Áóëüáà 2

The only difference as regarded the students was that, instead of
sitting under the pointer and listening to the worn-out doctrines of a
teacher, they practised racing with five thousand horses; instead of the
field where they had played ball, they had the boundless borderlands,
where at the sight of them the Tatar showed his keen face and the Turk
frowned grimly from under his green turban. The difference was that,
instead of being forced to the companionship of school, they themselves
had deserted their fathers and mothers and fled from their homes; that
here were those about whose neck a rope had already been wound, and who,
instead of pale death, had seen life, and life in all its intensity;
those who, from generous habits, could never keep a coin in their
pockets; those who had thitherto regarded a ducat as wealth, and whose
pockets, thanks to the Jew revenue-farmers, could have been turned wrong
side out without any danger of anything falling from them. Here were
students who could not endure the academic rod, and had not carried away
a single letter from the schools; but with them were also some who knew
about Horace, Cicero, and the Roman Republic. There were many leaders
who afterwards distinguished themselves in the king’s armies; and there
were numerous clever partisans who cherished a magnanimous conviction
that it was of no consequence where they fought, so long as they did
fight, since it was a disgrace to an honourable man to live without
fighting. There were many who had come to the Setch for the sake of
being able to say afterwards that they had been there and were therefore
hardened warriors. But who was not there? This strange republic was a
necessary outgrowth of the epoch. Lovers of a warlike life, of golden
beakers and rich brocades, of ducats and gold pieces, could always find
employment there. The lovers of women alone could find naught, for no
woman dared show herself even in the suburbs of the Setch.

It seemed exceedingly strange to Ostap and Andrii that, although a crowd
of people had come to the Setch with them, not a soul inquired, “Whence
come these men? who are they? and what are their names?” They had come
thither as though returning to a home whence they had departed only an
hour before. The new-comer merely presented himself to the Koschevoi, or
head chief of the Setch, who generally said, “Welcome! Do you believe in
Christ?”--“I do,” replied the new-comer. “And do you believe in the
Holy Trinity?”--“I do.”--“And do you go to church?”--“I do.” “Now cross
yourself.” The new-comer crossed himself. “Very good,” replied the
Koschevoi; “enter the kuren where you have most acquaintances.” This
concluded the ceremony. And all the Setch prayed in one church, and were
willing to defend it to their last drop of blood, although they would
not hearken to aught about fasting or abstinence. Jews, Armenians,
and Tatars, inspired by strong avarice, took the liberty of living and
trading in the suburbs; for the Zaporozhtzi never cared for bargaining,
and paid whatever money their hand chanced to grasp in their pocket.
Moreover, the lot of these gain-loving traders was pitiable in the
extreme. They resembled people settled at the foot of Vesuvius; for when
the Zaporozhtzi lacked money, these bold adventurers broke down their
booths and took everything gratis. The Setch consisted of over sixty
kurens, each of which greatly resembled a separate independent republic,
but still more a school or seminary of children, always ready for
anything. No one had any occupation; no one retained anything for
himself; everything was in the hands of the hetman of the kuren, who,
on that account, generally bore the title of “father.” In his hands were
deposited the money, clothes, all the provisions, oatmeal, grain, even
the firewood. They gave him money to take care of. Quarrels amongst the
inhabitants of the kuren were not unfrequent; and in such cases they
proceeded at once to blows. The inhabitants of the kuren swarmed into
the square, and smote each other with their fists, until one side had
finally gained the upper hand, when the revelry began. Such was the
Setch, which had such an attraction for young men.

Ostap and Andrii flung themselves into this sea of dissipation with
all the ardour of youth, forgot in a trice their father’s house, the
seminary, and all which had hitherto exercised their minds, and gave
themselves wholly up to their new life. Everything interested them--the
jovial habits of the Setch, and its chaotic morals and laws, which even
seemed to them too strict for such a free republic. If a Cossack stole
the smallest trifle, it was considered a disgrace to the whole Cossack
community. He was bound to the pillar of shame, and a club was laid
beside him, with which each passer-by was bound to deal him a blow until
in this manner he was beaten to death. He who did not pay his debts was
chained to a cannon, until some one of his comrades should decide
to ransom him by paying his debts for him. But what made the deepest
impression on Andrii was the terrible punishment decreed for murder. A
hole was dug in his presence, the murderer was lowered alive into it,
and over him was placed a coffin containing the body of the man he had
killed, after which the earth was thrown upon both. Long afterwards the
fearful ceremony of this horrible execution haunted his mind, and the
man who had been buried alive appeared to him with his terrible coffin.

Both the young Cossacks soon took a good standing among their fellows.
They often sallied out upon the steppe with comrades from their kuren,
and sometimes too with the whole kuren or with neighbouring kurens, to
shoot the innumerable steppe-birds of every sort, deer, and goats. Or
they went out upon the lakes, the river, and its tributaries allotted to
each kuren, to throw their nets and draw out rich prey for the enjoyment
of the whole kuren. Although unversed in any trade exercised by a
Cossack, they were soon remarked among the other youths for their
obstinate bravery and daring in everything. Skilfully and accurately
they fired at the mark, and swam the Dnieper against the current--a
deed for which the novice was triumphantly received into the circle of
Cossacks.

But old Taras was planning a different sphere of activity for them.
Such an idle life was not to his mind; he wanted active employment. He
reflected incessantly how to stir up the Setch to some bold enterprise,
wherein a man could revel as became a warrior. At length he went one day
to the Koschevoi, and said plainly:--

“Well, Koschevoi, it is time for the Zaporozhtzi to set out.”

“There is nowhere for them to go,” replied the Koschevoi, removing his
short pipe from his mouth and spitting to one side.

“What do you mean by nowhere? We can go to Turkey or Tatary.”

“Impossible to go either to Turkey or Tatary,” replied the Koschevoi,
putting his pipe coolly into his mouth again.

“Why impossible?”

“It is so; we have promised the Sultan peace.”

“But he is a Mussulman; and God and the Holy Scriptures command us to
slay Mussulmans.”

“We have no right. If we had not sworn by our faith, it might be done;
but now it is impossible.”

“How is it impossible? How can you say that we have no right? Here are
my two sons, both young men. Neither has been to war; and you say that
we have no right, and that there is no need for the Zaporozhtzi to set
out on an expedition.”

“Well, it is not fitting.”

“Then it must be fitting that Cossack strength should be wasted in vain,
that a man should disappear like a dog without having done a single good
deed, that he should be of no use to his country or to Christianity!
Why, then, do we live? What the deuce do we live for? just tell me that.
You are a sensible man, you were not chosen as Koschevoi without reason:
so just tell me what we live for?”

The Koschevoi made no reply to this question. He was an obstinate
Cossack. He was silent for a while, and then said, “Anyway, there will
not be war.”

“There will not be war?” Taras asked again.

“No.”

“Then it is no use thinking about it?”

“It is not to be thought of.”

“Wait, you devil’s limb!” said Taras to himself; “you shall learn to
know me!” and he at once resolved to have his revenge on the Koschevoi.

Having made an agreement with several others, he gave them liquor; and
the drunken Cossacks staggered into the square, where on a post hung
the kettledrums which were generally beaten to assemble the people. Not
finding the sticks, which were kept by the drummer, they seized a piece
of wood and began to beat. The first to respond to the drum-beat was the
drummer, a tall man with but one eye, but a frightfully sleepy one for
all that.

“Who dares to beat the drum?” he shouted.

“Hold your tongue! take your sticks, and beat when you are ordered!”
 replied the drunken men.

The drummer at once took from his pocket the sticks which he had brought
with him, well knowing the result of such proceedings. The drum rattled,
and soon black swarms of Cossacks began to collect like bees in the
square. All formed in a ring; and at length, after the third summons,
the chiefs began to arrive--the Koschevoi with staff in hand, the symbol
of his office; the judge with the army-seal; the secretary with his
ink-bottle; and the osaul with his staff. The Koschevoi and the chiefs
took off their caps and bowed on all sides to the Cossacks, who stood
proudly with their arms akimbo.

“What means this assemblage? what do you wish, gentles?” said the
Koschevoi. Shouts and exclamations interrupted his speech.

“Resign your staff! resign your staff this moment, you son of Satan!
we will have you no longer!” shouted some of the Cossacks in the crowd.
Some of the sober ones appeared to wish to oppose this, but both sober
and drunken fell to blows. The shouting and uproar became universal.

The Koschevoi attempted to speak; but knowing that the self-willed
multitude, if enraged, might beat him to death, as almost always
happened in such cases, he bowed very low, laid down his staff, and hid
himself in the crowd.

“Do you command us, gentles, to resign our insignia of office?” said
the judge, the secretary, and the osaul, as they prepared to give up the
ink-horn, army-seal, and staff, upon the spot.

“No, you are to remain!” was shouted from the crowd. “We only wanted
to drive out the Koschevoi because he is a woman, and we want a man for
Koschevoi.”

“Whom do you now elect as Koschevoi?” asked the chiefs.

“We choose Kukubenko,” shouted some.

“We won’t have Kukubenko!” screamed another party: “he is too young; the
milk has not dried off his lips yet.”

“Let Schilo be hetman!” shouted some: “make Schilo our Koschevoi!”

“Away with your Schilo!” yelled the crowd; “what kind of a Cossack is he
who is as thievish as a Tatar? To the devil in a sack with your drunken
Schilo!”

“Borodaty! let us make Borodaty our Koschevoi!”

“We won’t have Borodaty! To the evil one’s mother with Borodaty!”

“Shout Kirdyanga!” whispered Taras Bulba to several.

“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” shouted the crowd. “Borodaty, Borodaty!
Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga! Schilo! Away with Schilo! Kirdyanga!”

All the candidates, on hearing their names mentioned, quitted the
crowd, in order not to give any one a chance of supposing that they were
personally assisting in their election.

“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” echoed more strongly than the rest.

“Borodaty!”

They proceeded to decide the matter by a show of hands, and Kirdyanga
won.

“Fetch Kirdyanga!” they shouted. Half a score of Cossacks immediately
left the crowd--some of them hardly able to keep their feet, to such an
extent had they drunk--and went directly to Kirdyanga to inform him of
his election.

Kirdyanga, a very old but wise Cossack, had been sitting for some time
in his kuren, as if he knew nothing of what was going on.

“What is it, gentles? What do you wish?” he inquired.

“Come, they have chosen you for Koschevoi.”

“Have mercy, gentles!” said Kirdyanga. “How can I be worthy of such
honour? Why should I be made Koschevoi? I have not sufficient capacity
to fill such a post. Could no better person be found in all the army?”

“Come, I say!” shouted the Zaporozhtzi. Two of them seized him by the
arms; and in spite of his planting his feet firmly they finally dragged
him to the square, accompanying his progress with shouts, blows from
behind with their fists, kicks, and exhortations. “Don’t hold back, you
son of Satan! Accept the honour, you dog, when it is given!” In this
manner Kirdyanga was conducted into the ring of Cossacks.

“How now, gentles?” announced those who had brought him, “are you agreed
that this Cossack shall be your Koschevoi?”

“We are all agreed!” shouted the throng, and the whole plain trembled
for a long time afterwards from the shout.

One of the chiefs took the staff and brought it to the newly elected
Koschevoi. Kirdyanga, in accordance with custom, immediately refused
it. The chief offered it a second time; Kirdyanga again refused it, and
then, at the third offer, accepted the staff. A cry of approbation rang
out from the crowd, and again the whole plain resounded afar with the
Cossacks’ shout. Then there stepped out from among the people the four
oldest of them all, white-bearded, white-haired Cossacks; though there
were no very old men in the Setch, for none of the Zaporozhtzi ever died
in their beds. Taking each a handful of earth, which recent rain had
converted into mud, they laid it on Kirdyanga’s head. The wet earth
trickled down from his head on to his moustache and cheeks and smeared
his whole face. But Kirdyanga stood immovable in his place, and thanked
the Cossacks for the honour shown him.

Thus ended the noisy election, concerning which we cannot say whether it
was as pleasing to the others as it was to Bulba; by means of it he had
revenged himself on the former Koschevoi. Moreover, Kirdyanga was an old
comrade, and had been with him on the same expeditions by sea and land,
sharing the toils and hardships of war. The crowd immediately dispersed
to celebrate the election, and such revelry ensued as Ostap and Andrii
had not yet beheld. The taverns were attacked and mead, corn-brandy, and
beer seized without payment, the owners being only too glad to escape
with whole skins themselves. The whole night passed amid shouts, songs,
and rejoicings; and the rising moon gazed long at troops of musicians
traversing the streets with guitars, flutes, tambourines, and the church
choir, who were kept in the Setch to sing in church and glorify the
deeds of the Zaporozhtzi. At length drunkenness and fatigue began to
overpower even these strong heads, and here and there a Cossack could
be seen to fall to the ground, embracing a comrade in fraternal fashion;
whilst maudlin, and even weeping, the latter rolled upon the earth with
him. Here a whole group would lie down in a heap; there a man would
choose the most comfortable position and stretch himself out on a log of
wood. The last, and strongest, still uttered some incoherent speeches;
finally even they, yielding to the power of intoxication, flung
themselves down and all the Setch slept.



CHAPTER IV

But next day Taras Bulba had a conference with the new Koschevoi as to
the method of exciting the Cossacks to some enterprise. The Koschevoi,
a shrewd and sensible Cossack, who knew the Zaporozhtzi thoroughly, said
at first, “Oaths cannot be violated by any means”; but after a pause
added, “No matter, it can be done. We will not violate them, but let
us devise something. Let the people assemble, not at my summons, but of
their own accord. You know how to manage that; and I will hasten to the
square with the chiefs, as though we know nothing about it.”

Not an hour had elapsed after their conversation, when the drums again
thundered. The drunken and senseless Cossacks assembled. A myriad
Cossack caps were sprinkled over the square. A murmur arose, “Why? What?
Why was the assembly beaten?” No one answered. At length, in one
quarter and another, it began to be rumoured about, “Behold, the Cossack
strength is being vainly wasted: there is no war! Behold, our leaders
have become as marmots, every one; their eyes swim in fat! Plainly,
there is no justice in the world!” The other Cossacks listened at first,
and then began themselves to say, “In truth, there is no justice in the
world!” Their leaders seemed surprised at these utterances. Finally the
Koschevoi stepped forward: “Permit me, Cossacks, to address you.”

“Do so!”

“Touching the matter in question, gentles, none know better than
yourselves that many Zaporozhtzi have run in debt to the Jew ale-house
keepers and to their brethren, so that now they have not an atom of
credit. Again, touching the matter in question, there are many young
fellows who have no idea of what war is like, although you know,
gentles, that without war a young man cannot exist. How make a
Zaporozhetz out of him if he has never killed a Mussulman?”

“He speaks well,” thought Bulba.

“Think not, however, gentles, that I speak thus in order to break the
truce; God forbid! I merely mention it. Besides, it is a shame to
see what sort of church we have for our God. Not only has the church
remained without exterior decoration during all the years which by God’s
mercy the Setch has stood, but up to this day even the holy pictures
have no adornments. No one has even thought of making them a silver
frame; they have only received what some Cossacks have left them in
their wills; and these gifts were poor, since they had drunk up nearly
all they had during their lifetime. I am making you this speech,
therefore, not in order to stir up a war against the Mussulmans; we have
promised the Sultan peace, and it would be a great sin in us to break
this promise, for we swore it on our law.”

“What is he mixing things up like that for?” said Bulba to himself.

“So you see, gentles, that war cannot be begun; honour does not permit
it. But according to my poor opinion, we might, I think, send out a few
young men in boats and let them plunder the coasts of Anatolia a little.
What do you think, gentles?”

“Lead us, lead us all!” shouted the crowd on all sides. “We are ready to
lay down our lives for our faith.”

The Koschevoi was alarmed. He by no means wished to stir up all
Zaporozhe; a breach of the truce appeared to him on this occasion
unsuitable. “Permit me, gentles, to address you further.”

“Enough!” yelled the Cossacks; “you can say nothing better.”

“If it must be so, then let it be so. I am the slave of your will. We
know, and from Scripture too, that the voice of the people is the voice
of God. It is impossible to devise anything better than the whole nation
has devised. But here lies the difficulty; you know, gentles, that
the Sultan will not permit that which delights our young men to go
unpunished. We should be prepared at such a time, and our forces should
be fresh, and then we should fear no one. But during their absence the
Tatars may assemble fresh forces; the dogs do not show themselves in
sight and dare not come while the master is at home, but they can bite
his heels from behind, and bite painfully too. And if I must tell you
the truth, we have not boats enough, nor powder ready in sufficient
quantity, for all to go. But I am ready, if you please; I am the slave
of your will.”

The cunning hetman was silent. The various groups began to discuss the
matter, and the hetmans of the kurens to take counsel together; few were
drunk fortunately, so they decided to listen to reason.

A number of men set out at once for the opposite shore of the Dnieper,
to the treasury of the army, where in strictest secrecy, under water and
among the reeds, lay concealed the army chest and a portion of the
arms captured from the enemy. Others hastened to inspect the boats and
prepare them for service. In a twinkling the whole shore was
thronged with men. Carpenters appeared with axes in their hands. Old,
weatherbeaten, broad-shouldered, strong-legged Zaporozhtzi, with black
or silvered moustaches, rolled up their trousers, waded up to their
knees in water, and dragged the boats on to the shore with stout ropes;
others brought seasoned timber and all sorts of wood. The boats were
freshly planked, turned bottom upwards, caulked and tarred, and then
bound together side by side after Cossack fashion, with long strands of
reeds, so that the swell of the waves might not sink them. Far along the
shore they built fires and heated tar in copper cauldrons to smear the
boats. The old and the experienced instructed the young. The blows and
shouts of the workers rose all over the neighbourhood; the bank shook
and moved about.

About this time a large ferry-boat began to near the shore. The mass of
people standing in it began to wave their hands from a distance. They
were Cossacks in torn, ragged gaberdines. Their disordered garments, for
many had on nothing but their shirts, with a short pipe in their mouths,
showed that they had either escaped from some disaster or had caroused
to such an extent that they had drunk up all they had on their bodies.
A short, broad-shouldered Cossack of about fifty stepped out from the
midst of them and stood in front. He shouted and waved his hand more
vigorously than any of the others; but his words could not be heard for
the cries and hammering of the workmen.

“Whence come you!” asked the Koschevoi, as the boat touched the shore.
All the workers paused in their labours, and, raising their axes and
chisels, looked on expectantly.

“From a misfortune!” shouted the short Cossack.

“From what?”

“Permit me, noble Zaporozhtzi, to address you.”

“Speak!”

“Or would you prefer to assemble a council?”

“Speak, we are all here.”

The people all pressed together in one mass.

“Have you then heard nothing of what has been going on in the hetman’s
dominions?”

“What is it?” inquired one of the kuren hetmans.

“Eh! what! Evidently the Tatars have plastered up your ears so that you
might hear nothing.”

“Tell us then; what has been going on there?”

“That is going on the like of which no man born or christened ever yet
has seen.”

“Tell us what it is, you son of a dog!” shouted one of the crowd,
apparently losing patience.

“Things have come to such a pass that our holy churches are no longer
ours.”

“How not ours?”

“They are pledged to the Jews. If the Jew is not first paid, there can
be no mass.”

“What are you saying?”

“And if the dog of a Jew does not make a sign with his unclean hand over
the holy Easter-bread, it cannot be consecrated.”

“He lies, brother gentles. It cannot be that an unclean Jew puts his
mark upon the holy Easter-bread.”

“Listen! I have not yet told all. Catholic priests are going about all
over the Ukraine in carts. The harm lies not in the carts, but in the
fact that not horses, but orthodox Christians (1), are harnessed to
them. Listen! I have not yet told all. They say that the Jewesses are
making themselves petticoats out of our popes’ vestments. Such are the
deeds that are taking place in the Ukraine, gentles! And you sit here
revelling in Zaporozhe; and evidently the Tatars have so scared you that
you have no eyes, no ears, no anything, and know nothing that is going
on in the world.”

 (1) That is of the Greek Church. The Poles were Catholics.

“Stop, stop!” broke in the Koschevoi, who up to that moment had stood
with his eyes fixed upon the earth like all Zaporozhtzi, who, on
important occasions, never yielded to their first impulse, but kept
silence, and meanwhile concentrated inwardly all the power of their
indignation. “Stop! I also have a word to say. But what were you
about? When your father the devil was raging thus, what were you doing
yourselves? Had you no swords? How came you to permit such lawlessness?”

“Eh! how did we come to permit such lawlessness? You would have tried
when there were fifty thousand of the Lyakhs (2) alone; yes, and it is
a shame not to be concealed, when there are also dogs among us who have
already accepted their faith.”

 (2) Lyakhs, an opprobrious name for the Poles.

“But your hetman and your leaders, what have they done?”

“God preserve any one from such deeds as our leaders performed!”

“How so?”

“Our hetman, roasted in a brazen ox, now lies in Warsaw; and the
heads and hands of our leaders are being carried to all the fairs as a
spectacle for the people. That is what our leaders did.”

The whole throng became wildly excited. At first silence reigned all
along the shore, like that which precedes a tempest; and then suddenly
voices were raised and all the shore spoke:--

“What! The Jews hold the Christian churches in pledge! Roman Catholic
priests have harnessed and beaten orthodox Christians! What! such
torture has been permitted on Russian soil by the cursed unbelievers!
And they have done such things to the leaders and the hetman? Nay, this
shall not be, it shall not be.” Such words came from all quarters. The
Zaporozhtzi were moved, and knew their power. It was not the excitement
of a giddy-minded folk. All who were thus agitated were strong, firm
characters, not easily aroused, but, once aroused, preserving their
inward heat long and obstinately. “Hang all the Jews!” rang through the
crowd. “They shall not make petticoats for their Jewesses out of popes’
vestments! They shall not place their signs upon the holy wafers! Drown
all the heathens in the Dnieper!” These words uttered by some one in
the throng flashed like lightning through all minds, and the crowd flung
themselves upon the suburb with the intention of cutting the throats of
all the Jews.

The poor sons of Israel, losing all presence of mind, and not being in
any case courageous, hid themselves in empty brandy-casks, in ovens, and
even crawled under the skirts of their Jewesses; but the Cossacks found
them wherever they were.

“Gracious nobles!” shrieked one Jew, tall and thin as a stick, thrusting
his sorry visage, distorted with terror, from among a group of his
comrades, “gracious nobles! suffer us to say a word, only one word. We
will reveal to you what you never yet have heard, a thing more important
than I can say--very important!”

“Well, say it,” said Bulba, who always liked to hear what an accused man
had to say.

“Gracious nobles,” exclaimed the Jew, “such nobles were never seen, by
heavens, never! Such good, kind, and brave men there never were in the
world before!” His voice died away and quivered with fear. “How was it
possible that we should think any evil of the Zaporozhtzi? Those men
are not of us at all, those who have taken pledges in the Ukraine. By
heavens, they are not of us! They are not Jews at all. The evil one
alone knows what they are; they are only fit to be spit upon and cast
aside. Behold, my brethren, say the same! Is it not true, Schloma? is it
not true, Schmul?”

“By heavens, it is true!” replied Schloma and Schmul, from among the
crowd, both pale as clay, in their ragged caps.

“We never yet,” continued the tall Jew, “have had any secret intercourse
with your enemies, and we will have nothing to do with Catholics;
may the evil one fly away with them! We are like own brothers to the
Zaporozhtzi.”

“What! the Zaporozhtzi are brothers to you!” exclaimed some one in
the crowd. “Don’t wait! the cursed Jews! Into the Dnieper with them,
gentles! Drown all the unbelievers!”

These words were the signal. They seized the Jews by the arms and began
to hurl them into the waves. Pitiful cries resounded on all sides; but
the stern Zaporozhtzi only laughed when they saw the Jewish legs, cased
in shoes and stockings, struggling in the air. The poor orator who had
called down destruction upon himself jumped out of the caftan, by which
they had seized him, and in his scant parti-coloured under waistcoat
clasped Bulba’s legs, and cried, in piteous tones, “Great lord! gracious
noble! I knew your brother, the late Doroscha. He was a warrior who was
an ornament to all knighthood. I gave him eight hundred sequins when he
was obliged to ransom himself from the Turks.”

“You knew my brother?” asked Taras.

“By heavens, I knew him. He was a magnificent nobleman.”

“And what is your name?”

“Yankel.”

“Good,” said Taras; and after reflecting, he turned to the Cossacks and
spoke as follows: “There will always be plenty of time to hang the Jew,
if it proves necessary; but for to-day give him to me.”

So saying, Taras led him to his waggon, beside which stood his Cossacks.
“Crawl under the waggon; lie down, and do not move. And you, brothers,
do not surrender this Jew.”

So saying, he returned to the square, for the whole crowd had long since
collected there. All had at once abandoned the shore and the preparation
of the boats; for a land-journey now awaited them, and not a sea-voyage,
and they needed horses and waggons, not ships. All, both young and old,
wanted to go on the expedition; and it was decided, on the advice of
the chiefs, the hetmans of the kurens, and the Koschevoi, and with
the approbation of the whole Zaporozhtzian army, to march straight to
Poland, to avenge the injury and disgrace to their faith and to Cossack
renown, to seize booty from the cities, to burn villages and grain, and
spread their glory far over the steppe. All at once girded and armed
themselves. The Koschevoi grew a whole foot taller. He was no longer
the timid executor of the restless wishes of a free people, but their
untrammelled master. He was a despot, who know only to command. All the
independent and pleasure-loving warriors stood in an orderly line, with
respectfully bowed heads, not venturing to raise their eyes, when the
Koschevoi gave his orders. He gave these quietly, without shouting and
without haste, but with pauses between, like an experienced man deeply
learned in Cossack affairs, and carrying into execution, not for the
first time, a wisely matured enterprise.

“Examine yourselves, look well to yourselves; examine all your
equipments thoroughly,” he said; “put your teams and your tar-boxes (3)
in order; test your weapons. Take not many clothes with you: a shirt and
a couple of pairs of trousers to each Cossack, and a pot of oatmeal
and millet apiece--let no one take any more. There will be plenty of
provisions, all that is needed, in the waggons. Let every Cossack have
two horses. And two hundred yoke of oxen must be taken, for we shall
require them at the fords and marshy places. Keep order, gentles, above
all things. I know that there are some among you whom God has made so
greedy that they would like to tear up silk and velvet for foot-cloths.
Leave off such devilish habits; reject all garments as plunder, and take
only weapons: though if valuables offer themselves, ducats or silver,
they are useful in any case. I tell you this beforehand, gentles, if any
one gets drunk on the expedition, he will have a short shrift: I will
have him dragged by the neck like a dog behind the baggage waggons, no
matter who he may be, even were he the most heroic Cossack in the whole
army; he shall be shot on the spot like a dog, and flung out, without
sepulture, to be torn by the birds of prey, for a drunkard on the march
deserves no Christian burial. Young men, obey the old men in all things!
If a ball grazes you, or a sword cuts your head or any other part,
attach no importance to such trifles. Mix a charge of powder in a cup of
brandy, quaff it heartily, and all will pass off--you will not even have
any fever; and if the wound is large, put simple earth upon it, mixing
it first with spittle in your palm, and that will dry it up. And now to
work, to work, lads, and look well to all, and without haste.”

 (3) The Cossack waggons have their axles smeared with tar instead of
    grease.

So spoke the Koschevoi; and no sooner had he finished his speech than
all the Cossacks at once set to work. All the Setch grew sober. Nowhere
was a single drunken man to be found, it was as though there never had
been such a thing among the Cossacks. Some attended to the tyres of the
wheels, others changed the axles of the waggons; some carried sacks of
provisions to them or leaded them with arms; others again drove up the
horses and oxen. On all sides resounded the tramp of horses’ hoofs,
test-shots from the guns, the clank of swords, the lowing of oxen,
the screech of rolling waggons, talking, sharp cries and urging-on of
cattle. Soon the Cossack force spread far over all the plain; and he who
might have undertaken to run from its van to its rear would have had
a long course. In the little wooden church the priest was offering up
prayers and sprinkling all worshippers with holy water. All kissed the
cross. When the camp broke up and the army moved out of the Setch, all
the Zaporozhtzi turned their heads back. “Farewell, our mother!” they
said almost in one breath. “May God preserve thee from all misfortune!”

As he passed through the suburb, Taras Bulba saw that his Jew, Yankel,
had already erected a sort of booth with an awning, and was selling
flint, screwdrivers, powder, and all sorts of military stores needed on
the road, even to rolls and bread. “What devils these Jews are!” thought
Taras; and riding up to him, he said, “Fool, why are you sitting here?
do you want to be shot like a crow?”

Yankel in reply approached nearer, and making a sign with both hands, as
though wishing to impart some secret, said, “Let the noble lord but
keep silence and say nothing to any one. Among the Cossack waggons is
a waggon of mine. I am carrying all sorts of needful stores for the
Cossacks, and on the journey I will furnish every sort of provisions at
a lower price than any Jew ever sold at before. ‘Tis so, by heavens! by
heavens, ‘tis so!”

Taras Bulba shrugged his shoulders in amazement at the Jewish nature,
and went on to the camp.



CHAPTER V

All South-west Poland speedily became a prey to fear. Everywhere the
rumour flew, “The Zaporozhtzi! The Zaporozhtzi have appeared!” All
who could flee did so. All rose and scattered after the manner of that
lawless, reckless age, when they built neither fortresses nor castles,
but each man erected a temporary dwelling of straw wherever he happened
to find himself. He thought, “It is useless to waste money and labour on
an izba, when the roving Tatars will carry it off in any case.” All was
in an uproar: one exchanged his plough and oxen for a horse and gun, and
joined an armed band; another, seeking concealment, drove off his cattle
and carried off all the household stuff he could. Occasionally, on the
road, some were encountered who met their visitors with arms in their
hands; but the majority fled before their arrival. All knew that it was
hard to deal with the raging and warlike throng known by the name of
the Zaporozhian army; a body which, under its independent and disorderly
exterior, concealed an organisation well calculated for times of battle.
The horsemen rode steadily on without overburdening or heating their
horses; the foot-soldiers marched only by night, resting during the day,
and selecting for this purpose desert tracts, uninhabited spots, and
forests, of which there were then plenty. Spies and scouts were sent
ahead to study the time, place, and method of attack. And lo! the
Zaporozhtzi suddenly appeared in those places where they were least
expected: then all were put to the sword; the villages were burned; and
the horses and cattle which were not driven off behind the army killed
upon the spot. They seemed to be fiercely revelling, rather than
carrying out a military expedition. Our hair would stand on end nowadays
at the horrible traits of that fierce, half-civilised age, which the
Zaporozhtzi everywhere exhibited: children killed, women’s breasts cut
open, the skin flayed from the legs up to the knees, and the victim then
set at liberty. In short, the Cossacks paid their former debts in
coin of full weight. The abbot of one monastery, on hearing of their
approach, sent two monks to say that they were not behaving as they
should; that there was an agreement between the Zaporozhtzi and the
government; that they were breaking faith with the king, and violating
all international rights. “Tell your bishop from me and from all the
Zaporozhtzi,” said the Koschevoi, “that he has nothing to fear: the
Cossacks, so far, have only lighted and smoked their pipes.” And the
magnificent abbey was soon wrapped in the devouring flames, its tall
Gothic windows showing grimly through the waves of fire as they parted.
The fleeing mass of monks, women, and Jews thronged into those towns
where any hope lay in the garrison and the civic forces. The aid sent
in season by the government, but delayed on the way, consisted of a
few troops which either were unable to enter the towns or, seized with
fright, turned their backs at the very first encounter and fled on
their swift horses. However, several of the royal commanders, who had
conquered in former battles, resolved to unite their forces and confront
the Zaporozhtzi.

And here, above all, did our young Cossacks, disgusted with pillage,
greed, and a feeble foe, and burning with the desire to distinguish
themselves in presence of their chiefs, seek to measure themselves in
single combat with the warlike and boastful Lyakhs, prancing on their
spirited horses, with the sleeves of their jackets thrown back and
streaming in the wind. This game was inspiriting; they won at it many
costly sets of horse-trappings and valuable weapons. In a month the
scarcely fledged birds attained their full growth, were completely
transformed, and became men; their features, in which hitherto a trace
of youthful softness had been visible, grew strong and grim. But it was
pleasant to old Taras to see his sons among the foremost. It seemed
as though Ostap were designed by nature for the game of war and the
difficult science of command. Never once losing his head or becoming
confused under any circumstances, he could, with a cool audacity almost
supernatural in a youth of two-and-twenty, in an instant gauge the
danger and the whole scope of the matter, could at once devise a means
of escaping, but of escaping only that he might the more surely conquer.
His movements now began to be marked by the assurance which comes from
experience, and in them could be detected the germ of the future leader.
His person strengthened, and his bearing grew majestically leonine.
“What a fine leader he will make one of these days!” said old Taras. “He
will make a splendid leader, far surpassing even his father!”

Andrii gave himself up wholly to the enchanting music of blades and
bullets. He knew not what it was to consider, or calculate, or to
measure his own as against the enemy’s strength. He gazed on battle with
mad delight and intoxication: he found something festal in the moments
when a man’s brain burns, when all things wave and flutter before his
eyes, when heads are stricken off, horses fall to the earth with a sound
of thunder, and he rides on like a drunken man, amid the whistling of
bullets and the flashing of swords, dealing blows to all, and heeding
not those aimed at himself. More than once their father marvelled too
at Andrii, seeing him, stirred only by a flash of impulse, dash at
something which a sensible man in cold blood never would have attempted,
and, by the sheer force of his mad attack, accomplish such wonders as
could not but amaze even men grown old in battle. Old Taras admired and
said, “And he too will make a good warrior if the enemy does not
capture him meanwhile. He is not Ostap, but he is a dashing warrior,
nevertheless.”

The army decided to march straight on the city of Dubno, which, rumour
said, contained much wealth and many rich inhabitants. The journey was
accomplished in a day and a half, and the Zaporozhtzi appeared before
the city. The inhabitants resolved to defend themselves to the utmost
extent of their power, and to fight to the last extremity, preferring to
die in their squares and streets, and on their thresholds, rather than
admit the enemy to their houses. A high rampart of earth surrounded the
city; and in places where it was low or weak, it was strengthened by a
wall of stone, or a house which served as a redoubt, or even an oaken
stockade. The garrison was strong and aware of the importance of their
position. The Zaporozhtzi attacked the wall fiercely, but were met with
a shower of grapeshot. The citizens and residents of the town evidently
did not wish to remain idle, but gathered on the ramparts; in their eyes
could be read desperate resistance. The women too were determined to
take part in the fray, and upon the heads of the Zaporozhians rained
down stones, casks of boiling water, and sacks of lime which blinded
them. The Zaporozhtzi were not fond of having anything to do with
fortified places: sieges were not in their line. The Koschevoi ordered
them to retreat, saying, “It is useless, brother gentles; we will
retire: but may I be a heathen Tatar, and not a Christian, if we do not
clear them out of that town! may they all perish of hunger, the dogs!”
 The army retreated, surrounded the town, and, for lack of something to
do, busied themselves with devastating the surrounding country, burning
the neighbouring villages and the ricks of unthreshed grain, and turning
their droves of horses loose in the cornfields, as yet untouched by the
reaping-hook, where the plump ears waved, fruit, as luck would have it,
of an unusually good harvest which should have liberally rewarded all
tillers of the soil that season.

With horror those in the city beheld their means of subsistence
destroyed. Meanwhile the Zaporozhtzi, having formed a double ring of
their waggons around the city, disposed themselves as in the Setch in
kurens, smoked their pipes, bartered their booty for weapons, played
at leapfrog and odd-and-even, and gazed at the city with deadly
cold-bloodedness. At night they lighted their camp fires, and the cooks
boiled the porridge for each kuren in huge copper cauldrons; whilst
an alert sentinel watched all night beside the blazing fire. But the
Zaporozhtzi soon began to tire of inactivity and prolonged sobriety,
unaccompanied by any fighting. The Koschevoi even ordered the allowance
of wine to be doubled, which was sometimes done in the army when no
difficult enterprises or movements were on hand. The young men, and
Taras Bulba’s sons in particular, did not like this life. Andrii was
visibly bored. “You silly fellow!” said Taras to him, “be patient, you
will be hetman one day. He is not a good warrior who loses heart in an
important enterprise; but he who is not tired even of inactivity, who
endures all, and who even if he likes a thing can give it up.” But hot
youth cannot agree with age; the two have different natures, and look at
the same thing with different eyes.

But in the meantime Taras’s band, led by Tovkatch, arrived; with him
were also two osauls, the secretary, and other regimental officers: the
Cossacks numbered over four thousand in all. There were among them many
volunteers, who had risen of their own free will, without any summons,
as soon as they had heard what the matter was. The osauls brought to
Taras’s sons the blessing of their aged mother, and to each a picture
in a cypress-wood frame from the Mezhigorski monastery at Kief. The two
brothers hung the pictures round their necks, and involuntarily grew
pensive as they remembered their old mother. What did this blessing
prophecy? Was it a blessing for their victory over the enemy, and then
a joyous return to their home with booty and glory, to be everlastingly
commemorated in the songs of guitar-players? or was it...? But the
future is unknown, and stands before a man like autumnal fogs rising
from the swamps; birds fly foolishly up and down in it with flapping
wings, never recognising each other, the dove seeing not the vulture,
nor the vulture the dove, and no one knowing how far he may be flying
from destruction.

Ostap had long since attended to his duties and gone to the kuren.
Andrii, without knowing why, felt a kind of oppression at his heart. The
Cossacks had finished their evening meal; the wonderful July night had
completely fallen; still he did not go to the kuren, nor lie down to
sleep, but gazed unconsciously at the whole scene before him. In the sky
innumerable stars twinkled brightly. The plain was covered far and wide
with scattered waggons with swinging tar-buckets, smeared with tar, and
loaded with every description of goods and provisions captured from the
foe. Beside the waggons, under the waggons, and far beyond the waggons,
Zaporozhtzi were everywhere visible, stretched upon the grass. They
all slumbered in picturesque attitudes; one had thrust a sack under
his head, another his cap, and another simply made use of his comrade’s
side. Swords, guns, matchlocks, short pipe-stems with copper mountings,
iron awls, and a flint and steel were inseparable from every Cossack.
The heavy oxen lay with their feet doubled under them like huge whitish
masses, and at a distance looked like gray stones scattered on the
slopes of the plain. On all sides the heavy snores of sleeping warriors
began to arise from the grass, and were answered from the plain by the
ringing neighs of their steeds, chafing at their hobbled feet. Meanwhile
a certain threatening magnificence had mingled with the beauty of the
July night. It was the distant glare of the burning district afar.
In one place the flames spread quietly and grandly over the sky; in
another, suddenly bursting into a whirlwind, they hissed and flew
upwards to the very stars, and floating fragments died away in the most
distant quarter of the heavens. Here the black, burned monastery like
a grim Carthusian monk stood threatening, and displaying its dark
magnificence at every flash; there blazed the monastery garden. It
seemed as though the trees could be heard hissing as they stood wrapped
in smoke; and when the fire burst forth, it suddenly lighted up the ripe
plums with a phosphoric lilac-coloured gleam, or turned the yellowing
pears here and there to pure gold. In the midst of them hung black
against the wall of the building, or the trunk of a tree, the body of
some poor Jew or monk who had perished in the flames with the structure.
Above the distant fires hovered a flock of birds, like a cluster of
tiny black crosses upon a fiery field. The town thus laid bare seemed to
sleep; the spires and roofs, and its palisade and walls, gleamed quietly
in the glare of the distant conflagrations. Andrii went the rounds of
the Cossack ranks. The camp-fires, beside which the sentinels sat, were
ready to go out at any moment; and even the sentinels slept, having
devoured oatmeal and dumplings with true Cossack appetites. He was
astonished at such carelessness, thinking, “It is well that there is no
strong enemy at hand and nothing to fear.” Finally he went to one of
the waggons, climbed into it, and lay down upon his back, putting his
clasped hands under his head; but he could not sleep, and gazed long at
the sky. It was all open before him; the air was pure and transparent;
the dense clusters of stars in the Milky Way, crossing the sky like a
belt, were flooded with light. From time to time Andrii in some degree
lost consciousness, and a light mist of dream veiled the heavens from
him for a moment; but then he awoke, and they became visible again.

During one of these intervals it seemed to him that some strange human
figure flitted before him. Thinking it to be merely a vision which would
vanish at once, he opened his eyes, and beheld a withered, emaciated
face bending over him, and gazing straight into his own. Long coal-black
hair, unkempt, dishevelled, fell from beneath a dark veil which had
been thrown over the head; whilst the strange gleam of the eyes, and the
death-like tone of the sharp-cut features, inclined him to think that
it was an apparition. His hand involuntarily grasped his gun; and he
exclaimed almost convulsively: “Who are you? If you are an evil spirit,
avaunt! If you are a living being, you have chosen an ill time for your
jest. I will kill you with one shot.”

In answer to this, the apparition laid its finger upon its lips and
seemed to entreat silence. He dropped his hands and began to look more
attentively. He recognised it to be a woman from the long hair, the
brown neck, and the half-concealed bosom. But she was not a native
of those regions: her wide cheek-bones stood out prominently over her
hollow cheeks; her small eyes were obliquely set. The more he gazed at
her features, the more he found them familiar. Finally he could restrain
himself no longer, and said, “Tell me, who are you? It seems to me that
I know you, or have seen you somewhere.”

“Two years ago in Kief.”

“Two years ago in Kief!” repeated Andrii, endeavouring to collect in
his mind all that lingered in his memory of his former student life. He
looked intently at her once more, and suddenly exclaimed at the top of
his voice, “You are the Tatar! the servant of the lady, the Waiwode’s
daughter!”

“Sh!” cried the Tatar, clasping her hands with a supplicating glance,
trembling all over, and turning her head round in order to see whether
any one had been awakened by Andrii’s loud exclamation.

“Tell me, tell me, why are you here?” said Andrii almost breathlessly,
in a whisper, interrupted every moment by inward emotion. “Where is the
lady? is she alive?”

“She is now in the city.”

“In the city!” he exclaimed, again almost in a shriek, and feeling all
the blood suddenly rush to his heart. “Why is she in the city?”

“Because the old lord himself is in the city: he has been Waiwode of
Dubno for the last year and a half.”

“Is she married? How strange you are! Tell me about her.”

“She has eaten nothing for two days.”

“What!”

“And not one of the inhabitants has had a morsel of bread for a long
while; all have long been eating earth.”

Andrii was astounded.

“The lady saw you from the city wall, among the Zaporozhtzi. She said to
me, ‘Go tell the warrior: if he remembers me, let him come to me; and do
not forget to make him give you a bit of bread for my aged mother, for
I do not wish to see my mother die before my very eyes. Better that I
should die first, and she afterwards! Beseech him; clasp his knees, his
feet: he also has an aged mother, let him give you the bread for her
sake!’”

Many feelings awoke in the young Cossack’s breast.

“But how came you here? how did you get here?”

“By an underground passage.”

“Is there an underground passage?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“You will not betray it, warrior?”

“I swear it by the holy cross!”

“You descend into a hole, and cross the brook, yonder among the reeds.”

“And it leads into the city?”

“Straight into the monastery.”

“Let us go, let us go at once.”

“A bit of bread, in the name of Christ and of His holy mother!”

“Good, so be it. Stand here beside the waggon, or, better still, lie
down in it: no one will see you, all are asleep. I will return at once.”

And he set off for the baggage waggons, which contained the provisions
belonging to their kuren. His heart beat. All the past, all that had
been extinguished by the Cossack bivouacks, and by the stern battle of
life, flamed out at once on the surface and drowned the present in its
turn. Again, as from the dark depths of the sea, the noble lady rose
before him: again there gleamed in his memory her beautiful arms, her
eyes, her laughing mouth, her thick dark-chestnut hair, falling in curls
upon her shoulders, and the firm, well-rounded limbs of her maiden form.
No, they had not been extinguished in his breast, they had not vanished,
they had simply been laid aside, in order, for a time, to make way for
other strong emotions; but often, very often, the young Cossack’s deep
slumber had been troubled by them, and often he had lain sleepless on
his couch, without being able to explain the cause.

His heart beat more violently at the thought of seeing her again, and
his young knees shook. On reaching the baggage waggons, he had quite
forgotten what he had come for; he raised his hand to his brow and
rubbed it long, trying to recollect what he was to do. At length he
shuddered, and was filled with terror as the thought suddenly occurred
to him that she was dying of hunger. He jumped upon the waggon and
seized several large loaves of black bread; but then he thought, “Is
this not food, suited to a robust and easily satisfied Zaporozhetz, too
coarse and unfit for her delicate frame?” Then he recollected that the
Koschevoi, on the previous evening, had reproved the cooks for having
cooked up all the oatmeal into porridge at once, when there was plenty
for three times. Sure that he would find plenty of porridge in the
kettles, he drew out his father’s travelling kettle and went with it
to the cook of their kuren, who was sleeping beside two big cauldrons,
holding about ten pailfuls, under which the ashes still glowed. Glancing
into them, he was amazed to find them empty. It must have required
supernatural powers to eat it all; the more so, as their kuren numbered
fewer than the others. He looked into the cauldron of the other
kurens--nothing anywhere. Involuntarily the saying recurred to his mind,
“The Zaporozhtzi are like children: if there is little they eat it,
if there is much they leave nothing.” What was to be done? There was,
somewhere in the waggon belonging to his father’s band, a sack of
white bread, which they had found when they pillaged the bakery of
the monastery. He went straight to his father’s waggon, but it was not
there. Ostap had taken it and put it under his head; and there he lay,
stretched out on the ground, snoring so that the whole plain rang again.
Andrii seized the sack abruptly with one hand and gave it a jerk, so
that Ostap’s head fell to the ground. The elder brother sprang up in his
sleep, and, sitting there with closed eyes, shouted at the top of his
lungs, “Stop them! Stop the cursed Lyakhs! Catch the horses! catch
the horses!”--“Silence! I’ll kill you,” shouted Andrii in terror,
flourishing the sack over him. But Ostap did not continue his speech,
sank down again, and gave such a snore that the grass on which he lay
waved with his breath.

Andrii glanced timidly on all sides to see if Ostap’s talking in his
sleep had waked any of the Cossacks. Only one long-locked head was
raised in the adjoining kuren, and after glancing about, was dropped
back on the ground. After waiting a couple of minutes he set out with
his load. The Tatar woman was lying where he had left her, scarcely
breathing. “Come, rise up. Fear not, all are sleeping. Can you take one
of these loaves if I cannot carry all?” So saying, he swung the sack on
to his back, pulled out another sack of millet as he passed the waggon,
took in his hands the loaves he had wanted to give the Tatar woman to
carry, and, bending somewhat under the load, went boldly through the
ranks of sleeping Zaporozhtzi.

“Andrii,” said old Bulba, as he passed. His heart died within him. He
halted, trembling, and said softly, “What is it?”

“There’s a woman with you. When I get up I’ll give you a sound
thrashing. Women will lead you to no good.” So saying, he leaned his
hand upon his hand and gazed intently at the muffled form of the Tatar.

Andrii stood there, more dead than alive, not daring to look in his
father’s face. When he did raise his eyes and glance at him, old Bulba
was asleep, with his head still resting in the palm of his hand.

Andrii crossed himself. Fear fled from his heart even more rapidly than
it had assailed it. When he turned to look at the Tatar woman, she stood
before him, muffled in her mantle, like a dark granite statue, and the
gleam of the distant dawn lighted up only her eyes, dull as those of
a corpse. He plucked her by the sleeve, and both went on together,
glancing back continually. At length they descended the slope of a small
ravine, almost a hole, along the bottom of which a brook flowed lazily,
overgrown with sedge, and strewed with mossy boulders. Descending into
this ravine, they were completely concealed from the view of all the
plain occupied by the Zaporovian camp. At least Andrii, glancing back,
saw that the steep slope rose behind him higher than a man. On its
summit appeared a few blades of steppe-grass; and behind them, in the
sky, hung the moon, like a golden sickle. The breeze rising on the
steppe warned them that the dawn was not far off. But nowhere was
the crow of the cock heard. Neither in the city nor in the devastated
neighbourhood had there been a cock for a long time past. They crossed
the brook on a small plank, beyond which rose the opposite bank, which
appeared higher than the one behind them and rose steeply. It seemed as
though this were the strong point of the citadel upon which the besieged
could rely; at all events, the earthen wall was lower there, and no
garrison appeared behind it. But farther on rose the thick monastery
walls. The steep bank was overgrown with steppe-grass, and in the narrow
ravine between it and the brook grew tall reeds almost as high as a man.
At the summit of the bank were the remains of a wattled fence, which
had formerly surrounded some garden, and in front of it were visible
the wide leaves of the burdock, from among which rose blackthorn, and
sunflowers lifting their heads high above all the rest. Here the Tatar
flung off her slippers and went barefoot, gathering her clothes up
carefully, for the spot was marshy and full of water. Forcing their way
among the reeds, they stopped before a ruined outwork. Skirting this
outwork, they found a sort of earthen arch--an opening not much larger
than the opening of an oven. The Tatar woman bent her head and went
first. Andrii followed, bending low as he could, in order to pass with
his sacks; and both soon found themselves in total darkness.