, at the small\nhorns sticking out of its head, and at the whole of its figure, which\nwas no whiter than that of a chimney sweeper, would have sufficed\nto make any one guess that it was neither a German nor a provincial\nadvocate, but the Devil in person, to whom only one night more was\nleft for walking about the world and tempting good men to sin. On the\nmorrow, at the first stroke of the church bell, he was to run, with\nhis tail between his legs, back to his quarters. The devil then, as\nthe devil it was, stole warily to the moon, and stretched out his hand\nto get hold of it; but at the very same moment he drew it hastily back\nagain, as if he had burnt it, shook his foot, sucked his fingers, ran\nround on the other side, sprang at the moon once more, and once more\ndrew his hand away. Still, notwithstanding his being baffled, the\ncunning devil did not desist from his mischievous designs. Dashing\ndesperately forwards, he grasped the moon with both hands, and, making\nwry faces and blowing hard, he threw it from one hand to the other,\nlike a peasant who has taken a live coal in his hand to light his\npipe. At last, he hastily hid it in his pocket, and went on his way\nas if nothing had happened. At Dikanka,[3] nobody suspected that the\ndevil had stolen the moon. It is true that the village scribe, coming\nout of the brandy-shop on all fours, saw how the moon, without any\napparent reason, danced in the sky, and took his oath of it before the\nwhole village, but the distrustful villagers shook their heads, and\neven laughed at him. And now, what was the reason that the devil had\ndecided on such an unlawful step? Simply this: he knew very well that\nthe rich Cossack[4] Choop[5] was invited to an evening party at the\nparish clerk's, where he was to meet the elder, also a relation of the\nclerk, who was in the archbishop's chapel, and who wore a blue coat\nand had a most sonorous _basso profondo_, the Cossack Sverbygooze, and\nsome other acquaintances; where there would be for supper, not only the\nkootia,[6] but also a varenookha,[7] as well as corn-brandy, flavoured\nwith saffron, and divers other dainties. He knew that in the mean time\nChoop's daughter, the belle of the village, would remain at home; and\nhe knew, moreover, that to this daughter would come the blacksmith,\na lad of athletic strength, whom the devil held in greater aversion\nthan even the sermons of Father Kondrat. When the blacksmith had\nno work on hand, he used to practise painting, and had acquired the\nreputation of being the best painter in the whole district. Even the\nCenturion[8] had expressly sent for him to Poltava, for the purpose of\npainting the wooden palisade round his house. All the tureens out of\nwhich the Cossacks of Dikanka ate their borsch,[9] were adorned with\nthe paintings of the blacksmith. He was a man of great piety, and often\npainted images of the saints; even now, some of them may be seen in the\nvillage church; but his masterpiece was a painting on the right side\nof the church-door; in it he had represented the Apostle Peter, at the\nDay of Judgment, with the keys in his hand, driving the evil spirit\nout of hell; the terrified devil, apprehending his ruin, rushed hither\nand thither, and the sinners, freed from their imprisonment, pursued\nand thrashed him with scourges, logs of wood, and anything that came\nto hand. All the time that the blacksmith was busy with this picture,\nand was painting it on a great board, the devil used all his endeavours\nto spoil it; he pushed his hand, raised the ashes out of the forge,\nand spread them over the painting; but, notwithstanding all this, the\nwork was finished, the board was brought to the church, and fixed in\nthe wall of the porch. From that time the devil vowed vengeance on\nthe blacksmith. He had only one night left to roam about the world,\nbut even in that night he sought to play some evil trick upon the\nblacksmith. For this reason he, had resolved to steal the moon, for\nhe knew that old Choop was lazy above all things, not quick to stir\nhis feet; that the road to the clerk's was long, and went across back\nlanes, next to mills, along the churchyard, and over the top of a\nprecipice; and though the varenookha and the saffron brandy might have\ngot the better of Choop's laziness on a moonlight night, yet, in such\ndarkness, it would be difficult to suppose that anything could prevail\non him to get down from his oven[10] and quit his cottage. And the\nblacksmith, who had long been at variance with Choop, would not on\nany account, in spite even of his strength, visit his daughter in his\npresence.\n\nSo stood events: hardly had the devil hidden the moon in his pocket,\nwhen all at once it grew so dark that many could not have found their\nway to the brandy-shop, still less to the clerk's. The witch, finding\nherself suddenly in darkness, shrieked aloud. The devil coming near\nher, took her hand, and began to whisper to her those same things which\nare usually whispered to all womankind.\n\nHow oddly things go on in this world of ours! Every one who lives\nin it endeavours to copy and ape his neighbour. Of yore there was\nnobody at Mirgorod[11] but the judge and the mayor, who in winter wore\nfur cloaks covered with cloth; all their subordinates went in plain\nuncovered too-loops;[12] and now, only see, the deputy, as well as\nthe under-cashier, wear new cloaks of black sheep fur covered with\ncloth. Two years ago, the village-scribe and the town-clerk bought\nblue nankeen, for which they paid full sixty copecks the arsheen.[13]\nThe sexton, too, has found it necessary to have nankeen trousers for\nthe summer, and a striped woollen waistcoat. In short, there is no one\nwho does not try to cut a figure. When will the time come when men\nwill desist from vanity? One may wager that many will be astonished at\nfinding the devil making love. The most provoking part of it is, to\nthink that really he fancies himself a beau, when the fact is, that he\nhas such a phiz, that one is ashamed to look at it--such a phiz, that,\nas one of my friends says, it is the abomination of abominations; and\nyet, he, too, ventures to make love!\n\nBut it grew so dark in the sky, and under the sky, that there was no\npossibility of further seeing what passed between the devil and the\nwitch.\n\n\"So thou sayest, kinsman, that thou hast not yet been in the clerk's\nnew abode?\" said the Cossack Choop, stepping out of his cottage, to a\ntall meagre peasant in a short tooloop, with a well grown beard, which\nit was evident had remained at least a fortnight untouched by the piece\nof scythe, which the peasants use instead of a razor,[14] \"There will\nbe a good drinking party,\" continued Choop, endeavouring to smile at\nthese words, \"only we must not be too late;\" and with this Choop drew\nstill closer his belt, which was tightly girded round his tooloop,\npulled his cap over his eyes, and grasped more firmly his whip, the\nterror of importunate dogs; but looking up, remained fixed to the spot.\n\"What the devil! look, kinsman!\"\n\n\"What now?\" uttered the kinsman, also lifting up his head.\n\n\"What now? Why, where is the moon gone?\"\n\n\"Ah! sure enough, gone she is.\"\n\n\"Yes, that she is!\" said Choop, somewhat cross at the equanimity of the\nkinsman, \"and it's all the same to thee.\"\n\n\"And how could I help it?\"\n\n\"That must be the trick of some evil spirit,\" continued Choop, rubbing\nhis mustachios with his sleeve. \"Wretched dog, may he find no glass\nof brandy in the morning! Just as if it were to laugh at us; and I\nwas purposely looking out of window as I was sitting in the room;\nsuch a splendid night; so light, the snow shining so brightly in the\nmoonlight; everything to be seen as if by day; and now we have hardly\ncrossed the threshold, and behold it is as dark as blindness!\"\n\nAnd Choop continued a long time in the same strain, moaning and\ngroaning, and thinking all the while what was to be done. He greatly\nwished to have a gossip about all sorts of nonsense at the clerk's\nlodgings, where, he felt quite sure, were already assembled the elder,\nthe newly arrived _basso profondo_, as well as the tar-maker Nikita,\nwho went every fortnight to Poltava on business, and who told such\nfunny stories that his hearers used to laugh till they were obliged to\nhold their belts. Choop even saw, in his mind's eye, the varenookha\nbrought forth upon the table. All this was most enticing, it is true;\nbut then the darkness of the night put him in mind of the laziness\nwhich is so very dear to every Cossack. Would it not be well now\nto lie upon the oven, with his feet drawn up to his body, quietly\nenjoying a pipe, and listening through a delightful drowsiness to the\nsongs and carols of the gay lads and maidens who would come in crowds\nunder the windows? Were Choop alone, there is no doubt he would have\npreferred the latter; but to go in company would not be so tedious or\nso frightful after all, be the night ever so dark; besides, he did not\nchoose to appear to another either lazy or timorous; so, putting an end\nto his grumbling, he once more turned to the kinsman. \"Well, kinsman;\nso the moon is gone?\"\n\n\"She is.\"\n\n\"Really, it is very strange! Give me a pinch of thy snuff. Beautiful\nsnuff it is; where dost thou buy it, kinsman?\"\n\n\"I should like to know what is so beautiful in it;\" answered the\nkinsman, shutting his snuff-box, made of birch bark and adorned with\ndifferent designs pricked on it; \"it would not make an old hen sneeze.\"\n\n\"I remember,\" continued Choop in the same strain, \"the defunct\npot-house keeper, Zoozooha, once brought me some snuff from Niegin.[15]\nThat was what I call snuff--capital snuff! Well, kinsman, what are we\nto do? The night is dark.\"\n\n\"Well, I am ready to remain at home,\" answered the kinsman taking hold\nof the handle of the door.\n\nHad not the kinsman spoken thus, Choop would have decidedly remained\nat home; but now, there was something which prompted him to do quite\nthe contrary. \"No, kinsman; we will go; go we must;\" and whilst saying\nthis, he was already cross with himself for having thus spoken. He was\nmuch displeased at having to walk so far on such a night, and yet he\nfelt gratified at having had his own way, and having gone contrary to\nthe advice he had received. The kinsman, without the least expression\nof discontent on his face, like a man perfectly indifferent to sitting\nat home or to taking a walk, looked round, scratched his shoulder with\nthe handle of his cudgel, and away went the two kinsmen.\n\nLet us now take a glance at what Choop's beautiful daughter was about\nwhen left alone. Oxana has not yet completed her seventeenth year, and\nalready all the people of Dikanka, nay, even the people beyond it,\ntalk of nothing but her beauty. The young men are unanimous in their\ndecision, and have proclaimed her the most beautiful girl that ever\nwas, or ever can be, in the village. Oxana knows this well, and hears\neverything that is said about her, and she is, of course, as capricious\nas a beauty knows how to be. Had she been born to wear a lady's elegant\ndress, instead of a simple peasant's petticoat and apron, she would\ndoubtless have proved so fine a lady that no maid could have remained\nin her service. The lads followed her in crowds; but she used to put\ntheir patience to such trials, that they all ended by leaving her to\nherself, and taking up with other girls, not so spoiled as she was. The\nblacksmith was the only one who did not desist from his love suit, but\ncontinued it, notwithstanding her ill-treatment, in which he had no\nless share than the others.\n\nWhen her father was gone, Oxana remained for a long time decking\nherself, and coquetting before a small looking-glass, framed in tin.\nShe could not tire of admiring her own likeness in the glass. \"Why do\nmen talk so much about my being so pretty?\" said she, absently, merely\nfor the sake of gossiping aloud. \"Nonsense; there is nothing pretty in\nme.\" But the mirror, reflecting her fresh, animated, childish features,\nwith brilliant dark eyes, and a smile most inexpressibly bewitching,\nproved quite the contrary. \"Unless,\" continued the beauty, holding up\nthe mirror, \"may be, my black eyebrows and my dark eyes are so pretty\nthat no prettier are to be found in the world; as for this little snub\nnose of mine, and my cheeks and my lips, what is there pretty in them?\nor, are my tresses so very beautiful? Oh! one might be frightened at\nthem in the dark; they seem like so many serpents twining round my\nhead. No, I see very well that I am not at all beautiful!\" And then,\non a sudden, holding the looking-glass a little further off, \"No,\" she\nexclaimed, exultingly, \"No, I really am pretty! and how pretty! how\nbeautiful! What joy shall I bring to him whose wife I am to be! How\ndelighted will my husband be to look at me! He will forget all other\nthoughts in his love for me! He will smother me with kisses.\"\n\n\"A strange girl, indeed,\" muttered the blacksmith who had in the mean\ntime entered the room, \"and no small share of vanity has she got! There\nshe stands for the last hour, looking at herself in the glass, and\ncannot leave off, and moreover praises herself aloud.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed lads! is any one of you a match for me?\" went on the\npretty flirt; \"look at me, how gracefully I walk; my bodice is\nembroidered with red silk, and what ribbons I have got for my hair!\nYou have never seen any to be compared to them! All this my father has\nbought on purpose for me, that I may marry the smartest fellow that\never was born!\" and so saying, she laughingly turned round and saw\nthe blacksmith. She uttered a cry and put on a severe look, standing\nstraight before him. The blacksmith stood quite abashed. It would\nbe difficult to specify the meaning of the strange girl's somewhat\nsunburnt face; there was a degree of severity in it, and, in this same\nseverity, somewhat of raillery at the blacksmith's bashfulness, as well\nas a little vexation, which spread an almost imperceptible blush over\nher features. All this was so complicated, and became her so admirably\nWell, that the best thing to have done would have been to give her\nthousands and thousands of kisses.\n\n\"Why didst thou come hither?\" she began. \"Dost thou wish me to take up\nthe shovel and drive thee from the house? Oh! you, all of you, know\nwell how to insinuate yourselves into our company! You scent out in no\ntime when the father has turned his back on the house. Oh! I know you\nwell! Is my box finished?\"\n\n\"It will be ready, dear heart of mine--it will be ready after the\nfestival. Couldst thou but know how much trouble it has cost me--two\nnights did I never leave my smithy. Sure enough, thou wilt find no\nsuch box anywhere, not even belonging to a priest's wife. The iron I\nused for binding it! I did not use the like even for the centurion's\ntarataika,[16] when I went to Poltava. And then, the painting of it.\nWert thou to go on thy white feet round all the district, thou wouldst\nnot find such another painting. The whole of the box will sparkle with\nred and blue flowers. It will be a delight to look upon it. Be not\nangry with me. Allow me--be it only to speak to thee--nay, even to look\nat thee.\"\n\n\"Who means to forbid it? speak and look,\" and she sat down on the\nbench, threw one more glance at the glass, and began to adjust the\nplaits on her head, looked at her neck, at her new bodice, embroidered\nwith silk, and a scarcely visible expression of self-content played\nover her lips and cheeks and brightened her eyes.\n\n\"Allow me to sit down beside thee,\" said the blacksmith.\n\n\"Be seated,\" answered Oxana, preserving the same expression about her\nmouth and in her looks.\n\n\"Beautiful Oxana! nobody will ever have done looking at thee--let me\nkiss thee!\" exclaimed the blacksmith recovering his presence of mind,\nand drawing her towards him, endeavoured to snatch a kiss; her cheek\nwas already at an imperceptible distance from the blacksmith's lips,\nwhen Oxana sprang aside and pushed him back. \"What wilt thou want next?\nWhen one has got honey, he wants a spoon too. Away with thee! thy hands\nare harder than iron, and thou smellest of smoke thyself; I really\nthink thou hast besmeared me with thy soot.\" She then took the mirror\nand once more began to adorn herself.\n\n\"She does not care for me,\" thought the blacksmith, hanging down\nhis head. \"Everything is but play to her, and I am here like a fool\nstanding before her and never taking my eyes off her. Charming girl.\nWhat would I not do only to know what is passing in her heart. Whom\ndoes she love? But no, she cares for no one, she is fond only of\nherself, she delights in the sufferings she causes to my own poor self,\nand my grief prevents me from thinking of anything else, and I love her\nas nobody in the world ever loved or is likely to love.\"\n\n\"Is it true that thy mother is a witch?\" asked Oxana laughing; and the\nblacksmith felt as if everything within him laughed too, as if that\nlaugh had found an echo in his heart and in all his veins; and at the\nsame time he felt provoked at having no right to cover with kisses that\npretty laughing face.\n\n\"What do I care about my mother! Thou art my mother, my father--all\nthat I hold precious in the world! Should the Czar send for me to his\npresence and say to me, 'Blacksmith Vakoola,' ask of me whatever I have\nbest in my realm--I'll give it all to thee; I'll order to have made\nfor thee a golden smithy, where thou shalt forge with silver hammers.'\n'I'll none of it,' would I answer the Czar. 'I'll have no precious\nstones, no golden smithy, no, not even the whole of thy realm--give me\nonly my Oxana!'\"\n\n\"Now, only see what a man thou art! But my father has got another idea\nin his head; thou'lt see if he does not marry thy mother!\"[17] said\nOxana with an arch smile. \"But what can it mean? the maidens are not\nyet come--it is high time for carolling. I am getting dull.\"\n\n\"Never mind about them, my beauty!\"\n\n\"But, of course, I do mind; they will doubtless bring some lads with\nthem, and then, how merry we shall be! I fancy all the droll stories\nthat will be told!\"\n\n\"So thou feelest merry with them?\"\n\n\"Of course merrier than with thee. Ah! there is somebody knocking at\nthe door; it must be the maidens and the lads!\"\n\n\"Why need I stay any longer?\" thought the blacksmith. \"She laughs at\nme; she cares no more about me than about a rust-eaten horseshoe. But,\nbe it so. I will at least give no one an opportunity to laugh at me.\nLet me only mark who it is she prefers to me. I'll teach him how to\"--\n\nHis meditation was cut short by a loud knocking at the door, and a\nharsh \"Open the door,\" rendered still harsher by the frost.\n\n\"Be quiet, I'll go and open it myself,\" said the blacksmith, stepping\ninto the passage with the firm intention of giving vent to his wrath by\nbreaking the bones of the first man who should come in his way.\n\nThe frost increased, and it became so cold that the devil went hopping\nfrom one hoof to the other, and blowing his fingers to warm his\nbenumbed hands. And, of course, he could not feel otherwise than quite\nfrozen: all day long he did nothing but saunter about hell, where,\nas everybody knows, it is by no means so cold as in our winter air;\nand where, with his cap on his head, and standing before a furnace\nas if really a cook, he felt as much pleasure in roasting sinners as\na peasant's wife feels at frying sausages for Christmas. The witch,\nthough warmly clad, felt cold too, so lifting up her arms, and putting\none foot before the other, just as if she were skating, without moving\na limb, she slid down as if from a sloping ice mountain right into\nthe chimney. The devil followed her example; but as this creature is\nswifter than any boot-wearing beau, it is not at all astonishing that\nat the very entrance of the chimney, he went down upon the shoulders\nof the witch and both slipped down together into a wide oven, with\npots all round it. The lady traveller first of all noiselessly opened\nthe oven-door a little, to see if her son Vakoola had not brought home\nsome party of friends; but there being nobody in the room, and only\nsome sacks lying in the middle of it on the floor, she crept out of the\noven, took off her warm coat, put her dress in order, and was quite\ntidy in no time, so that nobody could ever possibly have suspected her\nof having ridden on a besom a minute before.\n\nThe mother of the blacksmith Vakoola was not more than forty; she was\nneither handsome nor plain; indeed it is difficult to be handsome at\nthat age. Yet, she knew well how to make herself pleasant to the aged\nCossacks (who, by-the-bye, did not care much about a handsome face);\nmany went to call upon her, the elder, Assip Nikiphorovitch the clerk\n(of course when his wife was from home), the Cossack Kornius Choop,\nthe Cossack Kassian Sverbygooze. At all events this must be said for\nher, she perfectly well understood how to manage with them; none of\nthem ever suspected for a moment that he had a rival. Was a pious\npeasant going home from church on some holiday; or was a Cossack, in\nbad weather, on his way to the brandy-shop; what should prevent him\nfrom paying Solokha a visit, to eat some greasy curd dumplings with\nsour cream, and to have a gossip with the talkative and good-natured\nmistress of the cottage? And the Cossack made a long circuit on his way\nto the brandy-shop, and called it \"just looking in as he passed.\" When\nSolokha went to church on a holiday, she always wore a gay-coloured\npetticoat, with another short blue one over it, adorned with two gold\nbraids, sewed on behind it in the shape of two curly mustachios. When\nshe took her place at the right side of the church, the clerk was sure\nto cough and twinkle his eyes at her; the elder twirled his mustachios,\ntwisted his crown-lock of hair round his ear, and said to his\nneighbour, \"A splendid woman! a devilish fine woman!\" Solokha nodded\nto every one, and every one thought that Solokha nodded to him alone.\nBut those who liked to pry into other people's business, noticed that\nSolokha exerted the utmost of her civility towards the Cossack Choop.\n\nChoop was a widower; eight ricks of corn stood always before his\ncottage: two strong bulls used to put their heads out of their wattled\nshed, gaze up and down the street, and bellow every time they caught\na glimpse of their cousin a cow, or their uncle the stout ox; the\nbearded goat climbed up to the very roof, and bleated from thence in a\nkey as shrill as that of the mayor, and teased the turkeys which were\nproudly walking in the yard, and turned his back as soon as he saw his\ninveterate enemies, the urchins, who used to laugh at his beard. In\nChoop's boxes there was plenty of linen, plenty of warm coats, and many\nold-fashioned dresses bound with gold braid; for his late wife had been\na dashing woman. Every year, there was a couple of beds planted with\ntobacco in his kitchen-garden, which was, besides, well provided with\npoppies, cabbages, and sunflowers. All this, Solokha thought, would\nsuit very well if united to her own household; she was already mentally\nregulating the management of this property when it should pass into\nher hands; and so she went on increasing in kindness towards old Choop.\nAt the same time, to prevent her son Vakoola from making an impression\non Choop's daughter, and getting the whole of the property (in which\ncase she was sure of not being allowed to interfere with anything),\nshe had recourse to the usual means of all women of her age--she took\nevery opportunity to make Choop quarrel with the blacksmith. These very\nartifices were perhaps the cause that it came to be rumoured amongst\nthe old women (particularly when they happened to take a drop too much\nat some gay party) that Solokha was positively a witch; that young\nKiziakaloopenko had seen on her back a tail no bigger than a common\nspindle; that on the last Thursday but one she ran across the road in\nthe shape of a black kitten; that once there had come to the priest a\nhog, which crowed like a cock, put on Father Kondrat's hat, and then\nran away. It so happened that as the old women were discussing this\npoint, there came by Tymish Korostiavoi, the herdsman. He could not\nhelp telling how, last summer, just before St. Peter's fast, as he laid\nhimself down for sleep in his shed, and had put some straw under his\nhead, with his own eyes he beheld the witch, with her hair unplaited\nand nothing on but her shift, come and milk her cows; how he was so\nbewitched that he could not move any of his limbs; how she came to him\nand greased his lips with some nasty stuff, so that he could not help\nspitting all the next day. And yet all these stories seem of a somewhat\ndoubtful character, because there is nobody but the magistrate of\nSorochinsk who can distinguish a witch. This was the reason why all\nthe chief Cossacks waved their hands on hearing such stories. \"Mere\nnonsense, stupid hags!\" was their usual answer.\n\nHaving come out of the oven and put herself to rights, Solokha, like a\ngood housewife, began to arrange and put everything in its place; but\nshe did not touch the sacks: \"Vakoola had brought them in--he might\ntake them out again.\" In the mean time the devil, as he was coming\ndown the chimney, caught a glimpse of Choop, who, arm in arm with his\nkinsman, was already a long way off from his cottage. Instantly, the\ndevil flew out of the chimney, ran across the way, and began to break\nasunder the heaps of frozen snow which were lying all around. Then\nbegan a snow-storm. The air was all whitened with snow-flakes. The\nsnow went rushing backwards and forwards, and threatened to cover, as\nit were with a net, the eyes, mouth, and ears of the pedestrians. Then\nthe devil flew into the chimney once more, quite sure that both kinsmen\nwould retrace their steps to Choop's house, who would find there the\nblacksmith, and give him so sound a thrashing that the latter would\nnever again have the strength to take a brush in his hand and paint\noffensive caricatures.\n\nAs soon as the snow-storm began, and the wind blew sharply in his eyes,\nChoop felt some remorse, and, pulling his cap over his very eyes,\nhe began to abuse himself, the devil, and his own kinsman. Yet his\nvexation was but assumed; the snow-storm was rather welcome to Choop.\nThe distance they had still to go before reaching the dwelling of the\nclerk was eight times as long as that which they had already gone; so\nthey turned back. They now had the wind behind them; but nothing could\nbe seen through the whirling snow.\n\n\"Stop, kinsman, it seems to me that we have lost our way,\" said Choop,\nafter having gone a little distance. \"There is not a single cottage to\nbe seen! Ah! what a storm it is! Go a little on that side, kinsman, and\nsee if thou canst not find the road; and I will seek it on this side.\nWho but the devil would ever have persuaded any one to leave the house\nin such a storm! Don't forget, kinsman, to call me when thou findest\nthe road. Eh! what a lot of snow the devil has sent into my eyes!\"\n\nBut the road was not to be found. The kinsman, in his long boots,\nstarted off on one side, and, after having rambled backwards and\nforwards, ended by finding his way right into the brandy-shop. He was\nso glad of it that he forgot everything else, and, after shaking off\nthe snow, stepped into the passage without once thinking about his\nkinsman who had remained in the snow. Choop in the mean time fancied\nhe had found out the road; he stopped and began to shout with all the\nstrength of his lungs, but seeing that his kinsman did not come, he\ndecided on proceeding alone.\n\nIn a short time he saw his cottage. Great heaps of snow lay around\nit and covered its roof. Rubbing his hands, which were numbed by the\nfrost, he began to knock at the door, and in a loud tone ordered his\ndaughter to open it.\n\n\"What dost thou want?\" roughly demanded the blacksmith, stepping out.\n\nChoop, on recognising the blacksmith's voice, stepped a little\naside. \"No, surely this is not my cottage,\" said he to himself; \"the\nblacksmith would not come to my cottage. And yet--now I look at it\nagain, it cannot be his. Whose then, can it be? Ah! how came I not to\nknow it at once! it is the cottage of lame Levchenko, who has lately\nmarried a young wife; his is the only one like mine. That is the reason\nwhy it seemed so strange to me that I got home so soon. But, let me\nsee, why is the blacksmith here? Levchenko, as far as I know, is now\nsitting at the clerk's. Eh! he! he! he! the blacksmith comes to see his\nyoung wife! That's what it is! Well, now I see it all!\"\n\n\"Who art thou? and what hast thou to do lurking about this door?\" asked\nthe blacksmith, in a still harsher voice, and coming nearer.\n\n\"No,\" thought Choop, \"I'll not tell him who I am; he might beat me, the\ncursed fellow!\" and then, changing his voice, answered, \"My good man, I\ncome here in order to amuse you, by singing carols beneath your window.\"\n\n\"Go to the devil with thy carols!\" angrily cried Vakoola. \"What dost\nthou wait for? didst thou hear me? be gone, directly.\"\n\nChoop himself had already the same prudent intention; but he felt cross\nat being obliged to obey the blacksmith's command. Some evil spirit\nseemed to prompt him to say something contrary to Vakoola.\n\n\"What makes thee shout in that way?\" asked he in the same assumed\nvoice; \"my intention is to sing a carol, and that is all.\"\n\n\"Ah! words are not sufficient for thee!\" and immediately after, Choop\nfelt a heavy stroke fall upon his shoulders.\n\n\"Now, I see, thou art getting quarrelsome!\" said he, retreating a few\npaces.\n\n\"Begone, begone!\" exclaimed the blacksmith, striking again.\n\n\"What now!\" exclaimed Choop, in a voice which expressed at the same\ntime pain, anger, and fear. \"I see thou quarrelest in good earnest, and\nstrikest hard.\"\n\n\"Begone, begone!\" again exclaimed the blacksmith, and violently shut\nthe door.\n\n\"Look, what a bully!\" said Choop, once more alone in the street. \"But\nthou hadst better not come near me! There's a man for you! giving\nthyself such airs, too! Dost thou think there is no one to bring thee\nto reason? I _will_ go, my dear fellow, and to the police-officer will\nI go. I'll teach thee who I am! I care not for thy being blacksmith\nand painter. However, I must see to my back and shoulders: I think\nthere are bruises on them. The devil's son strikes hard, it seems. It\nis a pity it's so cold, I cannot take off my fur coat. Stay a while,\nconfounded blacksmith; may the devil break thy bones and thy smithy\ntoo! Take thy time--I will make thee dance, cursed squabbler! But,\nnow I think of it, if he is not at home, Solokha must be alone. Hem!\nher dwelling is not far from here; shall I go? At this time nobody\nwill trouble us. Perhaps I may. Ah! that cursed blacksmith, how he has\nbeaten me!\"\n\nAnd Choop, rubbing his back, went in another direction. The pleasure\nwhich was in store for him in meeting Solokha, diverted his thoughts\nfrom his pain, and made him quite insensible to the snow and ice,\nwhich, notwithstanding the whistling of the wind, might be heard\ncracking all around. Sometimes a half-benignant smile brightened his\nface, whose beard and mustachios were whitened over by snow with the\nsame rapidity as that displayed by a barber who has tyrannically got,\nhold of the nose of his victim. But for the snow which danced backwards\nand forwards before the eyes, Choop might have been seen a long time,\nstopping now and then to rub his back, muttering, \"How painfully that\ncursed blacksmith has beaten me!\" and then proceeding on his way.\n\nAt the time when the dashing gentleman, with a tail and a goat's beard,\nflew out of the chimney, and then into, the chimney again, the pouch\nwhich hung by a shoulder-belt at his side, and in which he had hidden\nthe stolen moon, in some way or other caught in something in the oven,\nflew open, and the moon, availing herself of the opportunity, mounted\nthrough the chimney of Solokha's cottage and rose majestically in the\nsky. It grew light all at once; the storm subsided; the snow-covered\nfields seemed all over with silver, set with crystal stars; even the\nfrost seemed to have grown milder; crowds of lads and lasses made their\nappearance with sacks upon their shoulders; songs resounded, and but\nfew cottagers were without a band of carollers. How beautifully the\nmoon shines! It would be difficult to describe the charm one feels in\nsauntering on such a night among the troops of maidens who laugh and\nsing, and of lads who are ready to adopt every trick and invention\nsuggested by the gay and smiling night. The tightly-belted fur coat\nis warm; the frost makes one's cheeks tingle more sharply; and the\nCunning One, himself, seems, from behind your back, to urge you to all\nkinds of frolics. A crowd of maidens, with sacks, pushed their way into\nChoop's cottage, surrounded Oxana, and bewildered the blacksmith by\ntheir shouts, their laughter, and their stories. Every one was in haste\nto tell something new to the beauty; softie unloaded their sacks, and\nboasted of the quantity of loaves, sausages, and curd dumplings which\nthey had already received in reward for their carolling. Oxana seemed\nto be all pleasure and joy, went on chattering, first with one, then\nwith another, and never for a moment ceased laughing. The blacksmith\nlooked with anger and envy at her joy, and cursed the carolling,\nnotwithstanding his having been mad about it himself in former times.\n\n\"Odarka,\" said the joyful beauty, turning to one of the girls, \"thou\nhast got on new boots! Ah! how beautiful they are! all ornamented with\ngold too! Thou art happy, Odarka, to have a suitor who can make thee\nsuch presents; I have nobody who would give me such pretty boots!\"\n\n\"Don't grieve about boots, my incomparable Oxana!\" chimed in the\nblacksmith; \"I will bring thee such boots as few ladies wear.\"\n\n\"Thou?\" said Oxana, throwing a quick disdainful glance at him. \"We\nshall see where thou wilt get such boots as will suit my foot, unless\nthou bringest me the very boots which the Czarina wears!\"\n\n\"Just see what she has taken a fancy to now!\" shouted the group of\nlaughing girls.\n\n\"Yes!\" haughtily continued the beauty, \"I call all of you to witness,\nthat if the blacksmith Vakoola brings me the very boots which the\nCzarina wears, I pledge him my word instantly to marry him.\"\n\nThe maidens led away the capricious belle.\n\n\"Laugh on, laugh on!\" said the blacksmith, stepping out after them.\n\"I myself laugh at my own folly. It is in vain that I think, over and\nover again, where have I left my wits? She does not love me--well,\nGod be with her! Is Oxana the only woman in all the world? Thanks be\nto God! there are many handsome maidens in the village besides Oxana.\nYes, indeed, what is Oxana? No good housewife will ever be made out of\nher; she only understands how to deck herself. No, truly, it is high\ntime for me to leave off making a fool of myself.\" And yet at the very\nmoment when he came to this resolution, the blacksmith saw before his\neyes the laughing face of Oxana, teasing him with the words--\"Bring me,\nblacksmith, the Czarina's own boots, and I will marry thee!\" He was all\nagitation, and his every thought was bent on Oxana alone.\n\nThe carolling groups of lads on one side, of maidens on the other,\npassed rapidly from street to street. But the blacksmith went on his\nway without noticing anything, and without taking any part in the\nrejoicings, in which, till now, he had delighted above all others.\n\nThe devil had, in the meanwhile, quickly reached the utmost limits of\ntenderness in his conversation with Solokha; he kissed her hand with\nnearly the same faces as the magistrate used when making love to the\npriest's wife; he pressed his hand upon his heart, sighed, and told\nher that if she did not choose to consider his passion, and meet it\nwith due return, he had made up his mind to throw himself into the\nwater, and send his soul right down to hell. But Solokha was not so\ncruel--the more so, as the devil, it is well known, was in league with\nher. Moreover, she liked to have some one to flirt with, and rarely\nremained alone. This evening she expected to be without any visitor,\non account of all the chief inhabitants of the village being invited\nto the clerk's house. And yet quite the contrary happened. Hardly had\nthe devil set forth his demand, when the voice of the stout elder\nwas heard. Solokha ran to open the door, and the quick devil crept\ninto one of the sacks that were lying on the floor. The elder, after\nhaving shaken off the snow from his cap, and drunk a cup of brandy\nwhich Solokha presented to him, told her that he had not gone to the\nclerk's on account of the snow-storm, and that, having seen a light in\nher cottage, he had come to pass the evening with her. The elder had\njust done speaking when there was a knock at the door, and the clerk's\nvoice was heard from without. \"Hide me wherever thou wilt,\" whispered\nthe elder; \"I should not like to meet the clerk.\" Solokha could not\nat first conceive where so stout a visitor might possibly be hidden;\nat last she thought the biggest charcoal sack would be fit for the\npurpose; she threw the charcoal into a tub, and the sack being empty,\nin went the stout elder, mustachios, head, cap, and all. Presently the\nclerk made his appearance, giving way to a short dry cough, and rubbing\nhis hands together. He told her how none of his guests had come, and\nhow he was heartily glad of it, as it had given him the opportunity of\ntaking a walk to her abode, in spite of the snow-storm. After this he\ncame a step nearer to her, coughed once more, laughed, touched her bare\nplump arm with his fingers, and said with a sly, and at the same time\na pleased voice, \"What have you got here, most magnificent Solokha?\"\nafter which words he jumped back a few steps.\n\n\"How, what? Assip Nikiphorovitch! it is my arm!\" answered Solokha.\n\n\"Hem! your arm! he! he! he!\" smirked the clerk, greatly rejoiced at his\nbeginning, and he took a turn in the room.\n\n\"And what is this, dearest Solokha?\" said he, with the same expression,\nagain coming to her, gently touching her throat, and once more\nspringing back.\n\n\"As if you cannot see for yourself, Assip Nikiphorovitch!\" answered\nSolokha, \"it is my throat and my necklace on it.\"\n\n\"Hem! your necklace upon your throat! he! he! he!\" and again did the\nclerk take a walk, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"And what have you here, unequalled Solokha?\"\n\nWe know not what the clerk's long fingers would now have touched, if\njust at that moment he had not heard a knock at the door, and, at the\nsame time, the voice of the Cossack Choop.\n\n\"Heavens! what an unwelcome visitor!\" said the clerk in a fright,\n\"whatever will happen if a person of my character is met here! If\nit should reach the ears of Father Kondrat!\" But, in fact, the\napprehension of the clerk was of quite a different description;\nabove all things he dreaded lest his wife should be acquainted with\nhis visit to Solokha; and he had good reason to dread her, for her\npowerful hand had already made his thick plait[18] a very thin one.\n\"In Heaven's name, most virtuous Solokha!\" said he, trembling all\nover; \"your goodness, as the Scripture saith, in St. Luke, chapter the\nthir--thir--there _is_ somebody knocking, decidedly there is somebody\nknocking at the door! In Heaven's name let me hide somewhere!\"\n\nSolokha threw the charcoal out of another sack into the tub, and in\ncrept the clerk, who, being by no means corpulent, sat down at the very\nbottom of it, so that there would have been room enough to put more\nthan half a sackful of charcoal on top of him.\n\n\"Good evening, Solokha,\" said Choop, stepping into the room, \"Thou\ndidst not perhaps expect me? didst thou? certainly not; may be I\nhindered thee,\" continued Choop, putting on a gay meaning face, which\nexpressed at once that his lazy head laboured, and that he was on the\npoint of saying some sharp and sportive witticism. \"May be thou wert\nalready engaged in flirting with somebody! May be thou hast already\nsome one hidden? Is it so?\" said he; and delighted at his own wit,\nChoop gave way to a hearty laugh, inwardly exulting at the thought\nthat he was the only one who enjoyed the favours of Solokha. \"Well\nnow, Solokha, give me a glass of brandy; I think the abominable frost\nhas frozen my throat! What a night for a Christmas eve! As it began\nsnowing, Solokha---just listen, Solokha--as it began snowing--eh! I\ncannot move my hands; impossible to unbutton my coat! Well, as it began\nsnowing\"--\n\n\"Open!\" cried some one in the street, at the same time giving a thump\nat the door.\n\n\"Somebody is knocking at the door!\" said Choop, stopping in his speech.\n\n\"Open!\" cried the voice, still louder.\n\n\"'Tis the blacksmith!\" said Choop, taking his cap; \"listen,\nSolokha!--put me wherever thou wilt! on no account in the world would I\nmeet that confounded lad! Devil's son! I wish he had a blister as big\nas a haycock under each eye.\"\n\nSolokha was so frightened that she rushed backwards and forwards in\nthe room, and quite unconscious of what she did, showed Choop into\nthe same sack where the clerk was already sitting. The poor clerk had\nto restrain his cough and his sighs when the weighty Cossack sat down\nalmost on his head, and placed his boots, covered with frozen snow,\njust on his temples.\n\nThe blacksmith came in, without saying a word, without taking off his\ncap, and threw himself on the bench. It was easy to see that he was\nin a very bad temper. Just as Solokha shut the door after him, she\nheard another tap under the window. It was the Cossack Sverbygooze.\nAs to this one, he decidedly could never have been hidden in a sack,\nfor no sack large enough could ever have been found. In person, he was\neven stouter than the elder, and as to height, he was even taller than\nChoop's kinsman. So Solokha went with him into the kitchen garden, in\norder to hear whatever he had to say to her.\n\nThe blacksmith looked vacantly round the room, listening at times to\nthe songs of the carolling parties. His eyes rested at last on the\nsacks:\n\n\"Why do these sacks lie here? They ought to have been taken away\nlong ago. This stupid love has made quite a fool of me; to-morrow\nis a festival, and the room is still full of rubbish. I will clear\nit away into the smithy!\" And the blacksmith went to the enormous\nsacks, tied them as tightly as he could, and would have lifted them\non his shoulders; but it was evident that his thoughts were far away,\notherwise he could not have helped hearing how Choop hissed when the\ncord with which the sack was tied, twisted his hair, and how the stout\nelder began to hiccup very distinctly. \"Shall I never get this silly\nOxana out of my head?\" mused the blacksmith; \"I will not think of her;\nand yet, in spite of myself I think of her, and of her alone. How is it\nthat thoughts come into one's head against one's own will? What, the\ndevil! Why the sacks appear to have grown heavier than they were; it\nseems as if there was something else besides charcoal! What a fool I\nam! have I forgotten that everything seems to me heavier than it used\nto be. Some time ago, with one hand I could bend and unbend a copper\ncoin, or a horse-shoe; and now, I cannot lift a few sacks of charcoal;\nsoon every breath of wind will blow me off my legs. No,\" cried he,\nafter having remained silent for a while, and coming to himself again,\n\"shall it be said that I am a woman? No one shall have the laugh\nagainst me; had I ten such sacks, I would lift them all at once.\" And,\naccordingly, he threw the sacks upon his shoulders, although two strong\nmen could hardly have lifted them. \"I will take this little one, too,\"\ncontinued he, taking hold of the little one, at the bottom of which\nwas coiled up the devil. \"I think I put my instruments into it;\" and\nthus saying, he went out of the cottage, whistling the tune:\n\n    \"No wife I'll have to bother me.\"\n\nSongs and shouts grew louder and louder in the streets; the crowds\nof strolling people were increased by those who came in from the\nneighbouring villages; the lads gave way to their frolics and sports.\nOften amongst the Christmas carols might be heard a gay song, just\nimprovised by some young Cossack. Hearty laughter rewarded the\nimproviser. The little windows of the cottages flew open, and from\nthem was thrown a sausage or a piece of pie, by the thin hand of some\nold woman or some aged peasant, who alone remained in-doors. The booty\nwas eagerly caught in the sacks of the young people. In one place, the\nlads formed a ring to surround a group of maidens; nothing was heard\nbut shouts and screams; one was throwing a snow-ball, another was\nendeavouring to get hold of a sack crammed with Christmas donations. In\nanother place, the girls caught hold of some youth, or put something in\nhis way, and down he fell with his sack. It seemed as if the whole of\nthe night would pass away in these festivities. And the night, as if on\npurpose, shone so brilliantly; the gleam of the snow made the beams of\nthe moon still whiter.\n\nThe blacksmith with his sacks stopped suddenly. He fancied he heard the\nvoice and the sonorous laughter of Oxana in the midst of a group of\nmaidens. It thrilled through his whole frame; he threw the sacks on\nthe ground with so much force that the clerk, sitting at the bottom of\none of them, groaned with pain, and the elder hiccupped aloud; then,\nkeeping only the little sack upon his shoulders, the blacksmith joined\na company of lads who followed close after a group of maidens, amongst\nwhom he thought he had heard Oxana's voice.\n\n\"Yes, indeed; there she is! standing like a queen, her dark eyes\nsparkling with pleasure! There is a handsome youth speaking with her;\nhis speech seems very amusing, for she is laughing; but does she not\nalways laugh?\" Without knowing why he did it and as if against his\nwill, the blacksmith pushed his way through the crowd, and stood beside\nher.\n\n\"Ah! Vakoola, here art thou; a good evening to thee!\" said the belle,\nwith the very smile which drove Vakoola quite mad. \"Well, hast thou\nreceived much? Eh! what a small sack! And didst thou get the boots that\nthe Czarina wears? Get those boots and I'll marry thee!\" and away she\nran laughing with the crowd.\n\nThe blacksmith remained riveted to the spot. \"No, I cannot; I have not\nthe strength to endure it any longer,\" said he at last. \"But, Heavens!\nwhy is she so beautiful? Her looks, her voice, all, all about her makes\nmy blood boil! No, I cannot get the better of it; it is time to put an\nend to this. Let my soul perish! I'll go and drown myself, and then\nall will be over.\" He dashed forwards with hurried steps, overtook\nthe group, approached Oxana, and said to her in a resolute voice:\n\"Farewell, Oxana! Take whatever bridegroom thou pleasest; make a fool\nof whom thou wilt; as for me, thou shalt never more meet me in this\nworld!\" The beauty seemed astonished, and was about to speak, but the\nblacksmith waved his hand and ran away.\n\n\"Whither away, Vakoola?\" cried the lads, seeing him run. \"Farewell,\nbrothers,\" answered the blacksmith. \"God grant that we may meet in\nanother world; but in this we meet no more! Fare you well! keep a kind\nremembrance of me. Pray Father Kondrat to say a mass for my sinful\nsoul. Ask him forgiveness that I did not, on account of worldly cares,\npaint the tapers for the church. Everything that is found in my big box\nI give to the Church; farewell!\"--and thus saying, the blacksmith went\non running, with his sack on his back.\n\n\"He has gone mad!\" said the lads. \"Poor lost soul!\" piously ejaculated\nan old woman who happened to pass by; \"I'll go and tell about the\nblacksmith having hanged himself.\"\n\n\nVakoola, after having run for some time along the streets, stopped\nto take breath. \"Well, where am I running?\" thought he; \"is really\nall lost?--I'll try one thing more; I'll go to the fat Patzuck, the\nZaporoghian. They say he knows every devil, and has the power of\ndoing everything he wishes; I'll go to him; 'tis the same thing for\nthe perdition of my soul.\" At this, the devil, who had long remained\nquiet and motionless, could not refrain from giving vent to his joy\nby leaping in the sack. But the blacksmith thinking he had caught the\nsack with his hand, and thus occasioned the movement himself, gave a\nhard blow on the sack with his fist, and after shaking it about on his\nshoulders, went off to the fat Patzuck.\n\nThis fat Patzuck had indeed once been a Zaporoghian. Nobody, however,\nknew whether he had been turned out of the warlike community, or\nwhether he had fled from it of his own accord.\n\nHe had already been for some ten, nay, it might even be for some\nfifteen years, settled at Dikanka. At first, he had lived as best\nsuited a Zaporoghian; working at nothing, sleeping three-quarters\nof the day, eating not less than would satisfy six harvest-men, and\ndrinking almost a whole pailful at once. It must be allowed that there\nwas plenty of room for food and drink in Patzuck; for, though he was\nnot very tall, he tolerably made up for it in bulk. Moreover, the\ntrousers he wore were so wide, that long as might be the strides he\ntook in walking, his feet were never seen at all, and he might have\nbeen taken t for a wine cask moving along the streets. This, may have\nbeen the reason for giving him the nick-name of \"Fatty.\" A few weeks\nhad hardly passed since his arrival in the village, when it came to\nbe known that he was a wizard. If any one happened to fall ill, he\ncalled Patzuck directly; and Patzuck had only to mutter a few words to\nput an end to the illness at once. Had any hungry Cossack swallowed a\nfish-bone, Patzuck knew how to give him right skilfully a slap on the\nback, so that the fish-bone went where it ought to go without causing\nany pain to the Cossack's throat. Latterly, Patzuck was scarcely ever\nseen out of doors. This was perhaps caused by laziness, and perhaps,\nalso, because to get through the door was a task which with every year\ngrew more and more difficult for him. So the villagers were obliged\nto repair to his own lodgings whenever they wanted to consult him.\nThe blacksmith opened the door, not without some fear. He saw Patzuck\nsitting on the floor after the Turkish fashion. Before him was a tub\non which stood a tureen full of lumps of dough cooked in grease. The\ntureen was put, as if intentionally, on a level with his mouth. Without\nmoving a single finger, he bent his head a little towards the tureen,\nand sipped the gravy, catching the lumps of dough with his teeth.\n\"Well,\" thought Vakoola to himself, \"this fellow is still lazier than\nChoop; Choop at least eats with a spoon, but this one does not even\nraise his hand!\" Patzuck seemed to be busily engaged with his meal, for\nhe took not the slightest notice of the entrance of the blacksmith,\nwho, as soon as he crossed the threshold, made a low bow.\n\n\"I am come to thy worship, Patzuck!\" said Vakoola, bowing once more.\nThe fat Patzuck lifted his head and went on eating the lumps of dough.\n\n\"They say that thou art--I beg thy pardon,\" said the blacksmith,\nendeavouring to compose himself, \"I do not say it to offend thee--that\nthou hast the devil among thy friends;\" and in saying these words\nVakoola was already afraid he had spoken too much to the point, and had\nnot sufficiently softened the hard words he had used, and that Patzuck\nwould throw at his head both the tub and the tureen; he even stepped a\nlittle on one side and covered his face with his sleeve, to prevent it\nfrom being sprinkled by the gravy.\n\nBut Patzuck looked up and continued sipping.\n\nThe encouraged blacksmith resolved to proceed--\"I am come to thee,\nPatzuck; God grant thee plenty of everything, and bread in good\n_proportion_!\" The blacksmith knew how to put in a fashionable word\nsometimes; it was a talent he had acquired during his stay at Poltava,\nwhen he painted the centurion's palisade. \"I am on the point of\nendangering the salvation of my sinful soul! nothing in this world can\nserve me! Come what will, I am resolved to seek the help of the devil.\nWell, Patzuck,\" said he, seeing that the other remained silent, \"what\nam I to do?\"\n\n\"If thou wantest the devil, go to the devil!\" answered Patzuck, not\ngiving him a single look, and going on with his meal.\n\n\"I am come to thee for this very reason,\" returned the blacksmith with\na bow; \"besides thyself, methinks there is hardly anybody in the world\nwho knows how to go to the devil.\"\n\nPatzuck, without saying a word, ate up all that remained on the dish.\n\"Please, good man, do not refuse me!\" urged the blacksmith. \"And if\nthere be any want of pork, or sausages, or buckwheat, or even linen or\nmillet, or anything else--why, we know how honest folk manage these\nthings. I shall not be stingy. Only do tell me, if it be only by a\nhint, how to find the way to the devil.\"\n\n\"He who has got the devil on his back has no great way to go to him,\"\nsaid Patzuck quietly, without changing his position.\n\nVakoola fixed his eyes upon him as if searching for the meaning of\nthese words on his face. \"What does he mean?\" thought he, and opened\nhis mouth as if to swallow his first word. But Patzuck kept silence.\nHere Vakoola noticed that there was no longer either tub or tureen\nbefore him, but instead of them there stood upon the floor two wooden\npots, the one full of curd dumplings, the other full of sour cream.\nInvoluntarily his thoughts and his eyes became riveted to these pots.\n\"Well, now,\" thought he, \"how will Patzuck eat the dumplings? He will\nnot bend down to catch them like the bits of dough, and moreover, it\nis impossible; for they ought to be first dipped into the cream.\" This\nthought had hardly crossed the mind of Vakoola, when Patzuck opened\nhis mouth, looked at the dumplings, and then opened it still wider.\nImmediately, a dumpling jumped out of the pot, dipped itself into the\ncream, turned over on the other side, and went right into Patzuck's\nmouth. Patzuck ate it, once more opened his mouth, and in went another\ndumpling in the same way. All Patzuck had to do was to chew and to\nswallow them. \"That is wondrous indeed,\" thought the blacksmith, and\nastonishment made him also open his mouth; but he felt directly, that\na dumpling jumped into it also, and that his lips were already smeared\nwith cream; he pushed it away, and after having wiped his lips, began\nto think about the marvels that happen in the world and the wonders one\nmay work with the help of the devil; at the same time he felt more than\never convinced that Patzuck alone could help him. \"I will beg of him\nstill more earnestly to explain to me--but, what do I see? to-day is a\nfast, and he is eating dumplings, and dumplings are not food for fast\ndays![19] What a fool I am! staying here and giving way to temptation!\nAway, away!\" and the pious blacksmith ran with all speed out of the\ncottage. The devil, who remained all the while sitting in the sack, and\nalready rejoiced at the glorious victim he had entrapped, could not\nendure to see him get free from his clutches. As soon as the blacksmith\nleft the sack a little loose, he sprang out of it and sat upon the\nblacksmith's neck.\n\nVakoola felt a cold shudder run through all his frame; his courage gave\nway, his face grew pale, he knew not what to do; he was already on the\npoint of making the sign of the cross; but the devil bending his dog's\nmuzzle to his right ear, whispered: \"Here I am, I, thy friend; I will\ndo everything for a comrade and a friend such as thou! I'll give thee\nas much money as thou canst wish for!\" squeaked he in his left ear. \"No\nlater than this very day Oxana shall be ours!\" continued he, turning\nhis muzzle once more to the right ear.\n\nThe blacksmith stood considering. \"Well,\" said he, at length, \"on this\ncondition I am ready to be thine.\"\n\nThe devil clapped his hand and began to indulge his joy in springing\nabout on the blacksmith's neck. \"Now, I've caught him!\" thought he to\nhimself, \"Now, I'll take my revenge upon thee, my dear fellow, for all\nthy paintings and all thy tales about devils! What will my fellows say\nwhen they come to know that the most pious man in the village is in my\npower?\" and the devil laughed heartily at the thought of how he would\ntease all the long-tailed breed in hell, and how the lame devil, who\nwas reputed the most cunning of them all for his tricks, would feel\nprovoked.\n\n\"Well, Vakoola!\" squeaked he, while he continued sitting on Vakoola's\nneck, as if fearing the blacksmith should escape; \"thou knowest well\nthat nothing can be done without contract.\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" said the blacksmith. \"I've heard that it is the custom\nwith you to write it in blood; well, stop, let me take a nail out of my\npocket\"--and putting his hand behind him, he suddenly seized the devil\nby his tail.\n\n\"Look, what fun!\" cried the devil, laughing; \"well, let me alone now,\nthere's enough of play!\"\n\n\"Stop, my dear fellow!\" cried the blacksmith, \"what wilt thou say now?\"\nand he made the sign of the cross. The devil grew as docile as a lamb.\n\"Stop,\" continued the blacksmith, drawing him by the tail down to the\nground; \"I will teach thee how to make good men and upright Christians\nsin;\" and the blacksmith sprang on his back, and once more raised his\nhand to make the sign of the cross.\n\n\"Have mercy upon me, Vakoola!\" groaned the devil in a lamentable voice;\n\"I am ready to do whatever thou wilt, only do not make the dread, sign\nof the cross on me!\"\n\n\"Ah! that is the strain thou singest now, cursed German that thou art!\nI know now what to do! Take me a ride on thy back directly, and harkee!\na pretty ride must I have!\"\n\n\"Whither?\" gasped the mournful devil.\n\n\"To St. Petersburgh, straightway to the Czarina!\" and the blacksmith\nthought he should faint with terror as he felt himself rising up in\nthe air.\n\nOxana remained a long time pondering over the strange speech of the\nblacksmith. Something within her told her that she had behaved with\ntoo much cruelty towards him. \"What if he should indeed resort to some\nfrightful decision? May not such a thing be expected! He may, perhaps,\nfall in love with some other girl, and, out of spite, proclaim _her_\nto be the belle of the village! No, that he would not do, he is too\nmuch in love with me! I am so handsome! For none will he ever leave\nme. He is only joking; he only feigns. Ten minutes will not pass, ere\nhe returns to look at me. I am indeed too harsh towards him. Why not\nlet him have a kiss? just as if it were against my will; that, to a\ncertainty would make him quite delighted!\" and the flighty belle began\nonce more to sport with her friends. \"Stop,\" said one of them, \"the\nblacksmith has left his sacks behind; just see what enormous sacks too!\nHis luck has been better than ours; methinks he has got whole quarters\nof mutton, and sausages, and loaves without number. Plenty indeed; one\nmight feed upon the whole of next fortnight.\"\n\n\"Are these the blacksmith's sacks?\" asked Oxana; \"let us take them into\nmy cottage just to see what he has got in them.\" All laughingly agreed\nto her proposal.\n\n\"But we shall never be able to lift them!\" cried the girls trying to\nmove the sacks.\n\n\"Stay a bit,\" said Oxana; \"come with me to fetch a sledge, and we'll\ndrag them home on it.\"\n\nThe whole party ran to fetch a sledge.\n\nThe prisoners were far from pleased at sitting in the sacks,\nnotwithstanding that the clerk had succeeded in poking a great hole\nwith his finger. Had there been nobody near, he would perhaps have\nfound the means of making his escape; but he could not endure the\nthought of creeping out of the' sack before a whole crowd, and of\nbeing laughed at by every one, so he resolved to await the event,\ngiving only now and then a suppressed groan under the impolite boots of\nChoop. Choop had no less a desire to be set free, feeling that there\nwas something lying under him, which was excessively inconvenient to\nsit upon. But on hearing his daughter's decision he remained quiet\nand no longer felt inclined to creep out, considering that he would\nhave certainly some hundred, or perhaps even two hundred steps to walk\nto get to his dwelling; that upon creeping out, he would have his\nsheepskin coat to button, his belt to buckle--what a trouble! and last\nof all, that he had left his cap behind him at Solokha's. So he thought\nit better to wait till the maidens drew him home on a sledge.\n\nThe event, however, proved to be quite contrary to his expectations; at\nthe same time that the maidens ran to bring the sledge, Choop's kinsman\nleft the brandy shop, very cross and dejected. The mistress of the shop\nwould on no account give him credit; he had resolved to wait until some\nkind-hearted Cossack should step in and offer him a glass of brandy;\nbut, as if purposely, all the Cossacks remained at home, and as became\ngood Christians, ate _kootia_ with their families. Thinking about the\ncorruption of manners, and about the Jewish mistress of the shop having\na wooden heart, the kinsman went straight to the sacks and stopped in\namazement. \"What sacks are these? somebody has left them on the road,\"\nsaid he, looking round. \"There must be pork for a certainty in them!\nWho can it be? who has had the good luck to get so many donations? Were\nthere nothing more than buckwheat cakes and millet-biscuits--why, that\nwould be well enough! But supposing there were only loaves, well, they\nare welcome too! The Jewess gives a glass of brandy for every loaf. I\nhad better bring them out of the way at once, lest anybody should see\nthem!\" and he lifted on his shoulders the sack in which sate Choop and\nthe clerk, but feeling it to be too heavy, \"No,\" said he, \"I could not\ncarry it home alone. Now, here comes, as if purposely, the weaver,\nShapoovalenko! Good evening, Ostap!\"\n\n\"Good evening,\" said the weaver, stopping.\n\n\"Where art thou going?\"\n\n\"I am walking without any purpose, just where my legs carry me.\"\n\n\"Well, my good man, help me to carry off these sacks; some caroller\nhas left them here in the midst of the road. We will divide the booty\nbetween us.\"\n\n\"And what is there in the sacks? rolls or loaves?\"\n\n\"Plenty of everything, I should think.\" And both hastily snatched\nsticks out of a palisade, laid one of the sacks upon them, and carried\nit away on their shoulders.\n\n\"Where shall we carry it? to the brandy shop?\" asked the weaver,\nleading the way.\n\n\"I thought, too, of carrying it there; but the vile Jewess will not\ngive us credit; she will think we have stolen it somewhere, the more so\nthat I have just left her shop. We had better carry it to my cottage.\nNobody will interfere with us; my wife is not at home.\"\n\n\"Art thou sure that she is not at home?\" asked the weaver warily.\n\n\"Thank Heaven, I am not yet out of my mind,\" answered the kinsman;\n\"what should I do there if she were at home? I expect she will ramble\nabout all night with the women.\"\n\n\"Who is there!\" cried the kinsman's wife, hearing the noise which the\ntwo friends made in coming into the passage with the sack.\n\nThe kinsman was quite aghast.\n\n\"What now?\" muttered the weaver, letting his arms drop.\n\nThe kinsman's wife was one of those treasures which are often found in\nthis good world of ours. Like her husband, she scarcely ever remained\nat home, but went all day long fawning among wealthy, gossiping old\nwomen; paid them different compliments, ate their donations with great\nappetite, and beat her husband only in the morning, because it was\nthe only time that she saw him. Their cottage was even older than\nthe trowsers of the village scribe. Many holes in the roof remained\nuncovered and without thatch; of the palisade round the house, few\nremnants existed, for no one who was going out, ever took with him\na stick to drive away the dogs, but went round by the kinsman's\nkitchen garden, and got one out of his palisade. Sometimes no fire was\nlighted in the cottage for three days together. Everything which the\naffectionate wife succeeded in obtaining from kind people, was hidden\nby her as far as possible out of the reach of her husband; and if he\nhad got anything which he had not had the time to sell at the brandy\nshop, she invariably snatched it from him. However meek the kinsman's\ntemper might be, he did not like to yield to her at once; for which\nreason, he generally left the house with black eyes, and his dear\nbetter-half went moaning to tell stories to the old women about the ill\nconduct of her husband, and the blows she had received at his hands.\n\nNow, it is easy to understand the displeasure of the weaver and the\nkinsman at her sudden appearance. Putting the sack on the ground, they\ntook up a position of defence in front of it, and covered it with the\nwide skirts of their coats; but it was already too late. The kinsman's\nwife, although her old eyes had grown dim, saw the sack at once.\n\"That's good,\" she said, with the countenance of a hawk at the sight\nof its prey! \"that's good of you to have collected so much; That's the\nway good people always behave! But it cannot be! I think you must have\nstolen it somewhere; show me directly what you have got there!--show me\nthe sack directly! Do you hear me?\"\n\n\"May the bald devil show it to thee! we will not,\" answered the\nkinsman, assuming an air of dogged resolution.\n\n\"Why should we?\" said the weaver--\"the sack is ours, not thine.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt show it to me, thou good-for-nothing drunkard,\" said she,\ngiving the tall kinsman a blow under his chin, and pushing her way\nto the sack. The kinsman and the weaver, however, stood her attack\ncourageously, and drove her back; but had hardly time to recover\nthemselves, when the woman darted once more into the passage, this time\nwith a poker in her hand. In no time she gave a cut over her husband's\nfingers, another on the weaver's hand, and stood beside the sack.\n\n\"Why did we let her go?\" said the weaver, coming to his senses.\n\n\"Why did we indeed? and why didst thou?\" said the kinsman.\n\n\"Your poker seems to be an iron one!\" said the weaver, after keeping\nsilent for a while, and scratching his back. \"My wife bought one at the\nfair last year; well, hers is not to be compared--does not hurt at all.\"\n\nThe triumphant dame, in the meanwhile, set her candle on the floor,\nopened the sack, and looked into it.\n\nBut her old eyes, which had so quickly caught sight of the sack, for\nthis time deceived her. \"Why, here lies a whole boar!\" cried she,\nclapping her hands with delight.\n\n\"A boar, a whole boar! dost hear?\" said the weaver, giving the kinsman\na push. \"And thou alone art to blame?\"\n\n\"What's to be done?\" muttered the kinsman, shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"How, what? why are we standing here quietly? we must have the sack\nback again! Come!\"\n\n\"Away, away with thee! it is our boar!\" cried the weaver, advancing.\n\n\"Away, away with thee, she devil! it is not thy property,\" said the\nkinsman.\n\nThe old hag once more took up the poker, but at the same moment Choop\nstepped out of the sack, and stood in the middle of the passage\nstretching his limbs like a man just awake from a long sleep.\n\nThe kinsman's wife shrieked in terror, while the others opened their\nmouths in amazement.\n\n\"What did she say, then, the old fool--that it was a boar?\"\n\n\"It's not a boar!\" said the kinsman, straining his eyes.\n\n\"Just see, what a man some one has thrown into the sack,\" said the\nweaver, stepping back in a fright. \"They may say what they will--the\nevil spirit must have lent his hand to the work; the man could never\nhave gone through a window.\"\n\n\"'Tis my kinsman,\" cried the kinsman, after having looked at Choop.\n\n\"And who else should it be, then?\" said Choop, laughing. \"Was it not a\ncapital trick of mine? And you thought of eating me like pork? Well,\nI'll give you good news: there is something lying at the bottom of the\nsack; if it be not a boar, it must be a sucking-pig, or something of\nthe sort. All the time there was something moving under me.\"\n\nThe weaver and the kinsman rushed to the sack, the wife caught hold of\nit on the other side, and the fight would have been renewed, had not\nthe clerk, who saw no escape left, crept out of the sack.\n\nThe kinsman's wife, quite stupified, let go the clerk's leg, which she\nhad taken hold of, in order to drag him out of the sack.\n\n\"There's another one!\" cried the weaver with terror; \"the devil knows\nwhat happens now in the world--it's enough to send one mad. No more\nsausages or loaves--men are thrown into the sacks.\"\n\n\"'Tis the devil!\" muttered Choop, more astonished than any one. \"Well\nnow, Solokha!--and to put the clerk in a sack too! That is why I saw\nher room all full of sacks. Now, I have it: she has got two men in each\nof them; and I thought that I was the only one. Well now, Solokha!\"\n\n\nThe maidens were somewhat astonished at finding only one sack left.\n\"There is nothing to be done; we must content ourselves with this one,\"\nsaid Oxana. They all went at once to the sack, and succeeded in lifting\nit upon the sledge. The elder resolved to keep quiet, considering that\nif he cried out, and asked them to undo the sack, and let him out,\nthe stupid girls would run away, fearing they had got the devil in\nthe sack, and he would be left in the street till the next morning.\nMeanwhile, the maidens, with one accord, taking one another by the\nhand, flew like the wind with the sledge over the crisp snow. Many\nof them, for fun, sat down upon the sledge; some went right upon the\nelder's head. But he was determined to bear everything. At last they\nreached Oxana's house, opened the doors of the passage and of the room,\nand with shouts of laughter brought in the sack. \"Let us see what we\nhave got here,\" cried they, and hastily began to undo the sack. At\nthis juncture, the hiccups of the elder (which had not ceased for a\nmoment all the time he had been sitting in the sack), increased to such\na degree that he could not refrain from giving vent to them in the\nloudest key. \"Ah! there is somebody in the sack!\" shrieked the maidens,\nand they darted in a fright towards the door.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" said Choop, stepping in. \"Where are you rushing,\nlike mad things?\"\n\n\"Ah! father,\" answered Oxana, \"there is somebody sitting in the sack!\"\n\n\"In what sack? Where did you get this sack from?\"\n\n\"The blacksmith threw it down in the middle of the road,\" was the\nanswer.\n\n\"I thought as much!\" muttered Choop. \"Well, what are you afraid of,\nthen? Let us see. Well, my good man (excuse me for not calling thee by\nthy Christian and surname), please to make thy way out of the sack.\"\n\nThe elder came out.\n\n\"Lord have mercy upon us!\" cried the maidens.\n\n\"The elder was in, too!\" thought Choop to himself, looking at him\nfrom head to foot, as if not trusting his eyes. \"There now! Eh!\" and\nhe could say no more. The elder felt no less confused, and he knew\nnot what to say. \"It seems to be rather cold out of doors?\" asked he,\nturning to Choop.\n\n\"Yes! the frost is rather severe,\" answered Choop. \"Do tell me, what\ndost thou use to black thy boots with: tallow or tar?\"[20] He did not\nat all wish to put this question; he intended to ask--How didst thou\ncome to be in this sack? but he knew not himself how it was that his\ntongue asked quite another question.\n\n\"I prefer tar,\" answered the elder. \"Well, good-bye, Choop,\" said he,\nand putting his cap on, he stepped out of the room.\n\n\"What a fool I was to ask him what he uses to black his boots with,\"\nmuttered Choop, looking at the door out of which the elder had just\ngone.\n\n\"Well, Solokha! To put such a man into a sack! May the devil take her;\nand I, fool that I was--but where is that infernal sack?\"\n\n\"I threw it into the corner,\" said Oxana, \"there is nothing more in it.\"\n\n\"I know these tricks well! Nothing in it, indeed! Give it me directly;\nthere must be one more! Shake it well. Is there nobody? Abominable\nwoman! And yet to look at her one would think she must be a saint, that\nshe never had a sin\"--\n\nBut let us leave Choop giving vent to his anger, and return to the\nblacksmith; the more so as time is running away, and by the clock it\nmust be near nine.\n\n\nAt first, Vakoola could not help feeling afraid at rising to such a\nheight, that he could distinguish nothing upon the earth, and at coming\nso near the moon, that if he had not bent down, he would certainly\nhave touched it with his cap. Yet, after a time, he recovered his\npresence of mind, and began to laugh at the devil. All was bright in\nthe sky. A light silvery mist covered the transparent air. Everything\nwas distinctly visible; and the blacksmith even noticed how a wizard\nflew past him, sitting in a pot; how some stars, gathered in a group,\nplayed at blind man's buff; how a whole swarm of spirits were whirling\nabout in the distance; how a devil who danced in the moonbeam, seeing\nhim riding, took off his cap and made him a bow; how there was a besom\nflying, on which, apparently, a witch had just taken a ride. They met\nmany other things; and all, on seeing the blacksmith, stopped for a\nmoment to look at him, and then continued their flight far away. The\nblacksmith went on flying, and suddenly he saw Petersburgh all in a\nblaze. (There must have been an illumination that day.) Flying past\nthe town gate, the devil changed into a horse, and the blacksmith saw\nhimself riding a high stepping steed, in the middle of the street.\n\"Good Heavens! What a noise, what a clatter, what a blaze!\" On either\nside rose houses, several stories high; from every quarter the clatter\nof horses' hoofs, and of wheels, arose like thunder; at every step\narose tall houses, as if starting from beneath the ground; bridges\nquivered under flying carriages; the coachmen shouted; the snow crisped\nunder thousands of sledges rushing in every direction; pedestrians kept\nthe wall of the houses along the footpath, all studded with flaring\npots of fire, and their gigantic shadows danced upon the walls, losing\nthemselves amongst the chimneys and on the roofs. The blacksmith looked\nwith amazement on every side. It seamed to him as if all the houses\nlooked at him with their innumerable fire-eyes. He saw such a number\nof gentlemen wearing fur cloaks covered with cloth, that he no longer\nknew to which of them he ought to take off his cap. \"Gracious Lord!\nWhat a number of nobility one sees here!\" thought the blacksmith; \"I\nsuppose every one here, who goes in a fur cloak, can be no less than\na magistrate! and as for the persons who sit in those wonderful carts\nwith glasses, they must be, if not the chiefs of the town, certainly\ncommissaries, and, may be, of a still higher rank!\"\n\nHere, the devil put an end to his reflections, by asking if he was to\nbring him right before the Czarina? \"No, I should be too afraid to go\nat once,\" answered the blacksmith; \"but I know there must be some\nZaporoghians here, who passed through Dikanka last autumn on their\nway to Petersburgh. They were going on business to the Czarina. Let\nus have their advice. Now, devil, get into my pocket, and bring me to\nthose Zaporoghians.\" In less than a minute, the devil grew so thin and\nso small, that he had no trouble in getting into the pocket, and in\nthe twinkling of an eye, Vakoola, (himself, he knew not how) ascended\na staircase, opened a door and fell a little back, struck by the rich\nfurniture of a spacious room. Yet, he felt a little more at ease, when\nhe recognised the same Zaporoghians, who had passed through Dikanka.\nThey were sitting upon silk covered sofas, with their tar besmeared\nboots tucked under them, and were smoking the strongest tobacco fibres.\n\n\"Good evening, God help you, your worships!\" said the blacksmith coming\nnearer, and he made a low bow, almost touching the ground with his\nforehead.\n\n\"Who is that?\" asked a Zaporoghian, who sat near Vakoola, of another\nwho was sitting farther off.\n\n\"Do you not recognise me at once?\" said Vakoola; \"I am the blacksmith,\nVakoola! Last autumn, as you passed through Dikanka, you remained\nnearly two days at my cottage. God grant you good health, and many\nhappy years! It was I who put a new iron tire round one of the fore\nwheels of your vehicle.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the same Zaporoghian, \"it is the blacksmith who paints so\nwell. Good evening, countryman, what didst thou come for?\"\n\n\"Only just to look about. They say\"--\n\n\"Well, my good fellow,\" said the Zaporoghian, assuming a grand air, and\ntrying to speak with the high Russian accent, \"what dost thou think of\nthe town! Is it large?\"\n\nThe blacksmith was no less desirous to show that he also understood\ngood manners. We have already seen that he knew something of\nfashionable language. \"The site is quite considerable,\" answered he\nvery composedly. \"The houses are enormously big, the paintings they are\nadorned with, are thoroughly important. Some of the houses are to an\nextremity ornamented with gold letters. No one can say a word to the\ncontrary: the proportion is marvellous!\" The Zaporoghians, hearing the\nblacksmith so familiar with fine language, drew a conclusion very much\nto his advantage.\n\n\"We will have a chat with thee presently, my dear fellow. Now, we must\ngo at once to the Czarina.\"\n\n\"To the Czarina? Be kind, your worships, take me with you!\"\n\n\"Take thee with us?\" said the Zaporoghian, with an expression such as a\ntutor would assume towards a boy four years old, who begs to ride on a\nreal, live, great horse.\n\n\"What hast thou to do there? No, it cannot be,\" and his features took\nan important look. \"My dear fellow, we have to speak to the Czarina on\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"Do take me,\" urged the blacksmith. \"Beg!\" whispered he to the devil,\nstriking his pocket with his fist. Scarcely had he done so, when\nanother Zaporoghian said, \"Well, come, comrades, we will take him.\"\n\n\"Well, then, let him come!\" said the others. \"Put on such a dress as\nours, then.\"\n\nThe blacksmith hastily donned a green dress, when the door opened, and\na man, in a coat all ornamented with silver braid, came in and said it\nwas time to start.\n\nOnce more was the blacksmith overwhelmed with astonishment, as he\nrolled along in an enormous carriage, hung on springs, lofty houses\nseeming to run away on both sides of him, and the pavement to roll of\nits own accord under the feet of the horses.\n\n\"Gracious Lord! what a glare,\" thought the blacksmith to himself. \"We\nhave no such light at Dikanka, even during the day.\" The Zaporoghians\nentered, stepped into a magnificent hall, and went up a brilliantly\nlighted staircase. \"What a staircase!\" thought the blacksmith; \"it is a\npity to walk upon it. What ornaments! And they say that fairy-tales are\nso many lies; they are plain truth! My heavens! what a balustrade! what\nworkmanship! The iron alone must have cost not less than some fifty\nroubles!\"\n\nHaving ascended the staircase, the Zaporoghians passed through the\nfirst hall. Warily did the blacksmith follow them, fearing at every\nstep to slip on the waxed floor. They passed three more saloons, and\nthe blacksmith had not yet recovered from his astonishment. Coming into\na fourth, he could not refrain from stopping before a picture which\nhung on the wall. It represented the Holy Virgin, with the Infant Jesus\nin her arms. \"What a picture! what beautiful painting!\" thought he.\n\"She seems to speak, she seems to be alive! And the Holy Infant! there,\nhe stretches out his little hands! there, it laughs, the poor babe! And\nwhat colours! Good heavens! what colours! I should think there was\nno ochre used in the painting, certainly nothing but ultramarine and\nlake! And what a brilliant blue! Capital workmanship! The back-ground\nmust have been done with white lead! And yet,\" he continued, stepping\nto the door and taking the handle in his hand, \"however beautiful\nthese paintings may be, this brass handle is still more worthy of\nadmiration; what neat work! I should think all this must have been\nmade by German blacksmiths at the most exorbitant prices.\" ... The\nblacksmith might have gone on for a long time with his reflections, had\nnot the attendant in the braid-covered dress given him a push, telling\nhim not to remain behind the others. The Zaporoghians passed two rooms\nmore, and stopped. Some generals, in gold-embroidered uniforms, were\nwaiting there. The Zaporoghians bowed in every direction, and stood\nin a group. A minute afterwards there entered, attended by a numerous\nsuite, a man of majestic stature, rather stout, dressed in the hetman's\nuniform and yellow boots. His hair was uncombed; one of his eyes had\na small cataract on it; his face wore an expression of stately pride;\nhis every movement gave proof that he was accustomed to command. All\nthe generals, who before his arrival were strutting about somewhat\nhaughtily in their gold-embroidered uniforms, came bustling towards\nhim with profound bows, seeming to watch every one of his words, nay,\nof his movements, that they might run and see his desires fulfilled.\nThe hetman did not pay any attention to all this, scarcely nodding his\nhead, and went straight to the Zaporoghians.\n\nThey bowed to him with one accord till their brows touched the ground.\n\n\"Are all of you here?\" asked he, in a somewhat drawling voice, with a\nslight nasal twang.\n\n\"Yes, father, every one of us is here,\" answered the Zaporoghians,\nbowing once more.\n\n\"Remember to speak just as I taught you.\"\n\n\"We will, father, we will!\"\n\n\"Is it the Czar?\" asked the blacksmith of one of the Zaporoghians.\n\n\"The Czar! a great deal more; it is Potemkin himself!\" was the answer.\n\nVoices were heard in the adjoining room, and the blacksmith knew\nnot where to turn his eyes, when he saw a multitude of ladies\nenter, dressed in silk gowns with long trains, and courtiers in\ngold-embroidered coats and bag wigs. He was dazzled with the glitter\nof gold, silver, and precious stones. The Zaporoghians fell with one\naccord on their knees, and cried with one voice, \"Mother, have mercy\nupon us!\" The blacksmith, too, followed their example, and stretched\nhimself full length on the floor.\n\n\"Rise up!\" was heard above their heads, in a commanding yet soft voice.\nSome of the courtiers officiously hastened to push the Zaporoghians.\n\n\"We will not arise, mother; we will die rather than arise!\" cried the\nZaporoghians.\n\nPotemkin bit his lips. At last he came himself, and whispered\nimperatively to one of them. They arose. Then only did the blacksmith\nventure to raise his eyes, and saw before him a lady, not tall,\nsomewhat stout, with powdered hair, blue eyes, and that majestic,\nsmiling air, which conquered every one, and could be the attribute only\nof a reigning woman.\n\n\"His Highness[21] promised to make me acquainted to-day with a people\nunder my dominion, whom I have not yet seen,\" said the blue-eyed lady,\nlooking with curiosity at the Zaporoghians. \"Are you satisfied with the\nmanner in which you are provided for here?\" asked she, coming nearer.\n\n\"Thank thee, mother! Provisions are good, though mutton is not quite so\nfine here as at home; but why should one be so very particular about\nit?\"\n\nPotemkin frowned at hearing them speak in quite a different manner to\nwhat he had told them to do.\n\nOne of the Zaporoghians stepped out from the group, and, in a dignified\nmanner, began the following speech:--\"Mother, have mercy upon us! What\nhave we, thy faithful people, done to deserve thine anger? Have we\never given assistance to the miscreant Tartars? Did we ever help the\nTurks in anything? Have we betrayed thee in our acts, nay, even in our\nthoughts? Wherefore, then, art thou ungracious towards us? At first\nthey told us thou hadst ordered fortresses to be raised against us;\nthen we were told thou wouldst make regular regiments of us; now, we\nhear of new evils coming on us. In what were the Zaporoghians ever in\nfault with regard to thee? Was it in bringing thy army across Perekop?\nor in helping thy generals to get the better of the Crimean Tartars?\"\n\nPotemkin remained silent, and, with an unconcerned air, was brushing\nthe diamonds which sparkled on his fingers.\n\n\"What do you ask for, then?\" demanded Catherine, in a solicitous tone\nof voice.\n\nThe Zaporoghians looked knowingly at one another.\n\n\"Now's the time! the Czarina asks what we want!\" thought the\nblacksmith, and suddenly down he went on his knees. \"Imperial Majesty!\nDo not show me thy anger, show me thy mercy! Let me know (and let not\nmy question bring the wrath of thy Majesty's worship upon me!) of what\nstuff are made the boots that thou wearest on thy feet? I think there\nis no bootmaker in any country in the world who ever will be able to\nmake such pretty ones. Gracious Lord! if ever my wife had such boots to\nwear!\"\n\nThe empress laughed; the courtiers laughed too. Potemkin frowned and\nsmiled at the same time. The Zaporoghians pushed the blacksmith,\nthinking he had gone mad.\n\n\"Stand up!\" said the empress, kindly. \"If thou wishest to have such\nshoes, thy wish may be easily fulfilled. Let him have directly\nmy richest gold embroidered shoes. This artlessness pleases me\nexceedingly.\" Then, turning towards a gentleman with a round pale face,\nwho stood a little apart from the rest, and whose plain dress, with\nmother-of-pearl buttons, showed at once that he was not a courtier[22]:\n\"There you have,\" continued she, \"a subject worthy of your witty pen.\"\n\n\"Your Imperial Majesty is too gracious! It would require a pen no less\nable than that of a Lafontaine!\" answered with a bow, the gentleman in\nthe plain dress.\n\n\"Upon my honour! I tell you I am still under the impression of your\n'_Brigadier_.'[1] You read exceedingly well!\" Then, speaking once more\nto the Zaporoghians, she said, \"I was told that you never married at\nyour Ssiecha?\"\n\n\"How could that be, mother? Thou knowest well, by thyself, that no\nman could ever do without a woman,\" answered the same Zaporoghian who\nhad conversed with the blacksmith; and the blacksmith was astonished\nto hear one so well acquainted with polished language speak to the\nCzarina, as if on purpose, in the coarsest accent used among peasants.\n\n\"A cunning people,\" thought he to himself; \"he does it certainly for\nsome reason.\"\n\n\"We are no monks,\" continued the speaker, \"we are sinful men. Every one\nof us is as much inclined to forbidden fruit as a good Christian can\nbe. There are not a few among us who have wives, only their wives do\nnot live in the Ssiecha. Many have their wives in Poland; others have\nwives in Ukraine;[23] there are some, too, who have wives in Turkey.\"\n\nAt this moment the shoes were brought to the blacksmith.\n\n\"Gracious Lord! what ornaments!\" cried he, overpowered with joy,\ngrasping the shoes. \"Imperial Majesty! if thou dost wear such shoes\nupon thy feet (and thy Honour, I dare say, does use them even for\nwalking in the snow and the mud), what, then, must thy feet be\nlike?--whiter than sugar, at the least, I should think!\"\n\nThe empress, who really had charming feet of an exquisite shape, could\nnot refrain from smiling at such a compliment from a simple-minded\nblacksmith, who, notwithstanding his sunburnt features must have been\naccounted a handsome lad in his Zaporoghian dress.\n\nThe blacksmith, encouraged by the condescension of the Czarina, was\nalready on the point of asking her some questions about all sorts of\nthings, whether it was true that sovereigns fed upon nothing but honey\nand lard, and so on; but feeling the Zaporoghians pull the skirts of\nhis coat, he resolved to keep silent; and when the empress turned to\nthe older Cossacks, and began to ask them about their way of living,\nand their manners in the Ssiecha, he stepped a little back, bent his\nhead towards his pocket, and said in a low voice: \"Quick, carry me\nhence, away!\" and in no time he had left the town gate far behind.\n\n\n\"He is drowned! I'll swear to it, he's drowned! May I never leave this\nspot alive, if he is not drowned!\" said the fat weaver's wife, standing\nin the middle of the street, amidst a group of the villagers' wives.\n\n\"Then I am a liar? Did I ever steal anything? Did I ever cast an\nevil-eye upon any one? that I am no longer worthy of belief?\" shrieked\na hag wearing a Cossack's dress, and with a violet-coloured nose,\nbrandishing her hands in the most violent manner: \"May I never have\nanother drink of water if old Pereperchenko's wife did not see with her\nown eyes, how that the blacksmith has hanged himself!\"\n\n\"The blacksmith hanged himself? what is this I hear?\" said the elder,\nstepping out of Choop's cottage; and he pushed his way nearer to the\ntalking women.\n\n\"Say rather, mayest thou never wish to drink brandy again, old\ndrunkard!\" answered the weaver's wife. \"One must be as mad as thou art\nto hang one's self. He is drowned! drowned in the ice hole! This I know\nas well as that thou just now didst come from the brandy-shop!\"\n\n\"Shameless creature! what meanest thou to reproach me with?\" angrily\nretorted the hag with the violet-coloured nose, \"thou hadst better hold\nthy tongue, good-for-nothing woman! Don't I know that the clerk comes\nevery evening to thee?\"\n\nThe weaver's wife became red in the face. \"What does the clerk do? to\nwhom does the clerk come? What lie art thou telling?\"\n\n\"The clerk?\" cried, in shrill voice, the clerk's wife, who, dressed in\na hare-skin cloak covered with blue nankeen, pushed her way towards the\nquarrelling ones; \"I will let you know about the clerk! Who is talking\nhere about the clerk?\n\n\"There is she to whom the clerk pays his visits!\" said the violet-nosed\nwoman, pointing to the weaver's wife.\n\n\"So, thou art the witch,\" continued the clerk's wife stepping nearer\nthe weaver's wife; \"thou art the witch who sends him out of his senses\nand gives him a charmed beverage in order to bewitch him?\"\n\n\"Wilt thou leave me alone, she-devil!\" cried the weaver's wife, drawing\nback.\n\n\"Cursed witch! Mayest thou never see thy children again,\ngood-for-nothing woman!\" and the clerk's wife spat right into the eyes\nof the weaver's wife.\n\nThe weaver's wife wished to return her the same compliment, but instead\nof that, spat on the unshaven beard of the elder, who had come near the\nsquabblers in order to hear what was going on. \"Ah! nasty creature!\"\ncried the elder, wiping his face with his skirt, and lifting his whip.\nThis motion made them all fly in different directions, scolding the\nwhole time. \"The abominable creature\" continued the elder, still wiping\nhis beard. \"So the blacksmith is drowned! Gracious Heaven! and such a\ncapital painter! and what strong knives, and sickles, and ploughshares\nhe used to forge! How strong he was himself!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued he, meditatively, \"there are few such men in our\nvillage! That was the reason of the poor fellow's ill-temper, which I\nnoticed while I was sitting in that confounded sack! So much for the\nblacksmith! He was here, and now nothing is left of him! And I was\nthinking of letting him shoe my speckled mare,\".... and, full of such\nChristian thoughts, the elder slowly went to his cottage.\n\nOxana was very downcast at hearing the news; she did not put any\nfaith in the evidence of Pereperchenko's wife, or in the gossiping\nof the women. She knew the blacksmith to be too pious to venture on\nletting his soul perish. But what if indeed he had left the village\nwith the resolve never to return? And scarcely could there be found\nanywhere such an accomplished lad as the blacksmith. And he loved her\nso intensely! He had endured her caprices longer than any one else.\nAll the night long, the belle turned beneath her coverlet, from right\nto left, and from left to right, and could not go to sleep. Now she\nscolded herself almost aloud, throwing herself into the most bewitching\nattitudes, which the darkness of the night hid even from herself;\nthen, in silence, she resolved to think no more of anything, and still\ncontinued thinking, and was burning with fever; and in the morning she\nwas quite in love with the blacksmith.\n\nChoop was neither grieved nor rejoiced at the fate of Vakoola; all his\nideas had concentrated themselves into one: he could not for a moment\nforget Solokha's want of faith; and even when asleep, ceased not to\nabuse her.\n\nThe morning came; the church was crowded even before daylight. The\nelderly women, in their white linen veils, their flowing robes, and\nlong jackets made of white cloth, piously made the sign of the cross,\nstanding close to the entrance of the church. The Cossacks' wives,\nin green and yellow bodices, and some of them even in blue dresses,\nwith gold braidings behind, stood a little before them. The girls\nendeavoured to get still nearer to the altar, and displayed whole\nshopfuls of ribbons on their heads, and of necklaces, little crosses,\nand silver coins on their necks. But right in front stood the Cossacks\nand the peasants, with their mustachios, their crown-tufts, their thick\nnecks and their freshly-shaven chins, dressed for the most part in\ncloaks with hoods, from beneath which were seen white, and sometimes\nblue coats. On every face, wherever one looked, one might see it was\na holiday. The elder already licked his lips at the idea of breaking\nhis fast with a sausage. The girls were thinking about the pleasure of\nrunning about with the lads, and skating upon the ice. The old women\nmuttered their prayers more zealously than ever. The whole church\nresounded with the thumps which the Cossack Sverbygooze gave with his\nforehead against the ground.\n\nOxana alone was out of sorts. She said her prayers, and yet could not\npray. Her heart was besieged by so many different feelings, one more\nmournful than the other, one more perplexing than the other, that the\ngreatest dejection appeared upon her features, and tears moistened\nher eyes. None of the girls could understand the reason of her state,\nand none would have suspected its being occasioned by the blacksmith.\nAnd yet Oxana was not the only one who noticed his absence; the whole\ncongregation remarked that there lacked something to the fulness of the\nfestival. Moreover, the clerk, during his journey in the sack, had got\na bad cold, and his cracked voice was hardly audible. The newly arrived\nchanter had a deep bass indeed. But at all events, it would have been\nmuch better if the blacksmith had been there, as he had so fine a\nvoice, and knew how to chant the tunes which were used at Poltava; and\nbesides, he was churchwarden.\n\nThe matins were said. The liturgy had also been brought to a close.\nWell, what had indeed happened to the blacksmith?\n\n\nThe devil, with the blacksmith on his back, had flown with still\ngreater speed during the remainder of the night. Vakoola soon reached\nhis cottage. At the very moment he heard the crow of a cock. \"Whither\naway?\" cried he, seeing the devil in the act of sneaking off; and he\ncaught him by his tail. \"Wait a bit my dear fellow; I have not done\nwith thee; thou must get thy reward!\" and, taking a stick, he gave him\nthree blows across his back, so that the poor devil took to his heels,\nexactly as a peasant might do who had just been punished by a police\nofficer. So, the enemy of mankind, instead of cheating, seducing, or\nleading anybody into foolishness, was made a fool of himself. After\nthis, Vakoola went into the passage, buried himself in the hay, and\nslept till noon.\n\nWhen he awoke, he was alarmed at seeing the sun high in the heavens:\n\"I have missed matins and liturgy!\" and the pious blacksmith fell into\nmournful thoughts, and decided that the sleep which had prevented him\nfrom going to church on such a festival was certainly a punishment\ninflicted by God for his sinful intention of killing himself. But he\nsoon quieted his mind by resolving to confess no later than next week,\nand from that very day to make fifty genuflexions during his prayers\nfor a whole year. Then he went into the room, but nobody was there;\nSolokha had not yet returned home. He cautiously drew the shoes from\nhis breast pocket, and once more admired their beautiful workmanship,\nand marvelled at the events of the preceding night. Then he washed,\nand dressed himself as fine as he could, putting on the same suit of\nclothes which he had got from the Zaporoghians, took out of his box a\nnew cap with a blue crown and a trimming of black sheepskin, which had\nnever been worn since he bought it at Poltava; he took out also a new\nbelt, of divers brilliant colours; wrapped up these with a scourge, in\na handkerchief, and went straight to Choop's cottage.\n\nChoop opened wide his eyes as he saw the blacksmith enter his room. He\nknew not at what most to marvel, whether at the blacksmith being once\nmore alive, or at his having ventured to come into his house, or at\nhis being dressed so finely, like a Zaporoghian; but he was still more\nastonished when he saw Vakoola undo his handkerchief, and set before\nhim an entirely new cap, and such a belt as had never before been\nseen in the village; and when Vakoola fell at his knees, saying in a\ndeprecating voice: \"Father, have mercy on me! do not be angry with me!\nThere, take this scourge, whip me as much as thou wilt! I give myself\nup. I acknowledge all my trespasses. Whip me, but put away thine anger!\nThe more so that thou and my late father were like two brothers, and\nshared bread, and salt, and brandy together.\"\n\nChoop could not help feeling inwardly pleased at seeing at his feet the\nblacksmith, the very same blacksmith who would not concede a step to\nany one in the village, and who bent copper coins between his fingers,\nas if they were so many buckwheat fritters. To make himself still more\nimportant, Choop took the scourge, gave three strokes with it upon the\nblacksmith's back, and then said: \"Well, that will do! Stand up! Attend\nto men older than thyself. I forget all that has taken place between\nus. Now, speak out, what dost thou want?\"\n\n\"Father, let me have Oxana!\"\n\nChoop remained thinking for a while; he looked at the cap--he looked at\nthe belt; the cap was beautiful--the belt not less so; he remembered\nthe bad faith of Solokha, and said, in a resolute voice, \"Well, send me\nthy marriage brokers.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" shrieked Oxana, stepping across the threshold; and she stared at\nhim, with a look of joy and astonishment.\n\n\"Look at the boots I have brought thee!\" said Vakoola; \"they are the\nvery boots which the Czarina wears.\"\n\n\"No, no, I do not want the boots!\" said Oxana, and she waved her hands,\nnever taking her eyes off him; \"it will do without the boots.\" She\ncould speak no more, and her face turned all crimson.\n\nThe blacksmith came nearer, and took her hand. The belle cast down her\neyes. Never yet had she been so marvellously handsome; the exulting\nblacksmith gently stole a kiss, and her face flushed still redder, and\nshe looked still prettier.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs the late archbishop happened to pass on a journey through Dikanka,\nhe greatly commended the spot on which that village stands, and driving\ndown the street, stopped his carriage before a new cottage. \"Whose\ncottage is this, so highly painted?\" asked his Eminence of a handsome\nwoman who was standing before the gate, with an infant in her arms.\n\n\"It is the blacksmith Vakoola's cottage!\" answered Oxana, for she it\nwas, making him a deep curtesy.\n\n\"Very good painting, indeed! Capital painting!\" said the Right Eminent,\nlooking at the door and the windows. And, in truth, every window was\nsurrounded by a stripe of red paint; and the door was painted all\nover with Cossacks on horseback, with pipes in their mouths. But the\narchbishop bestowed still more praises on Vakoola, when he was made\nacquainted with the blacksmith's having performed public penance, and\nwith his having painted, at his own expense, the whole of the church\nchoir, green, with red flowers running over it. But Vakoola had done\nstill more: he had painted the devil in hell, upon the wall which is\nto your left when you step into the church. This devil had such an\nodious face that no one could refrain from spitting, as they passed\nby. The women, as soon as their children began to cry, brought them to\nthis picture and said, \"Look! is he not an odious creature?\" and the\nchildren stopped their tears, looked sideways at the picture, and clung\nmore closely to their mother's bosom.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: Chief town of a district in the government of Poltava.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Every foreigner, whatever may be his station, is called a\nGerman by Russian peasants. A dress coat is often sufficient to procure\nthis name for its wearer.]\n\n[Footnote 3: A village in the government of Poltava, in which the\nauthor places the scene of most of his stories.]\n\n[Footnote 4: The free burghers of Little Russia, even to this day,\npride themselves on being called _Cossacks_.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Almost every family name in Little Russia has some\nmeaning; the name of _Choop_ means the tuft of hair growing on the\ncrown of the head, which is alone left to grow by the Little Russians;\nthey uniformly shave the occiput and temples; in Great or Middle\nRussia, peasants, on the contrary, let the hair grow on these parts,\nand shave or cut it away from the crown.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Kootia is a dish of boiled rice and plums, eaten by\nRussians on Christmas Eve.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Varenookha is corn brandy boiled with fruit and spice.]\n\n[Footnote 8: A rank in irregular troops, corresponding to that of\ncaptain in the army.]\n\n[Footnote 9: Borsch is a soup made of meat, sausages, and thin slices\nof beet-root and cabbage steeped in vinegar.]\n\n[Footnote 10: Chief town of a district in the government of Poltava.]\n\n[Footnote 11: Long coats made of sheepskins, with the fur worn inside.\nThey are used in Russia by common people.]\n\n[Footnote 12: The ovens of the peasants' cottages are built in the\nshape of furnaces, with a place on the top which is reserved for\nsleeping.]\n\n[Footnote 13: About eightpence a yard.]\n\n[Footnote 14: Little Russians shave beard and whiskers, leaving only\ntheir mustachios.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Chief town of a district in the government of Chernigoff.]\n\n[Footnote 16: A carriage something between a dog-cart and a tilbury.]\n\n[Footnote 17: This, according to the laws of the Greek Church, would\nprevent their children from intermarrying.]\n\n[Footnote 18: Village clerks in Russia had their hair plaited; a\npractice which still continues in some remote provinces. Many priests,\nnot allowed by the custom of the land to cut their hair short, wear it,\nfor convenience' sake, plaited when at home and only loosen it during\nthe performance of the duties of their office.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Russians are much more strict in their fasts than\nPapists, eating no milk or eggs. Some even go so far as to eat no fish\nand no hot dishes, restricting their food to cold boiled vegetables\nand bread. The author has here very happily seized a trait of the\ninconsistency of a Little Russian peasant's character--swallowing a\ncamel in asking for communication with the devil, and straining at a\ngnat in the shape of a curd dumpling in fast-time.]\n\n[Footnote 20: This touch very characteristically exemplifies the\ncunning _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of the Little Russians, who, when deeply interested\nin anything, will never come to the point at once.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Potemkin was created by Catherine II. Prince of Tauride,\nwith the title of Highness, an honour rarely bestowed in Russia, and\nwhich he had fully deserved by his exertions in rendering Russian the\nprovinces which, only a few years before, were under the dominion of\nthe Crimean Tartars. All South, or New Russia, offers at every step\nrecords of the administrative genius of Potemkin, who, if at the outset\nof his career he was indebted for the favours of his sovereign to his\npersonal appearance (which was remarkably handsome, notwithstanding\na cataract in one eye), succeeded in justifying those favours by his\ntalents, which give him an undoubted right to rank amongst the greatest\nstatesmen of Catherine's reign--a reign which abounded in great\nstatesmen.]\n\n[Footnote 22: The author alluded to is _Von Wiessen_, who, in his\nwritings (particularly in two comedies, the \"Brigadier,\" and the\n\"Young Nobleman without Employment,\") ridiculed the then prevailing\nfashion amongst the Russian nobility of despising national and blindly\nfollowing foreign (particularly French) customs.]\n\n[Footnote 23: Ukraine, i.e., the Borders, an appellation which was of\nof yore given to the country now called Little Russia, which formed,\nin fact, the border between the territories of the Czar of Muscovy and\nthose of Poland, the Sclavonic provinces under the dominion of Austria,\nof the Sultan of Turkey, of the Khans of the Tartars of the Crimea and\nof the Golden Horde (residing along the Volga). The name of Ukraine\nis, down to this time given to Little Russia by its natives, they\nconsidering it derogatory to acknowledge their country to be smaller\nthan Great (Middle) Russia.]\n\n\n\n\nTARASS BOOLBA:\n\n\nFROM THE RUSSIAN OF\n\n\nNICHOLAS GOGOL.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\n\"Well, son, turn round! let me see thy back! What a queer figure thou\nart! What priest's cassocks have you got on? And do all of you at the\nCollege dress like that?\" These were the words with which old Boolba\ngreeted his two sons, who, after completing their education at Kieff,\nhad just returned to their father's house.\n\nHis sons had just dismounted from their horses. They were two strong\nlads, who still looked from beneath their brows as young collegians are\napt to do. Their manly healthy features were covered with the first\ndown of hair, unacquainted as yet with the razor. Such a greeting on\nthe part of the father, put them to great confusion, and they stood\nmotionless, with their eyes bent down on the ground.\n\n\"Stay, stay a bit; give me leisure to look at you,\" he went on, turning\nthem round; \"what long coats! what coats, indeed! Never in the world\nwere such coats! Here, let one of you just try to run! We shall soon\nsee if he does not fall, and get his legs entangled in his skirts.\"\n\n\"Don't laugh at us, father, don't laugh,\" said at last the elder son.\n\n\"Look at the haughty fellow! and why should I not laugh?\"\n\n\"For this reason: that though thou art my father, if thou goest on\nlaughing, by Heavens, I'll give thee a thrashing.\"\n\n\"Ah, wretch of a son! thrash thy father!\" exclaimed Tarass Boolba,\nfalling back a few steps in astonishment.\n\n\"It matters not that thou art my father. I pay regard to nobody, and\nwill permit nobody to insult me.\"\n\n\"And how are we to fight? with our fists?\"\n\n\"In whatever manner it may chance.\"\n\n\"Well, with fists be it!\" said Tarass Boolba, tucking up his sleeves;\n\"I will see what kind of a man thou art at fisticuffs!\" And father and\nson, instead of embracing after a long separation, began to give one\nanother blows on the ribs, on the loins, and on the chest, now falling\nback and taking aim, and now stepping forward again.\n\n\"Only see, good people! the old man has gone mad! he has decidedly lost\nhis senses!\" Thus spoke the good mother, a thin, pale-faced woman,\nwho stood at the threshold, and had not even had time to embrace her\ncherished sons.\n\n\"The children are but just come home; for more than a year we have not\nseen them, and what has he got into his head that he should fight with\nthem?\"\n\n\"He fights pretty well,\" said Boolba, stopping. \"Very well, indeed!\"\ncontinued he, taking breath; \"so that I'd better not have tried it.\nA good Cossack will he make! Well, son! good day! let me embrace\nthee!\" And father and son began kissing one another. \"Well, my son, as\nthou didst strike me, so strike every one--give quarter to none! And\nnevertheless, thy dress is very funny! What cord is that hanging about\nthy loins? And thou, sluggard!\" said he, turning to his younger son,\n\"why dost thou remain there with thy hands hanging idle? why, son of a\ndog that thou art, why dost thou not give me a beating?\"\n\n\"What hast thou hit upon now!\" said the mother, embracing her younger\nson; \"how couldst thou get into thy brain that a son should beat his\nfather? And is this the proper time, too? The child is yet young; he\nhas undergone such a long journey, and is quite tired\" (the child was\ntwenty years old, and seven feet high); \"he ought to take a meal and\nsome rest; and thou wishest to make him fight!\"\n\n\"Ah, I have it! thou art a pet!\" said Boolba; \"do not, my son, give\nheed to what thy mother is saying; she is but a woman, and what can\nshe know? As for thy coddling--the open field and a swift horse--these\nmust be thy coddling! And look at this sabre--this is to be thy mother!\nIt is all nonsense that they have been putting into your heads at the\ncollege: books, grammars, and philosophy, yes, the whole lot of them--I\nspit upon them all.\" Here Boolba used words such as are not to be met\nwith in books. \"I had better send you, not later than next week, to the\nZaporoghian Ssiecha. There you will have something to learn! that will\nbe a good school for you; there you will get brains!\"\n\n\"And are they not to remain at home more than a week?\" mournfully asked\nthe old mother, with tears in her eyes. \"Poor souls, they will have\nno time even to rest a little, no time to get acquainted with their\nfather's roof; and I shall not have time to have a good look at them!\"\n\n\"Have done, old woman! no howling! A Cossack is not made to spend his\nlife with women. Hadst thou the power, thou wouldst put both of them\nunder thy petticoat, and sit upon them as a hen does upon her eggs.\nGo, go, and have everything in the house put upon the table. We do\nnot want pastry, honey-cakes, poppyseed cakes, and all those sweet\nnonsenses. Bring us a whole roasted sheep, give us a buck, let us have\nsome mead[1] that is twenty years old, and above all things, plenty of\nbrandy; and let it not be the brandy with raisins and various spices,\nbut plain, clean, corn brandy, that hisses and simmers.\"\n\nBoolba conducted his sons into the parlour, from which hastily rushed\ntwo pretty maid servants, with red necklaces, who were putting the\nrooms in order. They might have been scared by the arrival of the young\nmasters, who never let any woman pass by quietly; or, perhaps, they did\nit only in accordance with the custom of all women, which is to shriek\naloud, and run away with the utmost speed at the sight of a man; and\nthen afterwards stand and gaze at him, covering their faces with their\nsleeves, as if vastly ashamed. The great room was arranged according\nto the taste of those times, of which there are nowhere such vivid\npictures to be found as in songs and popular legends;--these, too, are\nno longer, as of yore, sung in Ukraine by blind, long-bearded old men,\nwho used to sing them in the hearing of assembled crowds, and with the\naccompaniment of the soft music of the _bandora_[2]\n\nThe furniture was also in the taste of those warlike, sturdy times,\nwhen the _Union_[3] began to provoke struggles and battles in Ukraine.\nThe walls were all neatly plastered with coloured clay. Upon them\nhung sabres, scourges, nets for catching birds and for fishing, guns,\na powder-horn of exquisite workmanship, a golden snaffle-bit, and\nhorse-shackles with silver plates. The windows were small, with dim,\nround panes, such as are now found only in old churches, and through\nwhich one could only see by lifting the moveable glass. The windows and\ndoors were surrounded with stripes of red paint. In the corners there\nstood, upon shelves, an array of jugs, bottles, and flagons of green\nand blue glass, chased silver cups, and gilded dram-cups of Venetian,\nTurkish, and Circassian workmanship. They had come into Boolba's hands\nby various means, he being the third or fourth possessor of them, an\noccurrence very usual in those warlike days. Wooden benches ran all\nround the room; an immense table stood in the front corner, under the\nholy images; a large stove, which had many projecting and receding\ncorners, was covered with variegated, varnished tiles. All this was\nfamiliar to our two youths, who had every year come home for the\nvacations. They had always until now come home on foot, because they\nhad no horses, for collegians are not permitted to ride on horseback.\nThe long tufts on the crown of their heads were the only mark of\nmanhood allowed them, and even these, every Cossack wearing arms had\nthe right to pull. It was not till the conclusion of their studies that\nBoolba had sent them a pair of young horses, which he had selected for\nthem out of his herd.\n\nBoolba, to celebrate the arrival of his sons, had sent invitations to\nall the centurions and all the officers of his regiment; and as soon\nas he saw two of them coming with his old comrade the _essaool_[4]\nDmitro Tovkach, he introduced his sons to them, saying, \"Look at them,\nare they not pretty lads? I shall send them soon to the Ssiecha!\" The\nguests congratulated both Boolba and the two youths, saying that that\nwas a capital thing, and that there was no better school for young men\nthan the Zaporoghian Ssiecha.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen brothers, sit down to table, every one where he\npleases. Now, sons, before anything else, let's take some brandy!\"\nso spoke Boolba. \"God's blessing be upon us! May God give you health,\nmy sons; to thee, Ostap, and to thee, Andrew! May he ever grant you\nsuccess in war! that you may get the better of all misbelievers,\nTartars, and Turks, or Poles--if Poles attempt anything against our\nfaith. Well, give me your cup; is the brandy good? And what is the\nLatin for brandy? Well, son, the Romans were only so many fools; they\ndid not even know so much as that there's brandy in the world. How do\nyou call the fellow that wrote Latin verses? I am no great scholar, so\nI do not know his name; but let me see, wasn't it Horace?\"\n\n\"Just see my father!\" thought the elder son, Ostap, to himself; \"he\nknows all about it, and yet feigns ignorance, the old dog!\"\n\n\"I think the Abbot didn't so much as let you smell brandy,\"[5]\ncontinued Tarass Boolba. \"Now, own, sons, they famously thrashed your\nback, and whatever else a Cossack possesses, with fresh birch rods? or,\nperhaps, as you grew cleverer, you were flogged with scourges? and I\nshould think not only on Saturdays, but on Wednesdays and Thursdays[6]\ntoo, you got your allowance.\"\n\n\"What is the use of talking about what is past?\" answered Ostap; \"what\nis past can never come back.\"\n\n\"Let any one try it now,\" said Andrew; \"let any one touch us now! If a\nTartar were to come within our reach, now, we would soon let him know\nwhat sort of a thing a Cossack's sabre is.\"\n\n\"Well said, son, well said indeed! If things stand so, I will go with\nyou! By Heavens, I'll do it! What the devil have I to wait here for? Am\nI then to turn sower or farmer, or to pasture sheep or swine, and make\nlove to my wife? Let them all perish! I am a Cossack, and will not be\nanything else but a Cossack! There is no war? Well, what then? I'll go\nwith you just to have a look at the Zaporoghians! By Heavens, I will!\"\nand old Boolba grew warmer and warmer in his speech, and at last,\nbecoming quite fierce, rose from the table, drew himself up to his full\nheight and stamped with his foot. \"Why should it be put off? Let us\nride there to-morrow! Of what use would it be for us to wait? What is\nthis house to us? Of what use is all this furniture? Of what use this\ncrockery?\" and with these words he began knocking about and dashing on\nthe ground jugs and dishes.\n\nHis poor old wife, seated on a bench, mournfully watched these\nproceedings of her husband, to which she was accustomed. She dared\nnot interfere, but could not restrain her tears at hearing a decision\nso awful to her; she looked at her sons, from whom she was threatened\nto part so soon, and none could describe the extent of the silent\nintensity of sorrow which seemed to quiver in her eyes and in her\nconvulsively compressed lips.\n\nBoolba was stubborn to an excess. His was one of those characters,\nwhich could only take their rise in the gloomy fifteenth century, in\na semi-nomad corner of Europe, at a time when the whole of primitive\nSouthern Russia was left by its sovereign princes a prey to the fire\nand sword of the unconquerable Mogul invaders; when the natives of\nthat country grew daring, after having lost hearth and roof; when\nthey settled upon the sites of their former dwellings, within view\nof their terrible neighbours and of incessant danger, and learned to\nforget that there was any such thing in the world as fear; when after\nhaving remained dormant for centuries, the Slavonic spirit was inflamed\nwith the love of war. Then it was that the _Cossacks_ broke forth,\nthat powerful sinew of Russian nature, and then the banks of all the\nrivers and the valleys and rich pasturages were covered with Cossacks.\nNobody could number them, and rightly did their bold comrades give\nanswer to the Sultan, who inquired their number, \"Who can tell it?\nall the steppe over; for every mound there is a Cossack!\" In truth it\nwas an extraordinary outburst of Russian strength; calamity struck it\nout of the breast of the Russian people, just as steel strikes fire\nout of flint. Ancient principalities had disappeared; small towns,\nwith prickers and huntsmen, were no more; petty sovereigns exchanging\ntheir possessions had had their time. Instead of these, there arose\nformidable hamlets, villages and communities bound together by common\ndanger from, and common hatred to, the foes of the Cross. History makes\nus acquainted how it was that their incessant struggles, and restless\nlife, prevented Europe from falling a prey to the irresistible flood of\nTartar invaders, and from being overthrown by them. The Polish kings,\nwho had superseded the Russian princes in the possession of their wide\nexpanse of land, although far from these their possessions, and without\nthe means of enforcing their rule over them, understood the mission of\nthe Cossacks and the advantages derivable from their warlike, lawless\nmode of life. They gave encouragement to their pursuits, nay, they even\nflattered them. It was under their remote sway, that Hetmans, chosen\nfrom among the Cossacks themselves, transformed hamlets and communities\ninto regiments and regular military circuits. There was no regular\nstanding army; not a soldier was to be seen; but in case of war or any\ngeneral movement, every one, before eight days were over, appeared on\nhorseback armed from head to foot, but receiving only a ducat from\nthe king, and thus in a fortnight was gathered such a militia as no\nregular enlistments could ever have produced. The campaign once over,\nthe warrior returned to his fields and pastures, or to the ferries over\nthe Dnieper, betook himself to fishing, trading and brewing beer, and\nhe became once more a _free Cossack_. Well might foreign writers of\nthis period express their astonishment at the manifold accomplishments\nof a Cossack. No trade, no business, was unknown to him; he knew how\nto distil brandy out of corn, how to mend a carriage, how to grind\npowder; he was acquainted with blacksmith's as well as with locksmith's\nwork; and besides all this he knew how to plunge into the vortex of the\nmost riotous life, to drink and to carouse--as none but a Russian can.\nBesides the registered Cossacks, who were by duty bound to come forth\nin case of war, there were, at every period of great emergency, whole\ntroops of mounted volunteers. The _essaools_ had nothing to do but to\ngo through the squares and market-places of every city and village,\nand there, mounting on some carriage, cry aloud: \"Ho! you brewers and\ncoopers! enough of brewing your beer, lolling on your ovens, and\nfeeding flies with the fat of your bodies! Come and seek the glory and\nhonour of knights! And you, ploughmen, sowers, shepherds, loiterers,\nhave done with going behind the plough and daubing your yellow boots\nwith mud, with running after girls and destroying your knightly\nstrength. The time is come to win a Cossack's glory!\"\n\nAnd these words fell like so many sparks upon dry wood. Ploughmen broke\ntheir ploughs, brewers and coopers destroyed their tubs and casks,\nmechanics and tradesmen sent handicraft and trade to the devil, broke\nthe furniture in their houses, and every one, be he who he might, set\noff on horseback. In a word, here it was that the Russian character\nshowed itself in its boldest and most striking outlines, and received\nits most powerful development.\n\nTarass Boolba was one of the old colonels, and a colonel of the old\nschool too. In him seemed combined everything which makes a warrior,\nand his character was stamped by a stern uprightness. In those times\nthe influence of Poland already began to be felt amongst the nobility\nof South Russia; many of the nobles began to adopt Polish fashions,\nto indulge in luxury, to keep a magnificent revenue, hawks, and\nhuntsmen, to give banquets and entertainments. All this was displeasing\nto Tarass; he liked the simple manner of life of the Cossacks, and\nquarrelled with those of his comrades who inclined towards the\nWarsaw party, nicknaming them the servants of Polish lords. Ever\nunconquerable, he took it for granted that he was the rightful defender\nof orthodoxy. He went, of his own accord, into every village where\nthe tenants complained of oppression or of additional taxes laid on\nthe cottages, and constituting himself judge of these grievances, he\nmade it a rule that the sword was to be used on three occasions, viz.,\nwhen the Polish commissaries did not pay due respect to the Elders,\nand stood covered before them; when they insulted orthodoxy, and did\nnot observe the faith of their forefathers; and lastly, when the foes\nwere misbelievers or Turks, against whom, according to his notions, a\nChristian was in every case allowed to raise his sword.\n\nNow Tarass pictured to himself, beforehand, the pleasure he should have\nin bringing his sons to the Ssiecha, and in saying, \"Look at them,\nare not these fine fellows that I have brought you!\" how he would\nintroduce them to all his old comrades, hardened in so many combats;\nhow he would behold their first deeds in war and in carousing, which\nwas also accounted one of the great accomplishments of a knight. At\nfirst, he had thought of sending them by themselves; but, on seeing\nthe freshness of their manly beauty, the height and strength of their\nframes, his warlike spirit kindled, and he resolved to go with them\nhimself, although nothing but the stubbornness of his own will made it\nrequisite. He was already busy giving orders, making choice of horses\nand trappings for his young sons, going into the stables and barns,\nand indicating; the servants who were to start on the morrow with him.\nHe deputed his authority to the Essaool Tovkach, giving him strict\norders to come with his regiment at his first summons, were he to send\nfrom the Ssiecha for it. He forgot nothing, though he was rather tipsy,\nand his head was not yet quite clear. He even gave orders to water\nthe horses, and to put the best and largest grained wheat into their\nmangers. At last he returned, tired out with his work. \"Well, children,\nlet us go to sleep, and to-morrow we shall do what God wills. No beds!\nwe don't want beds; we will sleep in the yard.\"\n\nNight had scarcely crept over the sky, but Boolba always went to rest\nearly. He lay down upon a carpet and rolled himself up in a sheepskin\ncloak, because the night was rather fresh, and because he always liked\nwhen at home to be warmly covered. He was soon snoring, and every one\nin the yard followed his example. All who were lying about in different\ncorners of the yard set off snoring; first of all the watchman fell\nasleep, for he had got more tipsy than any one on the occasion of the\nyoung masters' arrival. The poor mother alone could not sleep; she\nreclined on the pillow of her dear sons, who were lying side by side;\nshe smoothed their young negligently intermingled curls, moistening\nthem with tears. She was gazing at them, ay, gazing at them with all\nher soul; her whole being seemed absorbed in sight, and she could not\ncease gazing. With her own milk she had fed them--she had watched them\ngrow--she had tended them--and now, she sees them near her only for a\nmoment. \"Sons, my own dear sons, what will happen to you? What is in\nstore for you?\" and tears ran down on the wrinkles which disfigured her\nonce handsome face.\n\nAnd, indeed, she was to be pitied, as were nil the women of those\nwarlike times. For one moment only had she enjoyed love, which wits\nduring the first impulse merely of youth and passion; and then her\nstern lover had quitted her for his sabre, for his comrades, and for\ncarousing. During the whole course of the year, she saw her husband\nbut for two or three days, and then years passed away without hearing\nanything about him. And, even when she happened to see him, and live\nwith him, what a life was hers; she received nothing from him but\ninsults, and often even blows. The caresses bestowed upon her were\nnothing but charity, she saw it. Strange was her existence among that\nmob of heartless warriors, whose features bore the bronzed colouring\npeculiar to the Zaporoghians. She had seen her youth glide away without\nenjoyment, and her beautiful fresh cheeks fade without kisses and\nshrivel into wrinkles before due time. All her love, all her feelings,\nall that is tender and passionate in a woman, all was concentrated for\nher in one feeling--that of a mother. And like a bird of the steppe,\nshe feverishly, passionately, and tearfully hovered over her children.\nHer sons, her dear sons, are to be taken away from her; to be taken\nwhere she may never see them again. Who knows? may be in the first\nbattle a Tartar will cut off their heads, and she will not even know\nwhere to find their corpses; perhaps those corpses, for each morsel of\nwhich, for each drop of whose blood she would give everything in the\nworld, those very corpses may be thrown aside, and the wild birds of\nprey may tear them to pieces. Sobbing, she looked in their eyes, which\nsleep already began to close, and she thought--\"Who knows but that\nBoolba, on awaking, may put off the departure for some two or three\ndays; may be he resolved to start so soon, merely from having drunk too\nmuch.\"\n\nThe moon had long ago risen in the heavens, and from their height shone\ndown on the yard, covered with sleeping Cossacks, on the thick sallows,\nand on the high grass which had overgrown the palisade surrounding the\nyard. Still the mother remained sitting beside her dear sons, never\ntaking her eyes off them for a moment, and never caring for sleep.\nThe horses, feeling the approach of the dawn, lay down and ceased to\nfeed; the upper leaves of the sallows began to move, and, by degrees,\nthe murmuring current descended to the branches beneath. The mother\nremained sitting till dawn. She felt no weariness, and inwardly wished\nthat the night might last still longer. Already the sonorous neighing\nof the foals was heard from the steppe; red streaks brightly illumined\nthe sky. All at once Boolba awoke and sprang to his feet; he was\nperfectly aware of the orders he had given on the preceding day....\n\n\"Up lads, away with sleep! it is time, it is time. Give the horses\ntheir drink. Where is the old woman (so he usually called his wife)?\nQuick, old woman! prepare our meal--we have a long journey before us!\"\n\nThe poor old woman, deprived of her last hopes, went mournfully to the\nhouse. While tearfully she was preparing everything for breakfast,\nBoolba issued his orders: he bustled about in the stable and himself\nchose the best equipment for his sons. The collegians were suddenly\nmetamorphosed: instead of their dirty boots and shabby dresses,\nthey appeared in red boots with silver heels; their trousers, of a\ntremendous width with thousands of folds, were tightly girded with a\ngilded belt; long leather thongs, with tassels and different requisites\nfor the pipe, hung from their belts. Their _cossackins_,[7] of a fiery\nred cloth, were girded by brilliantly-coloured sashes, in which were\nstuck pistols of Turkish embossed workmanship, and sabres were dangling\nabout their heels. Their faces, not yet sunburnt, seemed to have grown\nstill more handsome and still fairer. Their young dark mustachios gave\nstill more brilliancy to the healthy, robust bloom of their youth;\ntheir black sheepskin caps, with the crowns of cloth of gold, became\nthem excellently. Poor mother! when she saw them she could not utter a\nword, and tears rushed into her eyes.\n\n\"Now, sons, all is ready, don't waste time,\" said Boolba at last. \"Now,\nwe must all, like Christians, sit down before the journey.\"[8]\n\nEvery one sat down, including even the servants, who had respectfully\nstood at the door.\n\n\"Now, mother, bless thy children!\" said Boolba. \"Pray God that they may\nbe brave in war, that they may ever preserve their knightly honour,\nthat they may ever hold fast the faith of Christ. Otherwise, 'twere\nbetter they should die, better nothing remained of them in the world.\nGo to your mother, children; the prayer of a mother preserves one by\nsea and land.\"\n\nThe tender mother embraced them, took two small holy images, and\nsobbing, hung them round their necks:--\n\n\"May the Holy Virgin--preserve you--don't forget your mother, my\nsons--send me word about you.\" She could say no more!\n\n\"Let us be gone now, children!\" said Boolba. Saddled horses stood\nnear the door of the house. Boolba sprang on his own, named \"Devil,\"\nwho furiously bounded aside as he felt on his back the weight of his\nrider, who was very stout and heavy. When the mother saw that her\nsons had also mounted, she rushed to the younger, whose features wore\na somewhat more tender expression; she caught his stirrup, clung to\nhis saddle, and, a picture of utter despair, would not let him loose.\nTwo strong Cossacks gently dragged her away and carried her into the\nroom. But when she saw them cross the gateway, in spite of her age she\nflew through the yard with the swiftness of a wild goat, and, with\nincredible strength, stopped the horse and embraced one of her sons,\nwith a mad, rapturous feverishness. Once more was she brought home.\n\nMournfully rode the young Cossacks, restraining their tears lest\ntheir father should be angry; but he, too, was agitated, although\nhe endeavoured not to show it. The day was gray; the verdure was of\na bright green; the birds seemed to sing discordantly. After having\nridden for some time, they turned to look back: the farm seemed to have\nsunk into the earth; they could only see the two chimneys of their\nmodest mansion and the tops of the surrounding trees--those trees,\nwhose branches they used to climb like squirrels; but before them\nlay expanded the wide plain--that same plain, which might bring back\nto their minds the whole history of their lives, from the years when\nthey rolled in its dew-covered grass, down to the years when they were\nreclining in it, awaiting some dark-browed girl, who timidly ran across\nit with her pretty little feet. Already--nothing is to be seen, but\nthe pulley over the well, with the wheel tied to its top. Already the\nplain, across which they rode but just now, has covered all behind and\nlooks like a hill. Farewell, childhood! Farewell, youthful sports! all\nof you, farewell!\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nThe three riders all proceeded in silence. Old Boolba thought of former\ntimes; he saw pass before him his youth, his bygone years, those years\nwhich are always regretted by a Cossack, who would wish that his whole\nlife were youth only; he thought of the comrades he should meet with at\nthe Ssiecha; he remembered who those were who had died, and those who\nyet remained alive. A tear might have been seen trembling in his eye,\nand mournfully did he droop his gray head.\n\nOther thoughts occupied his sons. But more should be said about the\nsons. At twelve years old they were sent to the College of Kieff,\nbecause all' the important nobles of that time found it necessary\nto give an education to their sons, although it was apparently done\nmerely for the purpose of their entirely forgetting it afterwards.\nLike all the collegians, they had something wild about them, having\nbeen brought up in perfect freedom. At the college, however, they\ngot something of that external polish, which, being common to all\ncollegians, made them so resemble one another. Ostap, the elder of\nthe two, began his career by running away the very first year; he was\nbrought back, mercilessly flogged, and once more set to his book. Four\ntimes did he bury his grammar in the ground, and four times, after\nhaving him horsewhipped without pity, a new one was bought for him.\nYet he would no doubt have repeated the same attempt a fifth time,\nhad not his father pledged him his word that he would have him shut\nup in a cloister for twenty years, and sworn that he should never see\nthe Zaporoghian Ssiecha till he had been through the whole course of\nacademic learning. It is worth notice that this was said by that same\nTarass Boolba, who, as we have seen, laughed at all learning, and\nadvised his children never to trouble themselves about it. From that\ntime Ostap grew intensely assiduous, and was soon ranked among the best\npupils.\n\nThe education and the practical life of those times afforded the most\nstriking contrast. All the scholastic, grammatical, and rhetorical\nsubtleties were decidedly inappropriate to the epoch, inapplicable to\nanything, and of no use in after life. Even had the studies been much\nless scholastic, those who studied would have found nothing to which\nthey could have been adapted. The first rate scholars of that time\nwere the most ignorant people in practice, because they, more than\nothers, were removed from the experience of life. The republican form\nof the academical administration, as well as the great concourse of\nfull-grown, healthy young men, could not fail to give the pupils' minds\na direction quite alien to their studies. At one time bad food, at\nothers oft-repeated punishments by hunger, then, those impulses which\narise in fresh, healthy, strong youths--all this combined to give them\nthat enterprising spirit which afterwards attained its full expansion\nin the Zaporoghian Ssiecha. Hungry collegians rambled about the streets\nof Kieff, and rendered every one cautious. The market-women who sat in\nthe market, as soon as they saw a collegian coming, quickly covered\nwith their hands their pies, rolls, and pumpkin seeds, just as eagles\ncover their young with their wings. The _consuls_, whose duty it was to\nwatch over such of their comrades as were placed under their orders,\nthemselves wore trouser pockets of such frightful dimensions that they\ncould hide in them the whole contents of a tray if the market-woman\nhappened to look aside. These collegians formed a world apart; they\nwere not allowed to mix in the higher circles, which consisted\nof Polish and Russian nobles. Even the Voevoda,[9] Adam Kissel,\nnotwithstanding the protection which he showed to the college, did not\nallow the collegians admittance into society, and ordered them to be\ntreated with the greatest severity. This last injunction was, however,\nquite superfluous, for neither the rector nor the professors spared\nthe rods and whips, and often at their commands the _lictors_[10] gave\ntheir consuls such a sound flogging, that the latter rubbed their\ntrousers many weeks after. Many of them became indifferent to it, and\nthought it only a little stronger than good brandy and pepper; some\nfound such frictions too frequent and too unpleasant, and at last took\nflight to the Ssiecha, if they could but find the way to it, and if\nthey happened not to be caught during the journey.\n\nOstap Boolba, notwithstanding his assiduity in learning logic, and\neven theology, could by no means escape the inexorable rod. Of\ncourse, all this hardened his character, and gave him that firmness\nwhich is so peculiar to the Cossacks. Ostap was always reputed the\nbest of comrades. He was not often a leader of the others in daring\nenterprises, such as to lay waste some orchard or kitchen-garden, but\nhe was always among the first who joined the colours of the daring\ncollegian who was to lead, and never on any occasion did he betray his\ncomrades; no whip, no rods, could make him do so. Nothing but fighting\nand carousing had any attraction for him; never, at least, did he think\nof anything else. With his equals he was always open-hearted. He was\ngood, so far as goodness was possible with such a character and at\nsuch an epoch. The tears of his poor mother had strongly impressed his\nmind, and might account for his depressed spirits, and the thoughtful\ndrooping of his head.\n\nThe feelings of his younger brother, Andrew, were quicker, and in some\ndegree, more sharpened. He showed more inclination and less difficulty\nfor study than is usually the case with a heavy, robust character. He\nhad more contrivance than his brother, and more frequently became the\nleader in expeditions of danger, and oftener, thanks to his ready wit,\nfound means to escape punishment; while his brother Ostap, setting\naside every subterfuge, took off his coat and laid himself down on the\nfloor, without ever thinking of begging forgiveness. Andrew was as\neager as his brother for warlike feats, but his heart was also open to\nother feelings. When he was scarcely eighteen, he felt to the quick\nthe want of love; thoughts of women would often visit his over-heated\nfancy; whilst listening to philosophical disputes, he saw every moment\na fresh, dark-eyed, tender face; continually there glimmered before\nhim her round smooth bosom, her delicate, beautifully moulded bare\narm; even her dress, clinging to her maidenly yet powerful form,\nhis fancy would depict as something indescribably voluptuous. These\ninspirations of his passionate youthful soul, Andrew carefully hid from\nhis comrades, for in those times it was reputed a shame and a dishonour\nto a Cossack to think about women, and love, before having gone through\na battle. And yet, during the later years, he was no longer so often\nthe leader of collegian parties, but was more frequently to be seen\nstrolling about one of the lonely lanes of Kieff, overshadowed by\ncherry-tree gardens, which surrounded some low cottages. He also went\nsometimes into the aristocratic street in that part of Kieff which is\nnow-a-days called the Old Town, where the nobility of Little Russia and\nPoland used to live, and where the buildings in their appearance showed\nmore refinement.\n\nOnce, as he was gazing about the street, he was nearly caught by the\nwheels of the carriage of some Polish lord, and received a well-aimed\ncut of the whip from the frightfully mustachioed figure, who sat on\nthe box of the carriage. The young collegian took fire at once; with\ninconsiderate audacity he grasped with his powerful hand the rear\nwheel, and stopped the carriage. But the coachman, fearing the result,\nwhipped the horses; they started forward, and Andrew, who fortunately\nhad time to withdraw his arm, fell flat on the ground, with his face\nin the mud. The most sonorous and harmonious laughter resounded above\nhim. He lifted up his eyes, and saw, standing at a window, a beauty,\nthe like of whom he had never seen before. Her eyes were dark, and\nthe whiteness of her complexion was like the snow, lighted by the\nrosy-coloured rays of the morning sun; she laughed with all her heart,\nand laughter gave additional splendour to her beauty. He remained\nriveted to the spot. Unconscious of everything around him, he looked\nat her, and, absent in mind, wiped the mud from his face, soiling it\nstill more. Who could that lovely girl be? He tried to learn her name\nof the servants, who, in rich dresses, were assembled in a crowd at\nthe gate, round a young musician, playing on the _bandora_[11] But\nthe servants burst out laughing on seeing his dirty face, and no one\ncondescended to answer him. He succeeded at last in ascertaining that\nthe young lady was the daughter of the Voevoda of Kovno, who had come\nto Kieff for a certain time. Next night, with an audacity peculiar to\ncollegians, he crept through a palisade into the garden, climbed a tree\nwhose branches were widely spread, and leaned on the very roof of the\nhouse; from the tree he got on to the roof, and gliding down a chimney,\ncame straight into the room of the beauty, who was just then sitting\nbefore a light, and taking her costly ear-rings out of her ears. The\nbeautiful girl was so terrified at seeing before her a strange man,\nthat she could not utter a word; but when she saw that the collegian\nremained standing, his eyes bent on the ground, and not daring, from\nbashfulness, to move even his hand; when she recognised him to be\nthe same person who had fallen in the street beneath her eyes, she\nonce more gave vent to her laughter. Besides, Andrew's features had\nnothing alarming in them; he was very handsome. She laughed with all\nher heart, and continued a long time amusing herself at his expense.\nThe beauty was as flighty as only a Polish woman can be; but her eyes,\nher beautiful, her piercingly bright eyes, threw glances as lasting as\nconstancy. The collegian remained motionless, and seemed as if all his\nlimbs were tied up in a sack, when the Voevoda's daughter came boldly\nup to him, put her brilliant diadem upon his head, hung her ear-rings\non his lips, and threw on his shoulders a transparent muslin chemisette\nwith gold embroidered festoons. She dressed him out in different ways,\nand played with him a thousand silly tricks with the childish ease\nso characteristic of the giddy Poles, and which added still more to\nthe confusion of the poor collegian. His mouth wide open, his looks\nriveted on her brilliant eyes, he made the most laughable figure. A\nnoise which was heard at the door, aroused her fears. She ordered him\nto hide himself under the bed, and as soon as the noise was over, she\ncalled for her maid, a Tartar prisoner, and ordered her to conduct him\ncautiously into the garden, and thence to see him over the palisade.\nBut this time our collegian was not so fortunate in getting over the\npalisade. The watchman awaking, gave him a vigorous blow over the legs,\nand the servants assembled by the noise, beat him in the street, long\nbefore his swift feet carried him out of their reach. After this, it\nwas very dangerous to pass near the house of the Voevoda, the more so\nas his servants were numerous. Andrew saw his beauty once more in a\nLatin Church; she noticed him, and gave him a pleasant smile as to an\nold acquaintance. Once more, but only _en passant,_ did he see her, and\nthen the Voevoda left Kieff, and after that, instead of the beautiful\ndark-eyed Polish girl, a broad, coarse face looked out of her windows.\n\nThis is what Andrew was thinking about, with his head bent down, and\nhis eyes fixed on the mane of his horse.\n\nMeanwhile, the steppe had long ago received them in its green embrace,\nand its high grass, encircling them, had hidden them so that only their\nblack Cossack's caps were now and then to be seen above it.\n\n\"Eh! eh! eh! What are you about, lads? Why so silent?\" said Boolba,\nrecovering from his meditation. \"Just like monks! Come now, all at the\nsame time! All sad thoughts to the devil! Take your pipes between your\nteeth, light them, set spurs to your horses, and let us take such a\ngallop, that no bird shall get the better of us!\"\n\nAnd the Cossacks slightly bending towards the manes of their horses,\ndisappeared in the high grass. Not even their black caps were now to e\nseen; their course could only be followed by looking at the furrow in\nthe grass, which they crushed with the rapidity of lightning.\n\nThe sun had long since appeared in the sky, and poured its vivifying\nwarm rays over the steppe. All that was perplexed or dreamy about the\nsouls of the Cossacks fled at once, and their hearts bounded within\nthem like birds.\n\nThe farther the steppe went the grander it became. At that time the\nwhole tract of land which now forms New Russia, even as far as the\ncoast of the Black Sea, was but one green uninhabited waste. No plough\never furrowed its immense wavy plains of wild plants; the wild horses,\nwhich herded there, alone trampled them down. Nothing in nature could\nafford a more beautiful scene. The whole extent of the steppe was\nnothing but a green-gold ocean, whose surface seemed besprinkled\nwith millions of different coloured flowers. Here, through the thin\ntall blades of the grass, were to be seen purple, blue, and violet\ncorn-flowers; there, the pyramidal top of a yellow genistella shot up\nsuddenly; the umbrella-shaped heads of the clover shone like so many\nwhite spots; some ears of wheat, brought heaven knows whence, were\nslowly ripening amongst the grass. Under their thin stems partridges\nwere fluttering with outstretched necks. The air was filled with the\ncalls of thousands of different birds. Goshawks remained stationary\nin the sky, with wings wide spread, and eyes fixed on the grass. The\nscreams of a flock of wild geese, which like a cloud was seen moving\non one side of the horizon, were re-echoed by the murmurs from some\ndistant lake. A gull might be seen, with measured flapping of its wing,\nrising in the clouds, and luxuriously bathing in the blue waves of the\nair: behold, now it disappears in the skies, and only at times shows\nlike a dark spot on them; there again, it turns round, and its wings\ngleam in the sunshine.\n\n\"The deuce take ye, O steppes! how beautiful you are!\"\n\n\nOur travellers stopped only a few minutes for dinner. On this occasion,\nthe ten Cossacks who formed their escort alighted, and brought forward\nthe barrels of corn-brandy, and the hollow pumpkins, which supplied the\nplace of plates. The dinner consisted of nothing but bread, lard, and\nwheaten biscuits; one cup of brandy, and no more, was allowed to every\none, just to keep up his strength, for Tarass Boolba never permitted\nany one to get tipsy whilst travelling. Then the journey was resumed.\n\nAs evening came on, the whole scenery of the steppe underwent a\nchange. The last bright reflection of the sun encircled once more its\nvariegated expanse, which gradually grew darker, so that the shades of\nevening might be seen coming step by step over it, making its green hue\nmore and more black; the exhalations arose more densely; every flower,\nevery herb sent forth sweet perfumes, and a cloud of fragant smells\nseemed to hang over the whole of the steppe. Over the blue-tinted\nsombre skies a gigantic brush seemed to have drawn broad stripes of\nred gold; at times were to be seen gliding like so many white flocks,\nlight transparent clouds; the most refreshing breeze, pleasant as the\nsea-waves, gently ruffled the surface of the grass, and softly touched\nthe cheek. The harmony which had filled the steppe during the day died\naway, and gave place to other sounds. Animals which had remained in\ntheir holes under ground during the day, came out, and made the steppe\nresound with their cries and hisses. The chirp of the crickets grew\nlouder and louder. Sometimes from a distant pond was heard the cry of a\nswan, which rang silvery through the air.\n\nThe travellers, after choosing their halting-place, stopped under the\ncanopy of heaven, made a fire, and warmed the kettle in which they\nboiled their gruel; the curling smoke floated up above in a curved\nline. After supper, the Cossacks lay down for sleep, after having tied\nthe legs of their horses, which were left to feed in the grass. The\nCossacks stretched themselves on their cloaks; they could see right\nabove them the stars of the night; they could hear the numberless\nmyriads of insects which filled the grass, whose chirping, whose\nwhistling, whose shrill notes resounded sharply through the stillness\nof that hour and the freshness of the night air, and formed together\na delightful harmony. If any one happened to lift his head, or to\narise, he saw all the steppe covered with the sparkling light of the\nglowworms. Sometimes, at different places, the sky seemed glaring with\nfire, which had been set to the dry reeds in some distant fields, or\nalong the banks of some river, and then a dark line of swans, flying\ntowards the north, suddenly lighted up a pink-silvered streak, and\nit seemed as if rosy scarfs were fluttering in the sombre skies. Our\ntravellers journeyed on without any adventure. No trees met their view;\non every side expanded the same endless, free, beautiful steppe.\n\nAt times only might be seen the remote blue tops of the forests\ngrowing along the banks of the Dnieper. Once only, Tarass pointed out\nto his sons a small black spot at a great distance in the grass, and\nexclaimed, \"Look, children, there is a Tartar!\" A small mustachioed\nface peered at them with its narrow eyes, sniffed the air like a\nharrier, and disappeared at once, seeing there were thirteen Cossacks.\n\"Well, lads, will you try to catch the Tartar? You had better not;\nyou will never overtake him; his steed is swifter than my 'Devil.'\"\nYet, fearing some hidden mischief, he took his precautions. Coming to\na narrow stream, which fell into a river, he ordered his followers to\nenter the water on horseback, and they did not continue their journey\ntill they had swum a long way, to hide their track. Three days later,\nthey were near the end of their journey. The air grew colder; they\nfelt the proximity of the Dnieper. Behold! there it sparkles in the\nsun, and forms a wide dark streak beneath the sky; its cold waves come\nnearer and nearer, and on a sudden, surround half the horizon. It was\nat this part of the Dnieper that, after being compressed in its course\nby the rapids, it reconquered its liberty, and spreading out freely,\nroared like the ocean; the islands thrown in its centre made it rush\nstill more vehemently towards the banks, and its waves rolled on the\neven ground without having to dash over any rocks or elevations. The\nCossacks dismounted, got into a ferry-boat, and after a passage of\nthree hours, they reached the island Khortitza, where, for the time\nbeing, was the camp of the Ssiecha, which so often changed its seat.\n\nA crowd of people stood on the bank of the river quarrelling with the\nferryman. The Cossacks adjusted their horses for mounting; Tarass\nassumed a dignified air, tightened his belt, and proudly twirled\nhis mustachios. His young sons, too, looked at themselves from head\nto foot, with some unaccountable terror, and no less unaccountable\npleasure. Then they all rode together into the suburb, which was\nabout half a verst[12] from the Ssiecha. On entering it, they were\ndeafened by the sound of fifty blacksmith's hammers, which fell with\nheavy strokes in five-and-twenty forges, dug in the ground and covered\nwith grass. Strong tanners sat in the street at their own doors, and\nscutched ox-hides with their powerful hands; tradespeople sat under\ntents, loaded with flints, steels, and gunpowder; here, an Armenian\nhas hung up costly handkerchiefs for sale; there, a Tartar is roasting\npieces of mutton rolled in dough; there, a Jew, his head stretched\nforward, is drawing off corn-brandy from a cask. But the first man they\nsaw was a Zaporoghian lying asleep in the very middle of the road,\nhis arms and legs stretched far apart. Tarass Boolba could not help\nstopping to admire him.\n\n\"Now, is not this a glorious sight? Ah! what a fine sight!\" said he,\nstopping his horse; and the sight was certainly a striking one. There\nlay the Zaporoghian, like a lion, full length on the road; his crown\ntuft, proudly thrown back, was fully a foot in length; his trousers\nwere smeared with tar, in order to show his utter contempt for the\ncostly scarlet cloth of which they were made. After remaining for a\nwhile looking at him, Boolba continued to thread his way through a\nnarrow street, crowded by workmen, who, in the street itself, were\nworking at their trade, and by people of every nation, who filled this\nsuburb of the Ssiecha, which wore the appearance of a fair, and whence\nthe Ssiecha derived its food and clothes; for the Ssiecha itself knew\nnothing beyond carousing and fighting.\n\nAt last, they left the suburb and saw some _koorens_[13] scattered\nabout and covered with grass, or according to the Tartar fashion\nwith cow-hair felt. About some of the koorens stood cannons. Nowhere\ncould be seen any palisade, or any of the low cottages with sheds on\nshort wooden columns, like those of the suburb. A small mound with a\nditch, guarded by no living soul, was only a proof of the greatest\ncarelessness. Some strongly-built Zaporoghians, who were lying on the\nvery road, with their pipes between their teeth, coolly surveyed the\nriders, but did not even move. Tarass rode cautiously through the midst\nof them with his sons, and said, \"Health be with you, gentlemen!\"\n\n\"And with you, too;\" answered the Zaporoghians.\n\nIn every direction the field was covered with motley groups of people.\nTheir brown faces bespoke them at once to be hardened in war and inured\nto every privation.\n\nSo here is the _Ssiecha_! Here is that nest, whence take their flight\nall those men, as proud and strong as lions! Hence pour freedom and\nCossackdom over all Ukraine!\n\nThe riders came to an extensive square, where the _Rada_[14] was\naccustomed to assemble. The first person they saw was a Zaporoghian,\nseated on a tub, who, having taken off his shirt, was holding it in his\nhand, slowly mending the holes in it. Then they were stopped in their\nprogress by a troop of musicians, in the midst of whom was dancing a\nyoung Zaporoghian, his cap carelessly thrown on one ear and his hands\nwildly tossed in the air. He cried incessantly, \"Quicker, quicker,\nmusicians! and thou, Thomas, don't spare brandy for the Christians.\"\nAnd Thomas, with a black eye, was busily engaged in pouring out brandy\nfor every new-comer. Near the young Zaporoghian four old ones were\nalso dancing, sometimes with quick, tiny steps, then again with the\nrapidity of the wind, throwing themselves on one side, almost on the\nheads of the musicians, then on a sudden, bending their knees till\nthey were almost in a sitting posture, and rushing thus from side to\nside, making the hard-beaten earth ring with the heavy sonorous strokes\nof their silver-rimmed heels. The ground gave back a rumbling sound\nthrough all the vicinity, and the air at a great distance re-echoed the\nnoisy trampling of their boots. But there was one among the dancers who\nshouted still louder, and rushed about still more impetuously than the\nothers. His long crown-lock floated in the wind, his sinewy breast was\nnaked; he had on his warm sheepskin coat, and the perspiration poured\ndown his brow, as from out of a jug. \"Well, now, take thy coat off,\"\nsaid Tarass at last; \"dost thou not feel the heat?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot,\" answered the Zaporoghian.\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"I cannot; such is my habit, that what is once off, I give up for\nbrandy.\"\n\nAnd long since, indeed, had the lad had no cap, no belt to his coat, no\nembroidered handkerchief; they had all gone the way one might expect.\nThe farther the crowd extended, the denser it grew; new dancers came\nevery moment; and strange were the feelings excited at watching the\nfreest and most furious dance the world ever beheld, and which, from\nthe name of its mighty inventors is called the \"Cossack.\"\n\n\"Ah, were it not for my horse!\" cried Tarass, \"I would, by Heavens I\nwould, go into the dance too.\"\n\nAnd meanwhile, amongst other people, they met some of the elderly\nCossacks, with old gray crown-locks, who were held in great respect\nby all the Ssiecha, and had been many times chosen Elders. Tarass\nwas not long without meeting many well-known faces. Ostap and Andrew\nheard nothing but greetings such as these:--\"Ah, here thou art,\nPetcheritza!\" \"Good day, Kozoloop!\" \"In Heaven's name, whence comest\nthou, Tarass?\" \"Why art thou here, Doloto?\" \"Good day, Kirdiaga!\"\n\"Good day, Gostoi!\" \"Who would have thought to see thee, Remen!\" And\nwarriors, assembled from the whole of the loose world of Western\nRussia, embraced one another. Next came the questions:--\"And what of\nKassian? where is Borodavka? where Koloper? where Pidsyschok?\" But\nTarass Boolba only got for answer that Borodavka had been hanged by\nthe Poles, that Koloper had been flayed alive by the Tartars, that\nPidsyschok's head had been salted and sent in a tub to Constantinople.\nOld Tarass bent his head and thoughtfully muttered, \"Good Cossacks were\nthey!\"\n\n\nIII.\n\nTarass Boolba and his sons had remained already more than a week at\nthe Ssiecha. Ostap and Andrew had not yet much profited by warlike\nexercises. The Zaporoghians did not like spending their time in the\nmimicry of war; the education and martial accomplishments of the young\nwere acquired by experience alone, during the raging of battles which,\nfor the same reason, were almost incessant. The Cossacks found it dull\nwork to employ their leisure in learning discipline, and if they ever\nstudied anything it was shooting at a target, and sometimes pursuing\non horseback the wild animals of the steppes; the whole remaining time\nwas given up to carousing--the proof of a widely diffused freedom.\nThe whole Ssiecha presented a strange scene; it was like an unceasing\nfestival, a banquet which had begun noisily and forgotten to end. Some\nZaporoghians were occupied in different handicrafts; others had shops\nand busied themselves with trade; but the greater part feasted from\nmorning till night, as long as the possibility of feasting jingled in\ntheir pockets, and as long as the conquered booty had not found its way\ninto the hands of the tradesmen and the proprietors of brandy-shops.\nThis universal festival had something seductive about it; it was not\nan assembly of men who had been driven to drunkenness by grief; it\nwas nothing but the maddest expression of mirth. Every one who had\nfound his way thither, forgot and at once cast off everything which\nhad till then occupied his mind. He seemed to drive away all his past\nlife, and to give himself up, soul and body, with the fanaticism\nof a new convert, to freedom and to comradeship, with men who, like\nhimself, had no relations, nor home, nor family, and to whom nothing\nwas left but the canopy of Heaven, and the unintermittent festival of\ntheir hearts. This gave rise to that mad gaiety, which could never\nhave found any other source. The tales and narratives which might be\nheard among the groups lazily reclining upon the ground, were often so\ndroll and breathed such lively animation, that one must needs have had\nthe immoveable features of a Zaporoghian to have kept an indifferent\ncountenance and never so much as curled the lip; and this, indeed,\nis one of the most striking features which distinguish the Southern\nRussian from the rest of the Russians. The mirth was provoked by wine,\nwas attended by noise, but yet there were none of those disfigured\noutlines of a caricatured gaiety, which one finds in the dirty brandy\nshop. It was the friendly circle of schoolfellows. The only difference\nconsisted in this, that instead of poring over books, and listening to\nthe stupid lessons of professors, these schoolfellows made invasions,\nmounted on about five thousand horses; that instead of the field in\nwhich they had formerly played at ball, they now had, unguarded and\nuncared for, boundaries beyond which might be seen the swift head of\nthe Tartar, and the Turk haughtily glancing from beneath his green\nturban. The difference was this, that instead of the forced will which\nhad brought them together at school, they had, of their own free\nchoice, left their fathers and mothers and fled from the parental roof.\nHere were to be found those who had already felt the halter dangling\nabout their necks, and who, instead of pale-faced death, had found\nlife, and life in its utmost gaiety. Here were those who followed\nthe noble principle of never retaining a farthing about them. Here\nwere those, who, thanks to the Jews, tenants of Polish lords, could\nalways have their pockets turned inside out without the fear of losing\nanything. Here were all the collegians, who had not had the patience\nto endure the college rods, and who, of all their school learning, had\nnot retained so much as the alphabet. But besides these, here were\nto be found some who knew who Horace was, who Cicero, and what the\nRoman Republic. Here were many who afterwards acquired distinction as\nofficers in the army of the King of Poland. Here were many experienced\nvolunteers who felt the noble conviction that it was quite the same\nthing where and why the war took place so that wars were made, and\nthat no man of noble feelings could remain without fighting. Many more\nwere here who had come into the Ssiecha for no other purpose, but that\nthey might say afterwards that they had been there, and that they were\nhardened warriors. But what, indeed, were the characters that could\nnot be found here? Those who liked warfare, who liked gilded cups, who\nliked rich stuffs, or gold and silver coins, could at all times find\nemployment here. Those only who worshipped womankind could find nothing\nto suit their taste; for no woman was allowed so much as to show her\nface even in the suburb of the Ssiecha.\n\nDuring their abode in the Ssiecha, Ostap and Andrew were much\nastonished at seeing that crowds of people came, without so much as\nany one asking whence they came, or what were their names. They came\nthither as if they were returning to their own homes which they\nhad but recently quitted. The new-comer only went to the Koschevo\u00ef\nAtaman,[15] who addressed him in these terms:--\n\n\"Good day! dost thou believe in Christ?\n\n\"I do;\" answered the new-comer.\n\n\"And dost thou believe in the Holy Trinity?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"And dost thou go to church?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Make the sign of the cross!\"\n\nThe new-comer made it.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Koschevo\u00ef, \"thou mayest go into whichever kooren thou\npleasest.\"\n\nAnd thus the ceremony ended.\n\nThe whole population of the Ssiecha went to the same church, which\nthey were ready to defend to the last drop of their blood; and yet the\nCossacks would never attend to fasts and abstinence. The suburb was\nchiefly inhabited by Jews, Armenians, and Tartars, who, incited by the\nlove of gain, dared to live and to have shops there, knowing that the\nZaporoghians never bargained, but paid as much money as their hands\ntook out of their pockets. But the fate of these greedy tradespeople\nwas much to be pitied; they were like those who build their houses at\nthe foot of Vesuvius: as soon as the Zaporoghians had no money left,\nthe most desperate among them pillaged the shops, and carried away\neverything without payment.\n\nThe Ssiecha consisted of upwards of sixty koorens, which were very\nlike so many independent republics, and still more like so many\nboarding-schools. No one provided any furniture or food for himself;\nthe Koorenno\u00ef Ataman[16] had charge of everything, and was called on\nthis account \"father.\" He kept the money, the clothes, the furniture,\nthe flour, the oats, and even the fuel; all money was deposited with\nhim. It was no rare occurrence that one kooren quarrelled with another;\non such occasions, fighting immediately ensued. The rival koorens\nrushed into the field, and fought till one of them got the upper hand,\nand then all ended in a general carouse.\n\nSuch was this Ssiecha, which had so many attractions for young men.\n\nOstap and Andrew plunged at once with the heedlessness of youth into\nthis sea of pleasure, forgetting in no time their father's roof, the\ncollege, and all that had till then occupied their thoughts, and they\ngave themselves entirely up to this new mode of life. Everything was\nstrange to them; the loose habits of the Ssiecha, its unsophisticated\nlaws and administration, which even then seemed to them too severe in\nsuch a self-willed community. If a Cossack had committed theft, were\nit but of the most insignificant rubbish, his fault was reputed to be\na shame to the whole community; he was, as a dishonourable person,\ntied to a pillory, and beside him was placed a club, with which every\none who passed by might give him a blow, until the criminal expired.\nAn insolvent debtor was fastened to a cannon, and remained there till\nsome of his comrades ransomed him and paid his debts. But the greatest\nimpression made on Andrew was produced by the terrible penalty\nprescribed for murder. Before his eyes, a hole was dug in the ground,\nthe murderer was put into it alive, and over him was placed the coffin\ncontaining the corpse of the man whom he had murdered; then both were\ncovered with earth, and the hole was filled up. For a long time the\ndreadful ceremony of this punishment haunted Andrew, and he thought he\nsaw again and again the man buried alive with the terrible coffin.\n\nBoth youths soon gained the best repute among the Cossacks. Often did\nthey go together with some comrades of their kooren, sometimes with the\nwhole kooren, and with other koorens too, to shoot in the steppes an\ninnumerable quantity of wild birds, stags, and goats; or they resorted\nto the lakes, rivers, and arms of the Dnieper, assigned to every kooren\nby lot, to throw their fishing nets and bring to land a rich booty of\nfish, sufficient to feed the whole kooren. It was not as yet a trial\nof true Cossack life, but still they succeeded in distinguishing\nthemselves from among other youths by their audacity and their\ndexterity in everything. They never missed their aim when shooting, and\nthey swam across the Dnieper against the current, an exploit for which\nevery new-comer was triumphantly admitted into the assemblies of the\nCossacks.\n\nBut Tarass was preparing a new scene of action for them; he did not\nlike this idle mode of life; he desired real activity for them.\nAfter ruminating for a while how to raise the Ssiecha on some daring\nenterprise, where one might find true knightly exploits to perform, he,\nat last, went one day to the Koschevo\u00ef, and said to him, abruptly:\n\n\"Koschevo\u00ef, it is high time for the Zaporoghians to take the air in the\nfield.\"\n\n\"There is nowhere to take it,\" answered the Koschevo\u00ef, taking his pipe\nout of his mouth, and spitting-on one side.\n\n\"How so? Nowhere? There are the Turks; there are the Tartars!\"\n\n\"We cannot go either against Turks or against Tartars,\" answered the\nKoschevo\u00ef, coolly resuming his pipe.\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"So it is; we have promised peace to the Sultan.\"\n\n\"But is he not an unbeliever? Well, do not the Scriptures order us to\ncombat all unbelievers?\"\n\n\"We have no right to do it; had we not sworn by our faith, well, maybe\nwe might have done it; but now, no, we cannot.\"\n\n\"Why can we not? Why dost thou say we have no right? Here have I two\nsons, both of them young men. Neither the one nor the other have ever\nseen war, and thou sayest, 'we have no right;' and thou sayest, 'the\nZaporoghians cannot go to war.'\"\n\n\"So it must be.\"\n\n\"So then, the Cossack's strength must run to seed? So men must end\ntheir lives like so many dogs, without having been of any use to their\ncountry, or to Christendom? What do we live for, then? What the devil\nis the use of our life; tell me that? Thou art a sensible man; there\nwas some reason for electing thee Koschevo\u00ef; tell me, what do we live\nfor?\"\n\nThe Koschevo\u00ef left the question unanswered. He was a stubborn Cossack;\nhe remained silent for a while, and then said, \"Nevertheless, there can\nbe no war.\"\n\n\"So there will be no war?\" once more asked Tarass.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"So it is of no use to think of it?\"\n\n\"It is of no use.\"\n\n\"Well, wait a little, thou--devil's fist!\" said Boolba to himself.\n\"I'll teach thee to know me!\" And he resolved on the spot to take his\nrevenge of the Koschevo\u00ef.\n\nAfter having talked first with one and then another, he made up a\ndrinking party, and a number of tipsy Cossacks rushed to the public\nsquare; here, tied to a pole, were the kettle-drums, which were used\nfor summoning the _rada_[17] but not finding the sticks, which were\nin charge of an official called _doobish_, they caught up logs of\nwood, and began beating the drums with them. The first who appeared on\nhearing the sound of the drums was the doobish, a tall one-eyed man,\nwhose only eye was still very sleepy.\n\n\"Who dares to beat the drum?\" cried he.\n\n\"Be silent; take thy sticks, and beat the drum when thou art ordered to\ndo so,\" answered the tipsy elders.\n\nThe doobish complied at once, and took out the sticks, which he had\nbrought in his pocket, being well acquainted with the usual end of\nsuch occurrences. The kettle-drums resounded, and soon dark crowds\nof Zaporoghians were seen swarming like bees into the square. All\nassembled in a circle, and after the third beating of the drum, came\nat last the chiefs: the Koschevo\u00ef with the mace, token of his dignity;\nthe judge, with the seal of the Ssiecha; the secretary, with his\ninkstand, and the essaool with the staff. The Koschevo\u00ef, and the\nother dignitaries, took off their caps, and bowed on every side to the\nCossacks, who stood haughtily holding their arms a-kimbo.\n\n\"What means this assembly? What do you wish, gentlemen?\" said the\nKoschevo\u00ef.\n\nClamours and scolding words put a stop to his speech.\n\n\"Lay down thy mace, lay it down directly, devil's son!--we do not want\nthee any more!\" shrieked some Cossacks from the crowd. Some of the\nsober koorens seemed to resist, but tipsy and sober koorens came to\nblows. The shouts and noise became general.\n\nThe Koschevo\u00ef tried to speak, but knowing that the infuriated\nself-willed crowd might perhaps beat him to death for it, and that such\nwas almost always the end of such riots, he bowed very low, laid down\nthe mace, and disappeared among the people.\n\n\"Do you order, gentlemen, that we too lay down the tokens of our rank?\"\nsaid the judge, the secretary, and the essaool, ready to resign the\nseal, the inkstand, and the staff.\n\n\"Not you; you may remain; we only wanted to drive away the Koschevo\u00ef,\nbecause he is an old woman, and we need a man for a Koschevo\u00ef!\"\n\n\"Whom will you choose for your Koschevo\u00ef?\" asked the dignitaries.\n\n\"Choose Kookoobenko!\" cried one side.\n\n\"We will not have Kookoobenko!\" cried the other. \"'Tis early for him;\nhis mother's milk is yet wet upon his lips!\"\n\n\"Let Shilo be the Ataman,\" cried some. \"Shilo must be Koschevo\u00ef!\"\n\n\"Away with Shilo!\" shouted the angry crowd.\n\n\"Is he a Cossack, to have thieved like a Tartar, the dog's son I To the\ndevil with the drunkard Shilo!\"\n\n\"Let us choose Borodaty--Borodaty!\"\n\n\"We will not have Borodaty; a curse upon Borodaty!\"\n\n\"Shout for Kirdiaga,\" whispered Tarass Boolba.\n\n\"Kirdiaga, Kirdiaga,\" shouted the crowd. \"Borodaty!\nBorodaty!\"--\"Kirdiaga! Kirdiaga!\"\n\n\"Shilo!\"--\"The devil take Shilo!\"--\"Kirdiaga!\"\n\nEach of the proposed candidates, on hearing his name shouted, instantly\nquitted the crowd, to leave no room for suspecting his personal\ninfluence in the election.\n\n\"Kirdiaga! Kirdiaga!\" was heard above all.\n\n\"Borodaty!\"\n\nBlows succeeded to words, and Kirdiaga's party got the better.\n\n\"Go and fetch Kirdiaga!\" was now the cry.\n\nSome ten Cossacks directly stepped out of the crowd; many of them\nhardly stood upon their legs, such was the strength of the spirits they\nhad swallowed; they went straight to Kirdiaga, to notify to him his\nelection.\n\nKirdiaga, a clever old Cossack, had already been some time seated in\nhis kooren, and looked as if quite unconscious of what had just taken\nplace. \"What do you want, gentlemen?\" asked he.\n\n\"Go; thou art elected to be the Koschevo\u00ef.\"\n\n\"Be merciful, gentlemen!\" said Kirdiaga. \"I am by no means worthy of\nsuch an honour; I have not sense enough for a rank like that; is there\nno one better than I to be found in the whole Ssiecha?\"\n\n\"Go, when thou art told to go!\" cried the Zaporoghians. Two of them\ntook hold of his arms, and in vain did he endeavour to stay his feet.\nHe was at last brought into the square, pushed from behind by blows and\npokes, receiving such scoldings and admonitions as--\"Don't draw back,\nthou devil's son!\" \"Take the honour, dog, when they give it to thee!\"\n\nIn such a manner Kirdiaga was brought into the midst of the Cossack\ncircle.\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" cried those who had brought him, \"are you willing to have\nthis Cossack for your Koschevo\u00ef?\"\n\n\"We are, all of us!\" shouted the crowd; and the field resounded far and\nwide with the cry.\n\nOne of the elders took up the mace, and offered it to the newly-elected\nKoschevo\u00ef. Kirdiaga refused it, according to custom. The elder offered\nit a second time; Kirdiaga refused it again; and only after the third\ninvitation, did he take up the mace. A clamour of approval arose\nfrom the crowd, and again far and wide the field resounded with the\nCossacks' shout. Now stepped out from the midst of the people four of\nthe oldest Cossacks, with gray crown-locks, and gray mustachios (no\nvery old folks were to be found in the Ssiecha, for no Zaporoghian\never died a natural death); each of them took a handful of earth,\nwhich recent rain had turned to mud, and put it upon Kirdiaga's head.\nDown from his head ran the wet earth, which flowed over his mustachios\nand cheeks, and soiled all his face with mud. But Kirdiaga remained\nstanding upright, and returned thanks to the Cossacks for the honour\nthey had bestowed upon him.\n\nSo ended the clamorous election. It remains unknown whether others\nrejoiced in it as much as Boolba: first, for having taken his revenge\non the late Koschevo\u00ef; and secondly, because Kirdiaga was his old\ncomrade, who had been with him in the same campaigns, over sea and\nland, and had shared the same hardships and labours of warfare. The\ncrowd dispersed immediately, in order to rejoice over the election;\nand a revel ensued such as Ostap and Andrew had not yet seen. The\nbrandy-shops were ransacked; mead, brandy, and beer were carried off\nwithout any payment being made; the masters of the shops were glad\nto be suffered to escape untouched. The whole of the night passed in\nnoise and songs, and the moon, rising in the sky, shone for a long time\nover the hands of musicians walking about the streets with bandooras,\ntorbans, and round balalaikas,[18] and over the group of the singers\nwho were kept in the Ssiecha to chant in the church, and to sing the\npraises of the feats of the Zaporoghians.\n\nAt last, tipsiness and fatigue began to get the better of the strong\nheads; and now began to be seen here and there a Cossack rolling on\nthe ground. Here, two comrades, embracing one another, have grown\nsentimental, and both roll down weeping. There, a whole crowd has lain\ndown together. There is one, who after fidgetting very much about the\nmost commodious manner of lying down, has stretched himself full length\non a log. The last, whose head was somewhat stronger, remained still\nuttering incoherent sentences; but he, too, finished by submitting to\nthe effects of brandy, and when he fell like the rest, the whole of the\nSsiecha was asleep.\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nThe very next day, Tarass Boolba was already in consultation with the\nnew Koschevo\u00ef how to raise the Zaporoghians on some war business. The\nKoschevo\u00ef was a clever, cunning Cossack; he knew the Zaporoghians\nfrom top to toe, and at once said, \"We cannot infringe our oath--we\ncannot, on any account.\" But after having kept silence for some time\nhe added, \"Never mind, we can; we will keep our oath, but we will find\nout something or other. Manage somehow to get the people together, not,\nhowever, in my name, but as if of their own free will. You understand\nhow to do it; and we, with the other dignitaries, will rush into the\nsquare as if we knew nothing of the matter.\"\n\nScarcely an hour had passed since this conversation, when on a sudden\nthe kettle-drums were beaten. All the Cossacks, the slightly tipsy\nas well as those who had not yet recovered their senses, appeared at\nonce. Thousands of Cossack caps all at once covered the square. A\nrumour arose, \"What's the matter? why did they beat the call? on what\naccount?\" At last, here and there were to be heard sentences, \"Why is\nthe Cossack's strength to be lost? Why is there no war? The officials\nonly think of fattening themselves! Righteousness seems to have left\nthe world!\" Other Cossacks began by listening and then joined in also,\n\"Truly, there is no righteousness in the world.\"\n\nThe officials seemed astonished at hearing such things. At last the\nKoschevo\u00ef stepped forward and said, \"Gentlemen Zaporoghians! will you\nlet me make a speech?\n\n\"My speech will be, gentlemen, about this,--but may be you know it\nbetter yourselves;--that many Zaporoghians have gone into debt in the\nbrandy-shops, to Jews as well as to their comrades, and into such debt\nthat no devil will now give credit to any one. Then, again, my speech\nis about this, that there are many lads who have never so much as seen\nwhat war is; whereas you know, gentlemen, that no young man can ever\nremain without war. What kind of Zaporoghian is he who has never, not\neven once, vanquished an unbeliever?\"\n\n\"He speaks well,\" thought Boolba.\n\n\"But do not think, gentlemen, that I am now speaking for the purpose\nof breaking peace! God forbid! I am only just mentioning facts. Now,\nwith respect to God's temple, it is sinful to tell in what a state it\nis. Thanks be to God, the Ssiecha has now stood for so many years, and\nyet till now--I do not speak of the exterior of the church---but even\nthe images inside have no decorations. No one has ever thought to have\neven a silver cloth put upon any one of them;[19] the church has only\nreceived that which was bequeathed to it by certain Cossacks; but even\nthese donations were very poor, for the donors during their lifetime\nhad spent everything they had in brandy. But all this I do not tell you\nto induce you to begin war against the misbelievers; we have promised\npeace to the Sultan, and it would be a great sin not to keep it,\nbecause we have sworn by our faith.\"\n\n\"What does he mean by all this nonsense?\" said Boolba to himself.\n\n\"So, gentlemen, you see that we cannot begin war; knightly honour\nforbids it. But, according to my poor understanding, what I should say\nis this--let us send the young people in our boats; let them take a run\non the coasts of Anatolia. What do you think of that, gentlemen?\"\n\n\"Let us all go!\" cried the crowd on every side. \"Every one of us is\nready to die for our faith!\"\n\nThe Koschevo\u00ef was alarmed; he had not at all meant to have raised\nthe whole Ssiecha; he thought it unfair to break the peace. \"Let me,\ngentlemen, say a few words more.\"\n\n\"Enough!\" shouted the Zaporoghians; \"thou wilt say nothing better!\"\n\n\"If such be your will, well you must have it. I am but the servant\nof your will. It is well known that the voice of the people is the\nvoice of God. Nothing better can be settled than what the whole of the\nSsiecha has settled. I consider only this. You know, gentlemen, that\nthe Sultan will not fail to take his revenge for the pleasure that the\nlads will have. And in the meanwhile we should have kept ourselves in\nreadiness; our forces should have been fresh, and we should have feared\nnobody--while now, during our absence, the Tartars may fall on the\nSsiecha. Tartars are nothing but Turkish dogs; they do not fall on you\nface to face, and will not come into the house so long as the master is\nat home; but they may bite our heels from behind and painfully may they\nbite us. And, as we are now about this matter--to speak the truth, we\nhave not enough boats, and the store of powder is not sufficient if all\nof us are to go. However, I am ready. I am happy to be the servant of\nyour will.\"\n\nThe cunning Ataman stopped. Groups began to confer together; the\natamans of the koorens held council; and, as luckily few remained\ntipsy, all agreed to follow the prudent course.\n\nImmediately some of the men crossed the Dnieper to fetch the treasure\nof the Ssiecha, and part of the arms taken from their enemies; they\nwere kept in inaccessible hiding-places, in the reeds along the banks\nof the river. All the other Cossacks rushed to the boats to inspect\nthem, and to put them in readiness for use. In a minute the banks\nof the river were covered with people; carpenters came with axes in\ntheir hands; young Zaporoghians as well as elderly ones; the latter,\nsunburnt, broad-shouldered, thick-footed, with gray hair in their\nmustachios, stood knee deep in the water, and dragged the boats into\nthe river by means of strong cords. Others were bringing timber and\nbalks ready dried. Here some were nailing planks on a boat; there a\nboat, keel upwards, was being caulked and pitched; in another place,\naccording to the Cossack custom, long bundles of reeds were bound to\nthe sides of the boats, to prevent them from being capsized by the sea\nwaves; and still farther all along the river fires were kindled and\ntar boiled in copper kettles for tarring the boats. The experienced\nand elderly Cossacks gave their advice to the young ones. Noise and\nclamours arose from every side. The banks of the river were all alive\nwith the stir and bustle.\n\nAt this moment a great ferry-boat came near the island. The men who\nwere standing in it had already, at a distance, begun to wave their\narms. They were Cossacks and dressed in coats falling to rags. The\nmiserable dress which they wore (some of them had nothing about them\nbut their shirt and a short pipe in their mouth) showed at once that\nthey had recently escaped from misfortune, or that they had been\nfeasting until they had spent all that they had about their persons.\nFrom among them came forward, a short, thickset, broad-shouldered\nCossack, some fifty years old. He shrieked louder than any, and waved\nhis arms in the most discordant manner. But the cries and the talking\nof the workmen prevented him from being heard.\n\n\"What brings you here?\" asked the Koschevo\u00ef, while the ferry-boat was\nlanding. All the workmen, stopping in their work with raised axes and\nother instruments, looked on in expectation.\n\n\"Misfortune!\" shouted the thickset Cossack from the ferry-boat.\n\n\"What misfortune?\"\n\n\"Gentlemen Zaporoghians, let me address you?\"\n\n\"Speak on!\"\n\n\"Or, may be, you wish to convoke a _rada_?\"\n\n\"Speak, we are all here!\" cried the people with one accord.\n\n\"Have you, then, heard nothing about what has happened in the hetman's\ndominions?\"[20]\n\n\"And what is the matter there?\" asked the ataman of one of the koorens.\n\n\"What is the matter! It seems the Tartars must have well boxed your\nears that you heard nothing!\"\n\n\"Tell, then, what _did_ happen there!\"\n\n\"Such things have happened that, since you were born and christened,\nyou never saw the like of them!\"\n\n\"Speak, then, at once; and say what has happened, thou son of a dog!\"\ncried one among the crowd, losing patience.\n\n\"Such times are come that even the holy churches are no longer ours!\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Jews are made landlords thereof.[21] If one does not pay the toll to\nthe Jew no mass can be performed.\"\n\n\"What nonsense art thou saying?\"\n\n\"And if the cursed Jew does not put, with his damned finger, a mark\nupon the holy passover, the passover cannot be consecrated!\"\n\n\"He lies, gentlemen brothers! This cannot be, that an unclean Jew\nshould put a sign upon the holy passover!\"\n\n\"Listen, only! I have more to tell you. The Latin priests now drive\nover all Ukraine in chariots. But the evil is not in their driving in\nchariots: the evil is in the chariots being no longer drawn by horses\nbut by orthodox Christians. Hear me! I have more to tell you:--They say\nthat Jewesses are now making themselves petticoats out of our priests'\nvestments. These are the things that happen in Ukraine, gentlemen! And\nyou are here resting and carousing in your Ssiecha! Truly, it seems the\nTartars have put you into such a fright, that you have no eyes left to\nsee, no ears to hear what passes in the world!\"\n\n\"Stop! Stop!\" interfered the Koschevo\u00ef, who had remained standing with\nhis eyes fixed upon the ground, as well as all the Zaporoghians, who in\nimportant business never obeyed the first impulse, but kept silent, and\nin their silence gathered the stern force of indignation. \"Stop! let me\nsay _my_ word, too! And what did you do? you--may your father be beaten\nby the devil! Had you no sabres, then? Had you none? How did you let\nsuch profanations happen?\"\n\n\"How did we let such profanations happen? I should like to have seen\nyou try to stop them when there were fifty thousand Poles, and--there\nis no use to conceal it--when there were some among us, the cursed\ndogs, who went over to the Polish faith, too!\"\n\n\"And your hetman and your colonels? what did they do?\"\n\n\"Our colonels did such doings, that God forbid any one else should do\nthe same!\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Why, so that the hetman now lies roasted in a copper ox at Warsaw,\nand the arms and heads of our colonels are carried to the fairs to be\nshown to the people.[22] Such were the doings of our colonels!\"\n\nA shudder of horror ran through the whole crowd. A moment's silence\nreigned among it, like that which immediately precedes a terrible\nstorm, then all at once a murmur arose and every one gave vent to his\nindignation.\n\n\"Jews renting Christian churches! Popish priests to be driving about on\northodox Christians! Such torments to be suffered on Russian soil from\naccursed Papists! So to treat the hetman and the colonels! This must\nnot be--this shall not be!\" Speeches of this kind were heard on all\nsides.\n\nThe Zaporoghians went on shouting and felt their strength. It was no\nlonger the hum of a giddy people; strong and heavy characters were now\naroused, who, if they were long before turning red-hot, yet, when once\nred-hot, kept their internal heat a long time.\n\n\"Let us hang all the Jews!\" cried a voice from the crowd; \"let them not\nmake petticoats for their Jewesses out of our priests' robes! Let them\nnot put signs on holy passovers! We will drown all the accursed race in\nthe Dnieper.\"\n\nThese words, uttered by some one from the crowd, flew like lightning\nfrom one to another and the people rushed to the suburb with the\nintention of putting all the Jews to death. The poor sons of Israel,\nlosing the last remains of their almost always diminutive spirit,\nhid themselves in empty brandy casks, in ovens, and even crept under\nthe petticoats of their Jewesses. But the Cossacks found them out\neverywhere.\n\n\"Most illustrious gentlemen!\" shouted a Jew, as tall and as long as a\nhop-pole, thrusting forth his miserable face, all contorted by fright,\nfrom amidst a group of his comrades, \"most illustrious gentlemen! let\nus tell you only one word! We will tell you such a thing as you never\nheard of before! Such an important thing, that words cannot say how\nimportant it is!\"\n\n\"Let them say it!\" said Boolba, who always liked to give a hearing to\nthe accused party.\n\n\"Most serene gentlemen!\" said the Jew; \"such gentlemen nobody ever saw\nbefore, by Heavens! never! Such good, such kind, such brave gentlemen\nnever were before in the world!\" His voice was choked and trembling\nwith fear. \"How could it be that we should ever have thought anything\nbad about the Zaporoghians! Those that are renting churches in Ukraine\nare not our people at all! by Heavens, they are not ours! They are\nno Jews! The devil knows what they are! They are people worthy to be\nspit at, and nothing more. Here are witnesses for me. Say I not true,\nShlema? or thou, Shmool?\"\n\n\"By Heavens, so it is!\" answered Shlema and Shmool, both in ragged\ncaps,[23] and both pale as chalk from fright.\n\n\"We have never yet been on the side of your enemies,\" continued the\ntall Jew; \"and as for the Papists, we do not even wish to know them;\nmay the devil haunt their sleep! We are for the Zaporoghians, like\nbosom-brothers!\"\n\n\"You, the brother of the Zaporoghians!\" said one from the crowd. \"That\nwill never be, cursed Jews! Gentlemen, into the Dnieper with them all!\nLet us drown every one of the accursed race.\"\n\n\"These words were the signal for seizing the Jews and throwing them\ninto the river. Pitiful shrieks resounded on every side; but the stern\nZaporoghians only laughed as they saw the Jews' slippered feet beating\nthe air. The poor orator, who had called down this storm upon his own\nhead, jumped out of his coat, which some one had already laid hold of,\nand left in a dirty tight waistcoat, grasped the feet of Boolba, and\nin a whining voice entreated him: 'Mighty lord! Most illustrious lord!\nI knew your brother, the late lamented Dorosh! He was a warrior who\nwas an ornament to all chivalry! It was I who gave him eight hundred\nsequins, when he stood in need of his ransom from the Turks.'\"\n\n\"Didst thou know my brother?\" asked Tarass.\n\n\"By Heavens, I knew him! a generous lord was he!\"\n\n\"What is thy name?\"\n\n\"Yankel.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Tarass; then, after thinking for a while, he turned\ntowards the Cossacks and said, \"If we want to do it, we shall always\nfind time to hang the Jew; but, for the present let me have him.\" After\nwhich Tarass took him to his chariots, which were guarded by his own\nCossacks, \"Crawl under that waggon, lie there and do not move, and\nyou, my lads, keep watch over the Jew.\"\n\nHaving said this, he repaired to the square where the crowd had been\nfor some time assembling. They had all with one accord left off mending\nthe boats, as the campaign now impending was to be led over land; and,\ninstead of boats, chariots and steeds were now required. Now all, both\nyoung and old, were to take the field, and by a decision of the elders,\nof the atamans of all the koorens, and of the Koschevo\u00ef, as well as by\nthe common assent of all the Zaporoghian Ssiecha, it was resolved to\npush straight into Poland, and to avenge the sufferings and humiliation\nof the Cossack's religion and glory; to pillage every town, set fire\nto every hamlet and every corn-field, and make the Cossack name once\nmore renowned over all the steppes. Every one donned his war dress\nand armour. The Koschevo\u00ef seemed suddenly to have grown to double\nhis former size; he was no longer the flattering accomplisher of the\ngiddy wishes of a free people; he was now the commander with unlimited\nauthority; he was a despot who knew but to command. All the knights,\nlately so self-willed and idle, now stood arrayed in ranks, with their\nheads respectfully bent, not daring so much as to lift their eyes while\nhe was giving his orders without any noise or haste, but slowly and\ncomposedly as an old and experienced master of his art, who had more\nthan once accomplished feats cleverly devised.\n\n\"Look, look well about you!\" Thus he spoke. \"Put to rights the waggons\nand the tar-pail for pitching the wheels. Try your arms. Don't take\nmuch clothing: a shirt and two pairs of trowsers for each Cossack, a\npot of dried oatmeal, another of pounded millet--more than this no one\nmust have. There will be plenty of provisions in the baggage waggons.\nEvery Cossack must have a couple of horses. Then we must take some\ntwo hundred bullocks; because bullocks will be required for passing\nfords and marshy places. And above all, gentlemen, keep order. I know\nthere are some of you who, directly any booty falls into their hands,\nare quite ready to seize every rag of nankeen, just as well as costly\nstuffs, were it but to wrap up their feet.[24] Leave off such devilish\nhabits; throw away all the petticoats, and keep nothing but arms (if\ngood ones come in your way) and gold and silver coins, because these\nare easy to carry and may be wanted when the time comes. And now,\ngentlemen, I tell you beforehand if any one is found to be tipsy during\nthe march, no trial will be allowed him: I will have him dragged to the\nwaggons, and--whoever he may be, were he the bravest of the brave--he\nshall be shot on the spot and thrown without interment to the birds of\nprey--for a drunkard on march is not worthy of Christian burial. Young\nmen! obey in everything the older ones. If any one is touched by a\nbullet, or gets a sabre wound in the head or anywhere else, don't pay\ntoo much attention to such trifles; mix up a charge of powder in a dram\nof brandy, swallow it all at once, and all will be over--no fever will\nensue. On a wound, if it be not too large, only put some earth, which\nought to be first kneaded with spittle in the palm of the hand: the\nwound will dry at once. Now, to business! my lads; to business, and no\nhurry!\"\n\nSo spoke the Koschevo\u00ef; and as soon as he had done all the Cossacks\nwent to their business. The whole of the Ssiecha had all at once grown\nsober, and nowhere could have been found even one tipsy man, as if no\nsuch thing had ever existed among the Cossacks. Some mended the hoops\nof the wheels and put new axle-trees to the carts; others brought sacks\nof provisions to the waggons; some stowed away the arms; others drove\nhorses and bullocks. On all sides was heard the trampling of horses,\nthe experimental firing of guns, the jingling of sabres, the bellowing\nof bullocks, the creaking of carts, the talk, the clamours, the shouts\nof the drivers. Presently the whole of the Cossack army drew up in line\nalong the field, and he who attempted to run from its head to its tail\nwould have had a long run before him.\n\nA priest was saying mass in the small wooden chapel. He sprinkled all\nthe people with holy water: they all kissed the cross; and, as the army\nset in motion, and was leaving the Ssiecha, all the Zaporoghians turned\nback their heads and said, almost in the same words, \"Farewell, our\nmother! may God preserve thee from every impending evil!\"\n\nAs Tarass Boolba rode through the suburb, he saw that his Jew, Yankel,\nhad already set up a tent and was selling flints, turnscrews, powder,\nand various other requisites of war likely to be needed on the\nway--even rolls and loaves.\n\n\"What a devil of a Jew!\" thought Tarass, and riding up to him said,\n\"Fool! why art thou sitting here? dost thou wish to be shot like a\nsparrow?\"\n\nYankel, instead of answering, drew nearer to him and making a gesture\nwith both his hands, as if he were about to disclose some mystery,\nsaid, \"Let my lord only hold his peace and not tell it to any one.\nAmong the Cossack waggons there is one which is mine. I bring every\nrequisite provision for the Cossacks, and during the march I will sell\neverything at such reduced prices that no Jew has ever sold at such\nbefore! By Heavens, I will! by Heavens!\"\n\nTarass Boolba shrugged his shoulders, astonished at the Jewish nature,\nand rode away to the army.\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nIn a short time the whole of the south-east of Poland became a\nprey to terror. Everywhere the news had spread, \"The Zaporoghians!\nthe Zaporoghians are coming!\" All those who could save themselves\nby flight, used to run away in those times, so disordered, so\nastonishingly careless, when no fortresses, no castles were built, but\nwhen men set up some temporary thatched dwelling, thinking it useless\nto lose either money or labour on what was doomed to be destroyed in\nthe next Tartar invasion! The alarm was general: one changed his oxen\nand his plough for a horse and a gun, and repaired to the regiments;\nanother hid himself, driving away his cattle and carrying off\neverything possible. Now and then were to be found some who encountered\nthe strangers with armed hands, but always with a bad result; the\ngreater part hurriedly took flight. Every one knew how hard it was\nto contend with the Zaporoghians, warriors hardened in warfare, and\nwho, even in their self-willed licence, kept a pre-concerted order in\nbattle. The mounted Cossacks rode without encumbering or over-exerting\nthe horses; the infantry steadily followed the waggons, and the whole\narmy moved only during the night, taking rest by day in open places,\nuninhabited tracts and forests, of which there were then plenty.\nSpies were sent in advance to gather information and to reconnoitre.\nAnd oftentimes the Zaporoghians appeared where they were the least\nexpected; then the only thing was to bid farewell to life; the hamlets\nbecame the prey of flames; the cattle and horses, which could not be\ncarried off by the Cossacks, were slaughtered on the spot. They seemed\nrather to be carousing than carrying on a campaign. But the hair\nwould stand on end at the relation of the terrible feats of cruelty\nof those half-savage times which were everywhere accomplished by the\nZaporoghians. Children were put to the sword; women's breasts cut away;\nthe skin torn from the leg as far as the knee of those who were left\nfree--such was the terrible payment of the Cossacks for past debts.\n\nThe abbot of a monastery, hearing of their approach, sent two monks\nto them to say they had no right to act thus, as the Zaporoghians and\nPoland were at peace; that they were infringing their duty towards the\nking, and at the same time violating the law of nations.\n\n\"Tell the reverend father from me and from all the Zaporoghians,\"\nanswered the Koschevo\u00ef, \"that he has nothing to fear; the Cossacks are\nas yet only just lighting their pipes.\"\n\nAnd soon after, the majestic abbey was enshrouded in devastating\nflames, and its gigantic Gothic windows looked with severe aspect\nthrough the occasionally disunited waves of the conflagration. Crowds\nof flying monks, Jews and women, soon found those towns where there\nwas any hope to find any protection in the number of the garrison and\nin the thickness of the walls. At times the government sent help; but\nthese few detachments, coming too late, either could no longer find\nthe Cossacks or took fright, turned back at the first encounter and\nfled away on their swift horses. It happened, however, that some of\nthe king's captains, who had been victorious in previous battles,\nresolved to unite their strength and put a stop to the progress of the\nZaporoghians. It was on such occasions that our young Cossacks were put\nto the trial: they were strangers to pillage, careless about booty, or\nabout fighting a weak foe; but they were inflamed with the desire of\nexhibiting their prowess before their older comrades--of fighting hand\nto hand with the brisk and boastful Pole, who came dashing upon his\nfiery steed, the flowing sleeves of his cloak flying behind him in the\nwind. The school was amusing to them. They had already taken a great\nmany horse-trappings, costly swords and guns. One month ago they were\nbut half-fledged nestlings; their nature was now quite changed; they\nwere grown men; even their features, which till then had the meekness\nof youth, now bore a menacing and strongly marked expression.\n\nOld Tarass was delighted to see both his sons always among the\nforemost. Ostap seemed to have been born to tread the path of war, and\nto accomplish difficult feats of arms. Never losing his presence of\nmind--on no occasion alarmed; but with a coolness quite unnatural in\na young man of twenty-two, he understood at the first glance the whole\nof the danger and the position of things, and on the spot found the\nmeans of avoiding difficulty, but avoided it only to be the more sure\nof surmounting it. His movements were now stamped with the certainty of\nexperience, and the propensities of the future captain might unerringly\nbe traced in him. His body breathed forth strength--his knightly\nqualities already made him like the mighty lion.\n\n\"Oh! that fellow will make in time a good colonel!\" said old Tarass;\n\"by Heavens, he will be a good colonel, and such a one, that he will\nexcel his father!\"\n\nAndrew gave himself up to the bewitching music of bullets and swords.\nHe understood not what it is to consider, or to calculate, or to\nmeasure the strength on one side and on the other. In battle he saw\nbut a frantic luxury and delight; he found something festive in\nthose moments when his brain was on fire--when everything glimmered\nconfusedly before his eyes--when heads flew about--when horses fell\nwith a crash on the ground, and he himself went galloping amidst the\nwhistling of bullets and the clashing of swords, striking on every\nside and never feeling the strokes which he received. And old Tarass\nmore than once was amazed at seeing Andrew, induced only by his own\nvehemence, rush on such deeds as no cool-minded and reflective man\nwould have ever undertaken, and achieve solely by the madness of the\nattack, which could not but astonish the oldest warriors. Old Tarass\nwondered at Andrew and said, \"This one, too, is a good warrior--may the\nfiend not take him! Not such a one as Ostap; but still a good--yes, a\nvery good warrior.\"\n\nIt was decided that the army should push its march straight to the city\nof Doobno, where, as the rumour went, there was much money and many\nrich inhabitants. The march was accomplished in a day and a half, and\nthe Zaporoghians appeared under the walls of the town. The citizens\nresolved to defend it to the last, and preferred dying in the squares\nand in the streets before their houses to letting the foe enter their\ncity. A high earthen rampart surrounded it; where the rampart was lower\nthere projected a stone wall, or a house converted into a battery, or\nat least a strong wooden palisade. The garrison was strong, and felt\nthe importance of its duty. The Zaporoghians at first rushed at the\nramparts, but were stopped by murderous volleys of grape-shot. The\nburghers and citizens of the town seemed also not to wish to remain\nidle, and stood in crowds on the town wall. Their looks expressed the\ndesperation of resistance. Even women took part in the contest; and\nstones, casks, and pots flew down on the Zaporoghians; pitch and sacks\nof sand blinded their eyes.\n\nThe Zaporoghians did not like fighting against fortresses; sieges were\nnot their business. The Koschevo\u00ef gave orders for a retreat, and said,\n\"Never mind, gentlemen brothers, let us withdraw; but may I be rather a\ncursed Tartar, and not a Christian, if we allow any one to escape from\nthe town. Let them, the dogs, perish Dy hunger!\"\n\nThe army after retreating surrounded the town, and, having nothing\nto do, began to lay waste the country around; setting fire to the\nneighbouring hamlets and corn-ricks; driving herds of horses into the\nunreaped corn-fields, where, as if on purpose, stood the full waving\nears, the produce of an abundant crop which this year had brought\nto all labourers. The besieged watched with horror the destruction\nof their means of subsistence. The Zaporoghians, in the mean time,\ndrew up their waggons into two files all round the town, and, after\ndividing their encampment into koorens, as in the Ssiecha, played at\nleap-frog, at pitch and toss, and looked with killing coolness at the\ntown. Bonfires were lighted at night; the cooks of each kooren boiled\nbuckwheat in enormous copper kettles; sleepless sentinels stood all\nnight long by the bonfires.\n\nThe Zaporoghians, however, soon began to grow weary of inactivity,\nprincipally from the tediousness of sobriety unconnected with any\nexertion. The Koschevo\u00ef found it even necessary to double the\nproportion of brandy--a practice sometimes used with the Cossacks when\nthey were not engaged in any difficult enterprise. The young Cossacks,\nespecially the sons of Tarass Boolba, were displeased with this mode of\nlife. Andrew evidently was overpowered by its dulness.\n\n\"Stupid boy,\" said Tarass to him, \"the Cossack who knows how to wait,\nbecomes an Ataman.[25] He is not a good warrior who merely does not\nlose his presence of mind in danger; but he is a good warrior who\ndoes not become dull even in inactivity, and who, notwithstanding all\nimpediments, will end by attaining his aim.\"\n\nBut fiery youth is no match to an old man. Both have different\nnatures, and both look with different eyes at the same thing.\n\nWhile the siege was going on, the regiment of Tarass came to join the\nbesiegers. The Essaool Tovkach brought it; two more essaools, the\nsecretary, and the other officials of the regiment, also came with\nit; the whole of this reinforcement numbered more than four thousand\nCossacks. Many of them were volunteers who had come of their own accord\nwithout being summoned, as soon as they had heard of the impending\nbusiness. The essaools had been intrusted by the wife of Tarass to\nbring her blessing to her sons, and to forward to each of them a\ncypress image brought from one of the monasteries of Kieff. The two\nbrothers hung the holy images round their necks, and involuntarily\ngave way to their fancy at this remembrance of their old mother. What\nomen did this blessing bring them? Was it a blessing for vanquishing\nthe foe, and a pledge of their gay return to their native country with\nbooty and glory, which should be the subject of eternal songs for the\nplayers of the bandoora? or was it.... But unknown is the future! and\nit stands before man like the autumn fog which rises over marshes:\nbirds are flying in it upwards and downwards, flapping their wings and\nseeing not one another--the dove without seeing the hawk, the hawk\nwithout seeing the dove--and every one without knowing how near he may\nbe to death.\n\nOstap had long since resumed his occupations, and was going to his\nkooren; but Andrew, without being able to account for it, felt a\nheaviness at his heart. The Cossacks had already finished their\nsupper; evening had long closed in, and a beautiful July night had\nencircled the earth in its embrace. Still, Andrew did not return to his\nkooren--did not go to sleep--but stood gazing at the picture before\nhim. Numberless stars glimmered with a bright translucent twinkling\nover the skies. The field was covered with carts, placed without order,\nfrom which hung tar-pots all dripping with tar; the carts were loaded\nwith all the booty and provisions taken from the enemy. Near the carts,\nbeneath the carts, and at a great distance from the carts, might be\nseen Zaporoghians sleeping on the grass in different picturesque\nattitudes; one had laid his head on a corn sack, another on his cap, a\nthird had simply chosen the ribs of his comrade for his pillow. Almost\nevery one wore, suspended to his belt, a sabre, a matchlock and a short\npipe with brass plates, wires for cleaning it, and a steel for kindling\nfire. The massive bullocks were reclining with their feet under their\nbodies; and the great white spots which they formed looked at a\ndistance like so many grey stones thrown about the acclivities of the\nfield. From every spot in the grass the noisy snoring of the sleeping\narmy had begun to rise, and it was answered from the field by the\nsonorous neighing of the horses, indignant at having their feet tied.\n\nA magnificent and terrific sight was now added to the beauty of the\nsummer night. It was the blaze of the conflagration of the neighbouring\ncountry. At one place the flames went slowly and majestically along the\nsky; at another, meeting with something combustible in their progress,\nthey whirled suddenly round, hissed and flew up to the very stars,\nand their fiery tongues disappeared in the most distant clouds. Here\na burnt cloister, blackened by the fire, stood like a hard-featured\nCarthusian monk, showing its stern gloomy outlines at every blaze;\nnext to it a garden was burning. It seemed as if one might hear how\nthe trees hissed wrapt in smoke; and as the fire happened to catch\nsome new place its phosphoric violet light shone suddenly on the ripe\nbunches of plums, or threw a brilliant golden hue on the yellow pears;\nand in the midst of all this was to be seen, dangling from the wall\nof the building or from the bough of a tree, the corpse of some poor\nJew or monk, doomed, like the building itself, to become the prey of\nthe flames. Over the conflagration, hovering far away, were to be seen\nbirds looking like so many dark diminutive crosses on a fiery field.\nThe city seemed to be slumbering; its spires, its roofs, its palisades\nand its walls were sometimes illuminated by the reflection of the\ndistant conflagration.\n\nAndrew walked round the Cossacks' encampment. The bonfires at which\nthe sentries were sitting were going out, and the sentries had fallen\nasleep; having, it would seem, too much indulged their Cossack\nappetites. Andrew marvelled at such carelessness, and thought it lucky\nthat no strong forces of the enemy were at hand, and that there was\nnothing to fear. At last, he went to one of the carts, climbed into\nit and lay down on his back, bending his arms backwards and putting\nthem under his head. He could not yet sleep, and remained a long time\nlooking at the sky. It appeared all open to him; the air was pure and\ntransparent; the compact mass of stars forming the milky way seemed\nto be all overflowing with light. At times, Andrew felt a sort of\noblivion, and slumber, like a light fog, hid for a minute the sky from\nhis sight; but the next moment it cleared away, and again he saw the\nheavens.\n\nAt this time, it seemed to him that a strange human face had passed\nbefore him. Thinking that it was nothing but an illusion of sleep,\nwhich would disappear, he opened his eyes wider, and saw that really\nan emaciated dried-up face bent over him and looked straight into his\neyes. Long and coal-black locks of hair, uncombed and dishevelled,\nstole from beneath a veil thrown over the head. The strange brightness\nof the eyes, and the deathlike swarthiness of the strongly marked\nfeatures, would almost have led to the supposition that it was a\nphantom. Andrew convulsively seized a matchlock and exclaimed, \"Who\nart thou? If thou be an evil spirit--disappear; if thou be a human\ncreature, thy joke is out of place. I'll kill thee at once!\"\n\nThe figure answered only by putting its finger to its lips, and seemed\nto be imploring silence. Andrew let go his hold, and began to look\nattentively at it. The long hair, the neck, and brown half-naked bosom\nshowed it to be a woman, but she was not a native of the country; her\nface was sunburnt, and bespoke suffering; her wide cheekbones stuck out\nover her shrunken cheeks; her narrow eyes were cut obliquely, with the\nouter corner raised. The more Andrew looked at her features, the more\nhe found in them something which he knew. At last he could not refrain\nfrom asking, \"Tell me, who art thou? It seems to me that I know thee,\nor have seen thee somewhere.\"\n\n\"Two years ago, in Kieff.\"\n\n\"Two years ago--in Kieff!\" repeated Andrew, endeavouring to bring to\nmind all that his memory had retained of his collegian's life. He\ntook once more an attentive survey of her, and suddenly exclaimed\naloud, \"Thou art the Tartar! the servant of that lady! of the voevoda's\ndaughter!\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said the Tartar, imploringly, folding her hands, shuddering in\nall her frame, and at the same time turning her head to see that no one\nhad been awakened by the shriek of Andrew.\n\n\"Tell me--tell me--why--wherefore art thou here?\" said Andrew in a\nwhisper almost choked, and interrupted at every moment by his internal\nagitation; \"where is the lady? is she alive?\"\n\n\"She is now in the town.\"\n\n\"In the town?\" exclaimed he, again almost shrieking aloud, and he felt\nthat all his blood rushed at once to his heart. \"Why is she in the\ntown?\"\n\n\"Because the lord, her father, is there; it is now more than a year\nthat he has been voevoda[26] in Doobno.\"\n\n\"Well--is she married? Speak! how strange thou art! Say--what is she\nnow?\"\n\n\"She has not eaten for two days.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"For a long time not one of the citizens has had a piece of bread; it\nis long since they were all eating earth.\"\n\nAndrew remained speechless.\n\n\"The lady saw thee among the Zaporoghians from the town wall. She said\nto me, 'Go, tell the knight that if he recollects me he will come to\nme; and if not, that he will give thee a morsel of bread for my old\nmother, for I cannot see my mother die before my eyes. Let me rather\ndie first and she afterwards. Entreat him--embrace his knees and his\nfeet. He, too, may have an old mother, for her sake he must give a bit\nof bread.'\"\n\nMany and different were the feelings that awakened and stirred in the\nyoung Cossack's breast.\n\n\"But how art thou here? How didst thou come?\"\n\n\"By a subterranean passage.\"\n\n\"Is there any subterranean passage, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not betray me, knight?\"\n\n\"No; I swear by the holy cross!\"\n\n\"Behind the ravine, after crossing the rivulet, where there are some\nreeds growing.\"\n\n\"And it leads straight into the city?\"\n\n\"Straight into the cloister of the city.\"\n\n\"Let us go! let us go directly!\"\n\n\"But, in the name of Christ and of his holy mother, a loaf of bread?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt have it. Stay here by this cart, or rather lie down in it;\nnobody will see thee--all are sleeping. I'll be back directly.\"\n\nAnd he went to the waggons where the provisions of his kooren were\nkept. His heart beat high. All the past which had been hidden, stifled\nby his present Cossack life and by the hardships of warfare, rose\nonce more to the surface, drowning in return all the present. Again\nhe saw emerging before him, as if from the depths of some ocean\ncavern, the form of the glorious lady; again his memory brought back\nthe recollection of her fine arms, of her eyes, of her smiling lips,\nof her thick dark chestnut hair (whose locks hung curling over her\nbosom), and of all those elastic limbs which so well harmonised with\nher maidenly figure. No; these recollections were never extinguished\nin his breast; they had, only for a time, given place to other mighty\nimpressions. But often--often had they disturbed the young Cossack's\nslumber, and often did he long lie sleepless on his bed without knowing\nhow to explain the cause of his sleeplessness.\n\nHe went on, and his heart beat higher and higher, and his young knees\nshook at the mere thought of seeing her again. When he reached the\nwaggons he had entirely forgotten why he had come, and, raising his\nhand to his brow, remained some time trying to recollect what he had\nto do. At last he shuddered, and felt terror-stricken: the thought\nflashed across his mind that she might be dying from hunger. He rushed\nto one of the waggons, and took some great rye loaves under his arm;\nbut then he thought that this food, which suits the unspoiled taste\nof the strong Zaporoghians, would be too coarse and unsuited to her\ntender person. He remembered that, the day before, the Koschevo\u00ef had\nscolded the cooks for taking the whole of the buckwheat flour to make\n_salamata_[27], when the quantity would have been quite sufficient\nfor more than three days. Certain of finding enough salamata left\nin the coppers, Andrew took the travelling kettle of his father and\nwent with it to the cook of his kooren, who was sleeping beside two\nenormous cauldrons, under which the ashes were not yet extinguished.\nLooking into the cauldrons, he was astonished to find both of them\nempty. It ought to have required more than human exertions to eat up\nall their contents; the more so as their kooren was not so numerous\nas the others. He peeped into the kettles of the other koorens--there\nwas nowhere anything left. Involuntarily he recollected the saying\nthat Zaporoghians are like children:--Is there but little food? they\nwill eat it; is there much? they will still leave nothing. What was to\nbe done? There was yet somewhere, he thought, in the waggons of his\nfather's regiment a sack of white bread, which the Cossacks had found\nwhile pillaging the cloister kitchen. Andrew went straight to his\nfather's waggon: the sack was not there! Ostap had taken it to rest\nhis head upon, and, stretched on the ground, he made the whole field\nresound with his snoring. Andrew with one hand seized the sack and\npulled it away with a jerk, so that Ostap's head fell on the ground,\nand he himself started up in his sleep, and sitting with his eyes shut,\nshouted, \"Hold! hold! the devil of a Pole! catch his horse! catch it!\"\n\n\"Be silent! or thou art a dead man,\" cried the terrified Andrew,\nraising the sack on his head. But Ostap did not proceed with his\nspeech, for he was already asleep, and snored with such violence that\nhis breath waved the grass on which he was tying.\n\nAndrew looked warily round, to ascertain if the ravings of Ostap had\nawakened any of the Cossacks. In fact, a crown-tufted head was seen\nrising in the nearest kooren; but, after looking around, it soon\ndropped on the ground. After waiting some two or three minutes, Andrew\ndeparted with his sack; the Tartar woman was crouching in the waggon,\nhardly daring to breathe.\n\n\"Arise! let us begone! every one sleeps; do not be afraid! Canst thou\ntake but one of these loaves, if I cannot carry them all?\" Saying this,\nhe lifted the sacks upon his back, drew another sack with millet from\na cart on his way, took even in his hands those loaves which he had\nwished the Tartar to carry, and bending a little went boldly through\nthe ranks of the sleeping Zaporoghians.\n\n\"Andrew!\" said old Boolba, as Andrew was passing near him.\n\nAndrew's heart sank within him; he stopped trembling, and slowly\nuttered, \"What?\"\n\n\"There is a lass with thee! I'll give thee a famous thrashing\nto-morrow! The lasses will bring thee to no good!\" and thus saying he\nreclined his head upon his elbow, and began to scrutinize the veiled\nform of the Tartar.\n\nAndrew stood riveted to the spot, without daring to lift his eyes upon\nhis father; but at last he raised them and looked at old Boolba: he saw\nhim already sleeping, with his head resting on the palm of his hand.\n\nHe made the sign of the cross. Fear quitted his heart still faster than\nit had overpowered it; and as he turned round to look at the Tartar, he\nsaw her standing behind him like a dark granite statue all muffled in\nher veil, and the glare of the distant conflagration, brightening into\na sudden flash, lighted only her eyes, dull as those of a corpse. He\npulled her sleeve and both proceeded together, looking back at every\nstep. Descending a declivity, they came at last to a ravine, at the\nbottom of winch there rolled heavily along a rivulet overgrown with\nsedge, whose banks were all uneven. The field on which the Zaporoghian\nencampment stood was now entirely hidden from them. At least, as Andrew\nlooked back, he saw an eminence, as high as a man's head, which rose\nbehind him; on it were waving some blades of grass, over which the\nmoon rose in the sky in the shape of a curved sickle of bright red\ngold. A light wind, which blew from the steppe, foreboded the approach\nof dawn; but nowhere was to be heard the distant crowing of the cock,\nfor neither in the town nor in the surrounding country had a cock for\na long time been left. They passed the rivulet on a log thrown across\nit; beyond it rose the opposite shore, which seemed to be higher than\nthat which they had left, and had a steep ascent. The wall was here\nlower: yet the spot seemed a sure stronghold, for behind it rose the\ncloister wall. The steep hill was covered with long grass, and in the\nnarrow ravine between it and the rivulet grew reeds nearly as tall as a\nman; on the summit of the hill might be seen the remains of a palisade,\nwhich formerly enclosed a kitchen garden; before it grew the large\nleaves of the butter burr, from behind which stuck out the goosefoot,\nwild prickly plants, and the sunflower, which reared its top above\nthem. Here the Tartar took off her shoes and went barefoot, carefully\nlifting her dress, for the place was marshy and covered with water.\nMaking their way through the reeds, they stopped before a heap of\nbrushwood, which formed a fascine; they removed it and found a sort of\narch made of earth, whose opening was not wider than the opening of a\nfireplace. The Tartar, bending her head, went in first; then followed\nAndrew, stooping as much as he could, to be able to carry his sacks.\nThey were soon quite in the dark.\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nAndrew could hardly move with his sacks in the dark and narrow\nsubterranean passage, through which he closely followed the Tartar.\n\"_We_ shall soon see our way,\" said the guide; \"we are near the place\nwhere I left my lamp.\" A ray of light soon stole over the dark earthen\nwall. They reached a small square, which seemed to have been a chapel;\nat least a narrow table, like an altar, stood against the wall, and\nover it hung a Latin image of the Madonna, the painting of which had\nfaded away and could hardly be traced. A email silver lamp, which hung\nbefore it, threw over it an uncertain light. The Tartar bent down and\ntook up from the floor a brass candlestick, on a high thin foot, with\nsnuffers, a nail for trimming the wick, and an extinguisher hung round\nit on chains. Taking up the candlestick, she lighted the candle at\nthe lamp. The light grew brighter and they proceeded, lighted at one\ntime by a blaze of the candle, at others enshrouded in a coal-black\nshadow, like the figures to be seen in the paintings of Girardo della\nNette. The robust, fine features of Andrew, beaming with health and\nyouth, offered a strong contrast to the emaciated pallid face of his\ncompanion. The passage had grown wider, so that Andrew could now hold\nhimself erect. He looked with curiosity at the earthen walls. As in\nthose of Kieff,[28] there were excavations, and coffins stood in them\nfrom distance to distance; at some places, even human bones were to\nbe met with, grown soft by the dampness of the air and mouldered into\npowder. Here, too, seemed to have lived holy men, who had sought a\nrefuge from the tempests of the world, from pain and temptation. At\ntimes the dampness was very perceptible, and sometimes they even had\ntheir feet in water. Andrew was often obliged to stop to give rest to\nhis companion, whose lassitude immediately returned. A little morsel of\nbread which she had swallowed only caused pain to her stomach, which\nhad become unaccustomed to food, and she often remained motionless for\nsome minutes. At last they saw before them a small iron door. \"Thanks\nbe to Heaven! we are there!\" said the Tartar in a fainting voice; she\ntried to raise her hand to knock and had not the strength to do it.\nAndrew, in her stead, gave a heavy blow on the door; it resounded with\na rumbling noise, which indicated that there was a wide empty space\nbehind the door, the sound changing its tones as if met by high arches.\nAt length the door was opened; they were admitted by a monk, who stood\non a narrow staircase with the key and a light in his hand. Andrew\ninvoluntarily stopped at the sight of a Latin monk, whose garb aroused\nthe most bitter feelings of hatred and contempt in the Cossacks, who\nbehaved towards them with still greater cruelty than towards the Jews.\nThe monk also drew back a step at seeing a Zaporoghian Cossack. But\na word indistinctly muttered by the Tartar quieted his fear. He shut\nthe door after them, lighted them up the staircase, and they found\nthemselves under the dark vaulted roof of the cloister church.\n\nAt one of the altars, decked with tapers in high candlesticks, knelt\na priest in the attitude of prayer; on either side of him, also\nkneeling, were two young choristers, clad in violet mantles, with white\nlace capes, holding censers in their hands. The priest was imploring\na miracle from Heaven: he prayed that God would preserve the city,\nstrengthen the failing courage, send down patience and resignation to\nthe hearts of the timid and pusillanimous, to support them under the\nmisery He had sent. Some women, like so many phantoms, were on their\nknees, reclining and even drooping their heads on the backs of the\nstools and of the dark wooden benches before them. Some men, leaning\nagainst the columns which sustained the side arches, mournfully knelt\nalso. A window with coloured glass, which was over the altar, was now\nlighted by the pink hue of morning, and from it fell, down upon the\nfloor, blue, yellow, and variegated circles of light, which suddenly\nbrightened the darkness of the church. The whole of the altar in its\ndistant niche, seem drowned in light; the smoke of the incense hung in\nthe air like a cloud beaming with all the hues of the rainbow. Andrew\nwas fain to look from the dark corner where he was standing, on this\nremarkable phenomenon produced by light. At this moment the sublime\npealing of the organ suddenly filled the whole of the church; it grew\ndeeper and deeper, increased by degrees into the heavy rollings of\nthunder, and then, all at once, turning into a heavenly melody, sent\nup, higher and higher beneath the vaulted roof, its warbling notes,\nwhich recalled the delicate voices of maidens; then once more it\nchanged into the deep bellow of thunder, and then it was silent; but\nthe rollings of the thunder long after tremulously vibrated along the\naisles, and Andrew with open mouth stood marvelling at the sublime\nmusic.\n\nAnd now he felt somebody pull the skirt of his coat. \"It is time,\"\nsaid the Tartar. They went across the church without any one paying\nattention to them, and came out on the square which was in front of it.\nThe dawn had long ago spread its rosy tint over the sky; everything\nshowed that the sun was about to rise. There was nobody in the square;\nin the middle of it remained some tables, which showed that, not longer\nthan perhaps a week before, there had here been a market of victuals.\nAs pavements were not used in those times, the ground was nothing but\ndried mud. The square was surrounded by small stone and clay houses,\none story high, with walls, in which might be seen from top to bottom,\nthe wooden piles and pillars, across which projected the wooden beams:\nhouses such as used to be built then, may till now be seen in some\ntowns of Lithuania and Poland. Almost all of them were covered by\ndisproportionately high roofs, pierced all over with numbers of dormer\nwindows. On one side, almost next to the church, rising above the other\nbuildings, was an edifice quite distinct from the others, which seemed\nto be the town-hall of the city, or some other public establishment. It\nwas two stories high, and above it rose a two-arched belvidere, where\nstood a sentry; a large sun-dial was fixed in the roof. The square\nseemed dead; but Andrew thought he heard a faint moaning. Looking on\nthe other side, he saw a group of two or three men, who were lying\nquite motionless on the ground. He looked more attentively, to see\nif they were asleep or dead, and at the same time his foot stumbled\nagainst something which lay in his way. It was the corpse of a woman,\nwho seemed to have been a Jewess. Her figure bespoke her to have been\nstill young, though the macerated disfigured outlines of her face did\nnot show it. Her head was covered with a red silk handkerchief; a\ndouble row of pearls or beads adorned the coverings of her ears;[29]\ntwo or three curling locks fell from under them on her shrivelled neck,\non which the tightly drawn veins showed like sinews. Beside her lay a\nchild, whose hand convulsively grasped her lank breast and twisted it\nwith his fingers, in vain anger at finding there no milk. The child\nhad ceased weeping and crying, and the slow heaving of its chest alone\nshowed that it was not yet dead or, at least, that its last breath\nwas yet to be drawn. Andrew and his companion turned into a street,\nand were suddenly stopped by a frantic man, who, seeing the precious\nburthen of Andrew, flew at him like a tiger and grasped him in his\narms, shrieking aloud for bread; but his strength was not equal to his\nfrenzy. Andrew shook off his grasp, and he fell on the ground. Moved\nby compassion, he threw him a loaf; the other darted like a mad dog\nupon it, gnawed and bit it, and, at the same moment and on the very\nspot, died in horrible convulsions from long disuse of taking food.\nAlmost at every step they were shocked by the sight of hideous victims\nof hunger. It seemed that many could not endure their sufferings in\ntheir houses, and had run out into the streets, as if in hope to find\nsomething strengthening in the open air. At the doorway of a house sat\nan old woman, and one could not tell whether she were dead, asleep, or\nswooning; at least, she neither heard nor saw anything, but, with her\nhead bent down over her chest, sat motionless on the same spot. From\nthe roof of another house there was hanging from a rope a stretched and\ndried corpse. The miserable man had not been able to endure to the last\nthe sufferings of hunger, and had chosen rather to quicken his end by\nvoluntary suicide.\n\nAt seeing such horrifying evidences of the famine, Andrew could not\nrefrain from asking the Tartar, \"Had they, indeed, found nothing to\nlengthen their lives? When man comes to the last extremity, when\nnothing more remains, well, then he must feed upon what, till then, had\nappeared disgusting to him; he may even feed upon animals forbidden by\nthe law--everything is then to be used for food.\"\n\n\"All is eaten up,\" answered the Tartar; \"thou wilt not find a horse,\na dog--no, not even a mouse left in the town. We never kept any\nprovisions in town; everything was brought from the country.\"\n\n\"How, then, dying such fearful deaths, can they think of defending the\ntown?\"\n\n\"May be the voevoda would have surrendered it; but yesterday the\ncolonel who garrisons Boodjiang sent a hawk into the town with a\nnote saying not to surrender, as he is coming with his regiment to\nrelieve it, and is only waiting for another colonel that they may come\ntogether. Now, we are expecting them every minute--but here we have\nreached the house.\"\n\nAndrew had already noticed from a distance a house unlike the others,\nand which seemed to have been built by an Italian architect; it was two\nstories high and constructed of fine thin bricks. The windows of the\nlower story were encompassed in lofty granite projections; the whole of\nthe upper story consisted of arches, which formed a gallery; between\nthe arches were to be seen gratings with armorial bearings; the corners\nof the house were also adorned with coats of arms. An external wide\nstaircase, built with painted bricks, came down to the very square.\nBeneath the staircase were sitting two sentries, who picturesquely and\nsymmetrically held with one hand a halberd, and leaned their heads on\nthe other, more like statues than living beings. They neither slept nor\nslumbered, but seemed to have lost all feeling; they did not even pay\nany attention to those who went upstairs. At the top of the staircase\nAndrew and the Tartar found a soldier, clad from head to foot in a rich\ndress, who held a prayer-book in his hand. He raised his heavy eyes\non them; but the Tartar whispered a word to him and he dropped them\nagain on the open pages of his prayer-book. They entered the first\nroom, which was tolerably spacious and seemed to be the hall for the\nreception of petitioners, or, perhaps, simply the ante-room; it was\ncrowded with soldiers, servants, huntsmen, cup-bearers, and other\nofficials whose presence was necessary to denote the rank of a high\nnobleman, and who were sitting in different postures along the walls.\nThere was the smell of a candle which had burned down in its socket,\nand, although the morning light had long since peeped in at the railed\nwindows, two more candles were burning in enormous candelabras almost\nthe size of a man.\n\nAndrew was already in the act of going towards a wide oaken door,\nadorned with a coat of arms and much carved work, when the Tartar\npulled him by the sleeve and showed him a small door in the lateral\nwall. This door admitted them into a passage through which they\npassed into a room, which Andrew began to examine with attention. The\ndaylight, coming through a hole in the window-shutter, fell upon a\ncrimson drapery, upon a gilded cornice, and upon the wall covered with\npictures. The Tartar made a sign to him to remain here, and went into\nan adjoining room from which came a ray of candlelight. He heard a\nwhisper and a subdued voice which made him shudder. Through the door\nwhich now opened he caught a glimpse of a finely-shaped female figure\nwith long luxuriant hair, which fell upon an uplifted arm. The Tartar\nreturned and bade him enter. He could not account for how he entered or\nhow the door closed behind him.\n\nTwo candles burned in the room, a lamp was lighted before an image,\nunder which stood a high-backed chair (like those used by Papists),\nwith steps for kneeling during prayer. But this was not what his eyes\nwere in search of. He turned to another side, and saw a woman who\nseemed to have been suddenly petrified whilst in some rapid motion.\nAll her figure appeared to betoken that she had been throwing herself\nforward towards him and had then suddenly stopped. He, too, stopped\nastonished; he could not have expected to meet her such as she now was;\nshe was no longer the girl he had formerly known. Nothing remained\nof what she was before; but still she was twice as beautiful and\nhandsome as she had been then. _Then_, there was something unfinished,\nsomething to be completed in her; now, she was like a picture to which\nthe painter had given the last stroke of his brush. _Then_, she was a\npretty giddy girl; _now_, she was a beauty, a woman who had attained\nthe utmost development of her loveliness. Every feeling of her being\nwas now expressed in her uplifted eyes--not one particular feeling\nor another--but all her feelings at once. Tears had not yet dried in\nher eyes, but covered them with a glittering moisture which it made\nthe heart ache to behold. Her bust, her neck, and her shoulders now\nfilled those splendid limits which are the dowry of a perfect beauty;\nher hair, which formerly curled in light ringlets round her face, now\nformed a thick luxuriant plait, part of which remained plaited, while\nthe remainder hung down the whole length of her arm and fell over her\nbosom in long, thin, beautifully waving locks. Every outline of her\nfeatures seemed to have undergone a change. Andrew tried in vain to\nfind some of those which were pressing on his recollection; not one was\nto be found. Notwithstanding the extreme pallor of her face, her beauty\nwas not lessened by it; but, on the contrary, seemed to gain something\nintrepid, and unconquerably victorious from it. Andrew felt his heart\noverflow with the tremor of adoration, and stood motionless before\nher. She seemed also to be astonished at the appearance of the Cossack,\nwho stood before her in all the beauty and vigour of youthful manhood;\neven motionless, as they were, his limbs betrayed the freedom and\nelasticity of their action; his eyes shone with firmness; his velvet\neyebrows made a bold curve; his sunburnt cheeks were covered with the\nbrightness of fiery youth, and his young black mustachios had the gloss\nof silk.\n\n\"No, I cannot, by any means, thank thee enough, generous knight,\" said\nshe, and her silvery voice seemed to waver. \"God in Heaven alone can\nrepay thee! Not I, a weak woman!\"\n\nShe cast her eyes down, hiding them beneath beautiful, snowy,\nsemicircular eyelids, fringed with long arrow-like eyelashes; she bent\nher lovely face, and a fine rosy hue spread over it. Andrew knew not\nwhat to answer; he wished to tell her at once all that he had in his\nheart, to tell it as warmly as he felt it--but he could not. Something\nstopped his lips; even his voice failed him; he felt that he could not\nanswer her words--he who had been brought up in the college and in\nmigratory warfare; and he cursed his being a Cossack!\n\nAt this moment the Tartar came into the room. She had already cut the\nloaf brought by Andrew into slices, which she brought on a golden\ndish and set before her mistress. The lovely girl looked at her, at\nthe bread, and lifted her eyes on Andrew: and much did those eyes\nexpress! That affecting look, which betrayed her sufferings and the\nimpossibility of telling all the feelings which filled her bosom, was\nmore easily understood by Andrew than any speech. He felt his heart\nlightened at once; he seemed to have at once lost all confusion,\nthe motions and feelings of his soul which had till then appeared\nheld in subjection by some heavy hand, now seemed to be set free, and\nuncontrollable streams of words ready to flow forth. But the young\nbeauty turned abruptly towards the Tartar, and hastily asked, \"And my\nmother? hast thou taken it to her?\"\n\n\"She is asleep.\"\n\n\"And to my father?\"\n\n\"I have; he said that he would come himself to thank the knight.\"\n\nShe took a piece of bread and raised it to her lips. Andrew looked at\nher with inexpressible delight as she broke it with her white fingers\nand began eating; but suddenly he remembered the man, driven to frenzy\nby hunger, who died before his eyes from swallowing a morsel of bread.\nHe turned pale, and seizing her hand, shrieked, \"Enough! eat no more!\nThou hast not eaten for so long a time, bread may bring death to thee!\"\nShe let her hand fall directly, put the bread upon the dish and, like\nan obedient child, looked into his eyes. And could any words describe\n-but no; neither chisel, nor brush, nor even the loftiest and most\npowerful language can express what may sometimes be seen in the eyes of\na maiden, or the delightful sensation of him who looks into such eyes.\n\n\"Queen!\" cried Andrew, overwhelmed by his feelings; \"what dost thou\nwant? what dost thou wish? order me to it! Set me the task--the most\nimpossible that ever was in the world. I will fly to accomplish it!\nTell me to do what no man can do--I will do it! I will perish myself!\nYes, that I will! And to perish for thee--I swear by the holy\ncross--will be sweet to me. No--but I shall never be able to say it--I\nhave three farms, half of my father's horses are mine; all the dowry\nof my mother; all that she has kept hidden even from him--all is mine!\nNone of our Cossacks has now such arms as I have; for the hilt alone of\nmy sabre they will give me the best herd of horses and three thousand\nsheep. All this I will renounce: I will throw it away: I will burn\nit: drown it if thou sayest but a word; nay, if thou only movest thy\nfine dark eyebrow! I know that my speech is foolish, that it is out of\ntime, out of place; that I, who was brought up in the college and in\nthe Ssiecha, shall never be able to speak like kings, like princes and\nlike the best man among the noble knights. I see that thou art another\ncreature of God unlike us, and that far below thee are all other noble\nmaidens!\"\n\nWith increasing astonishment, all ears, but not understanding a single\nword, did the maiden listen to the frank hearty speech which, like a\nmirror, reflected the young powerful soul, every word of which, spoken\nin a voice bounding straight from the bottom of the heart, was invested\nwith power. She bent her beautiful face forward, threw over her back\nthe troublesome locks, opened her lips, and remained looking at him\na long time, then was about to speak; but she suddenly stopped, and\nrecollected that another path had to be followed by the knight; that\nbehind him stood his father and his kin, like so many harsh avengers;\nthat terrible were the Zaporoghians who were besieging the city, every\ninhabitant of which was doomed to a cruel death--then suddenly her\neyes filled with tears. She took her silk-embroidered handkerchief,\nthrew it over her face, and in an instant it was moistened all over;\nand she remained a long time sitting with her beautiful head thrown\nback, with her pretty underlip compressed, as if she had felt the bite\nof some venomous reptile; and she kept her handkerchief over her face,\nso that he should not behold her overwhelming grief.\n\n\"Say but one word to me!\" said Andrew, and he took hold of her\nsatin-like arm. The touch made fire run through his veins, and he\npressed her hand which lay insensible in his.\n\nBut she was silent; did not withdraw her handkerchief from her face,\nand remained motionless.\n\n\"Why art thou so sorrowful? tell me, why art thou so sorrowful?\"\n\nShe flung away her handkerchief, threw back the locks which fell over\nher eyes and gave way to a burst of plaintive words, uttering them in\na low voice. Thus, rising on a beautiful evening, does the breeze run\nthrough the dense stems of the water-weeds, and soft plaintive tones\nquiver, thrill, and melt away in the air, and the passing traveller,\nin unaccountable sadness, pauses without noticing either the evening\nwhich is fading away, or the gay songs of the people returning from the\nfields and their harvest labours.\n\n\"Do not I, then, deserve everlasting pity? Is not the mother who\nbrought me into the world, unhappy? Is not the lot which has fallen\nto me sad? Art thou not merciless, my cruel fate? All men hast thou\nbrought to my feet, the greatest of our nobility, the wealthiest lords,\ncounts and foreign barons, and the very flower of our knighthood! All\nthese sought my hand, and as a great boon, would any one of them have\nreceived my love. I had but to wave my hand, and the choicest of them\nall, the handsomest in person and the best in lineage, would have been\nmy husband! But for none of them hast thou warmed my heart, merciless\nfate! in spite of the most accomplished knights of my country, thou\nhast given it to a foreigner, to one of our foes! Why, most holy Mother\nof God, for what sins of mine, for what heavy crimes dost thou subject\nme to such relentless, to such unsparing persecutions? My life was\npassed amidst affluence and luxury; the costliest viands, the richest\nwines were my food and my drink; and for what? to what result has it\nbrought me? Is it, that I must die the most cruel death which even the\npoorest beggar in the kingdom is spared? Alas! it is not enough for me\nto be doomed to this most horrible fate; to see, before my end, how my\nfather and my mother will die in insupportable sufferings--they, for\nwhose welfare I would readily give up twenty times my own life--all\nthis is not enough, but I must previously to my death hear words and\nsee love such as I have never heard or seen before; my heart must be\ntorn to pieces by his speech: that my bitter fate may be still bitterer\nto me: that I may regret still more my young life: that death may\nappear to me still more frightful: and that I may before dying still\nutter more reproaches to thee, my cruel fate, and thee (forgive my sin)\nmost holy Mother of God!\"\n\nAs she ceased speaking, an expression of hopelessness, of the most\nutter despair, spread over her features; every outline of them\nbetokened sadness, and the brow bent down in sorrow, the downcast cast\neyes, the tears which had remained and dried on her glowing cheeks, all\nappeared to tell that no happiness was there!\n\n\"Such a thing was never heard of: it cannot be: it shall not be,\"\nexclaimed Andrew, \"that the loveliest and best of women should be\ndoomed to so bitter a lot, when she was born to see all that is best\nin the world worship her like a goddess. No--thou shalt not die; it is\nnot thy lot to die; I swear, by my birth and by all that I love in the\nworld, thou shalt not die! And if it should happen, if nothing, neither\nstrength, nor prayer, nor courage can avert the dreadful fate, we will\ndie together, and I will die first; I will die beneath thine eyes, at\nthy dear feet, and only when dead will I part with thee!\"\n\n\"Do not deceive me and thyself, knight!\" answered she, slowly shaking\nher fine head; \"I know, and to my greatest sorrow do I know but too\nwell, that thou canst not love me; I know, what thy duty, what thy\ncovenant is: thy father, thy comrades, thy country call thee--and we\nare thy foes!\"\n\n\"And what to me, are father, comrades, country?\" said Andrew, tossing\nhis head, and drawing up his stature to his full height, straight as\nthe black poplar growing on the banks of a river: \"if so--not one of\nthem will I know! not one! not one!\" repeated he with that voice, and\npeculiar motion of the hand, with which the mighty dauntless Cossack\nexpresses his decision about something unheard of, and impossible for\nany one but himself. \"Who has told me that Ukraine is my country? Who\ngave it to me for my country? Our native country is that for which our\nsoul longs, which is dear to us above all other tilings! My native\ncountry--thou art it! This is my country! And I will carry this country\nin my heart as long as I live, and I shall see who of all the Cossacks\nwill ever tear it thence! And all that I have, will I sell, resign,\ndestroy, for this, my native country!\"\n\nAt first she remained stupified and motionless, and, like a fine\nstatue, gazed into his eyes; then, on a sudden, bursting into tears,\nshe flung herself on his neck, caught him in her snow-white delicate\narms, and sobbed aloud; all this she did with that marvellous womanly\nimpetuosity, of which none is capable but inconsiderate generous woman,\ncreated for magnanimous impulses of the heart. At this moment, confused\nshouts, together with the sound of trumpets and kettle-drums were heard\nin the street. But Andrew heard them not, he only felt how her pretty\nlips diffused over his face the aromatic warmth of their breath, how\nher tears flowed in streams over his cheeks, and how, falling down from\nher head, her fragrant hair wrapped him in its dark and glossy silk.\n\nAt the same moment the Tartar ran into the room with the joyful\nexclamation, \"Rescued! rescued!\" cried she, beside herself with joy:\n\"_our own_ have come into the town; they have brought with them,\nbread, millet, flour, and Zaporoghian prisoners!\" But neither of the\ntwo understood who \"_our own_\" were who had come into the town, what\nthey had brought, or what they had to do with the Zaporoghians. Full\nof feelings not to be enjoyed on earth, Andrew impressed a kiss on her\nfragrant lips; they returned the kiss, and in that mutual, melting\nembrace each of them felt all that man can feel but once in his\nlifetime.\n\nThen lost was the Cossack for ever! lost to all Cossack knighthood!\nNever again will he see the Ssiecha: the farms of his father: the\nchurch of God. Ukraine will never again see the bravest of her children\nwho went forth for its defence. Old Tarass will tear from his head a\nlock of his grey hair, and curse the day and the hour when such a son\nwas born to bring shame upon him!\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nThe whole of the Zaporoghian camp was in an uproar. At first nobody\ncould ascertain how it had come to pass that the Polish reinforcement\nhad entered the city. It was afterwards found out that all the Cossacks\nof the kooren of Percaslavl, encamped before one of the side gates of\nthe city, were dead drunk; so no wonder if half of them were killed,\nand the remainder bound and made prisoners, before any one could\ndiscover what was the matter. While the other koorens, awakened by the\nnoise, had but time to snatch up their arms, the Poles had already\nmade their way through the gate, and their rear-ranks alone fired on\nthe Zaporoghians who, not yet wholly recovered from their slumbers and\ntheir tipsiness, had in disorder rushed upon them. The Koschevo\u00ef gave\nthe order for all to assemble, and when all stood in a circle and kept\nsilence, their caps off, he spoke thus:--\n\n\"Do you see, gentlemen brothers, what has happened this night? You see\nnow the result of drunkenness? You see the shame that the foe has\nbrought upon us? It seems to be part of your habits, that, if your\nallowance is doubled, you think yourselves entitled to go on drinking\ntill you bring yourselves into such a state that the foe of Christian\nsoldiers may not only pull off your trowsers, but even spit in your\nface before you are aware of it!\"\n\nThe Cossacks stood with their heads bent down, as if to acknowledge\ntheir fault. The ataman of the kooreen of Neezamaitzy, Kookoobenko,\nalone retorted. \"Stop, father,\" said he, \"although it is not according\nto the rules that one should reply when the Koschevo\u00ef is speaking\nbefore the army, yet as the matter was not thus, I must say so. Thou\nart not quite right in thy reproach. The Cossacks would have been in\nfault, and would have deserved death if they had got drunk on march,\non the field of battle, or during some hard or difficult labour; but\nwe remained without any business at all, sauntering round the city. No\nfast, nor any other Christian penance was at hand; how, then, could it\nbe expected that a man should not get drunk when he had nothing to do?\nThere is no sin in that. Let us rather show now what it is to fall upon\ninnocent men. We have till now struck hard--let us now strike so that\nthey may not even be able to take to their heels to fly back to their\nhomes!\"\n\nThe speech of the koorenno\u00ef ataman greatly pleased the Cossacks. They\nraised their eyes which had, till then, remained bent down, and many of\nthem approvingly tossed their heads, saying, \"Well said, Kookoobenko!\"\nTarass Boolba, who was standing not far from the Koschevo, said, \"How\nnow, Koschevo\u00ef? Kookoobenko seems to be right; what wilt thou say-now?\"\n\n\"What will I say? I will say that happy is the father that has brought\nsuch a son. It is no difficult matter to find upbraiding words, but\nit is a difficult matter to speak such words as, aggravating a man's\nmisfortunes by reproach, may coax him and stir up his fallen spirit as\nspurs incite the spirit of a steed refreshed by drink. I had, myself,\nthe intention of adding some encouraging words; but Kookoobenko has\noutstripped me.\"\n\n\"Well, also, has the Koschevo\u00ef spoken!\" was heard in the ranks of the\nZaporoghians. \"Well spoken!\" repeated others; and even the oldest,\nthose with ash-coloured locks, nodded their heads, and twirling their\nmustachios, said, \"Well spoken!\"\n\n\"Now, hear me, gentlemen!\" continued the Koschevo\u00ef; \"it is neither\nproper for a Cossack, nor is it his business to take fortresses as\nGerman mercenaries do (may the fiend seize them!), climbing the walls\nand digging the ground. But, after all, what may be guessed is, that\nthe enemy entered the town with no great store of provisions; there\nwere not many waggons with them, the people in the fortress are\nstarving, so all will be eaten up in no time; as for the horses--I\ndo not know, unless some of their saints throw them hay from heaven;\nbut this seems not highly probable, the more so, as their parsons are\nmen of mere words. So, happen what will, not one of them must ever\ncome out of the town. Divide yourselves into three parties, and take\nthe three roads which lead to the three gates. Five koorens must take\nthe high road before the main gate; before each of the others three\nkoorens must stand. The Diadnivsky and the Korsoonsky koorens must lie\nin ambush. Colonel Tarass, with his regiment, must lie in ambush, also!\nThe Tytarevsko\u00ef and the Toonnoshevsko? koorens in reserve, on the right\nflank of the baggage! The Stcherbinovsko\u00ef and the Upper Steblikovsko\u00ef\non its left flank. Now, come forward those who are clever at teasing,\nand tease the enemy! Poles are empty-headed people and cannot bear\njeering, and may be, even to-day, they will sally forth out of the\ngates. Let the atamans pass each kooren in review: those that have not\ntheir full complement must be filled up with the Cossacks remaining\nfrom the Percaslavsko\u00ef kooren. Then, review them once more I Let every\nCossack have a loaf and a dram of brandy, to drive away the tipsiness\nout of his head. But, surely, every one got enough yesterday; for, to\nsay the truth, you all had so much drink that I wonder nobody burst\nasunder in the night. One order more:--If any Jew, brandy-shop keeper,\nor any one else sell, were it but a single dram of brandy to a Cossack,\nI'll have a hog's ear nailed to his face, and I'll have him, the cursed\ndog, hung with his head downwards! Well, now to business, brothers!\"\n\nThus ordered the Koschevo\u00ef, and all bowed to him, and with uncovered\nheads went to their waggons and to their camps, and only when they were\nat a distance did they put on their caps. They all made preparations;\nevery one tried his sabre or his broadsword, poured powder from the\nbags into powder-horns, removed and placed the carts, and selected the\nhorses.\n\nOn his way to his regiment Tarass thought, but could not imagine, what\nhad happened to Andrew. Had he been made prisoner with the others, and\nhad he been bound during his sleep?--but no, it could not be; Andrew\nwas not the man to be made prisoner whilst alive. He was not, moreover,\nto be found among the slain Cossacks. Tarass was lost in thought, and\nwent before his regiment without noticing that somebody had been for\na long time calling him by his name. \"Who wants me?\" said he, at last\nrecovering from his reverie. Yankel, the Jew, was standing before him.\n\n\"My lord colonel! My lord colonel!\" said the Jew in a hasty and choked\nvoice, as if he had some matter of no small importance to impart to\nhim. \"I have been in the town, my lord colonel!\"\n\nTarass looked at the Jew, marvelling how he could have managed to find\ntime already to go into the town. \"And what devil took thee there?\"\n\n\"I will tell you directly,\" said Yankel. \"As soon as I heard the noise\nin the morning, and heard the Cossacks fire their guns, I caught up\nmy coat and, without waiting to put it on, ran with all speed to the\nspot; by the way only I slipped on the sleeves, for I was in a hurry to\nknow what the noise was, and why the Cossacks fired their guns so early\nin the morning. I got to the town gate just as the last of the troops\nentered the town. And, behold! before the soldiers, I saw the Ensign\nGaliandovitch. He is an acquaintance of mine; he has owed me, for more\nthan two years now, a hundred ducats; so I came to him as if for the\npurpose of settling our accounts, and I went with him into the town.\"\n\n\"How so? thou wentest into the town, and still more, for the purpose of\nsettling accounts!\" said Boolba, \"and he did not have thee hanged like\na dog?\"\n\n\"By Heavens, he wished to have me hanged,\" answered the Jew; \"his\nservants had already got hold of me and thrown a rope round my neck;\nbut I implored him to have mercy, said that I would wait for the debt\nas long as he might choose, and even promised to lend him more money as\nsoon as he helps me to have my accounts settled with the other knights.\nBecause that gentleman ensign--I'll tell the whole truth to the lord\ncolonel--has not a single ducat in his pocket, although he has farms,\nand manors, and castles, and plenty of pasture land; but as for coins,\nhe has no more of them than a Cossack. Even now, had not the Jews of\nBreslau equipped him, he could not have gone to the war. That was the\nvery reason of his not having been at the _Ssiem_.\"[30] \"What didst\nthou, then, in the town; hast thou seen any of ours?\"\n\n\"Of course I did; there are many of ours:--Itska, Rakhoom, Ssamu\u00eflo,\nKha\u00efvalkh, the Jew-farmer\"--\n\n\"Curses on them, unbelieving dogs!\" shrieked Tarass, growing angry;\n\"why art thou calling over to me thy Jewish stock! I ask thee about our\nZaporoghians.\"\n\n\"I've not seen our Zaporoghians. I've only seen my lord Andrew.\"\n\n\"Thou hast seen Andrew?\" cried Tarass; \"what of him? where didst thou\nsee him? in some dungeon? in some cave? dishonoured? fettered?\"\n\n\"Who would ever dare to fetter my lord Andrew? he is now such a\nknight--by Heavens, I hardly recognised him! His coat all over gold,\nhis belt all gold--yes, all over gold and everywhere gold; just like\nthe sun, as it shines in spring when every bird is chirping and singing\nin the gardens, and every blade of grass is fragrant, thus is he all\nshining bright with gold; and the steed that the voevoda has given him,\nis the best riding horse one ever saw: the steed alone is worth two\nhundred ducats!\"\n\nBoolba was astounded. \"Why did he put on this strange dress?\"\n\n\"Because it was better than his own; that's why he put it on. And he is\nriding about, and others are riding about, and he is teaching others,\nand others are teaching him--just like the most important Polish lord.\"\n\n\"And who constrained him to do this?\"\n\n\"I am not saying that anybody put any constraint on him. Does not your\nlordship know, then, that he went over to them of his own free will?\"\n\n\"Who went over?\"\n\n\"My lord Andrew.\"\n\n\"To whom is he gone over?\"\n\n\"To the other side; he is now quite theirs.\"\n\n\"Thou liest, hog!\"\n\n\"How can it be that I should lie? Am I a fool to lie? Will I lie at the\nrisk of my own head? Do I not know that if a Jew happen to lie to a\nlord, he will be hanged like a dog?\"\n\n\"So thou sayest that he has sold his native country and his faith?\"\n\n\"I did not say that he had sold anything; I am only saying that he has\npassed over to the other side.\"\n\n\"Thou liest, cursed Jew! such a thing never happened in a Christian\nland! Thou mockest me, cursed dog!\"\n\n\"May grass grow on the threshold of my house if I lie! May every one\nspit on the tomb of my father, on that of my mother, on those of my\nfather-in-law, of the father of my father, of the father of my mother,\nif I lie! If your lordship wishes, I'll even say why he went over to\nthem.\"\n\n\"Why, then?\"\n\n\"The voevoda's daughter is a beauty. Heavens! what a beauty!\" and the\nJew endeavoured as well as he could to express her beauty in his face,\nstretching his hands asunder, twinkling one of his eyes, and writhing\nhis mouth on one side, as if he had tasted something good.\n\n\"Well, then, what of that?\"\n\n\"That is the reason of all his doings and of his passing over. Because\nif a man becomes enamoured he is just like the sole of a boot, which,\nif it becomes once soaked in water, may be stretched and bent as much\nas one wishes.\"\n\nBoolba fell into a deep reverie. He remembered that such is the power\nof a weak woman that many mighty men perish by it, that Andrew was very\nvulnerable on that point--and long did he remain as if riveted to the\nsame spot.\n\n\"Hear me, your lordship, I'll tell your lordship all,\" proceeded the\nJew; \"just as I heard the noise and saw the troops entering the town\ngate, I caught up, at all events, a string of pearls, because in the\ntown there are many beauties and noble ladies; and wherever there are\nbeauties and noble ladies, said I to myself, even if they have nothing\nto eat, they will nevertheless buy finery. And as soon as the servants\nof the ensign had let me go, I ran to the voevoda's courtyard to\nsell my pearls. I learned everything from a Tartar servant-maid: the\nmarriage will take place as soon as the Zaporoghians are driven away.\nMy lord Andrew has promised to drive the Zaporoghians away.\"\n\n\"And thou didst not kill him on the spot, the devil's son?\" shrieked\nBoolba.\n\n\"Why should I have killed him? He went to the Poles of his own good\nwill. What harm is there? He found himself better off there, so there\nhe went.\"\n\n\"And didst thou see him in person?\"\n\n\"By Heaven, I did! Such a fine warrior! The best of all. May Heaven\ngrant health to him! He knew me in a moment, and as I passed near him\nhe at once said to me\"--\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"He said--no, he first beckoned to me, and then afterwards said to me,\n'Yankel!' and I said, 'My lord Andrew!' 'Yankel, tell my father, tell\nmy brother, tell the Cossacks, tell the Zaporoghians, tell every one,\nthat my father is no more a father to me, that my brother is no more my\nbrother, my comrades no more my comrades; and that I will fight against\nthem: against every one of them will I fight!'\"\n\n\"Thou liest, Judas!\" shrieked Tarass, beside himself with rage; \"Thou\nliest, dog I Thou hast crucified Christ--man accursed by Heaven! I will\nkill thee, Satan! Away with thee, or thou art a dead man!\" and with\nthese words Tarass unsheathed his sabre. The Jew took to his heels, and\nran with all the speed of his thin shrivelled legs, he ran a long time\nthrough the tents of the Cossacks, and then in the open field, before\nhe ventured to look back; but Tarass thought not of pursuing him, after\nreflecting that his anger ought not to be wreaked upon the first who\nfell into his hands.\n\nNow he remembered having, only last night, seen Andrew going about the\nencampment with a woman, and his gray head drooped; and yet he would\nnot believe that such an odious event had taken place, and that his own\nson had betrayed his faith and his soul.\n\nAt last he conducted his regiment into ambush, and was soon out of\nsight with it, behind the only forest which had not been burned by the\nCossacks. In the mean time the Zaporoghians, on foot and on horseback,\noccupied the three roads which led to the three gates. One kooren\nfollowed another; that of Perecaslav alone was missing. Deep had been\nthe carousing of its Cossacks, and there carouse had sealed their doom.\nSome awoke in irons in the power of the enemy--some without awakening\nhad passed to their eternal sleep, and their ataman, Khleeb, without\ntrowsers or any other garment, had found himself in the Polish camp.\n\nThe movement of the Cossacks had attracted attention in the city. All\nits inhabitants rushed to the battlements, and a curious sight appeared\nbefore the Cossacks. The brass helmets shone like so many suns, adorned\nwith snow-white feathers.[31] Some warriors wore light caps, pink or\nsky-blue, with the tops bent on one side.\n\nTheir coats, with sleeves falling behind the shoulders,[32] were either\nembroidered with gold or ornamented with lace. There were many swords\nand guns with costly handles, which had been dearly paid for by their\nmasters, and much more finery was to be seen there. In front of all\nstood, with a haughty demeanour and with a red cap ornamented with\ngold on his head, the newly-arrived colonel of Boodjang. Stout was\nthe colonel, stouter and taller than all others, and his wide costly\novercoat hardly met round his figure. On the other side, close to the\nside gate, stood another colonel, a diminutive man, who seemed to have\nbeen dried up; but his small piercing eyes looked briskly from under\nhis thick eyebrows, and he turned about sharply on all sides, pointing\nwith his thin dry hand, and giving orders; one might see that,\nnotwithstanding his small size, he was well acquainted with warfare.\nAt some distance from him stood a tall, very tall ensign, with thick\nmustachios; there was no lack of colour in his face; he was fond of\nstrong mead and gay revelling. And many were the gentlemen to be seen\nbehind these, who had taken arms either for the king's money, or on\ntheir own ducats, or on money borrowed from Jews, to whom they had\npawned everything they could find in the castles of their grandfathers;\nmany, also, who were mere hangers-on of senators (whom these latter\nkept to be able to boast of the number of their retinue at dinners),\nwho stole silver cups from the tables and cupboards, and who, after\nhaving made a figure one day, sat the next on the coachbox of some\nlord. Many were the different persons assembled on the walls. Some of\nthem had not a penny to drink with, and yet all had made themselves\nfine for fighting. Silently stood the ranks of the Cossacks before the\nwalls. None of them wore any gold on their coats; only now and then\nsome of it might be seen on the handles of their swords or of their\nguns. The Cossacks did not like to make themselves fine for fighting;\ntheir mail coats and dresses were plain, and stretching far away might\nbe seen the black tops of their sheepskin caps.\n\nTwo Cossacks rode in front of the Zaporoghian ranks, one of them quite\nyoung, the other somewhat elderly; both biting in words, and not bad\nCossacks in deeds also: Okhreim Nash and Nikita Golokopytenko. Close\nbehind them rode Demid Popovich, a thorough Cossack, who for a long\ntime had rambled about the Ssiecha, had been before Adrianople, and\nhad had much to endure in his lifetime: he had been burned in fire,\nand had run back to the Ssiecha with his head covered with tar and\nblackened by the flames and his mustachios singed off.[33] But once\nmore had Popovich regained his health, his crown-lock curled once more\nbehind his ear, his mustachios had grown again, thick and black as\npitch, and biting were his caustic speeches.\n\n\"The dresses of the army are fine enough, but I should like to know if\nthe courage of the army is as fine?\"\n\n\"I'll have you all tied up!\" cried the stout colonel from the walls;\n\"give up your guns and horses, ye boors! Have ye seen how I have bound\nyour comrades? Let the Zaporoghian prisoners be brought upon the\nbattlements!\"\n\nAnd the Zaporoghians, tied with ropes, were brought upon the walls;\nin front of all was to be seen the koorenno\u00ef ataman Khleeb, without\ntrowsers or any other dress, in the same state as that in which he\nhad been made prisoner in his sleep. And downwards he bent his head,\nashamed of being seen naked by the Cossacks, and of having been made\nprisoner while sleeping, like a dog. In one night his strong head had\nturned gray.\n\n\"Cheer up, Khleeb! we'll set thee free!\" cried the Cossacks from below.\n\n\"Cheer up, friend!\" cried the koorenno\u00ef ataman Borodatyi: \"no fault of\nthine if they took thee naked; misfortune may happen to any one; but\nshame be upon them that they make a show of thee without so much as\nhiding thy nakedness!\"\n\n\"Ye seem to be brave warriors against sleeping men?\" said\nGolokopytenko, looking towards the wall.\n\n\"Let us take our time, and we'll shave your crown-locks for you!\" cried\nthose from above.\n\n\"I should like to see you shave our crown-locks!\" said Popovich, making\ncurvets with his steed; then, looking at the Cossacks, he resumed:\n\"After all, the Poles may be right; should the big-bellied one there\nbring them out of the town, they would have a good defence!\"\n\n\"And why dost thou think they would have a good defence?\" said the\nCossacks, guessing that Popovitch meant some fun.\n\n\"Simply, because behind his back the whole of the army might remain\nconcealed, and no spear on earth could ever reach them across his\nbelly.\"\n\nThe Cossacks roared with laughter, and many nodded their heads,\nsaying, \"Well! Popovich, when he chances to say something funny, why,\nthen\"--but they did not add what happened _then_.\n\n\"Away, quickly away from the walls;\" cried the Koschevo\u00ef; for the\nPoles seemed not to relish such bitter fun, and the colonel had waved\nhis hand. Hardly had the Cossacks rushed away, when a volley of\ngrape-shot flew from the walls. Tumult arose on the battlements, the\ngray-haired voevoda himself made his appearance on horseback. The gate\nflew open, and the army issued forth. In front rode, in regular ranks,\nthe hussars; after them came the chain-mailed regiment; behind these,\nthe cuirassiers with spears; then those in brass helmets; and after\nall, apart from the rest, the _\u00e9lite_ of the officers--each dressed\naccording to his own fashion. They chose not, haughty gentlemen,\nto mix with the other ranks; and those who had no commission went\nalone with their servants. After them came soldiers again; then the\nstandard-bearer; then, again, ranks of soldiers; then the stout\ncolonel, and, behind them all, rode the diminutive colonel.\n\n\"Let them not take up their position! let them not set their troops in\norder!\" cried the Koschevo\u00ef. \"All koorens! up and at them! Leave the\nother gates! The Titarevsko\u00ef kooren attack one flank! The Diadkovsko\u00ef\nkooren attack the other. Kookoobenko and Palyvoda, push on the rear!\nMix! confuse! and drive them asunder!\"\n\nAnd the Cossacks struck on every side; the Poles were driven asunder\nand mingled in confusion, and the Cossacks were mixed with them. Even\nfiring was out of the question; swords and spears were alone useful.\n\nThe _mel\u00e9e_ became general, and every one could show his personal\nskill. Demid Popovich had already speared two soldiers and thrown two\nofficers from their steeds, saying, \"Those are good horses; I have long\nwished to have such horses!\" And he drove the horses a long way out\ninto the field, calling to the Cossacks standing there to catch them.\nHe again went into the crowd; once more attacked the officers thrown\ndown; killed one of them, and throwing his _arkan_ round the neck of\nthe other,[34] tied it to his saddle and dragged him over the field,\nafter possessing himself of his costly sword and the purse full of\nducats, which hung at his belt.\n\nKobita, a good Cossack and a young one, too, fought with one of the\nbravest Polish warriors, and long was their fight. They were already\nhand to hand: the Cossack got the uppermost, and, after throwing down\nhis adversary, plunged his sharp Turkish knife into his breast; but\nhe took no heed of himself, and on the very spot a hot bullet struck\nhim on the temple. He who killed him was one of the most notable among\nthe lords; a handsome knight of ancient and princely descent. Slim as\na poplar, he rode on his chestnut steed. Many were the noble knightly\nfeats he had already accomplished; two Zaporoghians had he hewn in\ntwain; Theodore Korj, a good Cossack, had he thrown on the dust with\nhis horse; he shot the horse, and pierced the Cossack under it with\nhis spear; many heads, many hands had he hewn down; he had killed the\nCossack Kobita by sending a bullet through his temple.\n\n\"This is the man with whom I should wish to try my strength!\" cried\nKookoobenko, the ataman of the Nezamaikovsko\u00ef kooren; and spurring\nhis horse, he rushed up close behind him and gave a fearful howl,\nwhich made all around shudder. The Pole tried to turn his horse round\nto confront his foe; but the horse would not turn: terrified by the\nfearful shriek, it dashed aside, and Kookoobenko fired his gun at\nthe rider. The bullet entered his shoulder-blade, and down went the\nPole on the ground; still, even then, he yielded not, but tried to\nstrike once more at his foe; but his weakened arm fell beneath the\nweight of his sabre, and Kookoobenko taking, with both his hands, his\nheavy sword, drove it right into the Pole's blanched mouth: the blade\nknocked out two white teeth, cut the tongue in two, ran through the\nthroat, and went far into the ground, nailing the knight for ever to\nthe dank earth. Like a fountain spirted forth the high-descended noble\nblood, red as the berries of the water elder, and dyed the yellow\ngold-embroidered jacket.\n\nAnd Kookoobenko had already left him, and, along with the Cossacks of\nhis kooren, cut his way into another crowd. \"Eh! why did he leave on\nthe ground such costly finery!\" said Borodatyi, the Omansko\u00ef ataman,\nriding from his kooren to the spot where lay the officer killed by\nKookoobenko. \"I have killed with my own hand seven officers, and have\nnot yet seen such finery on any one.\" And giving way to cupidity,\nBorodatyi bent down in order to take possession of the costly arms; he\nhad already seized a Turkish knife, with a handle set with precious\nstones: had untied from the belt a purse full of ducats: had taken from\nthe neck a pouch of fine linen and costly silver, containing a girl's\nringlet, which had been carefully kept as a souvenir; but he did not\nhear how, behind his back, there had rushed upon him the red-nosed\nensign, who had already been thrown from his saddle by Borodatyi,\nand had received a good deep slash at his hands. The ensign lifted\nhis sword, and struck it with all his might on the bended neck of\nBorodatyi. No good had come of cupidity! Away sprang the mighty head,\nand down fell the beheaded body, making a large pool of blood on the\nground. Up to the skies flew the hard Cossack's soul, frowning and\nfilled with indignation, and, at the same time, astonished at departing\nso quickly from so strong a body. Hardly had the ensign taken hold of\nthe ataman's crown-lock, in order to tie it to his saddle, when a stern\navenger was there.\n\nAs a goshawk, who seems to swim in the sky, and who, after having made\nmany circles with his strong wings, suddenly remains stationary in the\nair, and then darts with arrow-like speed on some quail chirping by\nthe highway side, so Ostap, the son of Tarass, suddenly darted on the\nensign, and threw the arkan round his neck. Still redder grew the red\nface of the ensign, as the fatal knot tightened round his throat; he\ntried to use his pistol, but his cramped hand could not take aim, and\nthe bullet flew harmlessly through the field. Ostap detached from the\nensign's saddle a silken rope, which the latter kept for the purpose\nof tying his prisoners, and bound him hand and foot with his own\nrope, hooked its end to his saddle, and dragged him across the field,\nshouting to the Cossacks of the Omansko\u00ef kooren to go and render the\nlast honours to their ataman.\n\nAs soon as the Cossacks heard that their ataman Borodatyi was killed,\nthey left the battle-field, rushed to take away his body, and began on\nthe spot to deliberate as to whom they should choose for their ataman.\nAt last they said, \"What is the use of deliberating? no one would do\nbetter as a koorenno\u00efataman than young Boolba, Ostap; true, he is the\nyoungest among us, but he has as much sense as the oldest.\" Ostap,\ntaking off his cap, thanked his brother Cossacks for the honour, did\nnot refuse it, either on account of youth or of inexperience, knowing\nthat it was of no use to do so now in battle time. Instead of this, he\nled them into the thickest of the fray, and showed them that he well\ndeserved to be their ataman.\n\nIn the meanwhile, the Poles felt that the fight had grown too hot for\nthem; they retired and ran across the field, in order to form their\nranks at the other end of it. The diminutive colonel gave a signal\nto four fresh companies who stood near the gate, and grape-shot flew\nthence into the crowd of Cossacks; but the volley did but little\nmischief: it flew into the herd of the Cossacks' bullocks, who were\nstupidly gazing on the fight. The terrified bullocks roared, turned\non the Cossack encampment, broke the waggons to pieces, and trampled\nsome men under their feet. But Tarass, rushing at this moment from his\nambuscade, with loud cries threw himself with his regiment across their\nway. The whole of the maddened herd of one accord turned round, and,\ndashing into the Polish regiments, threw confusion into the cavalry,\nmixed, crushed, and broke asunder the ranks.\n\n\"Thanks to ye, bullocks!\" cried the Zaporoghians. \"Campaign service\nhave ye borne hitherto, and now war service have ye rendered also!\" and\nwith fresh strength they pressed on the enemy. Many were the foes who\nwere slaughtered there. Many were those who distinguished themselves\n--Metelitza, Shilo, Pissarenkos, Vovtoozenko, and many more. The Poles\nsaw that no good could come of it; the ensign was hoisted, and the\nsignal was given to open the gate. Creaking went the iron-nailed gate,\nand in went the exhausted and dust-covered riders, like sheep into the\nsheep-fold. Many of the Zaporoghians wished to pursue them; but Ostap\ndetained his Cossacks, saying, \"Farther, farther away, brothers, from\nthe walls! it is not well to draw too near them.\" And he was right; for\na volley of grape-shot came from the walls, and did much mischief. At\nthis moment the Koschevo\u00ef rode up to Ostap, and praised him, saying,\n\"Though thou art but a new ataman, yet thou leadest thy Cossacks like\nan old one!\" And old Tarass turned round to see who the new ataman was,\nand beheld his Ostap in front of the Omansko? kooren, his cap stuck on\none side and the ataman's mace in his hand. \"There, just look at that\none!\" said he, gazing at him; and joyful felt old Boolba, and began to\nthank the Cossacks for the honour bestowed on his son.\n\nThe Cossacks retired, preparing to return to their encampment, when\nthe Poles reappeared on the walls; but their dresses were now torn to\npieces, many costly coats were besmeared with gore, and dust covered\nthe fine brass helmets.\n\n\"Did you tie us with your ropes?\" cried the Zaporoghians from below.\n\n\"Take heed!\" cried from above the stout colonel, showing a rope; and\nstill the dust-covered exhausted warriors continued to abuse one\nanother, and on both sides the hot-headed exchanged scolding words.\n\nAt last all withdrew. Some, tired by the fight, retired to rest; some\napplied earth to their wounds, and tore into bandages kerchiefs and\ncostly dresses, taken from the slain enemies. Those who were less tired\nwent to remove the corpses of their dead comrades, and to render the\nlast duty to them. Graves were dug with sabres and spears, the earth\nwas carried away in caps and in the skirts of coats; then the corpses\nof the Cossacks were reverently laid in the ground and covered with\nfresh earth, so that the carrion ravens and eagles might not tear\nout their eyes. And the corpses of the Poles, several together, as\nthey came to hand, were tied to the tails of wild horses and sent to\nbe dragged over the plain, and for a long time after were the horses\nlashed on the sides and driven about. The maddened animals flew across\nfurrows and hillocks, ditches and rivulets, and the Polish corpses,\ncovered with gore and dust, were kicked about the ground.\n\nAs the evening came on, the Cossacks assembled in circles, and sat for\na long time talking about the feats which it had fallen to every one to\nperform, feats to be told for ever to new-comers and to posterity. Long\ndid they remain before going to sleep; but longer than all, old Tarass\nlay awake, thinking all the time what it could mean that Andrew had\nnot been among the enemy's warriors. Had the Judas scrupled to fight\nagainst his countrymen? or, had the Jew belied him, and had he simply\nbeen made prisoner? But then he remembered that Andrew's heart was not\nproof against woman's words. Tarass felt a deep pang in his heart, and\nvowed vengeance against the Polish girl, who had bewitched his son.\nAnd assuredly he would have fulfilled his vow; he would have taken no\nheed of her beauty; he would have trailed her by her thick luxuriant\nhair; he would have dragged her across the whole field, amidst all the\nCossacks; he would have kicked on the ground, covered with gore and\nblackened with dust, her beautiful bosom and shoulders, white as the\neternal snows that lie on the crests of mountains; he would have torn\nher fine graceful form into fragments. But Boolba knew not what God\nreserved for the morrow, and falling into forgetfulness, he at last\nwent to sleep. In the mean time, the Cossacks continued talking among\nthemselves, and all night long, close to the fires, stood the sober\nvigilant sentinels, carefully looking on every side.\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nThe sun was not yet high in the heavens when all the Zaporoghians\nassembled in a crowd. News had come from the Ssiecha, that the Tartars,\nduring the absence of the Cossacks, had pillaged it, and dug up the\ntreasures which the Cossacks kept concealed underground, had killed or\nmade prisoners all those who were left behind, and had directed their\ncourse straight to Perekop, with all the herds of cattle and horses\nwhich they had taken. One Cossack only, Maxim Gotodookha, had escaped\non the way, from the hands of the Tartars, had killed one of their\nMirzas,[35] had taken away his purse of sequins, and had, on a Tartar\nhorse, in a Tartar dress, for one day and a half and two nights, fled\nfrom their hue and cry; had ridden his horse to death, had taken a\nsecond, which sank also under hard riding, and had only on the third\nfound his way to the Zaporoghian encampment, which, he ascertained\non the road, was under the walls of Doobno. He scarcely found time\nto declare the misfortune that had happened; but as to how it had\nhappened, whether the remaining Cossacks had caroused too deeply,\naccording to Cossack fashion, and had been made prisoners whilst tipsy;\nand how had the Tartars been apprised of the spot where the treasures\nlay hidden--nothing could he tell about all this. He was too exhausted,\nthe whole of his body was swollen, his face was scorched by the sun and\nbeaten by the wind; he fell on the spot fast asleep.\n\nIn such emergencies, the Zaporoghians were accustomed to proceed\nwithout the least delay, in pursuit of the invaders, and endeavour to\ncatch them on the way, because the prisoners might be sent in no time\nto the slave markets of Asia Minor, to Smyrna, to the island of Crete,\nand wherever else the crown-locked heads of the Zaporoghians might\nnot be expected to make their appearance. It was for this reason that\nthe Zaporoghians had now assembled. They stood now with their heads\ncovered, because they had come together, not by command to hear an\norder from their chief, but to deliberate as equals among themselves.\n\"Let the elders give their advice first,\" was the cry heard from the\ncrowd. \"Let the Koschevo\u00ef give his advice,\" exclaimed some. And the\nKoschevo\u00ef, cap in hand, no longer as a chief but as a comrade, thanked\nall the Cossacks for the honour, and spoke thus: \"There are many among\nus who are older than I, and who have more wisdom in their counsels,\nbut as you have honoured me, my advice is this. Do not waste your time,\ncomrades, go in pursuit of the Tartars at once; they are not likely to\nwait for our arrival with the stolen goods; they will quickly spend\nthem and leave no trace. So this is my advice, go at once. We have\ndone our duty here. The Poles know at present what the Cossacks are; we\nhave avenged our faith as much as lay in our power; no great booty can\nbe found in a famished city; so, this is our advice, go!\"\n\n\"Let us go!\" was the shout throughout the Zaporoghian koorens. But the\nspeech was not welcome to Tarass Boolba, and still deeper over his eyes\ndid he bend his contracted eyebrows, whose grayish white made them\nresemble bushes which grow on the high crest of mountains, and whose\ntops are ever covered with the sharp points of the Boreal sleet.\n\n\"Not so; thy advice is not good, Ivoschevo\u00ef!\" said he, \"thy speech is\nall wrong. Thou seemest to forget that our comrades taken by the Poles,\nare still prisoners? Thou seemest to wish that we should not fulfil the\nfirst holy rule of comradeship, that we should leave our brothers that\nthey may be flayed alive, or that their Cossack bodies may be quartered\nand dragged about through towns and villages, as they have already done\nwith the Hetman and the best Russian knights. Has our faith not yet\nsustained sufficient insults? Who are we then? I ask all of you, what\nsort of Cossack is he who leaves his comrade in misfortune--who leaves\nhim to die the death of a dog in a foreign country? If it has come to\nsuch a pitch that nobody any longer values the Cossack's honour, that\nevery one allows his gray mustachios to be spit upon, and bears the\ninsult of shameful words, I, for one, will not bear it! Alone will I\nremain!\"\n\nThe Zaporoghians wavered.\n\n\"And dost thou forget, brave colonel,\" replied the Koschevo\u00ef, \"that\nthose who are now in the hands of the Tartars are our comrades too,\nand that if we do not release them now, they will be sold into\nlife-long slavery to infidels; and that slavery is more bitter than the\nmost cruel death? Dost thou forget that all our treasures, acquired\nwith Christian blood, are now in their hands?\"\n\nThe Cossacks remained thoughtful, and did not know what to say. None of\nthem were desirous of acquiring a disgraceful character. Then Kassian\nBovdug, the oldest in all the Zaporoghian army, stepped forward. He\nwas held in reverence by all the Cossacks; twice had he been elected\nKoschevo\u00ef Ataman, and a good Cossack had he proved in war; but he had\nlong ago grown old, and ceased to take part in campaigns; he did not\nlike to give advice, but the old fellow liked to remain lying in the\nCossack circles listening to stories about events which had come to\npass, and Cossack exploits in war. He never joined in their talk, but\nremained constantly listening, pressing with his fingers the ashes in\nhis short pipe, which he never took out of his mouth; and long would he\nremain with his eyes closed, so that the Cossacks knew not whether he\nwas asleep or listening. During all the late campaigns he had remained\nat home; but on this occasion he had come too, after waving his hand\nin the Cossack fashion, and saying, \"Happen what will, I'll go, and\nperhaps be of some Use to my fellow-Cossacks!\"\n\nAll the Cossacks kept silence as he now appeared before the assembly,\nbecause for a long time none had heard him say a single word. Every\none was anxious to know what Bovdug would say. \"My turn is now come\nto speak, gentlemen brothers,\" he began, \"listen to the old Cossack's\nsaying, children. Wise were the Koschevo\u00ef's words, and, as the chief\nof the Cossacks, who is bound to preserve the treasures of the army,\nand to care for them, nothing more wise could he have said. Let this be\nmy first saying; listen now to my second. This is what I will tell you\nnow; great was the truth of what the Colonel Tarass said; may Heaven\nlengthen his life, and may it send more such colonels to Ukraine!\nThe Cossack's first duty and first glory is to fulfil the duty of\ncomradeship. Long as I have lived in this world, gentlemen brothers,\nI never happened to hear that a Cossack ever left his comrade, or\nbetrayed him in any emergency. These and those are both our comrades;\nbe their numbers great or small, it is the same thing--both are our\ncomrades, both are dear to us; so this is my saying: let the men to\nwhom those who have been made prisoners by the Tartars are dearer,\npursue the Tartars; let the others to whom those who have been made\nprisoners by the Poles are dearer, and who do not choose to desist from\na righteous undertaking, remain here. The Koschevo\u00ef, according to his\nduty, may, with the one party, give chase to the Tartars, and the other\nparty may choose a Nakazno\u00ef Ataman.[36] And should you like to listen\nto my old mind's advice, none is better entitled to be the Nakazno\u00ef\nAtaman than Tarass Boolba; none of us is equal in valour to him!\"\n\nThus spake Bovdug, and then remained silent; and the Cossacks were\nrejoiced at his having settled their minds. They threw their caps up\nin the air, and cried \"Thanks to thee, father! thou kept silent--for a\nlong time hast thou kept silent--and now at last thou hast spoken thy\nmind; truly saidst thou when joining the campaign, that thou mightest\nbe of use to the Cossacks, so has it proved to be!\"\n\n\"Well, do you approve this?\" asked the Koschevo\u00ef.\n\n\"Yes, all of us approve it!\" cried the Cossacks.\n\n\"So, then, the Rada is ended?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is!\" cried the Cossacks.\n\n\"Well then, children, listen to my orders now!\" said the Koschevo\u00ef;\nand stepping forward, he put on his cap, while all the Zaporoghians,\nfrom first to last, took off theirs, and remained uncovered with their\neyes bent on the ground, according to the Cossack custom when their\nchief was about to address them. \"Now, gentlemen brothers, separate\nyourselves! whoever wishes to go, step to the right; whoever remains,\ngo to the left; wherever the greater part of a kooren goes, thither the\nataman follows; if the lesser part goes on one side, it may join the\nother koorens.\"\n\nAnd now they began to pass, some to the right, some to the left.\nWhither the greater went thither followed the ataman, the lesser\npart always joining with the other koorens. In the end, the two sides\nproved nearly equal. Among those who chose to remain were not a few of\nthe very very excellent Cossacks.[37] All off them had seen war and\ncampaigns; had sailed to the Anatolian coasts, traversed the Crimean\nsalt-marshes and steppes, knew all the rivers and streams that flow\ninto the Dnieper, all the banks and islands of that river; had been\nin Moldavia, \"Wallachia, and Turkey; had crossed the Black Sea in\nall directions in their two-helmed Cossack boats--fifty such boats\nin ranks had attacked the richest and the tallest ships; had sent to\nthe bottom of the sea not a few Turkish galleys, and had fired away\nmuch, very much powder in their lives; more than once had they torn\nto rags costly stuffs and silks to wrap up their feet; more than once\nhad their pockets been full of bright sequins. And it would have been\nimpossible to reckon how much property, which would have lasted others\nfor a whole life, each of them had spent in feasting and drinking.\nThey had spent it all like righteous Cossacks, treating every one and\nhiring musicians, in order that every one around them might enjoy\nhimself. Even now, there were but few of them who had not treasure\nhidden underground; cups, silver goblets, and ornaments hidden in the\nreeds on the islands of the Dnieper, in order that the Tartars should\nnot discover them, if by mischance they should fall upon the Ssiecha\nunawares; but it was scarcely possible that the Tartars could have\nfound them, for even the owners had begun to forget where they had\nhidden them.\n\nSuch were the Cossacks who resolved to remain, and take their revenge\non the Poles for the sake of their beloved comrades and the Christian\nfaith. The old Cossack Bovdug resolved also to abide with them, saying\n\"My years are no longer those in which I could give chase to the\nTartars; here is the place where I may find a Cossack's death. For a\nlong time I have prayed God, that I might, when I close my life, end it\nin war for some holy and Christian reason. Thus it now happens; the old\nCossack could not find a more glorious end, or in a more fitting place.\"\n\nWhen all were separated and stood in two rows, in koorens on both\nsides, the Koschevo\u00ef went through the ranks and said, \"Well now,\ngentlemen brothers, is one side pleased with the other?\"\n\n\"All are pleased, father,\" answered the Cossacks.\n\n\"Well then, embrace one another, and give one another a farewell shake\nof the hand, for Heaven knows if we are to meet again in this life.\nObey your Ataman, do what you know must be done; you know yourselves\nwhat a Cossack's honour bids you to do!\"\n\nAnd all the Cossacks, as many as were there, embraced one another.\nFirst of all began the atamans, and wiping their gray mustachios with\ntheir hands, kissed one another's cheeks, and then as they took one\nanother's hands and held them tight, they wished to ask, \"Gentleman\nbrother, shall we ever meet again, or shall we not?\" However, they\nput not the question, but kept silence, and both gray heads remained\nthoughtful. The Cossacks, too, bade farewell to one another, well\nknowing that both sides would have hard work; still they decided not\nto separate at once, but to await the darkness of night, in order that\nthe foe should not perceive the diminution of their forces. They all\nrepaired to their koorens for dinner. After dinner, those who had to\ngo on march laid themselves down for repose, and had a long sound\nsleep, as if conscious that this would perhaps be their last sleep in\nsuch freedom. They slept till the sun set; as it went down and darkness\ncame on, they began to put their carts in order. This done, they made\nthem advance, and themselves bidding once more farewell to their\ncomrades, slowly followed; behind the infantry tramped the cavalry in\nsilence, without crying to their horses or urging them on, and soon,\nnothing could be seen of them in the darkness of the night. The hollow\ntrampling of the horses alone resounded, and at times was heard the\ncreaking of some wheel, which had not been properly greased on account\nof the darkness.\n\nThe comrades who were left behind, stood a long time waving their\nhands to them, although nothing could be seen. But when they ceased at\nlast, and came back to their places, when they saw by the light of the\nstars, which now shone brightly, that half the waggons were gone, and\nthat many, many friends were there no longer, sorrow crept into their\nhearts, and all became thoughtful and bent down their heads.\n\nTarass saw how mournful the ranks of the Cossacks had become, and\nthat sadness, unbecoming to brave men, had found its way into the\nheads of the Cossacks; but he kept silence, wishing to leave time for\neverything, time to grieve over their parting with their comrades;\nbut while silent, he prepared himself to awaken them all at once by\nsuddenly speaking to them like a Cossack, so that courage might again\nand with still greater power return to their hearts. The Slavonic race,\nthat wide spreading, that mighty race, is the only one capable of\nthis--a race which, is to others what the sea is to shallow rivulets;\nwhen the weather is tempestuous it roars and thunders, rises in\nmountain-like waves, such as feeble streams can never exhibit; but when\nthere is no storm and all is quiet, it spreads out its immeasurable\nglassy expanse, clearer than any stream, and soothing to the sight of\nthe beholder.\n\nTar ass ordered one of his servants to unload one of the carts which\nstood apart. This cart was the biggest and the strongest in the whole\nCossack camp; a double iron hoop encircled its strong wheels; it\nwas heavily loaded, covered with horse-cloths, strong ox-hides, and\ncorded with tarred ropes. It was filled with casks and barrels of\nold wine which had long lain in Tarass's cellars. He had brought it\nin preparation for any solemn occasion, when some great event might\noccur, when some mighty feat, worthy to be recorded for posterity,\nshould be at hand; that then every Cossack, to the very least, might\ndrink some of the precious wine, in order that in a solemn moment, a\ndeep impression might be made on every man. On hearing the colonel's\ncommand, his servants rushed to the cart, severed the ropes with their\nsabres, tore away the thick ox-hides and horse-cloths, and took down\nthe casks and barrels.\n\n\"Take, all of you,\" said Boolba, \"all, as many as are here, whatever\nevery one has got; a cup, or the scoop with which you water your\nhorses, or a gauntlet, or a cap--or if you have none of these, why\nthen, hold out the hollow of your hands.\"\n\nAnd all the Cossacks, as many as were there, took some of them cups,\nothers scoops with which they gave drink to their horses, others\ngauntlets, or caps, and some held out the hollow of their hands. To\nevery one of them did the servants of Tarass, as they passed through\ntheir ranks, pour out wine from the casks and barrels. But Tarass\nordered that none should drink till he gave the signal, in order that\nall might drink at the same time. One could see that he was about to\nspeak. Tarass knew, excellent as the good old wine might be of itself,\nand well adapted to raise a man's spirits, that when a well-suited\nharangue should be joined to its effect, double would be the strength\nboth of wine and of courage.\n\n\"I treat you now, gentlemen brothers,\" so spoke Tarass, \"not to\ncelebrate my being elected by you as your ataman, however great that\nhonour be, not to solemnize our parting with our comrades; another time\nwould better suit for both matters. But now we have another more solemn\noccasion before us. A deed of much labour, of great Cossack valour,\nnow awaits us! So let us drink together, comrades, let us drink first\nto the holy faith, that the time may at last come when everywhere over\nthe whole world one holy faith may be diffused, and all misbelievers,\nas many as they are, may become Christians! Let us drink together also\nto the Ssiecha, that it may long stand for the destruction of all\nunbelievers, that every year it may send forth warriors, each stronger\nand better than their predecessors! Let us drink also to our own\nrenown, that our grandchildren, and the sons of those grandchildren,\nmay say that there once were those who did not betray comradeship\nand did not leave their brothers in need! So to the faith, gentlemen\nbrothers, to the faith!\"\n\n\"To the faith!\" shouted the deep voices of those whose ranks stood\nnearest. \"To the faith!\" joined in the more remote, and every one of\nthem, old and young, drank to the faith.\n\n\"To the Ssiecha!\" said Tarass, and lifted his arm high above his head.\n\n\"To the Ssiecha!\" deeply resounded amidst the foremost ranks. \"To the\nSsiecha!\" slowly said the old ones, twitching their gray mustachios;\nand excited, like young hawks fluttering their wings, the young\nCossacks shouted, \"To the Ssiecha!\" And far away the field resounded\nwith the shouts of the Cossacks, \"To the Ssiecha!\"\n\n\"And now, a last dram, comrades: To renown and to all Christians in the\nworld!\" And all the Cossacks there present drained the last drop to\nrenown, and to all the Christians who are spread all over the world.\nAnd long amidst all the ranks, among the koorens, resounded the words,\n\"To all Christians, all over the world!\"\n\nThe cups were already empty, and still the Cossacks remained standing\nwith uplifted arms; gay were the glances of all eyes, glistening with\nwine, but profound were their thoughts. They thought not of booty or\nprofit, they thought not of the ducats they might succeed in taking,\nor of the costly arms, rich dresses, and Circassian steeds. They were\nthoughtful as eagles sitting on the crests of rocky cliffs, steep and\nhigh, from which may be seen the far-expanding sea, all covered with\ngalleys and ships like so many small birds, and bordered by narrow\nscarcely visible coasts, with towns no bigger than flies, and woods as\ndiminutive as grass. Like eagles did the Cossacks cast their glances\nover the field, foreboding their fate which darkened far away before\nthem. Thus indeed shall it be! The field shall be strewn with their\nwhitening bones, it shall be richly bathed in their Cossack blood;\nand broken chariots, broken swords, and spears, shall be scattered\nall over it; from a long distance off shall be seen mouldering\ncrown-tufted heads with curling and gore-clotted locks, and downward\ntwisted mustachios; and eagles swooping down from the skies shall tear\nout and feast on their cossack eyes! But great also is the boon of\nsuch a widely and freely-scattered repose in death! No feat of valour\nshall perish, and the Cossack's fame shall no more be cast away than\nthe grain of powder on the gun-lock. The time shall come when some\nbard with gray beard flowing down on his breast, or peradventure some\nwhite-haired man, old in years but full of manly vigour, shall with\nsoothsaying words tell of them with mighty utterance. And all over the\nworld shall their renown extend, and even those who are yet unborn\nshall speak of them. For widely does the mightily-uttered word spread,\nlike the resonance of bell-metal into which the founder has thrown much\npure and precious silver, that its solemn tone may echo far away in\ncity and hamlet, palace and hovel, summoning all equally to holy prayer.\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\nNobody in the town knew that one-half of the Zaporoghians had gone in\npursuit of the Tartars. The sentries on the tower of the town hall\nhad indeed noticed that part of the waggons had been drawn behind the\nforest, but they thought that the Cossacks had prepared an ambuscade:\nthe French engineer was of the same opinion. Meanwhile, the words of\nthe Ivoschevo\u00ef proved true, and victuals began to be scarce in the\ntown. As was usual in old times, they had not calculated the number\nof troops and the allowance to be made to them. A sally was tried,\nbut one-half of the daring fellows were killed on the spot by the\nCossacks, and the other was driven back into the town with no result.\nThe Jews however, profited by this sally, and ferreted out everything,\nwhither and wherefore the Zaporoghians were gone, and with which of\nthe chiefs, also which of the koorens, in what number, and how many\nwere left behind, and what they intended to do; in a word, some minutes\nhad hardly elapsed when everything was known in the town. The colonels\ntook courage, and prepared to give battle. Tarass perceived this by\nthe movement and noise in the town, and, accordingly, busily occupied\nhimself in forming the troops and giving orders; he divided the koorens\ninto three encampments, which he surrounded with waggons by way of\nfortification, a mode of entrenchment in which the Zaporoghians were\nnever conquered. He sent two koorens into ambuscade, ordered sharp\nstakes, broken weapons, and stumps of spears to be scattered over part\nof the field, intending to drive the enemy's cavalry to that locality\nwhen the opportunity should present itself. And when all his orders had\nbeen executed, he harangued the Cossacks, not in order to encourage\nthem, or to heighten their spirits, for he knew them to be spirited\nenough, but simply because he wished to say what weighed on his own\nheart.\n\n\"I wish to tell you, gentlemen, what our comradeship is. You have heard\nfrom your fathers and grandfathers how highly esteemed our country\nhas been, how it caused itself to be honoured by the Greeks, how the\ncity of the Caesars[38] paid ducats to it, how rich its towns were,\nhow beautiful its churches, what men were its sovereigns--sovereigns\nof Russian pedigree, its own bosom sovereigns, and no Popish heretics.\nAll this have the misbelievers destroyed; everything have they laid\nwaste. We remained orphans, and our country like ourselves has been\nbereft too, like a widow after the loss of a mighty husband! This was\nthe time, comrades, when we held out our hands to one another to be\nbrothers! This is the foundation of our brotherhood! No ties are more\nholy than those of comradeship. The father loves his child, the mother\nloves her child, the child loves its father and mother; but this is no\nwonder. The brute loves its cub, too! but man alone can make to himself\nrelations by the relationship of the heart, without that of blood!\nThere have been comrades in other countries, but such comrades as are\nin our Russian country, such, I say, have never existed elsewhere. More\nthan one of you have been dragged away into foreign countries; there,\ntoo, you have seen men! They also are God's creatures; with them also\ndid you speak as with your own countrymen; but when you had to tell\nthem what you felt in the inmost recesses of your hearts, then you\nsaw the difference! Clever men are they, but not like our countrymen!\nmen, also, but not like us! No, brothers, to love as a Russian heart\nloves--not to love with your mind, or anything else, but to love with\nall that God has given us, with all your being, with all, all,\" said\nTarass; and he waved his arm, and shook his gray head, and jerked his\nmustachios, and then went on: \"To love in such a manner, nobody but\nRussians can love. I know that baseness has found its way into our\ncountry; many think only about having heaps of corn and hay, herds of\nhorses, and of preserving untouched in their cellars their sealed casks\nof mead; many ape the devil knows what customs of misbelievers, and are\nashamed of their native speech, they avoid meeting their countrymen,\nthey sell them, as one sells brutes in the market. Higher than any\nbrotherhood do they value the favour of a foreign king, no, not merely\nof a king, but even the base favour of a Polish magnate, who tramples\non their faces with his yellow boots. But yet the basest of them, be he\nbase as man can be, be he all besmeared with dirt and flattery, even\nhe, brothers, has some grain of Russian feeling in his breast; he will\nwake up at some time, and the poor fellow will wring his hands, he\nwill tear his hair and curse his base life, and be ready by torments\nof every description to redeem it. Let every one of them know what\ncomradeship means in our Russian country. If it has come to that point,\nthat we must die, well then, let us die as none of them may ever die!\nno, not one! their mouse-like nature would not dare to confront such\ndeath!\"\n\nThus spoke the ataman, and as he ended his speech, he still shook his\nhead, grown silver-gray in Cossack feats; strongly did the speech\nimpress all who stood there, and straight to their hearts did it go;\neven the oldest stood motionless in their ranks, their gray heads bent\ndown towards the ground, and a tear slowly rolled from their old eyes;\nslowly did they brush it away with their sleeves, and then all, as with\none accord, waved their hands at once and shook their heads.\n\nOld Tarass, it would seem, had struck upon many recollections of those\nbest feelings which throng into the hearts of men whose spirits have\nbeen tried by sorrow, by hard labour, by valour, and by every possible\nmisfortune; or of men, who, if even unacquainted with hardships,\nanticipate them in their pure pearl-like souls, and afford promise of\nperpetual joy to the old parents who gave them life.\n\nMeanwhile, the enemy's army was already emerging from the town,\ndrums were beating, trumpets sounding, and the officers, surrounded\nby numberless servants, were already riding out of the gate, their\nhands haughtily resting on their hips. The stout colonel was giving\nhis orders. Now, they briskly attacked the Cossacks' encampment,\nthreatening, aiming their guns, rolling their eyes, and glittering in\ntheir brass armour. As soon as the Cossacks saw they had come within\ngunshot, they sent all at once a volley of bullets, and without any\ninterruption poured forth shot after shot from their long barrelled\nguns. Far away, in all the surrounding fields and pastures, did the\nthundering crash resound, forming a continuous roar; smoke spread over\nall the field, and the Zaporoghians went on firing without ever pausing\nto take breath; the rear-ranks did nothing but load the guns, which\nthey passed to the foremost ranks; and the enemy marvelled, and could\nnot understand how the Cossacks managed to shoot without loading their\nguns. Already the denseness of the smoke prevented them from seeing how\none here, another there, fell in the ranks; but the Poles felt that the\nvolleys of bullets were thick, and that the fight would prove serious;\nand as they drew back to get out of the smoke, and looked at their\nranks, many were those whom they found missing; while the Cossacks had\nnot lost more than some two or three men out of every hundred. And\nstill the Cossacks went on firing, giving not a moment of respite. Even\nthe foreign engineer marvelled at their tactics, which he had never\nwitnessed before, and said, before all who stood near him, \"They are\nclever fellows, these Zaporoghians! that is a way of fighting which\nought to be followed in other countries!\" and he advised that no time\nshould be lost in turning the cannon against their encampment. Heavy\nwas the roar of the wide-throated iron guns; far did the ground tremble\nand resound; and smoke, still more dense, spread over all the field.\nIn the squares and streets of cities far and near, could the smell of\npowder be perceived. But the gunners had taken their aim at too great\nan elevation, and too high did the red-hot balls fly; after giving a\nfearful whizz in the air, they flew over the heads of the Zaporoghians\nand buried themselves deep in the ground, tearing up and tossing the\nblack earth high in the air. The French engineer tore his hair at\nseeing such want of skill, and began to point the cannons himself,\nwithout taking heed of the Cossacks' bullets, which flew unceasingly.\nTarass saw at once that evil was in store for two of the koorens, and\nshouted at the top of his voice: \"Quickly away out of the camp, and\non horseback every one of you!\" But hardly would the Cossacks have had\nthe time to do either, had not Ostap rushed into the very midst of the\nenemy; he tore the matches out of the hands of six of the gunners, but\nhe failed to do the same to the remaining four, being driven back by\nthe Poles. Meanwhile, the French engineer took the match with his own\nhand, to fire the biggest of the cannons, the like of which none of the\nCossacks had ever seen before. Fearfully did its wide mouth gape, and a\nthousand deaths seemed to look out of it. And as it went off, and the\nthree others followed it, while the dull resounding ground re-echoed\ntheir roar--much harm did they accomplish! More than one Cossack shall\nbe bewailed by his old mother, who shall beat her withered bosom with\nher bony hands; more than one woman shall be widowed in Glookhov,\nNemeerov, Chernigov, and other towns! Poor widows will every day run to\nthe market, stop every passer-by, to have a peep at his face, to see if\nhe be not the one dearest above all; but many Cossacks shall pass the\ncity, and yet the one dearest above all, shall not be among them.\n\nHalf of the Nezamaikovsko\u00ef kooren seemed never to have been there! As\nhail strikes down a whole corn field, where every ear is heavy as a\nfull weighing ducat, so were they stricken down and laid on the ground.\n\nHow infuriate grew the Cossacks! how all of them rushed forward! how\ndid the blood boil in the heart of Ivookoobenko, the koorenno\u00ef ataman,\nwhen he saw that the best part of his kooren was no more! He took\nthe remainder of his Cossacks, threw himself with them into the very\nmidst of the battle; in his fury, hacked to pieces the first whom he\nreached, threw many off their horses, spearing both riders and horses,\ncut his way to the gunners, and had already taken one of the guns--but\nthere he beholds the ataman of the Omansko\u00ef kooren busily engaged\nabout the cannons, and that Stephen Gooska has already taken the big\none. Kookoobenko left them to do their business there, and led his\nCossacks into another crowd of enemies; wherever the Nezamaikovsko\u00ef\nkooren has passed, a street is opened there, wherever they have turned\nthere is a lane![39] Everywhere the ranks of the foe were seen to grow\nthinner, and Poles were seen falling like sheaves of corn! Next to the\nwaggons fought Vovtoozenko; in front of them Cherivichenko; farther off\nDegtiarenko, and still farther, the koorenno\u00ef Vertykhoist. Two officers\nhad Degtiarenko picked up on his spear, a third proved to be more\nobstinate. Stalwart and strong was the Polish officer, rich was his\narmour, and no fewer than fifty servants had he brought in his train.\nStrongly did he attack Degtiarenko; he had already brought him down on\nthe ground, and brandishing his sword over his head, crying: \"None of\nyou, Cossack dogs, no, not one, will ever dare to confront me!\"\n\n\"Not so, there are some left still,\" said Mossy Sheelo, stepping\nforward. A strong Cossack was he; more than once had he been ataman in\nsea campaigns, and many had been the sufferings he had endured. He had\nbeen made prisoner by the Turks near Trebizond, and all his Cossacks\nhad been brought prisoners on the Turkish galleys, with their hands\nand feet fettered in iron chains; whole weeks they had had no millet\nfor food, and nothing but disgusting sea-water for drink. All this\nhad the poor prisoners endured rather than forfeit the faith of their\nfathers. Not so their ataman, Mossy Sheelo; he trampled the holy faith\nunder foot, put the accursed turban on his sinful head, acquired the\nconfidence of the Pacha, was made gaoler in the galley, and overseer of\nthe prisoners. Greatly were the poor prisoners aggrieved by this; for\nthey knew that no tyranny can be heavier and more bitter than that of\na man who has betrayed his faith and passed over to the persecutors.\nSo it proved; Mossy Sheelo put them all into new triple chains, bound\nthem with hard ropes, which cut through to their white bones. At his\nhands every one of them received strokes and blows. But when the Turks,\nglad to have acquired so good a servant, and unmindful of their law,\nall got drunk, Sheelo brought all the sixty-four keys, and gave them\nto the prisoners that they might unlock their fetters, throw them into\nthe sea, and take in their stead sabres, with which to cut the Turks\nin pieces. Much booty did the Cossacks take then, with glory did they\nreturn home, and long afterwards did the musicians sing the praises\nof Mossy Sheelo. He might have been elected Koschevo\u00ef, but he was a\nstrange Cossack; at one time he did such deeds as the wisest could\nnever have planned, at others, he seemed possessed by madness. So he\nspent everything in drinking and feasting, went in debt to every one\nin the Ssiecha, and at last betook himself to robbing; one night he\nstole from another kooren a complete Cossack's equipment, and pawned it\nto the brandy-shop. For so base a deed he was tied to the pillory in\nthe market, and a bludgeon placed beside him, in order that every one,\naccording to his strength, might give him a blow; but not one was found\namong the Zaporoghians to raise the bludgeon against him, so highly did\nthey value his past services. Such was the Cossack Mossy Sheelo.\n\n\"Yes, there are still some to beat you dogs!\" exclaimed he, attacking\nthe officer. Then how they fought! Both had their breastplates and\nshoulder-pieces bent by the weight of their blows. The cursed Pole cut\nthrough his foe's coat of mail, and his blade penetrated to the very\nflesh; the Cossack's mail-coat was reddened with blood, but Sheelo paid\nno attention to it; down went his sinewy arm (heavy was that mighty\narm!), and its blow stunned his foe, and Sheelo went on hacking and\nhewing to pieces his insensible foe. \"Do not hack him thus, Cossack;\n'twere better to turn round!\" The Cossack did not turn round, and on\nthe spot one of the dead officer's servants plunged his knife into\nSheelo's throat. Sheelo turned, and would have caught his murderer, but\nhe was already lost in the smoke. From every quarter the guns were now\nfiring. Sheelo staggered, and felt that his wound was mortal; he fell\non the ground, put his hand on his wound, and turning to his comrades,\nsaid: \"Fare ye well, gentlemen brother-comrades! May the orthodox\nRussian country for ever last, and may its glory endure for ever!\" And\nhe closed his weakened eyes, and away flew the Cossack's soul out of\nhis hard body. Meantime Zadorojni led his Cossacks into the fight;\nthe koorenno\u00ef ataman Vertykhoist was breaking the enemy's ranks, and\nBalaban was advancing.\n\n\"How now, gentlemen!\" said Tarass, summoning the atamans of the\nkoorens, \"is there still powder in the horns? is not the Cossack's\nstrength yet faint? do not the Cossacks give way?\"\n\n\"There is still powder in the horns, father; the Cossacks' strength is\nnot yet faint; the Cossacks do not yet give way.\"\n\nVigorously did the Cossacks attack; they broke through all the ranks.\nThe diminutive colonel ordered the retreat to be beaten, and eight\ncoloured standards to be hoisted, in order to gather together the Poles\ndispersed far away over all the field. The Poles rushed towards the\nstandards; but they had not time to rally before Kookoobenko again\nfell into their very centre with the Cossacks of his kooren, and went\nstraight at the stout colonel; the colonel could not stand his attack,\nturned his horse and fled at its utmost speed; and Kookoobenko chased\nhim over all the field, giving him no time to join his regiment. Seeing\nthis from one of the koorens on the flank, Stephen Gooska joined in the\npursuit, his arkan in hand, his head bent down to his horse's neck, and\nchoosing his time, threw the arkan suddenly round the colonel's throat;\ndeep red grew the colonel's face, with both hands he seized the cord,\nendeavouring to break it; but a strong blow had already sent a spear\nthrough his body, and there he remained nailed to the spot. But Gooska,\ntoo, must meet his fate! Hardly had the Cossacks had time to look back,\nwhen they saw Stephen Gooska pierced with four spears. The poor fellow\nhad only time to say: \"Let all our enemies perish, and may the Russian\nland exult for ever!\" when he breathed his last. The Cossacks looked\nback, and there, on the one side is Metelitza, treating the Poles with\nblows, first one and then another; there, on the other side, the ataman\nRevelichki falls on with his kooren; there, near the waggons, the foe\nis driven back and beaten down by Zakrootygooba; and farther off, the\nthird Pissarenko has put to flight a whole crowd; and still farther,\nround the remotest waggons, the fight is still hotter, and they fight\non the very waggons.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" cried the Ataman Tarass, riding in front, \"is there still\npowder in the horns? is the Cossack's strength still strong? have not\nthe Cossacks already given way?\"\n\n\"There is still powder in the horns, father! still is the Cossack's\nstrength entire, nor have the Cossacks yet given way!\"\n\nBovdug fell down from his waggon; a bullet had struck him just beneath\nhis heart; but the old man gathered up his strength and said, \"I do not\nregret leaving the world; may God grant such a death to you all; and\nto the last may the Russian land be glorious!\" and Bovdug's soul flew\nup to heaven to tell old men, long since departed, that Russians know\nhow to fight, and still better, that Russians know how to die for their\nholy faith!\n\nSoon after him, the koorenno\u00ef ataman Balaban fell also. Three deadly\nwounds from spear, from bullet, and from sabre, had fallen to his lot.\nHe had been one of the bravest Cossacks; many times had he led the\nCossacks over sea; but most glorious of all had been his campaign to\nthe Anatolian coast. Many sequins had they then taken, much costly\nTurkish goods, stuffs, and ornaments. But grief was in store for them\non their return; they fell in, poor fellows, with Turkish cannon. As\nthe ship fired her broadside, half of their boats went wheeling round\nand upset, and many Cossacks were drowned in the sea; but the boats did\nnot sink, thanks to the bundles of reeds tied to their edges. Balaban\nfled at the utmost speed of his oars, took his stand straight under the\nsun, so as not to be seen by the Turkish ship. All night long after\nthis did the Cossacks bale out the water from the boats with their\nscoops and caps, and mend the rent planks; of their Cossack trowsers\nthey made sails, caught the wind, and escaped from the swiftest of all\nthe Turkish ships. And not only did they safely return to the Ssiecha,\nbut brought a gold embroidered dress to the abbot of the monastery of\nKieff, and a plate of pure silver for the church of the Ssiecha. And\nlong afterwards was the Cossacks' feat the theme of the musician's\npraises. But Balaban bent down his head, and feeling the approach\nof death, slowly said, \"It seems to me, gentlemen brothers, that my\ndeath is a good death! Seven have I cut down with my sword, nine have\nI pierced with my spear, many have I trampled under my steed's feet,\nand so many have I hit with my bullets, that I cannot recollect their\nnumber. So then, may the Russian land flourish for ever!\" and away his\nsoul took its flight.\n\nCossacks, Cossacks! do not let the best flower of your army be taken\nfrom you! Already is Kookoobenko surrounded; already seven men are all\nthat remain of the Nezamaikovsko\u00ef kooren, already they are nearly\noverpowered, and bloody are Kookoobenko's garments! Tarass himself,\nseeing his danger, hastened to his rescue. But the Cossacks were too\nlate; a spear had already gone deep beneath his heart, before the foes\nwho surrounded him were driven away. Slowly he drooped on the Cossacks\nwho caught him in their arms, and his young blood streamed forth,\nlike costly wine which careless servants bringing in a crystal flask\nfrom the cellar, and slipping at the entrance, have spilled on the\nground; the precious flask is broken to pieces, the wine flows over the\nfloor, and the master comes running and tearing his hair; he who had\npreserved that wine for the best occasion of his life, in order that\nif in his old days he ever happened to meet a comrade of his youth, he\nmight remember with him bygone times, when different and better were\nthe joys of men! Kookoobenko looked around him, and said, \"Thank God,\ncomrades, that I happen to die beneath your eyes! May those after us\nlive better than we have done, and may everlasting felicity be the lot\nof the Christ-beloved Russian land!\" And away flew the young soul.\nAngels raised it in their hands, and carried it to Heaven. \"Sit down on\nmy right hand, Kookoobenko,\" will Christ say to him, \"thou didst not\nbetray thy comrades, didst no dishonest deed, didst not forsake a man\nin distress, and didst preserve and defend my faith!\"\n\nAll were grieved by Kookoobenko's death; thinner and thinner grew the\nCossacks' ranks, yet still they kept their ground.\n\n\"How now, gentlemen?\" cried Tarass to the remaining koorens, \"is there\nstill powder in the horns? are not the sabres grown blunt? is not the\nCossack's strength tired? are not the Cossacks giving way?\"\n\n\"There is still powder enough, father! the sabres are still good! the\nCossacks' strength fails not, nor have they given way!\"\n\nAnd again the Cossacks rushed on, as if they had sustained no loss. Of\nthe koorenno\u00ef atamans, three alone remained alive. Crimson streams of\nblood flowed in every direction, and the corpses of Cossacks and foes\nwere piled in heaps. Tarass looked up to the sky, and behold, long\nlines of birds of prey were already there! A glorious feast will be\ntheirs!\n\nAnd now, behold, Metelitza is pierced by a spear! and there falls the\nhead of the second Pissarenko, rolling and quivering its eyelids; there\nfalls heavily Okhrim Gooska, brought down and hewn into four pieces.\n\"'Tis well!\" said Tarass, and waved his handkerchief. Ostap understood\nthe signal, and darting out of his ambuscade, furiously attacked the\ncavalry. The Poles could not withstand his impetuous attack, gave way;\nand were driven straight towards the spot where the ground was strewn\nwith broken spears and stakes. The horses stumbled and fell at every\nstep, and their riders were thrown over their heads. Just then, the\nKorsoonsko\u00ef kooren which stood behind the remotest waggons, seeing the\nenemy within gunshot, sent them a volley of musketry.\n\nThe Poles lost all presence of mind--the Cossacks regained courage.\n\"The victory is ours!\" shouted the Zaporoghians on all sides; the\ntrumpets sounded; the victory banner was hoisted. Everywhere the\ndiscomfited Poles were to be seen flying and concealing themselves.\n\"_Not_ yet! the victory is not yet ours!\" said Tarass, looking towards\nthe town gate; and truly did he say so. The gate was thrown open, and\nout flew the hussar regiment, the choicest of all the Polish cavalry.\nAll the riders were mounted on chestnut steeds, all equally fine. In\nfront rode a knight, the finest and most spirited of them all; black\ncurls waved from beneath his brass helmet; a costly scarf, embroidered\nby the fairest beauty, fluttered round his arm. Tarass was astounded\nat recognising in him Andrew! Meanwhile, Andrew, entirely given up to\nthe heat and excitement of the battle, and fervently anxious to deserve\nthe token tied upon his arm, flew like a young greyhound, the finest,\nswiftest, and youngest of all the pack; the experienced huntsman has\nhallooed to, and there it flies, its legs stretched in a straight line\nthrough the air, its body drawn a little on one side, puffing up the\nsnow, and in the heat of its race, ten times outstripping the hare.\nOld Tarass remained standing and watching how he cleared his way,\ndrove back those before him, cutting and hewing on each side. Tarass\ncould refrain no longer, and exclaimed, \"How? thine own comrades? thy\nbrothers? devil's son, dost thou hew them?\" But Andrew saw not who\nwas before him, whether his comrades or others. He saw nothing but\nringlets, long, long ringlets, a bosom white as a swan's, a snow-like\nneck and shoulders, and all that is created for frantic kisses.\n\n\"Children! lure him to the wood, lure him towards me!\" shouted Tarass.\nImmediately some thirty Cossacks started for the purpose. Pulling their\ntall caps over their brows, they rode at the utmost speed of their\nhorses to cut their way to the hussars. They attacked the foremost\nin flank, confused their ranks, cut them off from those behind, and\nwounded some of them; Golokopytenko struck Andrew on the back with his\nsabre, and then, all betook themselves to flight at the utmost speed\nof their horses. How incensed was Andrew! how intensely did his young\nblood boil in all his veins! Striking his sharp spurs into the sides\nof his horse, he set off at full speed in pursuit of the Cossacks,\nwithout looking back, and without seeing that not more than twenty men\nfollowed him; the Cossacks continued to ride at full gallop, and turned\nstraight towards the wood. Andrew had already reached Golokopytenko,\nwhen a strong arm seized his bridle. Andrew turned round; Tarass stood\nbefore him! A shudder ran through all his body and he turned pale.\nLike a schoolboy, who, after having unwittingly offended his comrade,\nand received a stroke on the head with his ruler, fires up at once,\nfuriously rushes from his bench, darts after his terrified comrade,\nwishes to tear him to pieces, then suddenly encounters the master,\nentering the schoolroom; at once the frantic impulse is calmed, and the\npowerless fury vanishes. Even so, in one instant did Andrew's wrath\nvanish, as if he had never felt it. And he saw before him nothing but\nthe terrific figure of his father.\n\n\"Well, what are we to do now?\" said Tarass, looking him full in the\nface. But Andrew could find nothing to answer, and remained with his\neyes cast down upon the ground.\n\n\"Well, son, of what avail were thy Poles to thee?\"\n\nAndrew continued speechless.\n\n\"To betray--to betray thy faith? to betray thy brothers? Well, dismount\nfrom thy horse!\"\n\nObedient as a child, he dismounted, and, unconscious of what he did,\nremained standing before Tarass.\n\n\"Stand, and do not move! I gave thee life: I kill thee!\" said Tarass;\nand, falling back a step, he took his gun from his shoulder. Andrew was\ndeadly pale; his lips moved slowly, muttering some name; but it was\nnot the name of his country, nor that of his mother or brother: it was\nthe name of the beautiful Polish girl. Tarass fired. As an ear of corn\ncut down by the sickle--as a young lamb when it feels the deadly steel\nbeneath its heart, so did he droop his head, and fell on the grass\nwithout uttering a word.\n\nThe slayer of his son stood and gazed long upon the breathless corpse.\nEven in death he was still beautiful; his manly face, but a minute\nbefore full of power and fascination, irresistible for women, still\nshowed marvellous beauty; his black eyebrows seemed, like mourning\nvelvet, to heighten the pallor of his features. \"What a Cossack he\nmight have been!\" said Tarass; \"so tall his stature, so black his\neyebrows, with the countenance of a gentleman, and an arm strong in\nbattle. He perished, and perished ignominiously, like a vile dog!\"\n\n\"Father! what hast thou done? Didst thou kill him?\" cried Ostap, who\nhad ridden to the spot by this time.\n\nTarass nodded his head.\n\nOstap looked steadfastly into the eyes of the dead. He pitied the fate\nof his brother, and said, \"Well, father, let us bury him decently, that\nthe foe may not insult his corpse, and that it may not be torn to\npieces by birds of prey.\"\n\n\"Others will bury him without us,\" answered Tarass. \"There will be\nmourners and waiters enough!\"\n\nFor a few seconds he considered: was the corpse to be left a prey to\nwolves, or was it to be spared on account of Andrew's knightly valour,\nwhich the brave should ever respect, it signifies not in whom it may be\nfound? But see! there comes Golokopytenko galloping towards him. \"Woe\nto us, Ataman! the Poles grow stronger; new reinforcements have come to\nthem.\"\n\nHardly had Golokopytenko done speaking, when Yovtoozenko came riding\nup, at full speed. \"Woe to us, Ataman! new forces come unceasingly!\"\nHardly had Vovtoozenko done speaking, when Pissarenko runs up on foot.\n\"Where art thou, father? the Cossacks are seeking for thee. Already\nis the koorenno\u00ef ataman Nevelichki killed; Zadorojni is killed;\nCherevichenko killed too! but the Cossacks keep their stand, and will\nnot die before looking into thy face; they wish that thou shouldst see\nthem at the hour of death!\"\n\n\"To horse, Ostap!\" said Tarass, and hastened to join the Cossacks, to\nbehold them once more, and to give them a last sight of their ataman\nbefore death. But they had not yet extricated themselves from the wood,\nas it was surrounded by the enemy's forces on all sides; and everywhere\namong the trees were riders with sabres and spears. \"Ostap, Ostap, do\nnot yield,\" cried Tarass, and then he himself, unsheathing hit sabre,\nbegan to deal blows on all sides to those whom he first met with.\nMeanwhile, six men had already sprung upon Ostap; but they found it no\nlucky moment. The head of one flew off at once; another wheeled round\nand turned back; the spear entered the ribs of a third; the fourth,\nmore daring, threw his head on one side to avoid a bullet. The bullet\nentered his steed's breast, the infuriated animal threw itself back,\nfell on the ground, and crushed its rider beneath its weight. \"Well,\ndone, my boy; well done, Ostap!\" shouted Tarass; \"I am coming!\" and\nthen himself repelled the assailants. Tarass fights and deals heavy\nblows, first on one, then on the head of another, and all the while\nlooks forward at Ostap, and now sees that no less than eight are again\nattacking him at once. \"Ostap! Ostap! do not yield!\" But Ostap is\nalready conquered; already an enemy has thrown the arkan round Ostap's\nneck; already is Ostap bound; already is Ostap dragged away. \"Ostap,\nOstap!\" shouted Tarass, clearing his way towards him, and hewing away\nat every one who crossed his path. \"Ostap, Ostap!\" But at the same\nmoment he seemed stunned by some heavy stone; everything wheeled and\nturned round before his eyes. For a moment things glimmered confusedly\nin his sight--heads, spears, smoke, flashes of fire, boughs of trees\nwith leaves. And down he went on the ground, like an oak hewn at its\nroot, and a cloud spread over his eyes.\n\n\n\nX.\n\n\n\"How long I have slept!\" said Tarass, awakening, as if after a heavy\ndrunken sleep, and endeavouring to make out the surrounding objects.\nHe felt a fearful weakness in all his limbs. Scarcely could his eyes\nfollow the outlines of the walls and corners of an unknown room. At\nlast he recognised Tovkach, who was sitting beside him, and seemed to\nwatch his every breath.\n\n\"Yes,\" thought Tovkach to himself, \"thou hast all but had thy last\nsleep!\" He, however, said nothing, and held up his finger, to make\nTarass understand that he was to be silent.\n\n\"Tell me, where am I now?\" asked Tarass, collecting his thoughts, and\nendeavouring to bring back his recollection of the past.\n\n\"Hold thy tongue,\" said his comrade, sternly rebuking him. \"What\nwouldst thou know more? Dost thou not feel that thou art all mangled?\nFor the last fortnight we have been riding hard with thee, without ever\nstopping, and thou all the time with fever and delirium. 'Tis now the\nfirst time that thou hast had a quiet sleep. Hold thy tongue, if thou\nwilt not bring woe upon thy head.\"\n\nBut Tarass still endeavoured to gather his thoughts, and to recollect\nthe past. \"But how is it? I was quite taken and surrounded by the\nPoles. I had no possibility of cutting my way through the crowd?\"\n\n\"Hold thy tongue, I tell thee, devil's son!\" angrily cried Tovkach,\nas a nurse out of temper cries to a naughty child. \"Of what use is it\nfor thee to know _how_ thou didst escape? Thou _hast_ escaped, that's\nenough. There were men at hand who did not forsake thee; well, that is\nall thou needest know. We have still many nights to ride hard together.\nDost thou think thou art worth no more than a common Cossack? Not so;\nthey have set a price of two thousand ducats on thy head.\"\n\n\"And what of Ostap?\" suddenly cried Tarass, endeavouring to rise,\nfor he remembered all at once how Ostap had been caught and bound\nbefore his eyes, and how he must now be in the hands of the Poles. And\ngrief rushed into his old head. He tore the bandages from his wounds,\nthrew them far away, and wished to say something aloud; but his mind\nbegan to wander. Fever and delirium once more fell on him, and he\nejaculated raving sentences without any sense or connection. Meanwhile\nhis faithful comrade stood before him, grumbling and uttering without\ninterruption, scolding words, and gruff reproaches. At last he took\nhold of his feet and hands, swaddled him round like a baby, set all the\nbandages in order, packed him up in an ox-hide? bound him round with\nsheets of bark, and then, tying him with a rope to his saddle, once\nmore galloped away.\n\n\"I'll bring thee home, shouldst thou even die by the way. I will not\nlet the Poles deride thy Cossack birth, tear thy body to pieces, and\ncast them into the river. And if an eagle is to peck thine eyes out\nof thy skull, it shall, at all events, be the eagle of our steppes,\nand not the Polish eagle--no, not the one that comes from Poland!\nShouldst thou not be alive, it's the same thing. I'll bring thee over\nto Ukraine.\"\n\nThus spoke the faithful comrade, and riding day and night, without\never taking repose, he brought the still unconscious Tarass to the\nZaporoghian Ssiecha. There he untiringly treated him with simples\nand poultices; he found a knowing Jewess, who, during a whole month,\nadministered different medicines to Tarass; and at last Tarass\nimproved. Perhaps the medicines took effect, and perhaps simply his\nown iron strength saved him; but in six weeks he was on his feet again,\nhis wounds healed, and the sabre scars alone showed how deep they had\nbeen. However, he had grown evidently sullen and sorrowful. Three deep\nfurrows crossed his brow, and never again left it. He looked about\nhim, all were new in the Ssiecha; the old comrades had all died away.\nNot one remained of those who had stood up for the good cause, for\nfaith and brotherhood. Those who went with the Koschevo\u00ef to pursue the\nTartars, they, too, were long since no more--every one had perished,\nevery one had met his end; some were killed in glorious fight, some\nhad died in the Crimean salt-marshes of hunger and thirst, some had\npined to death, not being able to endure the shame of captivity; the\nKoschevo\u00ef was also long ago no more of this world, like all the old\ncomrades, and the grass was already growing over the bodies of those in\nwhose veins once boiled the Cossack's valour.\n\nIn vain were attempts made to divert and enliven Tarass; in vain\nbearded gray-haired bards came in bands of two or three at a time to\nsing the praises of his Cossack feats; his features retained a harsh\nindifferent expression, and an unquenchable sorrow was seen on them,\nas, with his head bent down he murmured in a subdued voice, \"My son! My\nOstap!\"\n\nThe Zaporoghians prepared for a sea campaign. Two hundred boats sailed\ndown the Dnieper, and Asia Minor saw their shaven and crown-tufted\nheads, while they put everything on its blooming coast to fire and\nsword; it saw the turbans of its Mahometan inhabitants, like numberless\nflowers, strewn about on its fields soaked in blood, or floating near\nits shores. It saw not a few tar-besmeared Zaporoghian trowsers, and\nsinewy arms with black naga\u00efkas.[40] The Zaporoghians devoured and\ndestroyed all the vineyards; left heaps of dirt in the Mosques; used\ncostly Persian shawls instead of belts, and girded their dirty coats\nwith them. Long afterwards, were the short Zaporoghian pipes to be\nfound in these places. The Zaporoghians started gaily on their return;\na ten-gun Turkish brig gave chase to them, and with a volley from its\nbroadside dispersed their boats like birds; one-third of the Cossacks\nwere drowned in the deep sea; but the remainder joined once more\ntogether and came into the mouth of the Dnieper, bringing with them\ntwelve barrels full of sequins.\n\nBut all this no longer diverted Tarass. He went into the fields and\ninto the steppes as if to hunt, but his gun remained unfired, and\nwith a sorrowful heart he laid it down, and sat by the sea-shore. He\nremained there long with drooping head, saying all the time, \"My Ostap!\nMy Ostap!\" Bright and wide was the Black Sea before him, the gull\nshrieked in the distant reeds, his white mustachios glistened like\nsilver, and one tear rolled after another.\n\nAt last Tarass could bear it no longer: \"Happen what will! I'll go and\nascertain what has befallen him. Is he still alive? is he in his tomb?\nor is nothing left of him even in his tomb? I'll ascertain it at all\nevents!\"\n\nAnd a week had hardly passed when he made his appearance in the town\nof Ooman, armed from head to foot, on horseback, with spear, with\nsabre, with a traveller's cask tied to his saddle, a pot of flour,\ncartridge box, horse shackles, and all other travelling implements.\nHe rode straight towards a dirty cottage whose small smutty windows\ncould hardly be distinguished, a rug was stuck into the chimney, and\nthe dilapidated roof was covered with sparrows; a heap of all sorts\nof filth lay close to the entrance door. The head of a Jewess, in a\nhead-dress with tarnished false pearls, was seen looking out of one of\nthe windows.\n\n\"Is thy husband at home?\" said Boolba, dismounting, and tying his\nhorse's bridle to an iron hook beside the door.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the Jewess, hastily coming out, with a scoop of wheat\nfor the horse and a cup of beer for the rider.\n\n\"Where is thy Jew, then?\"\n\n\"He is in the further room, praying,\" said the Jewess, bowing and\nwishing health to Boolba, as he carried the cup to his lips.\n\n\"Remain here, feed my horse, and give him some drink. I'll go and have\na talk with your husband alone, I have business with him.\"\n\nThe Jew was our acquaintance Yankel. He had become a farmer and\na brandy-shop keeper, had by degrees got into his power all the\nneighbouring lords and gentlemen, had by degrees sucked out almost all\nthe money in the district, and had left strong marks of his Jewish\npresence in the country. For three hours' journey all around, no\ncottage remained which was not falling into ruins, everything went\nwrong, every one looked older, all had become drunkards, and all had\nbecome beggars clad in rags. The whole district seemed to have suffered\nfrom a fire or a plague. And had Yankel remained there but some ten\nyears longer, the whole voevodship would certainly have undergone the\nsame fate.\n\nTarass stepped into the room; the Jew was praying, his head covered\nwith a tolerably dirty piece of linen, and he had just turned, in order\nto spit for the last time, according to the Jewish ritual, when his\neyes suddenly met the figure of Boolba, who stood behind him. The two\nthousand ducats offered for Boolba's head rushed at once into the Jew's\nremembrance, but he felt ashamed of the thought, and endeavoured to get\nthe better of this love of gold, which, like a worm, is always twining\nitself round every Jew's heart.\n\n\"Harkee, Yankel!\" said Tarass to the Jew, who began bowing to him, and\nwarily shut the door behind him, in order that nobody should see them.\n\"I saved thy life; the Zaporoghians would have torn thee to pieces like\na dog--now thy turn is come, now thou must render me a service!\"\n\nThe Jew's face expressed some uneasiness: \"What service? If it be such\na service as one may render, why not render it?\"\n\n\"_No_ talking! Take me to Warsaw!\"\n\n\"To Warsaw? How so, to Warsaw?\" said Yankel, with eyebrows and\nshoulders elevated in amazement.\n\n\"No talking! Take me to Warsaw. Come what will, I must see him once\nmore! I must say, be it but one word to him.\"\n\n\"One word to whom?\"\n\n\"To him, to Ostap, to my son!\"\n\n\"Does not my lord know, then, that\"--\n\n\"I know it, I know all. They have set a price of two thousand ducats\nupon my head. The fools, they did not even know its worth! I'll give\nfive thousand ducats to thee. Here thou hast two thousand on the spot,\"\nand Boolba produced from his leathern bag two thousand ducats. \"The\nrest when I come back.\"\n\nThe Jew took at once a piece of linen and covered the ducats with it.\n\"Fine coins, these! beautiful coins!\" said he, turning a ducat in his\nfingers and trying it with his teeth. \"Methinks the man from whom my\nlord took such fine ducats, did not live an hour more, but just leaped\ninto the water and drowned himself, after having lost these magnificent\nducats.\"\n\n\"I would not have asked thee--I might perhaps have found my way to\nWarsaw by myself; but the cursed Poles may chance to recognise and\nseize me; I have no turn for contrivances, and you, Jews, you seem to\nhave been made for them. You could cheat the devil himself; you know\nall kinds of such tricks, and this is the reason why I came to thee.\nThe more so, as I could do nothing in Warsaw by myself. Go at once, put\nthe horse to thy cart, and take me.\"\n\n\"And does my lord think there is nothing more to be done than to put\nthe horse to the cart and cry, 'Gee up,' and away? Does my lord think\nthat he can be taken just as he is, without concealing his lordship?\"\n\n\"Well, then, conceal me, conceal me as thou knowest how; put me into an\nempty cask, if thou think it best.\"\n\n\"And does my lord think that he can be concealed in an empty cask? Does\nmy lord not consider that every one will think that there is brandy in\nthe cask?\"\n\n\"Well, let them think so!\"\n\n\"How so--let them think that there is brandy?\" said the Jew, pulling\nhis curls, and then lifting his hands above his head.\n\n\"Well, what frightens thee now?\"\n\n\"And does my lord not know that brandy is made on purpose that every\none may taste it? There are all along the road men fond of dainties and\nof drink; there is not one Polish gentleman who would not run for hours\nbehind the cask, in order to make a hole in it, and if he sees that no\nbrandy flows out of it, he will directly say, c A Jew would not bring\nan empty cask; there must be something in it! Let the Jew be arrested,\nlet the Jew be bound, let the Jew give up all his money, let the Jew be\nthrown into prison!' Because everything disagreeable is done to a Jew,\nbecause every one takes a Jew for nothing better than a dog, because\nnobody holds a Jew to be even a man!\"\n\n\"Well, then, put me into a cart with fish.\"\n\n\"It is impossible, my lord, by Heaven it is; all over Poland men are\nnow as hungry as dogs; they will steal the fish and discover my lord.\"\n\n\"Well, then, put me anywhere, be it even on the devil's back--only\nbring me to Warsaw.\"\n\n\"Hear me, hear me, my lord!\" said the Jew, pulling up the cuffs of\nhis sleeves, and stepping nearer to Boolba, with his arms thrown wide\nopen: \"We will do thus: they are now everywhere building fortresses\nand castles; French engineers are come from foreign lands, and for\nthis reason many bricks and stones are carried along the highways. My\nlord may lie down at the bottom of the cart, and I will cover him with\nbricks. My lord seems strong and healthy, so he will be able to bear\nit, even if it does prove somewhat heavy. And I will make a hole in the\ncart from underneath, and will feed my lord through it.\"\n\n\"Do as thou wilt, only get me there.\"\n\nIn an hour's time a cart loaded with bricks and drawn by a pair of\nmiserable-looking horses, was seen on its way out of Ooman. On the\nback of one of the horses rode the tall Yankel, the jolting of his\nhorse causing his long side-ringlets to wave from beneath his Jewish\nskull-cap, and his lanky figure making him look like the signposts\nwhich stood by the way-side.\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\nAt the time when the events which are now described took place, there\nwere no custom officers or horse patrols on the frontiers--so that\nmen of enterprising spirit had nothing to dread, and every one could\nbring with him what he chose. Even if anybody happened to search the\ntravellers, or to inspect their luggage, he did so chiefly for his own\npleasure, particularly when some part of the luggage had attractions\nfor his eyes, and when his own arm was strong and heavy.\n\nBut the sight of bricks had attractions for none, and they passed\nwithout impediment through the great town-gate. Boolba in his narrow\nplace of concealment could hear nothing but the noise and shouts of the\ncoachmen. Yankel, bumping up and down on his diminutive dust-covered\nsteed, after many turnings, went at last into a dark narrow lane, which\nwas called the Dirty or Jewish street, because in fact it was inhabited\nby all the Jews of Warsaw. This lane was very much like a back yard\nturned inside out. The sun never seemed to come there. Wooden houses,\nquite black from age, with a number of poles sticking out of the\nwindows, made the lane look still darker. At rare intervals, red brick\nwalls might be observed here and there, but even they in many places\nhad turned quite black. Still more rarely did a portion of some high\nplastered wall glimmer in the sun with a white gleam intolerable to\nthe eyes. Everything here bore the most striking appearance--chimneys,\nrags, scales, broken tubs. Every one threw into the street whatever was\nof no use to him, and the passers-by had every opportunity of finding\nemployment for all their senses in the midst of this rubbish. The rider\non his horse could often almost reach with his hand the poles which\nstuck across the street from one house to the other, and on which hung\nJewish stockings, short trowsers, or a smoked goose. At times might\nbe seen at some decayed window the face of a pretty Jewess, her head\nadorned with discoloured false pearls; a crowd of curly-headed Jewish\nboys, dirty and ragged, screamed and rolled in the mud. A redhaired\nJew, with a face all covered with freckles, which made it resemble a\nsparrow's egg, looked out of a window, and began at once to talk with\nYankel in his unintelligible gibberish, and Yankel presently drove into\na yard. Another Jew going along the street, stopped and also entered\ninto the conversation, and when Boolba at last crawled from under the\nbricks, he saw three Jews who were talking with great vehemence.\n\nYankel addressed him, saying that everything should be done, that his\nOstap was now lying in prison, and that, though it would be difficult\nto prevail upon the sentries, yet he hoped to obtain an interview for\nhim.\n\nBoolba entered the room together with the three Jews. They began again\nto speak in their unintelligible language. Tarass looked by turns at\neach of them. He seemed to labour under some strong excitement; his\nhard indifferent features seemed to light up with some unusual flame\nof hope, of that hope which sometimes enters the heart of him who is\nreduced to the lowest degree of despair. His old heart beat high, like\nthat of a young man.\n\n\"Hear me, Jews!\" said he, and his voice had something enthusiastic in\nit, \"you can do everything, you can find anything, be it from under\nthe bottom of the sea; and even the proverb has long ago told us that\na Jew can steal his own self, if he only chooses to steal. Set me my\nOstap free! give him the opportunity of escaping from the hands of\nthese incarnate devils. Here is the man to whom I have promised twelve\nthousand ducats--twelve thousand more do I give now; I will give you\nall the costly cups, all the gold that I have hidden underground, my\nown house, my coat from my back--all do I give unto you; and I will\nmake a covenant with you for all my life long that you shall have half\nof whatever I acquire in war!\"\n\n\"Oh! impossible, my dear lord! 'tis impossible!\" said Yankel, with a\nsigh.\n\n\"No, no, it is impossible!\" said the other Jews.\n\nThe three Jews looked at each other.\n\n\"Let us, nevertheless, try it,\" said the third, timorously peering into\nthe faces of the others; \"may be Heaven will help us.\"\n\nThe three Jews again began talking in the Jewish tongue. Boolba in vain\nendeavoured to catch the meaning of their speech, he could only hear\nthe word \"Mardokha\u00ef\" often repeated, but could make out nothing more.\n\n\"Hear me, my lord!\" said Yankel; \"we must have the advice of a man the\nlike of whom has never yet been in the world. Oh! oh! he is as wise\nas Solomon; and if he can do nothing, nobody on earth can. Stay here!\nthere's the key, and let none enter.\"\n\nThe Jews went out into the street.\n\nTarass shut the door, and looked through the window into the dirty\nJewish lane. The three Jews stopped in the very middle of the street,\nand began talking with great vehemence. They were soon joined by a\nfourth, then by a fifth. Tarass heard them again repeat \"Mardokha\u00ef!\nMardokha\u00ef!\" The Jews every moment looked towards one end of the\nstreet; at last there was seen emerging from a decayed house a foot\nin a Jewish slipper; then came fluttering the skirts of a coat. \"Ah,\nMardokha\u00ef, Mardokha\u00ef!\" A thin Jew, a little shorter than Yankel, but\nwith many more wrinkles on his face, with an enormous upper lip, came\nnear the impatient group; and every one of the Jews hastened to give\nhim information. During the narrative, Mardokha\u00ef looked repeatedly up\ntowards the small window, and Tarass guessed that they were speaking\nabout him. Mardokha\u00ef waved his hands in the most violent manner,\nlistened to what others said, stopped them in their speech, frequently\nspat aside, and lifting up the skirts of his long coat, thrust his hand\ninto his pocket, and produced from it some rubbish, in doing which he\nexposed to view his disgustingly dirty trowsers. At last, all the Jews\ngot to screaming so loudly that the Jew who stood on the watch had to\ngive them repeated signals to be quieter, and Tarass began to fear for\nhis safety; but he was soon tranquillised by the thought that Jews can\nnowhere hold their discourse but in the open street, and that the Devil\nhimself could not understand their gibberish.\n\nAbout two minutes later all the Jews came up together into his room.\nMardokha\u00ef approached Tarass, gently slapped him on the shoulder, and\nsaid, \"If we are willing to do a thing, well then, that thing shall be\ndone as we wish it to be done.\"\n\nTarass looked at the Solomon, the like of whom had never yet been in\nthe world, and felt some hope. In fact, the appearance of the Jew\nwas calculated to inspire confidence. His upper lip was of frightful\ndimensions, there could be no doubt that its thickness had been\nincreased by particular reasons. The Solomon's beard boasted no more\nthan some fifteen hairs, and those were on the left side only. The\nSolomon's features bore such numerous traces of blows received for his\ntricks, that he certainly had long ceased counting them, and had grown\naccustomed to take them for moles.\n\nMardokha\u00ef left the room with his comrades, who were full of\nastonishment at his wisdom. Boolba remained alone, he felt a strange\nsensation, till then unknown to him; for the first time in his life\nhe experienced anxiety. His heart beat feverishly--he was no more the\nBoolba of old, undaunted, steady, and strong as an oak; he had grown\npusillanimous, he had grown weak. He shuddered at every noise, at the\nsight of every new Jewish figure, making its appearance at the end\nof the street. Thus did he feel all the day long, he neither ate nor\ndrank, and not for one minute did he remove his eyes from the small\nwindow which looked into the street. At last at a late hour in the\nevening, came Mardokha\u00ef and Yankel. Tarass felt his heart sink within\nhim.\n\n\"What now? did you succeed?\" asked he, with the impatience of a wild\nhorse.\n\nBut even before the Jews had collected their senses to give him\nan answer, Tarass noticed that Mardokha\u00ef had no longer his last\ntemple-lock, which, though dirty, had yet before curled in ringlets\nfrom beneath his cap. It was to be seen that he had something to\ncommunicate, but he talked so incoherently that Tarass could not\nunderstand a word. Yankel, too, was every moment pressing his hand to\nhis mouth, as if suffering from a bad cold.\n\n\"Oh? my dear lord,\" said Yankel, \"now it is impossible; by Heavens,\nimpossible! The people there are so very bad, that one ought to spit\nupon their very heads. Here, I take Mardokha\u00ef to witness: Mardokha\u00ef did\nwhat no man has yet done in this world; but Heaven forbids it to be as\nwe wish. There are three thousand soldiers Under arms, and to-morrow\nthe execution is to take place.\"\n\nTarass gazed steadfastly into the faces of the Jews; but no anger, no\nimpatience was any--longer in his look.\n\n\"If my lord still wishes to see his son, the interview must take place\nto-morrow, early in the morning, before sunrise; the sentries have\ngiven their assent, and one of the officers has agreed to it. But may\nthey know no happiness in the next world! Woe is me! what grasping\npeople they are! there are none such, even among us! To every one of\nthe sentries have I given fifty ducats, and to the officer\"--\n\n\"Be it so; take me to him;\" said Tarass, resolutely, and all his\nfirmness at once returned to his heart. He assented to Yankel's\nproposal of assuming the dress of a German count; the dress being\nalready brought by the far-seeing Jew.\n\nIt was now night. The master of the house--the above-mentioned\nred-haired freckly-faced Jew--produced a thin mattress, covered with\na mat, and stretched it for Boolba on a bench. Yankel lay on the\nfloor on a similar mattress. The redhaired Jew drank a small cup of\nsome infusion, took off his coat, and, after having presented in his\nstockings and slippers an appearance something like that of a chicken,\nwent with his Jewess into a kind of closet. Two Jewish boys lay down\non the floor near the closet, as if they had been puppies. But Tarass\nslept not; he remained motionless, drumming on the table with his\nfingers. He had his pipe in his mouth, and puffed away the smoke,\nwhich made the Jew sneeze in his slumbers, and bury his nose under his\ncoverlet. Scarcely was the sky tinted by the first pale gleam of the\nmorning dawn, when Tarass pushed Yankel with his foot.\n\n\"Up, Jew! give me thy count's dress!\"\n\nHe was dressed in no time; he blackened his mustachios and eyebrows,\nput a small dark-coloured cap on his head--and none of his most\nintimate Cossacks could have recognised him. To look at him, he seemed\nto be not more than thirty-five years old. The flush of health was\non his cheeks, and even the scars on his face gave an expression of\nauthority to his features. The dress, adorned with gold, became him\ngreatly.\n\nThe city still slept. No trading chapman, basket in hand, had yet made\nhis appearance in the town. Boolba and Yankel came to a building which\nbore great resemblance to a sitting heron. It was low, wide, bulky,\nblack; and on one side rose, like a stork's neck, a long narrow turret,\nbeyond the top of which the roof projected. This building served many\nand various purposes. Here were the barracks, the prison, and even the\ncriminal courts. Our travellers entered the gate, and found themselves\nin a large hall, or, rather, in a covered yard. There were nearly a\nthousand men sleeping here together. Straight on, was a low door,\nbefore which were sitting two sentries, who were playing at a game\nwhich consisted in one of them slapping the other with two fingers on\nthe palm of the hand. The sentries paid no attention to the new-comers,\nand only turned their heads when Yankel said to them, \"It's we, your\nworships! you hear, it's we!\"\n\n\"Go!\" said one of the sentries, opening the door with one hand, while\nhe presented the other to receive the strokes of his comrade.\n\nThey stepped into a dark narrow passage, which brought them to another\nhall like the first, receiving its light from a small window in the\nroof. \"Who goes there?\" cried several voices at once; and Tarass beheld\na great number of soldiers, armed cap-a-pie. \"We cannot let any one\npass.\"\n\n\"It's we!\" cried Yank el; \"by Heavens, your worships, it's we!\" But\nnobody would listen to him. Fortunately, at this moment, a fat man\napproached, who, by his appearance, seemed to be the chief, for he used\nthe most abusive language to the others.\n\n\"My lord, it's we; you already know all about us; and his lordship, the\ncount, will thank you still more.\"\n\n\"Let them go; and a hundred devils to the fiend's mother! Let no one\nelse pass, do not take off your swords, and do not, any of you, dare to\nroll on the floor like dogs.\"\n\nThe continuation of the eloquent order was lost to our travellers.\n\"It's we; it's I; we are yours!\" said Yankel to every one whom he met.\n\n\"May we go in?\" he asked, of one of the sentries, as they came at last\nto the end of the passage.\n\n\"Yes, you may; but I do not know if you are allowed to pass into the\ngaol. Jan is no longer on duty, there is another one there now,\"\nanswered the sentry.\n\n\"Ah! ah!\" muttered the Jew; \"this looks bad, my dear lord!\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Tarass, in a stubborn voice. The Jew obeyed.\n\nAt the door of a dungeon stood a heyduke,[41] with mustachios,\nseparated into three different stories: the upper story went backwards,\nthe middle one straight forwards, and the last downwards, which gave\nthe heyduke very nearly the appearance of a cat.\n\nThe Jew bent his back as much as he could, and came near him, stealing\nalong sideways. \"Your lordship! my gracious lord!\"\n\n\"Dost thou speak to me, Jew?\"\n\n\"To you, gracious lord!\"\n\n\"Ahem!--and I am nothing but a heyduke,\" said the thrice-mustachioed\nface, with eyes glittering with delight.\n\n\"By Heavens! I took you for the Voevoda himself! really now, I did.\"\nAnd the Jew began to shake his head and to stretch out his fingers.\n\"Ah! what an air of importance! By Heavens! the air of a colonel, quite\na colonel! A hair's breadth more, and it would be a colonel's. Your\nworship ought only to mount a horse as swift as a fly, and command\nregiments!\"\n\nThe heyduke curled the nether story of his mustachios, and his eye\nassumed quite an expression of gaiety.\n\n\"What a set of men you military men are,\" continued the Jew. \"Oh dear\nme! what a good set of men. And the braidings and the facings--all\nthese make them glitter like the sun! The girls, as soon as they behold\na military man--ah! ah!\" And the Jew again shook his head.\n\nThe heyduke curled his upper mustachios, and gave vent to a sound\nsomething like the neighing of a horse.\n\n\"Will my lord grant me a favour?\" said the Jew. \"Here is a prince, come\nfrom foreign lands, who wishes to look at the Cossacks. He has never\nyet, as long as he has lived, seen what kind of men these Cossacks are.\"\n\nThe arrival of foreign counts and barons was no uncommon thing in\nPoland. They were frequently attracted, merely by curiosity, to see\nthis almost half-Asiatic corner of Europe--Muscovy and Ukraine being\nthen reputed to form part of Asia. So the heyduke, after making a\nrespectful bow, thought fit to add some words of his own accord.\n\n\"I do not know, your grace, what you want to look at them for,\" said\nhe; \"they are not men, but dogs. Their creed, even, is such a one that\nnobody respects it.\"\n\n\"Thou liest! devil's son!\" exclaimed Boolba. \"Thou art a dog thyself'!\nHow darest thou say that no one respects our creed? It is your\nheretical creed that nobody respects!\"\n\n\"Eh! my friend!\" said the heyduke: \"I see what thou art; thou art\nthyself one of those that I have under my charge. Wait a bit; I'll just\ncall my comrades.\"\n\nTarass now saw his imprudence; but, stubborn and angry as he felt,\nhe did not think about the manner of correcting it. Happily, Yank el\ninterposed at this juncture.\n\n\"Most gracious lord! how is it possible that a count can be a Cossack?\nand were he a Cossack, how could he have procured such a dress, and\nhave such a count's appearance?\"\n\n\"Have done with thy tales!\" And already had the heyduke opened his\nwide mouth in order to give the alarm.\n\n\"Your kingly majesty, be silent! in God's name be silent!\" cried\nYankel. \"Be silent, and we will pay you as you have never yet thought\nof being paid: we will give you two golden ducats!\"\n\n\"Hem! two ducats! Two ducats are nothing to me. I give as much as that\nto my barber for shaving only half my beard. A hundred ducats must thou\ngive me, Jew!\" and the heyduke curled his upper mustachios. \"And if\nthou givest them not, I will call at once.\"\n\n\"So much as that, indeed?\" said the trembling Jew, sorrowfully, untying\nhis leathern purse. He was fortunate in not having more in his purse,\nand in the heyduke not being able to count beyond a hundred.\n\n\"Come, my lord, let us be gone quickly. You see what a bad set of men\nthey are here,\" said Yankel, seeing the heyduke was turning the money\nover in his hand, as if regretting he had not asked more.\n\n\"How now? devil's heyduke!\" said Boolba. \"Thou hast taken the money,\nand dost not think to let us in? Thou _must_ do it now; if thou hast\nonce received the money, thou canst no longer give us a refusal.\"\n\n\"Begone, begone to the devil! or I will at once make thee known, and\nthen, beware! Away with you, I tell you!\"\n\n\"Come, my lord, in Heaven's name come. Woe to them! May they have such\ndreams as shall make them spit!\" urged poor Yankel.\n\nSlowly, with drooping head, did Boolba turn back and retrace his steps,\nwith Yankel worrying him with reproaches at the sorrowful recollection\nof the uselessly spent ducats.\n\n\"What need had you to answer them? Why not let the dog bark? They are\npeople who cannot remain without scolding! Oh, woe is me! how lucky\nsome men are! A hundred ducats, merely for driving us away! And look\nat us, we may have our temple-locks torn off, we may have our faces so\ndisfigured that none will look at us, and nobody will give us a hundred\nducats! Heavens! merciful Heavens!\"\n\nBut the miscarriage of his design had a much greater influence on\nBoolba: a devouring flame streamed from his eyes.\n\n\"Come,\" said he, suddenly, as if recollecting himself, \"let us go to\nthe execution; I will see how they torture him.\"\n\n\"What is the use of going, my lord? we cannot help him.\"\n\n\"Let us go,\" said Boolba, stubbornly, and the Jew, like a nurse,\nreluctantly followed him.\n\nThe square, on which the execution was to take place could easily be\nfound; crowds were flocking there from all parts. At that rude epoch\nan execution was one of the most attractive sights, not only for the\nrabble, but also for the highest classes of society. Many of the most\npious old women, many of the most timid young girls and ladies, would\nnever let an execution take place without indulging their curiosity,\nalthough they might afterwards, all night long, dream of nothing but\nbloody corpses, and shriek in their slumbers as loudly as a tipsy\nhussar. \"Ah! what torments!\" cried many in hysterics, hiding their\neyes and turning away, but, nevertheless, remaining a long time. Some\nwith mouth wide open and outstretched arms, would have jumped on the\nheads of the rest in order to have a better view. Amongst the crowd\nof small narrow ordinary heads, might be noticed the fat features\nof a butcher, who looked at all the proceedings with the air of a\n_dilettante_, and conversed in monosyllables with an armourer whom he\ncalled his kinsman, because he used to get tipsy with him on feast\ndays at the same brandy-shop. Some vehemently debated the matter, some\neven betted, but the greater part was composed of those who stare at\nthe world and at everything that happens in the world, picking their\nnoses with their fingers. In the foreground, next to the mustachioed\nsoldiers who formed the town guard, stood a young gentleman--or one\nwho gave himself the airs of a gentleman--in a military dress; he had\nput on everything which he possessed, so as to leave at his lodgings\nnothing but a ragged shirt and a pair of worn-out boots. Two chains,\none above the other, hung round his neck, supporting a locket. He stood\nnext to his sweetheart, Youzyssa, and every moment turned round to see\nthat nobody soiled her silk dress. He had explained to her absolutely\neverything, so that there was decidedly nothing more left to explain.\n\"There, my soul, Youzyssa,\" he said, \"the people that you see here are\ncome to look at the execution of the criminals. And there, my soul, the\nman whom you see holding a hatchet and other implements in his hand,\nis the executioner, and he will perform the execution. And as long as\nhe shall break the criminal upon the wheel and otherwise torture him,\nthe criminal will still be alive; but as soon as he shall behead him,\nthe criminal will be alive no longer. At first, my soul, he will cry\nout and move, but as soon as he shall be beheaded, he will no longer be\nable either to cry, or to eat, or to drink, because, my soul, he will\nno longer have his head, my soul.\" And Youzyssa listened to all, with\nawe and curiosity. The roofs of the houses were crowded with people.\nStrange faces with mustachios, and with something like bonnets on\ntheir heads, looked out from dormer windows. On the balconies, under\nshades, were sitting the aristocracy. The pretty hand of some laughing\ndashing lady was leaning on the balustrade. Stout lords were looking\nvery important. A lackey, richly attired, with sleeves thrown over his\nback, was carrying about refreshments. Often did some black-eyed lively\ndamsel take in her white hand some dainties and fruits, and throw them\namong the people beneath. A crowd of hungry gentlemen lifted their\ncaps to catch them, and some tall officer, with his head rising above\nhis neighbours', in a faded red coat and worn-out trimming, succeeded,\nthanks to his long arms, in catching the booty, kissed it, pressed it\nto his heart, and put it into his mouth. A falcon in a gilded cage,\nhanging under the balcony, was also one of the spectators; with head\nbent on one side and one leg raised, he, too, was engaged in looking\nat the people. On a sudden a rumour ran through the crowd, and on all\nsides voices were heard, \"They are coming, the Cossacks are coming!\"\n\nTheir heads, with long crown-locks, were bare, their beards were\nunshaven. They walked neither timorously nor sorrowfully, but with an\nair of haughty calmness; their dresses, made of fine cloth, were worn\nout and falling to rags; they did not look round, and did not bow to\nthe people. In front of all came Ostap. What were the feelings of old\nTarass as he saw his Ostap? What was passing in his heart? He looked at\nhim from among the crowd, and watched his every movement. The Cossacks\ncame near the scaffold. Ostap stopped. He was to be the first to drink\nthe bitter cup. He looked at his comrades, raised his arm, and said,\nin a loud voice, \"God grant that none of the heretics here present may\nhear, miscreants as they are, the sufferings of Christians! May none of\nus utter a single word!\" and he mounted the scaffold.\n\n\"Well done, my son, well done!\" slowly muttered Boolba, and cast down\nhis gray head.\n\nThe executioner tore away from Ostap the old rags that covered him;\nhe tied his hands and feet to stocks made on purpose--but why should\nthe reader be distressed by a description, which would make his hair\nstand on end, of the hellish tortures? They were the creation of those\nhard cruel times when man knew no other life but the bloody life of\nwarlike feats, which hardened his heart and drove from it every human\nfeeling. In vain some men, the few exceptions of that epoch, opposed\nthose dreadful measures. In vain did the king and several knights,\nenlightened both in mind and heart, remonstrate that this cruelty in\npunishment would but aggravate the revengefulness of the Cossacks. The\nroyal power and the authority of wise counsels were not proof against\nthe anarchy and the audacious self-will of the state magnates who,\nwith their recklessness, their inconceivable want of foresight, their\nchildish vanity, and their absurd ostentation, made the Sseim[42] a\nmere satire on self-government.\n\nOstap bore the torments and the tortures like a giant. Not a cry, not\na groan was heard; even when they began to break the bones in his\nhands and feet, when their dreadful crunching was heard amidst the\ndead silence of the crowd by the remotest spectators, when the ladies\naverted their eyes, even then nothing like a moan escaped his lips; no\nfeature of his face moved. Tarass stood in the crowd, with bowed head,\nand from time to time, proudly raising his eyes, said approvingly,\n\"Well done, son, well done!\"\n\nBut when Ostap was brought to the last torments of death, his strength\nseemed to give way. He looked round. Gracious God! All unknown! all\nstrangers' faces! Had there been but one of his kin present! He wished\nnot to listen to the wailings and the sorrow of a weak mother, or to\nthe insane sobs of a wife, tearing her hair and beating her bosom; he\nwished to have looked now at a firm man, whose wise word might have\nbrought him fresh strength and solace before death. And his strength\nfailed him, and he cried in the agony of his heart, \"Father, where art\nthou? couldst thou but hear me!\"\n\n\"I hear!\" resounded through the general stillness, and all the\nthousands of people shuddered at the voice. A party of cavalry-soldiers\nrushed to make search among the crowds of people. Yankel turned pale\nas death, and when the riders had ridden past him, he looked back in\namazement to see Tarass, but Tarass was no longer near him, no trace of\nhim was left!\n\n\nXII.\n\n\nTraces of Tarass were soon found. A hundred and twenty thousand\nCossacks made their appearance on the frontiers of Ukraine. It was\nno longer a small marauding party come in search of booty, or a\ndetachment in pursuit of Tartars. Not so: it was the whole of the\nnation which had risen at once, because its patience was at an end.\nIt had risen to avenge the derision of its rights, the shameful\nhumiliation of its customs, the insults inflicted upon the creed of\nits fathers, and upon the holy rites, the disgrace of its church, the\nlicentiousness of foreign lords, the Union,[43] the shameful dominion\nof Jews in a Christian country, and all that had so long consolidated\nand ripened the stern hatred of the Cossacks. The young but spirited\nhetman, Astranitza, was the leader of the whole Cossack army. He\nwas accompanied by his old and experienced comrade and councillor\nPloonia. Eight colonels led regiments, each twelve thousand strong. Two\ngeneral _essaools_ and the general _boonchook_[44] bearer followed the\nhetman. The general banner bearer escorted the great banner; many more\nbanners and standards floated in the distance behind; the lieutenants\nof the boonchook bearer escorted the boonchooks. There were many\nother officials, leaders of waggons, lieutenants of regiments, and\nsecretaries, and with them infantry and cavalry regiments; moreover,\nthe number of volunteers was nearly as great as that of the registered\nCossacks. From every side had the Cossacks risen, from all the towns of\nLittle Russia, from the western as well as from the eastern part of the\nDnieper, and from all its islands. Horses and waggons without number\ncrossed the plains. And among all these Cossacks, among all these\neight regiments, one regiment was the choicest--this regiment was led\nby Tarass Boolba. Everything gave him precedence over the others--his\nold age, his experience, his skill in leading his troops, and his\ninveterate hatred of the foe. Even the Cossacks thought his unsparing\ncruelty and ferocity too excessive. His gray head adjudged nothing but\nfire and gallows, and nothing but destruction did he advise in the\ncouncils of war.\n\nIt would he useless to relate all the battles where the Cossacks gained\ndistinction, or the gradual progress of the war; all this has found its\nplace in the pages of our annals. It is well known what, in Russia, a\nwar begun for the Faith signifies. No power is stronger than that of\nthe Faith. Unconquerable and terrible, it is like the rock in the midst\nof a stormy ever-changing sea. Formed of one single massive stone, it\nraises to the sky its indestructible walls from the very centre of\nthe bottom of the sea. From every point it may be seen looking full\non the passing waves. And woe to the ship that is cast upon it! Its\nfragile masts will fly to splinters, all those upon it are crushed\nand precipitated into the depths of the ocean, and far away the air\nresounds with the shrieks of its drowning sailors!\n\nThe annals minutely record how the Polish garrisons fled from the\ntowns liberated by the Cossacks; how the rapacious Jew farmers were\nhanged; how weak the opposition was of the Polish hetman, Nicholas\nPotozki, with his numerous army against the unconquerable forces of\nthe Cossacks; how, after being defeated and pursued, he let the best\npart of his army perish in a small stream; how he was surrounded by the\ndreaded Cossack regiments in the small borough of Polonnoie; and how,\nbrought to extremity, he took his oath to the complete redress of all\ngrievances, and the surrender of all former rights and privileges, in\nthe name of the king and of the ministers of state. But the Cossacks\nwere not men to be deceived, they knew what the oath of a Pole is\nworth; and never again would Potozki have ridden on his costly steed,\nattracting the looks of illustrious ladies, and making himself the envy\nof the nobility--never again would he have set the Sseim in an uproar,\nand have given rich feasts to the senators--had not the Russian clergy\nof the borough interposed on his behalf. As the priests came forward\nin the brilliant cassocks of cloth of gold, bearing crosses and holy\nimages, and as the bishop himself appeared in front of them in his\npontifical mitre, holding a crucifix in his hand, all the Cossacks\nbowed their heads and took off their caps. Nobody, no, not even the\nking would they have spared at that moment, but they dared not oppose\nthe dignitaries of the Christian church, so they obeyed the summons of\nthe clergy. The hetman and the colonels consented to let Potozki go\nfree, having made him promise upon oath that freedom should be granted\nto all the Christian churches, that the old enmity should be brought to\nan end, and that no offence should be offered to the Cossack army. One\ncolonel alone did not give his assent to such a peace as this. Tarass\nwas that one. He tore a lock of hair from his head and cried aloud:--\n\n\"Eh! hetman and colonels! Do not do such a woman's act! Do not give\ncredence to the Poles. The cursed dogs will betray you!\"\n\nBut when the army secretary presented the act of treaty, and the\nhetman put his sign-manual to it, Tarass took off his rich Turkish\nsabre, a fine blade of highly-tempered steel, broke it in two pieces\nlike a reed, and throwing far away both fragments, one on each side,\nexclaimed, \"Fare ye well, then! As these two fragments shall never\nmeet and form one single blade any more, so shall we, comrades, never\nmeet again in this world! Remember ye my parting words!\" and his voice\ngrew stronger, rose higher, assumed an unknown power, and all felt\nperplexed at the prophetic words. \"You will remember me at the hour of\nyour death! You think to have purchased quietness and peace; you think\nyou may now play the lords. There is another lordship in store for you;\nhetman, thou shalt have the skin torn from thy head, thou shalt have\nit stuffed with groats, and long shall it be made a show in fairs! And\nyou, gentlemen, neither will you keep your heads on your shoulders. In\ndamp dungeons, behind stone walls will you perish, if you are not, like\nsheep, boiled alive in cauldrons.[45] And you, children,\" continued\nhe, turning round to his Cossacks, \"Which of you wishes to die a\nnatural death--not on stoves and on women's beds, not lying drunk under\na hedge near the brandy-shop like carrion, but to die the honourable\ndeath of Cossacks, all of us on one bed, like bride and bridegroom? Or,\nmay be you wish to return home to turn heretics and carry about Polish\nparsons on your backs?\"\n\n\"We follow thee, our lord and colonel, we follow thee!\" cried all who\nwere in Tarass's regiment, and many more went over to them.\n\n\"If so, then be it so,\" said Tarass, and he pulled his cap over his\nbrow, menacingly looked at those he left behind, settled himself in\nhis saddle, and cried to his followers: \"Let nobody offend us with\ninsulting words. And now, children, let us go and pay our visit to\nthe Papists!\" and he slashed his horse. A train of a hundred waggons\nfollowed him, and numerous were the Cossacks, both on horseback and\non foot, who went after him. Turning back his head, he looked with\nthreatening and with anger at those who remained behind. None dared to\nstop him. In sight of the whole army, his regiment marched away, and\nmany times did Tarass turn back and menace with his looks.\n\nThe hetman and the colonels stood perplexed; all were thoughtful, and\nlong did they remain silent, oppressed by some gloomy foreboding.\nThe words of Tarass did not pass away: everything happened as he had\nforetold. In a short time the hetman and the chief dignitaries fell\nvictims to the treachery of the Poles, and their heads were stuck on\npikes.\n\nAnd what did Tarass in the mean time? Tarass crossed all Poland in\nevery direction with his regiment, gave to the flames eighteen\nboroughs, nearly forty Popish churches, and had even come near Kracow.\nMany were the nobles whom he put to the sword; the richest and finest\ncastles were plundered by him; his Cossacks found out and poured on the\nground wines and meads which had been for centuries preserved in the\ncellars of the Polish lords; they chopped to pieces and burnt the rich\nstuffs, dresses, and furniture which they found in the storehouses.\n\"No mercy!\" repeated Tarass. And no mercy did the Cossacks show to the\ndark-eyebrowed ladies, to the white-bosomed pretty-faced girls, even\nat the altar could they find no safety; Tarass burned them with the\naltars. Many snow-white hands were seen raised to the sky from out of\nthe midst of the flames, and many were the shrieks which would have\nmade the ground tremble and the very grass bend down to the earth in\ncompassion. But nothing softened the cruelty of the Cossacks, and,\nlifting on their spears the infants whom they found in the streets,\nthey cast them also into the flames. \"This is my revenge for Ostap,\ncursed Poles!\" said Tarass, and he took his revenge in every borough:\nso that the Polish government saw at length that the exploits of Tarass\nwere not merely the acts of a robber, and the same Potozki with five\nregiments was intrusted with the task of taking him.\n\nFor six days did the Cossacks escape by bye-ways from the pursuit.\nTheir horses could hardly bear the rapidity of their flight and save\nthem from their pursuers, but Potozki this time proved worthy of his\ncharge; unweariedly did he pursue them, and he overtook them at last\non the banks of the Dniester, where Boolba had paused for rest in\nan abandoned ruined fortress. The dismantled walls of this fortress\nand its crumbling keep, stood on a steep cliff above the Dniester.\nIts platform, paved with stones and fragments of bricks, seemed to be\nready at any moment to tumble down and roll into the river. Here it\nwas that the hetman Potozki, encamping on the two sides which were\nadjacent to fields, surrounded the Cossacks. For four days did the\nCossacks keep their stand, fighting and rolling down stones and bricks\non the assailants. At last, their strength and their provisions were\nexhausted, and Tarass resolved to cut his way through the ranks of the\nenemy. Already had the Cossacks traversed the ranks, and they might\nperhaps once more have owed their escape to the swiftness of their\nhorses, when on a sudden, in the very heat of their flight, Tarass\nstopped and cried out, \"Stay, I have dropped my pipe, not even my pipe\nshall the cursed Poles have!\" and the old Ataman stooped and began to\nseek in the grass for his pipe, his never-failing companion over sea\nand land, in his campaigns and in his home. Meanwhile a whole crowd\nrushed at once upon him and took him by his shoulders. He endeavoured\nto shake all his limbs, but no longer as of old did the heydukes fall\ndown around him. \"Eh, old age, old age!\" said he, and the stout old\nCossack began to weep. But his age was not the cause of it, strength\nhad got the better of strength. Nearly thirty soldiers hung about\nhis arms and legs. \"The crow is caught,\" shrieked the Poles, \"let us\nfind out the best mode of paying homage to the dog!\" And with the\nhetman's assent they decided on burning him alive, in sight of all.\nThere stood near at hand a dry tree, whose top had been struck by\nlightning. Tarass was bound with iron chains to the trunk of this tree,\nhis hands were nailed to it, and he was raised on high, in order that\nfrom everywhere around the Cossack might be seen. Beneath they made a\npile of faggots. But Tarass paid no attention to the pile, he did not\nthink about the fire that was to burn him, he looked, poor old fellow,\nto where the Cossacks were seen fighting; from the height to which he\nhad been lifted he could distinctly see everything. \"Lads,\" cried he,\n\"quick, reach the hill behind the wood, they will not overtake you\nthere!\" But the wind blew his words away. \"They will perish, perish for\nnothing!\" exclaimed he, in despair; and he gazed down on the Dniester,\nglittering below. Delight flashed in his eyes. He saw the prows of four\nboats, projecting out of the bushes, and gathering all the strength of\nhis lungs, he shouted at the top of his voice, \"To the shore, lads, to\nthe shore! take the cliff path on your left. Near the shore are boats,\ntake them all to prevent pursuit.\" The wind this time blew from another\nquarter, and every word was heard by the Cossacks. But this advice cost\nBoolba a stroke on his head, which made everything swim before his eyes.\n\nThe Cossacks galloped at the utmost speed of their horses to the cliff\npath, the pursuers were close at hand; and behold, there lies the\ncliff path curling round in zig-zags. \"Well, comrades, let us take our\nchance,\" said they; then they stopped for a moment, lifted their whips,\ngave a whistle, and their Tartar horses, springing from the ground,\nstretched themselves like snakes in the air, flew over the abyss, and\nleaped straight into the Dniester. Only two riders missed the river,\nfell on the rocks and remained there for ever with their steeds, not\nhaving had even time to utter a shriek. And the Cossacks were already\nswimming with their horses and loosening the boats. The Poles stopped\nbefore the precipice, astounded at the unheard-of Cossack feat, and\narguing whether they would jump or not? One young colonel, with hot\nboiling blood in his veins, the brother of the Polish beauty who had\nbewitched poor Andrew, did not remain long thinking, he leaped at once\nafter the Cossacks. Thrice did he wheel round and round in the air\nwith his horse, and fell upon the rocks. Tom to pieces by their sharp\npoints, he disappeared in the abyss, and his brains, mingled with\nblood, splashed the bushes which grew on the uneven sides of the chasm.\n\nWhen Tarass Boolba recovered from the blow, and looked on the Dniester,\nthe Cossacks were already in the boats and rowing; bullets after\nbullets flew from above, but did not reach them. And the eyes of the\nold Ataman gleamed with joy.\n\n\"Fare ye well, comrades!\" cried he to them; \"Remember me and fail not\nto return here next spring and enjoy yourselves. How now, devil's\nPoles? do you think there is anything in the world than can affright a\nCossack? Wait a bit; the time is coming when you shall know what the\nRussian faith is! Already do nations far and near forebode it. There\nshall arise a Czar in Russia, and there shall be no power on earth that\nshall not yield to his power\"--\n\nMeanwhile the flames rose from the pile and scorched his feet, and\nspread over the tree--but here in the world such flames, such\ntorments, power as can overcome the strength of a Russian?\n\nNo small river is the Dniester, many are its inlets, its thick grown\nreeds, its shallows, and its gulfs. Its mirror-like surface glitters,\nre-echoing the ringing screams of the swans which proudly swim on its\nstream. Many are the divers coloured birds that dwell in its reeds and\non its banks.\n\nThe Cossacks sailed fast in their two-ruddered boats, the oars splashed\nwith measured stroke; they warily avoided the shoals, scaring the\nbirds, and talked of their Ataman.\n\n\n\n[Footnote 1: The meads of Little Russia, Lithuania, and Poland are\nrenowned for their flavour, which, like that of some wines, increases\nwith being kept. They are very strong and act especially on the\nlegs, so that sometimes a glass of mead is sufficient to deprive the\nmost experienced drinker of the use of his legs, although his head\nmay remain perfectly clear. Some ascribe the fact of so many Poles\nsuffering from gout to nothing more than the immoderate use of mead.]\n\n[Footnote 2: A sort of guitar peculiar to Little Russia.]\n\n[Footnote 3: _Union_, in the Russian acceptation of the term, means\nthe mixed religion, uniting the rites of the Greek Church with the\ndogmas of Popery, which was enforced by Poland upon Little Russia\nand Lithuania, and which gave the Poles occasion to commit the most\nabominable cruelties on the adherents of the Greek Church, and roused\nthe vengeance of the latter. A correct and most strictly true picture\nof those struggles is to be found in this tale.]\n\n[Footnote 4: A rank in Russian irregular troops corresponding to that\nof captain or commander of a company.]\n\n[Footnote 5: The above-mentioned college was placed under the orders of\nan abbot, and the professors and tutors in it were monks.]\n\n[Footnote 6: Formerly Saturday was a dreaded day in Russian schools.\nEvery pupil received on the evening of that day a severe flogging--the\nbad pupils as a punishment for their past misdeeds and laziness,\nthe good ones as a foretaste of what awaited them in case of their\naltering their conduct. Some strange notion existed of accustoming the\npupils to endure bodily pain, and of giving a periodical impulse to\nthe circulation of their blood, and this had some connection with the\nbarbarous system.]\n\n[Footnote 7: A _cossackin_ means a Cossack's dress, which is a coat\nfastened by hooks down the middle of the breast, and fitting closely to\nthe figure. It is furnished with skirts which never descend lower than\nthe knee.]\n\n[Footnote 8: This is a Russian custom still observed. Before a\ndeparture every one present sits down for a minute or two in silence;\nthen all rise at once, making the sign of the cross, and invoking the\nprotection of Heaven on the intended travellers.]\n\n[Footnote 9: _Voevoda_, governor of a city or province.]\n\n[Footnote 10: The pupils intrusted to the care of the _consuls_ (or\nelder pupils).]\n\n[Footnote 11: A species of guitar.]\n\n[Footnote 12:: A verst is about two-thirds of an English mile.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Dwellings.]\n\n[Footnote 14: _Rada_, general assembly of the Cossacks, in which every\none had a voice, and which was summoned on important occasions, such\nas declaration of war, conclusion of peace, or the election of the\n_koschevo\u00ef ataman_, supreme head of the Zaporoghian commonwealth.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Supreme chief of the Zaporoghian Ssiecha.]\n\n[Footnote 16: The elective chief of the kooren, subordinate to the\nKoschevo\u00ef Ataman.]\n\n[Footnote 17: General assembly or council.]\n\n[Footnote 18: Different sorts of guitars, common in Little Russia.]\n\n[Footnote 19: The Russians adorn their church images with metallic\n(_i.e_., copper, silver, and golden) covers, which reproduce, in\nbasso-relievo, the painting which is placed under them, and of which\nnothing but the flesh parts of the painted saint (_i.e_. the face, the\narms, hands, and sometimes the feet) are left visible. Some of the\nmetallic cloths, as they are called, are very heavy and costly; upon\nsome of them may be seen precious stones of great value.]\n\n[Footnote 20: That is, in the western part of Little Russia, subjected\nto Poland and governed by an elective prince _(hetman_), confirmed in\nhis office by the King of Poland.]\n\n[Footnote 21: These statements, as well as the subsequent, are strictly\nhistorical. The vexations inflicted by Polish lords upon persons\nprofessing the Russian-Greek faith--not only at the times spoken of in\nthis tale, but even within the present century--account sufficiently\nfor the inveterate and indelible hatred with which Russians look upon\nPoles.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Truly historical.]\n\n[Footnote 23: The costume of the Polish Jews consists of a coat which\ngoes down to the heels. On their feet they usually wear slippers. Their\nhead is covered with a closely fitting skull cap, from beneath which on\neither side hands a long lock of hair which, together with their beard\nand mustachios, form the _sanctum sanctorum_ of their persona.]\n\n[Footnote 24: Common people in Russia, even now, use no socks or\nstockings; but strips of linen, in which they wrap their feet.]\n\n[Footnote 25: A proverbial expression still used by Russians.]\n\n[Footnote 26: _Voevoda_--governor of a city or province.]\n\n[Footnote 27: A dish somewhat like starch, much used in Russia by the\ncommon people.]\n\n[Footnote 28: The catacombs of the _Peckersko\u00ef_ (_i.e_., of the\ncaverns) cloister at Kieff, were, like those of Rome, the places of\nworship and of burial of cenobites, whose relics are still preserved\nthere by the Russians.]\n\n[Footnote 29: The Polish Jewesses, when married, follow very strictly\nthe prescription of their law to hide their hair and their ears; but,\nas a compensation for not showing their beautiful hair, and wearing no\nearrings, they wear wigs on their head, and pieces of cloth adorned\nwith jewels over their ears.]\n\n[Footnote 30: The _Ssiem_ was one of the most incongruous phenomena of\nthe Polish administration. Every landed proprietor had a voice in this\nassembly, which was convoked on every important occasion: such as the\nelection of a king, the declaration of war, the conclusion of peace,\n&c., &c. The _veto_ of a single member was, _de jure_, sufficient to\nput a stop to any political or administrative measure proposed to\nthese assemblies; _de facto_, however, the king availed himself of the\nsupport of some powerful magnates to enforce the execution of his will;\nbut as this was only an infringement of the law, so it never failed\nto excite the opposition (very often, armed) of the malcontents. No\nwonder, then, if the _Ssiems_, forming the supreme constituent power\nin the state, brought upon Poland the miseries of which the history of\nthat country is one long and uninterrupted story.]\n\n[Footnote 31: Polish cuirassiers wore brass helmets adorned on each\nside with small wings, like those allotted by mythology to the\ntravelling cap of the Greek Hermes. Some of them, also, wore large\nwings fastened to their cuirass behind their shoulders.]\n\n[Footnote 32: The ancient fashioned Polish overcoats were put on over\na sleeve coat, from Which they were distinguished by their colour, and\nhad sleeves hanging behind the shoulders, and sometimes hooked together\non the back for convenience' sake.]\n\n[Footnote 33: A very frequent practice of the Turks with their\nZaporoghian prisoners was, to cover them with tar and then burn them\nalive.]\n\n[Footnote 34: The _arkan_ of the Cossacks is like the lasso of the\nMexicans--a rope with a running slip-knot, which is thrown over the\nobject of the Cossack's chase (a wild horse or an enemy). The Caucasian\nmountaineers make use of the same instrument, and, like the Cossacks of\nyore, often drag their prisoners at their horses' heels with the knot\nround their neck or their waist--the other end of the _arkan_ being\ntied to the saddle. This practice involuntarily reminds one of Achilles\ndragging the body of Hector tied to his chariot.]\n\n[Footnote 35: Gentlemen Officers.]\n\n[Footnote 36: The Nakazno\u00ef or temporary Ataman was elected for ope\nsingle campaign, during which he had the full power of the Koschevo\u00ef,\nand at the conclusion he resigned it to the latter.]\n\n[Footnote 37: In the original, there follows here a list of Cossacks'\nnames, perfectly uninteresting: and almost unpronounceable to an\nEnglish reader. In several other places they have also been omitted.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Constantinople.]\n\n[Footnote 39: This is a usual phrase in Russian tales of olden times,\nwhen recording the deeds of knights fighting (for the most part singly)\nagainst swarms of infidels.]\n\n[Footnote 40: The Zaporoghians had their trowsers made (when they had\nthe means to do so) of the most costly cloth, especially red, and\nto express their contempt of luxury, besmeared them with tar. The\n_naga\u00efkas_ is the Cossack whip, a weapon the impression of which many\na Frenchman bore on his back, after the invasion of Russia by Napoleon\nthe Great. Its handle is not more than half a yard long, the lash,\nof the same length, consists of an iron wire, plaited all round with\nleathern thongs, terminating in a square piece of leather, about an\ninch in width. A blow of the naga\u00efka may break a bone, and a well-aimed\nstroke of its square end may cut out a piece of flesh.]\n\n[Footnote 41: Heydukes (properly haydooks) formed a select body in the\nPolish army, and were recruited among the tallest and strongest men.]\n\n[Footnote 42: For an account of the Sseim, see the note at page 163.]\n\n[Footnote 43: The introduction of Popish rites into the Greek Church.]\n\n[Footnote 44: _Boonchook_ is the name of a Turkish standard, consisting\nof a horse-tail nailed to a pole. The Cossacks also used them besides\nbanners, which bore the image of the Saviour or the Virgin.]\n\n[Footnote 45: All this is truly historical, and will be readily\nbelieved by any one in the least acquainted with the national character\nof the Poles.]\n\nFINIS.","title":"Cossack Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":72588}