![]() Taras Bulba ![]() His sons were occupied with other thoughts. But we must speak further of
his sons. They had been sent, when twelve years old, to the academy at Kyiv,
because all leaders of that day considered it indispensable to give their
children an education, although it was afterwards utterly forgotten. Like
all who entered the academy, they were wild, having been brought up in
unrestrained freedom; and whilst there they had acquired some polish, and
pursued some common branches of knowledge which gave them a certain
resemblance to each other.
The elder, Ostap, began his scholastic career by running away in the
course of the first year. They brought him back, whipped him well, and set
him down to his books. Four times did he bury his primer in the earth; and
four times, after giving him a sound thrashing, did they buy him a new one.
But he would no doubt have repeated this feat for the fifth time, had not
his father given him a solemn assurance that he would keep him at monastic
work for twenty years, and sworn in advance that he should never behold He rarely led others into such hazardous enterprises as robbing a strange
garden or orchard; but, on the other hand, he was always among the first to
join the standard of an adventurous student. And never, under any
circumstances, did he betray his comrades; neither imprisonment nor beatings
could make him do so. He was unassailable by any temptations save those of
war and revelry; at least, he scarcely ever dreamt of others. He was upright
with his equals. He was kind-hearted, after the only fashion that
kind-heartedness could exist in such a character and at such a time. He was
touched to his very heart by his poor mother's tears; but this only vexed
him, and caused him to hang his head in thought.
His younger brother, Andrķi, had livelier and more fully developed
feelings. He learned more willingly and without the effort with which strong
and weighty characters generally have to make in order to apply themselves
to study. He was more inventive-minded than his brother, and frequently
appeared as the leader of dangerous expeditions; sometimes, thanks to the
quickness of his mind, contriving to escape punishment when his brother
Ostap, abandoning all efforts, stripped off his gaberdine and lay down upon
the floor without a thought of begging for mercy. He too thirsted for
action; but, at the same time, his soul was accessible to other sentiments.
The need of love burned ardently within him. When he had passed his
eighteenth year, woman began to present herself more frequently in his
dreams; listening to philosophical discussions, he still beheld her, fresh,
black-eyed, tender; before him constantly flitted her elastic bosom, her
soft, bare arms; the very gown which clung about her youthful yet
well-rounded limbs breathed into his visions a certain inexpressible
sensuousness. He carefully concealed this impulse of his passionate young
soul from his comrades, because in that age it was held shameful and
dishonourable for a Kozak to think of love and a wife before he had tasted
battle. On the whole, during the last year, he had acted more rarely as
leader to the bands of students, but had roamed more frequently alone, in
remote corners of Kyiv, among low-roofed houses, buried in cherry orchards,
peeping alluringly at the street. Sometimes he betook himself to the more
aristocratic streets, in the old Kyiv of today, where dwelt Ukrainian
and Polish nobles, and where houses were built in more fanciful style. Once,
as he was gaping along, an old-fashioned carriage belonging to some Polish
noble almost drove over him; and the heavily moustached coachman, who sat on
the box, gave him a smart cut with his whip. The young student fired up;
with thoughtless daring he seized the hind-wheel with his powerful hands and
stopped the carriage. But the coachman, fearing a drubbing, lashed his
horses; they sprang forward, and Andrķi, succeeding happily in freeing his
hands, was flung full length on the ground with his face flat in the mud.
The most ringing and harmonious of laughs resounded above him. He raised his
eyes and saw, standing at a window, a beauty such as he had never beheld in
all his life, black-eyed, and with skin white as snow illumined by the
dawning flush of the sun. She was laughing heartily, and her laugh enhanced
her dazzling loveliness. Taken aback he gazed at her in confusion,
abstractedly wiping the mud from his face, by which means it became still
further smeared. Who could this beauty be? He sought to find out from the
servants, who, in rich liveries, stood at the gate in a crowd surrounding a
young guitar-player; but they only laughed when they saw his besmeared face
and deigned him no reply. At length he learned that she was the daughter of
the Waiwode of Koven, who had come thither for a time. The following night,
with the daring characteristic of the student, he crept through the palings
into the garden and climbed a tree which spread its branches upon the very
roof of the house. From the tree he gained the roof, and made his way down
the chimney straight into the bedroom of the beauty, who at that moment was
seated before a lamp, engaged in removing the costly earrings from her ears.
The beautiful Pole was so alarmed on suddenly beholding an unknown man that
she could not utter a single word; but when she perceived that the student
stood before her with downcast eyes, not daring to move a hand through
timidity, when she recognised in him the one who had fallen in the street,
laughter again overpowered her.
Moreover, there was nothing terrible about Andrķi's features; he was very
handsome. She laughed heartily, and amused herself over him for a long time.
The lady was giddy, like all Poles; but her eyes--her wondrous clear,
piercing eyes--shot one glance, a long glance. The student could not move
hand or foot, but stood bound as in a sack, when the Waiwode's daughter
approached him boldly, placed upon his head her glittering diadem, hung her
earrings on his lips, and flung over him a transparent muslin chemisette
with gold-embroidered garlands. She adorned him, and played a thousand
foolish pranks, with the childish carelessness which distinguishes the giddy
Poles, and which threw the poor student into still greater confusion.
He cut a ridiculous feature, gazing immovably, and with open mouth, into
her dazzling eyes. A knock at the door startled her. She ordered him to hide
himself under the bed, and, as soon as the disturber was gone, called her In the meantime the steppe had long since received them all into its
green embrace; and the high grass, closing round, concealed them, till only
their black Kozak caps appeared above it.
"Eh, eh, why are you so quiet, lads?" said Bulba at length, waking from
his own reverie. "You're like monks. Now, all thinking to the Evil One, once
for all! Take your pipes in your teeth, and let us smoke, and spur on our
horses so swiftly that no bird can overtake us."
And the Kozaks, bending low on their horses' necks, disappeared in the
grass. Their black caps were no longer to be seen; a streak of trodden grass
alone showed the trace of their swift flight.
The sun had long since looked forth from the clear heavens and inundated
the steppe with his quickening, warming light. All that was dim and drowsy
in the Kozaks' minds flew away in a twinkling: their hearts fluttered like
birds.
The farther they penetrated the steppe, the more beautiful it became.
Then all the land, all that region which now constitutes Ukraine, even
as far as the Black Sea, was a green, virgin wilderness. No plough had ever
passed over the immeasurable waves of wild growth; horses alone, hidden in
it as in a forest, trod it down. Nothing in nature could be finer. The whole
surface resembled a golden-green ocean, upon which were sprinkled millions
of different flowers. Through the tall, slender stems of the grass peeped Our travellers halted only a few minutes for dinner. Their escort of ten
Kozaks sprang from their horses and undid the wooden casks of brandy, and
the gourds which were used instead of drinking vessels. They ate only cakes
of bread and dripping; they drank but one cup apiece to strengthen them, for
Taras Bulba never permitted intoxication upon the road, and then continued
their journey until evening. In the evening the whole steppe changed its
aspect. All its varied expanse was bathed in the last bright glow of the
sun; and as it grew dark gradually, it could be seen how the shadow flitted
across it and it became dark green. The mist rose more densely; each flower,
each blade of grass, emitted a fragrance as of ambergris, and the whole
steppe distilled perfume. Broad bands of rosy gold were streaked across the
dark blue heaven, as with a gigantic brush; here and there gleamed, in white
tufts, light and transparent clouds: and the freshest, most enchanting of
gentle breezes barely stirred the tops of the grass-blades, like sea-waves,
and caressed the cheek. The music which had resounded through the day had The travellers proceeded onward without any adventure. They came across
no villages. It was ever the same boundless, waving, beautiful steppe. Only
at intervals the summits of distant forests shone blue, on one hand,
stretching along the banks of the Dnieper. Once only did Taras point out to
his sons a small black speck far away amongst the grass, saying, "Look,
children! yonder gallops a Tatar." The little head with its long moustaches
fixed its narrow eyes upon them from afar, its nostrils snuffing the air
like a greyhound's, and then disappeared like an antelope on its owner
perceiving that the Kozaks were thirteen strong. "And now, children, don't
try to overtake the Tatar! You would never catch him to all eternity; he has
a horse swifter than my Devil." But Bulba took precautions, fearing hidden
ambushes. They galloped along the course of a small stream, called the
Tatarka, which falls into the Dnieper; rode into the water and swam with
their horses some distance in order to conceal their trail. Then, scrambling
out on the bank, they continued their road.
Three days later they were not far from the goal of their journey. The
air suddenly grew colder: they could feel the vicinity of the Dnieper. And
there it gleamed afar, distinguishable on the horizon as a dark band. It
sent forth cold waves, spreading nearer, nearer, and finally seeming to
embrace half the entire surface of the earth. This was that section of its
course where the river, hitherto confined by the rapids, finally makes its
own away and, roaring like the sea, rushes on at will; where the islands,
flung into its midst, have pressed it farther from their shores, and its
waves have spread widely over the earth, encountering neither cliffs nor
hills. The Kozaks, alighting from their horses, entered the ferry-boat,
and after a three hours' sail reached the shores of the island of Khortitz,
where at that time stood the Sich, which so often changed its situation.
A throng of people hastened to the shore with boats. The Kozaks
arranged the horses' trappings. Taras assumed a stately air, pulled his belt
tighter, and proudly stroked his moustache. His sons also inspected
themselves from head to foot, with some apprehension and an undefined
feeling of satisfaction; and all set out together for the suburb, which was
half a verst from the Sich. On their arrival, they were deafened by the
clang of fifty blacksmiths' hammers beating upon twenty-five anvils sunk in
the earth. Stout tanners seated beneath awnings were scraping ox-hides with
their strong hands; shop-keepers sat in their booths, with piles of flints,
steels, and powder before them; Armenians spread out their rich
handkerchiefs; Tatars turned their kabobs upon spits; a Jew, with his head
thrust forward, was filtering some corn-brandy from a cask. But the first
man they encountered was a Zaporozhian who was sleeping in the very
middle of the road with legs and arms outstretched. Taras Bulba could not
refrain from halting to admire him. "How splendidly developed he is; phew,
what a magnificent figure!" he said, stopping his horse. It was, in fact, a
striking picture. This Zaporozhetz had stretched himself out in the road
like a lion; his scalp-lock, thrown proudly behind him, extended over
upwards of a foot of ground; his trousers of rich red cloth were spotted
with tar, to show his utter disdain for them. Having admired to his heart's
content, Bulba passed on through the narrow street, crowded with mechanics
exercising their trades, and with people of all nationalities who thronged
this suburb of the Sich, resembling a fair, and fed and clothed the Sich
itself, which knew only how to revel and burn powder.
At length they left the suburb behind them, and perceived some scattered
kuréns, the normous wooden sheds, each inhabited by a troop (or kurén), covered
with turf, or in Tatar fashion with felt. Some were
furnished with cannon. Nowhere were any fences visible, or any of those
low-roofed houses with verandahs supported upon low wooden pillars, such as
were seen in the suburb. A low wall and a ditch, totally unguarded,
betokened a terrible degree of recklessness. Some sturdy Zaporozians' lying,
pipe in mouth, in the very road, glanced indifferently at them, but never
moved from their places. Taras threaded his way carefully among them, with
his sons, saying, "Good day, gentles, good-day to you," answered the
Zaporozhtzi. Scattered over the plain were picturesque groups. From their
weatherbeaten faces, it was plain that all were steeled in battle, and had
faced every sort of bad weather. And there it was, the Sich! There was the
lair from whence all those men, proud and strong as lions, issued forth!
There was the spot whence poured forth liberty and Kozaks all over the
Ukraine.
The travellers entered the great square where the council generally met.
On a huge overturned cask sat a Zaporozhetz without his shirt; he was
holding it in his hands, and slowly sewing up the holes in it. Again their
way was stopped by a whole crowd of musicians, in the midst of whom a young
Zaporozhetz was dancing, with head thrown back and arms outstretched. He
kept shouting, "Play faster, musicians! Begrudge not, Thoma, brandy to these
orthodox Christians!" And Thoma, with his blackened eye, went on measuring
out without stint, to every one who presented himself, a huge jugful.
About the youthful Zaporozhetz four old men, moving their feet quite
briskly, leaped like a whirlwind to one side, almost upon the musicians'
heads, and, suddenly, retreating, squatted down and drummed the hard earth
vigorously with their silver heels. The earth hummed dully all about, and
afar the air resounded with national dance tunes beaten by the clanging
heels of their boots.
But one shouted more loudly than all the rest, and flew after the others
in the dance. His scalp-lock streamed in the wind, his muscular chest was
bare, his warm, winter fur jacket was hanging by the sleeves, and the
perspiration poured from him as from a pig. "Take off your jacket!" said
Taras at length: "see how he steams!"----"I can't," shouted the Kozak.
"Why?"----"I can't: I have such a disposition that whatever I take off, I
drink up." And indeed, the young fellow had not had a cap for a long time,
nor a belt to his caftan, nor an embroidered neckerchief: all had gone the
proper road. The throng increased; more folk joined the dancer: and it was
impossible to observe without emotion how all yielded to the impulse of the
dance, the freest, the wildest, the world has ever seen, still called from
its mighty originators, the Kozachok.
"Oh, if I had no horse to hold," exclaimed Taras, "I would join the dance
myself."
Meanwhile there began to appear among the throng men who were respected
for their prowess throughout all the Sich--old greyheads who had been
leaders more than once. Taras soon found a number of familiar faces. Ostap
and Andrķi heard nothing but greetings. "Ah, it is you, Petcheritza! Good
day, Kozolup!"----"Whence has God brought you, Taras?"----"How did you come
here, Doloto? Health to you, Kirdyaga! Hail to you, Gustui! Did I ever think
of seeing you, Remen?" And these heroes, gathered from all the roving
population of Eastern Ukraine, kissed each other and began to ask questions.
"But what has become of Kasyan? Where is Borodavka? and Koloper? and
Pidsuitok?" And in reply, Taras Bulba learned that Borodavka had been hung
at Tolopan, that Koloper had been flayed alive at Kizikirmen, that
Pidsuitok's head had been salted and sent in a cask to Constantinople. Old
Bulba hung his head and said thoughtfully, "They were good Kozaks."
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