TARASS BOOLBA:

[1]Chief town of a district in the government of Poltava.

[2]Every foreigner, whatever may be his station, is called a German by Russian peasants. A dress coat is often sufficient to procure this name for its wearer.

[3]A village in the government of Poltava, in which the author places the scene of most of his stories.

[4]The free burghers of Little Russia, even to this day, pride themselves on being calledCossacks.

[5]Almost every family name in Little Russia has some meaning; the name ofChoopmeans the tuft of hair growing on the crown of the head, which is alone left to grow by the Little Russians; they uniformly shave the occiput and temples; in Great or Middle Russia, peasants, on the contrary, let the hair grow on these parts, and shave or cut it away from the crown.

[6]Kootia is a dish of boiled rice and plums, eaten by Russians on Christmas Eve.

[7]Varenookha is corn brandy boiled with fruit and spice.

[8]A rank in irregular troops, corresponding to that of captain in the army.

[9]Borsch is a soup made of meat, sausages, and thin slices of beet-root and cabbage steeped in vinegar.

[10]Chief town of a district in the government of Poltava.

[11]Long coats made of sheepskins, with the fur worn inside. They are used in Russia by common people.

[12]The ovens of the peasants' cottages are built in the shape of furnaces, with a place on the top which is reserved for sleeping.

[13]About eightpence a yard.

[14]Little Russians shave beard and whiskers, leaving only their mustachios.

[15]Chief town of a district in the government of Chernigoff.

[16]A carriage something between a dog-cart and a tilbury.

[17]This, according to the laws of the Greek Church, would prevent their children from intermarrying.

[18]Village clerks in Russia had their hair plaited; a practice which still continues in some remote provinces. Many priests, not allowed by the custom of the land to cut their hair short, wear it, for convenience' sake, plaited when at home and only loosen it during the performance of the duties of their office.

[19]Russians are much more strict in their fasts than Papists, eating no milk or eggs. Some even go so far as to eat no fish and no hot dishes, restricting their food to cold boiled vegetables and bread. The author has here very happily seized a trait of the inconsistency of a Little Russian peasant's character—swallowing a camel in asking for communication with the devil, and straining at a gnat in the shape of a curd dumpling in fast-time.

[20]This touch very characteristically exemplifies the cunningnaïvetéof the Little Russians, who, when deeply interested in anything, will never come to the point at once.

[21]Potemkin was created by Catherine II. Prince of Tauride, with the title of Highness, an honour rarely bestowed in Russia, and which he had fully deserved by his exertions in rendering Russian the provinces which, only a few years before, were under the dominion of the Crimean Tartars. All South, or New Russia, offers at every step records of the administrative genius of Potemkin, who, if at the outset of his career he was indebted for the favours of his sovereign to his personal appearance (which was remarkably handsome, notwithstanding a cataract in one eye), succeeded in justifying those favours by his talents, which give him an undoubted right to rank amongst the greatest statesmen of Catherine's reign—a reign which abounded in great statesmen.

[22]The author alluded to isVon Wiessen, who, in his writings (particularly in two comedies, the "Brigadier," and the "Young Nobleman without Employment,") ridiculed the then prevailing fashion amongst the Russian nobility of despising national and blindly following foreign (particularly French) customs.

[23]Ukraine, i.e., the Borders, an appellation which was of of yore given to the country now called Little Russia, which formed, in fact, the border between the territories of the Czar of Muscovy and those of Poland, the Sclavonic provinces under the dominion of Austria, of the Sultan of Turkey, of the Khans of the Tartars of the Crimea and of the Golden Horde (residing along the Volga). The name of Ukraine is, down to this time given to Little Russia by its natives, they considering it derogatory to acknowledge their country to be smaller than Great (Middle) Russia.

"Well, son, turn round! let me see thy back! What a queer figure thou art! What priest's cassocks have you got on? And do all of you at the College dress like that?" These were the words with which old Boolba greeted his two sons, who, after completing their education at Kieff, had just returned to their father's house.

His sons had just dismounted from their horses. They were two strong lads, who still looked from beneath their brows as young collegians are apt to do. Their manly healthy features were covered with the first down of hair, unacquainted as yet with the razor. Such a greeting on the part of the father, put them to great confusion, and they stood motionless, with their eyes bent down on the ground.

"Stay, stay a bit; give me leisure to look at you," he went on, turning them round; "what long coats! what coats, indeed! Never in the world were such coats! Here, let one of you just try to run! We shall soon see if he does not fall, and get his legs entangled in his skirts."

"Don't laugh at us, father, don't laugh," said at last the elder son.

"Look at the haughty fellow! and why should I not laugh?"

"For this reason: that though thou art my father, if thou goest on laughing, by Heavens, I'll give thee a thrashing."

"Ah, wretch of a son! thrash thy father!" exclaimed Tarass Boolba, falling back a few steps in astonishment.

"It matters not that thou art my father. I pay regard to nobody, and will permit nobody to insult me."

"And how are we to fight? with our fists?"

"In whatever manner it may chance."

"Well, with fists be it!" said Tarass Boolba, tucking up his sleeves; "I will see what kind of a man thou art at fisticuffs!" And father and son, instead of embracing after a long separation, began to give one another blows on the ribs, on the loins, and on the chest, now falling back and taking aim, and now stepping forward again.

"Only see, good people! the old man has gone mad! he has decidedly lost his senses!" Thus spoke the good mother, a thin, pale-faced woman, who stood at the threshold, and had not even had time to embrace her cherished sons.

"The children are but just come home; for more than a year we have not seen them, and what has he got into his head that he should fight with them?"

"He fights pretty well," said Boolba, stopping. "Very well, indeed!" continued he, taking breath; "so that I'd better not have tried it. A good Cossack will he make! Well, son! good day! let me embrace thee!" And father and son began kissing one another. "Well, my son, as thou didst strike me, so strike every one—give quarter to none! And nevertheless, thy dress is very funny! What cord is that hanging about thy loins? And thou, sluggard!" said he, turning to his younger son, "why dost thou remain there with thy hands hanging idle? why, son of a dog that thou art, why dost thou not give me a beating?"

"What hast thou hit upon now!" said the mother, embracing her younger son; "how couldst thou get into thy brain that a son should beat his father? And is this the proper time, too? The child is yet young; he has undergone such a long journey, and is quite tired" (the child was twenty years old, and seven feet high); "he ought to take a meal and some rest; and thou wishest to make him fight!"

"Ah, I have it! thou art a pet!" said Boolba; "do not, my son, give heed to what thy mother is saying; she is but a woman, and what can she know? As for thy coddling—the open field and a swift horse—these must be thy coddling! And look at this sabre—this is to be thy mother! It is all nonsense that they have been putting into your heads at the college: books, grammars, and philosophy, yes, the whole lot of them—I spit upon them all." Here Boolba used words such as are not to be met with in books. "I had better send you, not later than next week, to the Zaporoghian Ssiecha. There you will have something to learn! that will be a good school for you; there you will get brains!"

"And are they not to remain at home more than a week?" mournfully asked the old mother, with tears in her eyes. "Poor souls, they will have no time even to rest a little, no time to get acquainted with their father's roof; and I shall not have time to have a good look at them!"

"Have done, old woman! no howling! A Cossack is not made to spend his life with women. Hadst thou the power, thou wouldst put both of them under thy petticoat, and sit upon them as a hen does upon her eggs. Go, go, and have everything in the house put upon the table. We do not want pastry, honey-cakes, poppyseed cakes, and all those sweet nonsenses. Bring us a whole roasted sheep, give us a buck, let us have some mead[1]that is twenty years old, and above all things, plenty of brandy; and let it not be the brandy with raisins and various spices, but plain, clean, corn brandy, that hisses and simmers."

Boolba conducted his sons into the parlour, from which hastily rushed two pretty maid servants, with red necklaces, who were putting the rooms in order. They might have been scared by the arrival of the young masters, who never let any woman pass by quietly; or, perhaps, they did it only in accordance with the custom of all women, which is to shriek aloud, and run away with the utmost speed at the sight of a man; and then afterwards stand and gaze at him, covering their faces with their sleeves, as if vastly ashamed. The great room was arranged according to the taste of those times, of which there are nowhere such vivid pictures to be found as in songs and popular legends;—these, too, are no longer, as of yore, sung in Ukraine by blind, long-bearded old men, who used to sing them in the hearing of assembled crowds, and with the accompaniment of the soft music of thebandora[2]

The furniture was also in the taste of those warlike, sturdy times, when theUnion[3]began to provoke struggles and battles in Ukraine. The walls were all neatly plastered with coloured clay. Upon them hung sabres, scourges, nets for catching birds and for fishing, guns, a powder-horn of exquisite workmanship, a golden snaffle-bit, and horse-shackles with silver plates. The windows were small, with dim, round panes, such as are now found only in old churches, and through which one could only see by lifting the moveable glass. The windows and doors were surrounded with stripes of red paint. In the corners there stood, upon shelves, an array of jugs, bottles, and flagons of green and blue glass, chased silver cups, and gilded dram-cups of Venetian, Turkish, and Circassian workmanship. They had come into Boolba's hands by various means, he being the third or fourth possessor of them, an occurrence very usual in those warlike days. Wooden benches ran all round the room; an immense table stood in the front corner, under the holy images; a large stove, which had many projecting and receding corners, was covered with variegated, varnished tiles. All this was familiar to our two youths, who had every year come home for the vacations. They had always until now come home on foot, because they had no horses, for collegians are not permitted to ride on horseback. The long tufts on the crown of their heads were the only mark of manhood allowed them, and even these, every Cossack wearing arms had the right to pull. It was not till the conclusion of their studies that Boolba had sent them a pair of young horses, which he had selected for them out of his herd.

Boolba, to celebrate the arrival of his sons, had sent invitations to all the centurions and all the officers of his regiment; and as soon as he saw two of them coming with his old comrade theessaool[4]Dmitro Tovkach, he introduced his sons to them, saying, "Look at them, are they not pretty lads? I shall send them soon to the Ssiecha!" The guests congratulated both Boolba and the two youths, saying that that was a capital thing, and that there was no better school for young men than the Zaporoghian Ssiecha.

"Well, gentlemen brothers, sit down to table, every one where he pleases. Now, sons, before anything else, let's take some brandy!" so spoke Boolba. "God's blessing be upon us! May God give you health, my sons; to thee, Ostap, and to thee, Andrew! May he ever grant you success in war! that you may get the better of all misbelievers, Tartars, and Turks, or Poles—if Poles attempt anything against our faith. Well, give me your cup; is the brandy good? And what is the Latin for brandy? Well, son, the Romans were only so many fools; they did not even know so much as that there's brandy in the world. How do you call the fellow that wrote Latin verses? I am no great scholar, so I do not know his name; but let me see, wasn't it Horace?"

"Just see my father!" thought the elder son, Ostap, to himself; "he knows all about it, and yet feigns ignorance, the old dog!"

"I think the Abbot didn't so much as let you smell brandy,"[5]continued Tarass Boolba. "Now, own, sons, they famously thrashed your back, and whatever else a Cossack possesses, with fresh birch rods? or, perhaps, as you grew cleverer, you were flogged with scourges? and I should think not only on Saturdays, but on Wednesdays and Thursdays[6]too, you got your allowance."

"What is the use of talking about what is past?" answered Ostap; "what is past can never come back."

"Let any one try it now," said Andrew; "let any one touch us now! If a Tartar were to come within our reach, now, we would soon let him know what sort of a thing a Cossack's sabre is."

"Well said, son, well said indeed! If things stand so, I will go with you! By Heavens, I'll do it! What the devil have I to wait here for? Am I then to turn sower or farmer, or to pasture sheep or swine, and make love to my wife? Let them all perish! I am a Cossack, and will not be anything else but a Cossack! There is no war? Well, what then? I'll go with you just to have a look at the Zaporoghians! By Heavens, I will!" and old Boolba grew warmer and warmer in his speech, and at last, becoming quite fierce, rose from the table, drew himself up to his full height and stamped with his foot. "Why should it be put off? Let us ride there to-morrow! Of what use would it be for us to wait? What is this house to us? Of what use is all this furniture? Of what use this crockery?" and with these words he began knocking about and dashing on the ground jugs and dishes.

His poor old wife, seated on a bench, mournfully watched these proceedings of her husband, to which she was accustomed. She dared not interfere, but could not restrain her tears at hearing a decision so awful to her; she looked at her sons, from whom she was threatened to part so soon, and none could describe the extent of the silent intensity of sorrow which seemed to quiver in her eyes and in her convulsively compressed lips.

Boolba was stubborn to an excess. His was one of those characters, which could only take their rise in the gloomy fifteenth century, in a semi-nomad corner of Europe, at a time when the whole of primitive Southern Russia was left by its sovereign princes a prey to the fire and sword of the unconquerable Mogul invaders; when the natives of that country grew daring, after having lost hearth and roof; when they settled upon the sites of their former dwellings, within view of their terrible neighbours and of incessant danger, and learned to forget that there was any such thing in the world as fear; when after having remained dormant for centuries, the Slavonic spirit was inflamed with the love of war. Then it was that theCossacksbroke forth, that powerful sinew of Russian nature, and then the banks of all the rivers and the valleys and rich pasturages were covered with Cossacks. Nobody could number them, and rightly did their bold comrades give answer to the Sultan, who inquired their number, "Who can tell it? all the steppe over; for every mound there is a Cossack!" In truth it was an extraordinary outburst of Russian strength; calamity struck it out of the breast of the Russian people, just as steel strikes fire out of flint. Ancient principalities had disappeared; small towns, with prickers and huntsmen, were no more; petty sovereigns exchanging their possessions had had their time. Instead of these, there arose formidable hamlets, villages and communities bound together by common danger from, and common hatred to, the foes of the Cross. History makes us acquainted how it was that their incessant struggles, and restless life, prevented Europe from falling a prey to the irresistible flood of Tartar invaders, and from being overthrown by them. The Polish kings, who had superseded the Russian princes in the possession of their wide expanse of land, although far from these their possessions, and without the means of enforcing their rule over them, understood the mission of the Cossacks and the advantages derivable from their warlike, lawless mode of life. They gave encouragement to their pursuits, nay, they even flattered them. It was under their remote sway, that Hetmans, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, transformed hamlets and communities into regiments and regular military circuits. There was no regular standing army; not a soldier was to be seen; but in case of war or any general movement, every one, before eight days were over, appeared on horseback armed from head to foot, but receiving only a ducat from the king, and thus in a fortnight was gathered such a militia as no regular enlistments could ever have produced. The campaign once over, the warrior returned to his fields and pastures, or to the ferries over the Dnieper, betook himself to fishing, trading and brewing beer, and he became once more afree Cossack. Well might foreign writers of this period express their astonishment at the manifold accomplishments of a Cossack. No trade, no business, was unknown to him; he knew how to distil brandy out of corn, how to mend a carriage, how to grind powder; he was acquainted with blacksmith's as well as with locksmith's work; and besides all this he knew how to plunge into the vortex of the most riotous life, to drink and to carouse—as none but a Russian can. Besides the registered Cossacks, who were by duty bound to come forth in case of war, there were, at every period of great emergency, whole troops of mounted volunteers. Theessaoolshad nothing to do but to go through the squares and market-places of every city and village, and there, mounting on some carriage, cry aloud: "Ho! you brewers and coopers! enough of brewing your beer, lolling on your ovens, and feeding flies with the fat of your bodies! Come and seek the glory and honour of knights! And you, ploughmen, sowers, shepherds, loiterers, have done with going behind the plough and daubing your yellow boots with mud, with running after girls and destroying your knightly strength. The time is come to win a Cossack's glory!"

And these words fell like so many sparks upon dry wood. Ploughmen broke their ploughs, brewers and coopers destroyed their tubs and casks, mechanics and tradesmen sent handicraft and trade to the devil, broke the furniture in their houses, and every one, be he who he might, set off on horseback. In a word, here it was that the Russian character showed itself in its boldest and most striking outlines, and received its most powerful development.

Tarass Boolba was one of the old colonels, and a colonel of the old school too. In him seemed combined everything which makes a warrior, and his character was stamped by a stern uprightness. In those times the influence of Poland already began to be felt amongst the nobility of South Russia; many of the nobles began to adopt Polish fashions, to indulge in luxury, to keep a magnificent revenue, hawks, and huntsmen, to give banquets and entertainments. All this was displeasing to Tarass; he liked the simple manner of life of the Cossacks, and quarrelled with those of his comrades who inclined towards the Warsaw party, nicknaming them the servants of Polish lords. Ever unconquerable, he took it for granted that he was the rightful defender of orthodoxy. He went, of his own accord, into every village where the tenants complained of oppression or of additional taxes laid on the cottages, and constituting himself judge of these grievances, he made it a rule that the sword was to be used on three occasions, viz., when the Polish commissaries did not pay due respect to the Elders, and stood covered before them; when they insulted orthodoxy, and did not observe the faith of their forefathers; and lastly, when the foes were misbelievers or Turks, against whom, according to his notions, a Christian was in every case allowed to raise his sword.

Now Tarass pictured to himself, beforehand, the pleasure he should have in bringing his sons to the Ssiecha, and in saying, "Look at them, are not these fine fellows that I have brought you!" how he would introduce them to all his old comrades, hardened in so many combats; how he would behold their first deeds in war and in carousing, which was also accounted one of the great accomplishments of a knight. At first, he had thought of sending them by themselves; but, on seeing the freshness of their manly beauty, the height and strength of their frames, his warlike spirit kindled, and he resolved to go with them himself, although nothing but the stubbornness of his own will made it requisite. He was already busy giving orders, making choice of horses and trappings for his young sons, going into the stables and barns, and indicating; the servants who were to start on the morrow with him. He deputed his authority to the Essaool Tovkach, giving him strict orders to come with his regiment at his first summons, were he to send from the Ssiecha for it. He forgot nothing, though he was rather tipsy, and his head was not yet quite clear. He even gave orders to water the horses, and to put the best and largest grained wheat into their mangers. At last he returned, tired out with his work. "Well, children, let us go to sleep, and to-morrow we shall do what God wills. No beds! we don't want beds; we will sleep in the yard."

Night had scarcely crept over the sky, but Boolba always went to rest early. He lay down upon a carpet and rolled himself up in a sheepskin cloak, because the night was rather fresh, and because he always liked when at home to be warmly covered. He was soon snoring, and every one in the yard followed his example. All who were lying about in different corners of the yard set off snoring; first of all the watchman fell asleep, for he had got more tipsy than any one on the occasion of the young masters' arrival. The poor mother alone could not sleep; she reclined on the pillow of her dear sons, who were lying side by side; she smoothed their young negligently intermingled curls, moistening them with tears. She was gazing at them, ay, gazing at them with all her soul; her whole being seemed absorbed in sight, and she could not cease gazing. With her own milk she had fed them—she had watched them grow—she had tended them—and now, she sees them near her only for a moment. "Sons, my own dear sons, what will happen to you? What is in store for you?" and tears ran down on the wrinkles which disfigured her once handsome face.

And, indeed, she was to be pitied, as were nil the women of those warlike times. For one moment only had she enjoyed love, which wits during the first impulse merely of youth and passion; and then her stern lover had quitted her for his sabre, for his comrades, and for carousing. During the whole course of the year, she saw her husband but for two or three days, and then years passed away without hearing anything about him. And, even when she happened to see him, and live with him, what a life was hers; she received nothing from him but insults, and often even blows. The caresses bestowed upon her were nothing but charity, she saw it. Strange was her existence among that mob of heartless warriors, whose features bore the bronzed colouring peculiar to the Zaporoghians. She had seen her youth glide away without enjoyment, and her beautiful fresh cheeks fade without kisses and shrivel into wrinkles before due time. All her love, all her feelings, all that is tender and passionate in a woman, all was concentrated for her in one feeling—that of a mother. And like a bird of the steppe, she feverishly, passionately, and tearfully hovered over her children. Her sons, her dear sons, are to be taken away from her; to be taken where she may never see them again. Who knows? may be in the first battle a Tartar will cut off their heads, and she will not even know where to find their corpses; perhaps those corpses, for each morsel of which, for each drop of whose blood she would give everything in the world, those very corpses may be thrown aside, and the wild birds of prey may tear them to pieces. Sobbing, she looked in their eyes, which sleep already began to close, and she thought— "Who knows but that Boolba, on awaking, may put off the departure for some two or three days; may be he resolved to start so soon, merely from having drunk too much."

The moon had long ago risen in the heavens, and from their height shone down on the yard, covered with sleeping Cossacks, on the thick sallows, and on the high grass which had overgrown the palisade surrounding the yard. Still the mother remained sitting beside her dear sons, never taking her eyes off them for a moment, and never caring for sleep. The horses, feeling the approach of the dawn, lay down and ceased to feed; the upper leaves of the sallows began to move, and, by degrees, the murmuring current descended to the branches beneath. The mother remained sitting till dawn. She felt no weariness, and inwardly wished that the night might last still longer. Already the sonorous neighing of the foals was heard from the steppe; red streaks brightly illumined the sky. All at once Boolba awoke and sprang to his feet; he was perfectly aware of the orders he had given on the preceding day....

"Up lads, away with sleep! it is time, it is time. Give the horses their drink. Where is the old woman (so he usually called his wife)? Quick, old woman! prepare our meal—we have a long journey before us!"

The poor old woman, deprived of her last hopes, went mournfully to the house. While tearfully she was preparing everything for breakfast, Boolba issued his orders: he bustled about in the stable and himself chose the best equipment for his sons. The collegians were suddenly metamorphosed: instead of their dirty boots and shabby dresses, they appeared in red boots with silver heels; their trousers, of a tremendous width with thousands of folds, were tightly girded with a gilded belt; long leather thongs, with tassels and different requisites for the pipe, hung from their belts. Theircossackins,[7]of a fiery red cloth, were girded by brilliantly-coloured sashes, in which were stuck pistols of Turkish embossed workmanship, and sabres were dangling about their heels. Their faces, not yet sunburnt, seemed to have grown still more handsome and still fairer. Their young dark mustachios gave still more brilliancy to the healthy, robust bloom of their youth; their black sheepskin caps, with the crowns of cloth of gold, became them excellently. Poor mother! when she saw them she could not utter a word, and tears rushed into her eyes.

"Now, sons, all is ready, don't waste time," said Boolba at last. "Now, we must all, like Christians, sit down before the journey."[8]

Every one sat down, including even the servants, who had respectfully stood at the door.

"Now, mother, bless thy children!" said Boolba. "Pray God that they may be brave in war, that they may ever preserve their knightly honour, that they may ever hold fast the faith of Christ. Otherwise, 'twere better they should die, better nothing remained of them in the world. Go to your mother, children; the prayer of a mother preserves one by sea and land."

The tender mother embraced them, took two small holy images, and sobbing, hung them round their necks:—

"May the Holy Virgin—preserve you—don't forget your mother, my sons—send me word about you." She could say no more!

"Let us be gone now, children!" said Boolba. Saddled horses stood near the door of the house. Boolba sprang on his own, named "Devil," who furiously bounded aside as he felt on his back the weight of his rider, who was very stout and heavy. When the mother saw that her sons had also mounted, she rushed to the younger, whose features wore a somewhat more tender expression; she caught his stirrup, clung to his saddle, and, a picture of utter despair, would not let him loose. Two strong Cossacks gently dragged her away and carried her into the room. But when she saw them cross the gateway, in spite of her age she flew through the yard with the swiftness of a wild goat, and, with incredible strength, stopped the horse and embraced one of her sons, with a mad, rapturous feverishness. Once more was she brought home.

Mournfully rode the young Cossacks, restraining their tears lest their father should be angry; but he, too, was agitated, although he endeavoured not to show it. The day was gray; the verdure was of a bright green; the birds seemed to sing discordantly. After having ridden for some time, they turned to look back: the farm seemed to have sunk into the earth; they could only see the two chimneys of their modest mansion and the tops of the surrounding trees—those trees, whose branches they used to climb like squirrels; but before them lay expanded the wide plain—that same plain, which might bring back to their minds the whole history of their lives, from the years when they rolled in its dew-covered grass, down to the years when they were reclining in it, awaiting some dark-browed girl, who timidly ran across it with her pretty little feet. Already—nothing is to be seen, but the pulley over the well, with the wheel tied to its top. Already the plain, across which they rode but just now, has covered all behind and looks like a hill. Farewell, childhood! Farewell, youthful sports! all of you, farewell!

The three riders all proceeded in silence. Old Boolba thought of former times; he saw pass before him his youth, his bygone years, those years which are always regretted by a Cossack, who would wish that his whole life were youth only; he thought of the comrades he should meet with at the Ssiecha; he remembered who those were who had died, and those who yet remained alive. A tear might have been seen trembling in his eye, and mournfully did he droop his gray head.

Other thoughts occupied his sons. But more should be said about the sons. At twelve years old they were sent to the College of Kieff, because all' the important nobles of that time found it necessary to give an education to their sons, although it was apparently done merely for the purpose of their entirely forgetting it afterwards. Like all the collegians, they had something wild about them, having been brought up in perfect freedom. At the college, however, they got something of that external polish, which, being common to all collegians, made them so resemble one another. Ostap, the elder of the two, began his career by running away the very first year; he was brought back, mercilessly flogged, and once more set to his book. Four times did he bury his grammar in the ground, and four times, after having him horsewhipped without pity, a new one was bought for him. Yet he would no doubt have repeated the same attempt a fifth time, had not his father pledged him his word that he would have him shut up in a cloister for twenty years, and sworn that he should never see the Zaporoghian Ssiecha till he had been through the whole course of academic learning. It is worth notice that this was said by that same Tarass Boolba, who, as we have seen, laughed at all learning, and advised his children never to trouble themselves about it. From that time Ostap grew intensely assiduous, and was soon ranked among the best pupils.

The education and the practical life of those times afforded the most striking contrast. All the scholastic, grammatical, and rhetorical subtleties were decidedly inappropriate to the epoch, inapplicable to anything, and of no use in after life. Even had the studies been much less scholastic, those who studied would have found nothing to which they could have been adapted. The first rate scholars of that time were the most ignorant people in practice, because they, more than others, were removed from the experience of life. The republican form of the academical administration, as well as the great concourse of full-grown, healthy young men, could not fail to give the pupils' minds a direction quite alien to their studies. At one time bad food, at others oft-repeated punishments by hunger, then, those impulses which arise in fresh, healthy, strong youths—all this combined to give them that enterprising spirit which afterwards attained its full expansion in the Zaporoghian Ssiecha. Hungry collegians rambled about the streets of Kieff, and rendered every one cautious. The market-women who sat in the market, as soon as they saw a collegian coming, quickly covered with their hands their pies, rolls, and pumpkin seeds, just as eagles cover their young with their wings. Theconsuls, whose duty it was to watch over such of their comrades as were placed under their orders, themselves wore trouser pockets of such frightful dimensions that they could hide in them the whole contents of a tray if the market-woman happened to look aside. These collegians formed a world apart; they were not allowed to mix in the higher circles, which consisted of Polish and Russian nobles. Even the Voevoda,[9]Adam Kissel, notwithstanding the protection which he showed to the college, did not allow the collegians admittance into society, and ordered them to be treated with the greatest severity. This last injunction was, however, quite superfluous, for neither the rector nor the professors spared the rods and whips, and often at their commands thelictors[10]gave their consuls such a sound flogging, that the latter rubbed their trousers many weeks after. Many of them became indifferent to it, and thought it only a little stronger than good brandy and pepper; some found such frictions too frequent and too unpleasant, and at last took flight to the Ssiecha, if they could but find the way to it, and if they happened not to be caught during the journey.

Ostap Boolba, notwithstanding his assiduity in learning logic, and even theology, could by no means escape the inexorable rod. Of course, all this hardened his character, and gave him that firmness which is so peculiar to the Cossacks. Ostap was always reputed the best of comrades. He was not often a leader of the others in daring enterprises, such as to lay waste some orchard or kitchen-garden, but he was always among the first who joined the colours of the daring collegian who was to lead, and never on any occasion did he betray his comrades; no whip, no rods, could make him do so. Nothing but fighting and carousing had any attraction for him; never, at least, did he think of anything else. With his equals he was always open-hearted. He was good, so far as goodness was possible with such a character and at such an epoch. The tears of his poor mother had strongly impressed his mind, and might account for his depressed spirits, and the thoughtful drooping of his head.

The feelings of his younger brother, Andrew, were quicker, and in some degree, more sharpened. He showed more inclination and less difficulty for study than is usually the case with a heavy, robust character. He had more contrivance than his brother, and more frequently became the leader in expeditions of danger, and oftener, thanks to his ready wit, found means to escape punishment; while his brother Ostap, setting aside every subterfuge, took off his coat and laid himself down on the floor, without ever thinking of begging forgiveness. Andrew was as eager as his brother for warlike feats, but his heart was also open to other feelings. When he was scarcely eighteen, he felt to the quick the want of love; thoughts of women would often visit his over-heated fancy; whilst listening to philosophical disputes, he saw every moment a fresh, dark-eyed, tender face; continually there glimmered before him her round smooth bosom, her delicate, beautifully moulded bare arm; even her dress, clinging to her maidenly yet powerful form, his fancy would depict as something indescribably voluptuous. These inspirations of his passionate youthful soul, Andrew carefully hid from his comrades, for in those times it was reputed a shame and a dishonour to a Cossack to think about women, and love, before having gone through a battle. And yet, during the later years, he was no longer so often the leader of collegian parties, but was more frequently to be seen strolling about one of the lonely lanes of Kieff, overshadowed by cherry-tree gardens, which surrounded some low cottages. He also went sometimes into the aristocratic street in that part of Kieff which is now-a-days called the Old Town, where the nobility of Little Russia and Poland used to live, and where the buildings in their appearance showed more refinement.

Once, as he was gazing about the street, he was nearly caught by the wheels of the carriage of some Polish lord, and received a well-aimed cut of the whip from the frightfully mustachioed figure, who sat on the box of the carriage. The young collegian took fire at once; with inconsiderate audacity he grasped with his powerful hand the rear wheel, and stopped the carriage. But the coachman, fearing the result, whipped the horses; they started forward, and Andrew, who fortunately had time to withdraw his arm, fell flat on the ground, with his face in the mud. The most sonorous and harmonious laughter resounded above him. He lifted up his eyes, and saw, standing at a window, a beauty, the like of whom he had never seen before. Her eyes were dark, and the whiteness of her complexion was like the snow, lighted by the rosy-coloured rays of the morning sun; she laughed with all her heart, and laughter gave additional splendour to her beauty. He remained riveted to the spot. Unconscious of everything around him, he looked at her, and, absent in mind, wiped the mud from his face, soiling it still more. Who could that lovely girl be? He tried to learn her name of the servants, who, in rich dresses, were assembled in a crowd at the gate, round a young musician, playing on thebandora[11]But the servants burst out laughing on seeing his dirty face, and no one condescended to answer him. He succeeded at last in ascertaining that the young lady was the daughter of the Voevoda of Kovno, who had come to Kieff for a certain time. Next night, with an audacity peculiar to collegians, he crept through a palisade into the garden, climbed a tree whose branches were widely spread, and leaned on the very roof of the house; from the tree he got on to the roof, and gliding down a chimney, came straight into the room of the beauty, who was just then sitting before a light, and taking her costly ear-rings out of her ears. The beautiful girl was so terrified at seeing before her a strange man, that she could not utter a word; but when she saw that the collegian remained standing, his eyes bent on the ground, and not daring, from bashfulness, to move even his hand; when she recognised him to be the same person who had fallen in the street beneath her eyes, she once more gave vent to her laughter. Besides, Andrew's features had nothing alarming in them; he was very handsome. She laughed with all her heart, and continued a long time amusing herself at his expense. The beauty was as flighty as only a Polish woman can be; but her eyes, her beautiful, her piercingly bright eyes, threw glances as lasting as constancy. The collegian remained motionless, and seemed as if all his limbs were tied up in a sack, when the Voevoda's daughter came boldly up to him, put her brilliant diadem upon his head, hung her ear-rings on his lips, and threw on his shoulders a transparent muslin chemisette with gold embroidered festoons. She dressed him out in different ways, and played with him a thousand silly tricks with the childish ease so characteristic of the giddy Poles, and which added still more to the confusion of the poor collegian. His mouth wide open, his looks riveted on her brilliant eyes, he made the most laughable figure. A noise which was heard at the door, aroused her fears. She ordered him to hide himself under the bed, and as soon as the noise was over, she called for her maid, a Tartar prisoner, and ordered her to conduct him cautiously into the garden, and thence to see him over the palisade. But this time our collegian was not so fortunate in getting over the palisade. The watchman awaking, gave him a vigorous blow over the legs, and the servants assembled by the noise, beat him in the street, long before his swift feet carried him out of their reach. After this, it was very dangerous to pass near the house of the Voevoda, the more so as his servants were numerous. Andrew saw his beauty once more in a Latin Church; she noticed him, and gave him a pleasant smile as to an old acquaintance. Once more, but onlyen passant,did he see her, and then the Voevoda left Kieff, and after that, instead of the beautiful dark-eyed Polish girl, a broad, coarse face looked out of her windows.

This is what Andrew was thinking about, with his head bent down, and his eyes fixed on the mane of his horse.

Meanwhile, the steppe had long ago received them in its green embrace, and its high grass, encircling them, had hidden them so that only their black Cossack's caps were now and then to be seen above it.

"Eh! eh! eh! What are you about, lads? Why so silent?" said Boolba, recovering from his meditation. "Just like monks! Come now, all at the same time! All sad thoughts to the devil! Take your pipes between your teeth, light them, set spurs to your horses, and let us take such a gallop, that no bird shall get the better of us!"

And the Cossacks slightly bending towards the manes of their horses, disappeared in the high grass. Not even their black caps were now to e seen; their course could only be followed by looking at the furrow in the grass, which they crushed with the rapidity of lightning.

The sun had long since appeared in the sky, and poured its vivifying warm rays over the steppe. All that was perplexed or dreamy about the souls of the Cossacks fled at once, and their hearts bounded within them like birds.

The farther the steppe went the grander it became. At that time the whole tract of land which now forms New Russia, even as far as the coast of the Black Sea, was but one green uninhabited waste. No plough ever furrowed its immense wavy plains of wild plants; the wild horses, which herded there, alone trampled them down. Nothing in nature could afford a more beautiful scene. The whole extent of the steppe was nothing but a green-gold ocean, whose surface seemed besprinkled with millions of different coloured flowers. Here, through the thin tall blades of the grass, were to be seen purple, blue, and violet corn-flowers; there, the pyramidal top of a yellow genistella shot up suddenly; the umbrella-shaped heads of the clover shone like so many white spots; some ears of wheat, brought heaven knows whence, were slowly ripening amongst the grass. Under their thin stems partridges were fluttering with outstretched necks. The air was filled with the calls of thousands of different birds. Goshawks remained stationary in the sky, with wings wide spread, and eyes fixed on the grass. The screams of a flock of wild geese, which like a cloud was seen moving on one side of the horizon, were re-echoed by the murmurs from some distant lake. A gull might be seen, with measured flapping of its wing, rising in the clouds, and luxuriously bathing in the blue waves of the air: behold, now it disappears in the skies, and only at times shows like a dark spot on them; there again, it turns round, and its wings gleam in the sunshine.

"The deuce take ye, O steppes! how beautiful you are!"

Our travellers stopped only a few minutes for dinner. On this occasion, the ten Cossacks who formed their escort alighted, and brought forward the barrels of corn-brandy, and the hollow pumpkins, which supplied the place of plates. The dinner consisted of nothing but bread, lard, and wheaten biscuits; one cup of brandy, and no more, was allowed to every one, just to keep up his strength, for Tarass Boolba never permitted any one to get tipsy whilst travelling. Then the journey was resumed.

As evening came on, the whole scenery of the steppe underwent a change. The last bright reflection of the sun encircled once more its variegated expanse, which gradually grew darker, so that the shades of evening might be seen coming step by step over it, making its green hue more and more black; the exhalations arose more densely; every flower, every herb sent forth sweet perfumes, and a cloud of fragant smells seemed to hang over the whole of the steppe. Over the blue-tinted sombre skies a gigantic brush seemed to have drawn broad stripes of red gold; at times were to be seen gliding like so many white flocks, light transparent clouds; the most refreshing breeze, pleasant as the sea-waves, gently ruffled the surface of the grass, and softly touched the cheek. The harmony which had filled the steppe during the day died away, and gave place to other sounds. Animals which had remained in their holes under ground during the day, came out, and made the steppe resound with their cries and hisses. The chirp of the crickets grew louder and louder. Sometimes from a distant pond was heard the cry of a swan, which rang silvery through the air.

The travellers, after choosing their halting-place, stopped under the canopy of heaven, made a fire, and warmed the kettle in which they boiled their gruel; the curling smoke floated up above in a curved line. After supper, the Cossacks lay down for sleep, after having tied the legs of their horses, which were left to feed in the grass. The Cossacks stretched themselves on their cloaks; they could see right above them the stars of the night; they could hear the numberless myriads of insects which filled the grass, whose chirping, whose whistling, whose shrill notes resounded sharply through the stillness of that hour and the freshness of the night air, and formed together a delightful harmony. If any one happened to lift his head, or to arise, he saw all the steppe covered with the sparkling light of the glowworms. Sometimes, at different places, the sky seemed glaring with fire, which had been set to the dry reeds in some distant fields, or along the banks of some river, and then a dark line of swans, flying towards the north, suddenly lighted up a pink-silvered streak, and it seemed as if rosy scarfs were fluttering in the sombre skies. Our travellers journeyed on without any adventure. No trees met their view; on every side expanded the same endless, free, beautiful steppe.

At times only might be seen the remote blue tops of the forests growing along the banks of the Dnieper. Once only, Tarass pointed out to his sons a small black spot at a great distance in the grass, and exclaimed, "Look, children, there is a Tartar!" A small mustachioed face peered at them with its narrow eyes, sniffed the air like a harrier, and disappeared at once, seeing there were thirteen Cossacks. "Well, lads, will you try to catch the Tartar? You had better not; you will never overtake him; his steed is swifter than my 'Devil.'" Yet, fearing some hidden mischief, he took his precautions. Coming to a narrow stream, which fell into a river, he ordered his followers to enter the water on horseback, and they did not continue their journey till they had swum a long way, to hide their track. Three days later, they were near the end of their journey. The air grew colder; they felt the proximity of the Dnieper. Behold! there it sparkles in the sun, and forms a wide dark streak beneath the sky; its cold waves come nearer and nearer, and on a sudden, surround half the horizon. It was at this part of the Dnieper that, after being compressed in its course by the rapids, it reconquered its liberty, and spreading out freely, roared like the ocean; the islands thrown in its centre made it rush still more vehemently towards the banks, and its waves rolled on the even ground without having to dash over any rocks or elevations. The Cossacks dismounted, got into a ferry-boat, and after a passage of three hours, they reached the island Khortitza, where, for the time being, was the camp of the Ssiecha, which so often changed its seat.

A crowd of people stood on the bank of the river quarrelling with the ferryman. The Cossacks adjusted their horses for mounting; Tarass assumed a dignified air, tightened his belt, and proudly twirled his mustachios. His young sons, too, looked at themselves from head to foot, with some unaccountable terror, and no less unaccountable pleasure. Then they all rode together into the suburb, which was about half a verst[12]from the Ssiecha. On entering it, they were deafened by the sound of fifty blacksmith's hammers, which fell with heavy strokes in five-and-twenty forges, dug in the ground and covered with grass. Strong tanners sat in the street at their own doors, and scutched ox-hides with their powerful hands; tradespeople sat under tents, loaded with flints, steels, and gunpowder; here, an Armenian has hung up costly handkerchiefs for sale; there, a Tartar is roasting pieces of mutton rolled in dough; there, a Jew, his head stretched forward, is drawing off corn-brandy from a cask. But the first man they saw was a Zaporoghian lying asleep in the very middle of the road, his arms and legs stretched far apart. Tarass Boolba could not help stopping to admire him.

"Now, is not this a glorious sight? Ah! what a fine sight!" said he, stopping his horse; and the sight was certainly a striking one. There lay the Zaporoghian, like a lion, full length on the road; his crown tuft, proudly thrown back, was fully a foot in length; his trousers were smeared with tar, in order to show his utter contempt for the costly scarlet cloth of which they were made. After remaining for a while looking at him, Boolba continued to thread his way through a narrow street, crowded by workmen, who, in the street itself, were working at their trade, and by people of every nation, who filled this suburb of the Ssiecha, which wore the appearance of a fair, and whence the Ssiecha derived its food and clothes; for the Ssiecha itself knew nothing beyond carousing and fighting.

At last, they left the suburb and saw somekoorens[13]scattered about and covered with grass, or according to the Tartar fashion with cow-hair felt. About some of the koorens stood cannons. Nowhere could be seen any palisade, or any of the low cottages with sheds on short wooden columns, like those of the suburb. A small mound with a ditch, guarded by no living soul, was only a proof of the greatest carelessness. Some strongly-built Zaporoghians, who were lying on the very road, with their pipes between their teeth, coolly surveyed the riders, but did not even move. Tarass rode cautiously through the midst of them with his sons, and said, "Health be with you, gentlemen!"

"And with you, too;" answered the Zaporoghians.

In every direction the field was covered with motley groups of people. Their brown faces bespoke them at once to be hardened in war and inured to every privation.

So here is theSsiecha! Here is that nest, whence take their flight all those men, as proud and strong as lions! Hence pour freedom and Cossackdom over all Ukraine!

The riders came to an extensive square, where theRada[14]was accustomed to assemble. The first person they saw was a Zaporoghian, seated on a tub, who, having taken off his shirt, was holding it in his hand, slowly mending the holes in it. Then they were stopped in their progress by a troop of musicians, in the midst of whom was dancing a young Zaporoghian, his cap carelessly thrown on one ear and his hands wildly tossed in the air. He cried incessantly, "Quicker, quicker, musicians! and thou, Thomas, don't spare brandy for the Christians." And Thomas, with a black eye, was busily engaged in pouring out brandy for every new-comer. Near the young Zaporoghian four old ones were also dancing, sometimes with quick, tiny steps, then again with the rapidity of the wind, throwing themselves on one side, almost on the heads of the musicians, then on a sudden, bending their knees till they were almost in a sitting posture, and rushing thus from side to side, making the hard-beaten earth ring with the heavy sonorous strokes of their silver-rimmed heels. The ground gave back a rumbling sound through all the vicinity, and the air at a great distance re-echoed the noisy trampling of their boots. But there was one among the dancers who shouted still louder, and rushed about still more impetuously than the others. His long crown-lock floated in the wind, his sinewy breast was naked; he had on his warm sheepskin coat, and the perspiration poured down his brow, as from out of a jug. "Well, now, take thy coat off," said Tarass at last; "dost thou not feel the heat?"

"No, I cannot," answered the Zaporoghian.

"And why not?"

"I cannot; such is my habit, that what is once off, I give up for brandy."

And long since, indeed, had the lad had no cap, no belt to his coat, no embroidered handkerchief; they had all gone the way one might expect. The farther the crowd extended, the denser it grew; new dancers came every moment; and strange were the feelings excited at watching the freest and most furious dance the world ever beheld, and which, from the name of its mighty inventors is called the "Cossack."

"Ah, were it not for my horse!" cried Tarass, "I would, by Heavens I would, go into the dance too."

And meanwhile, amongst other people, they met some of the elderly Cossacks, with old gray crown-locks, who were held in great respect by all the Ssiecha, and had been many times chosen Elders. Tarass was not long without meeting many well-known faces. Ostap and Andrew heard nothing but greetings such as these:— "Ah, here thou art, Petcheritza!" "Good day, Kozoloop!" "In Heaven's name, whence comest thou, Tarass?" "Why art thou here, Doloto?" "Good day, Kirdiaga!" "Good day, Gostoi!" "Who would have thought to see thee, Remen!" And warriors, assembled from the whole of the loose world of Western Russia, embraced one another. Next came the questions:—"And what of Kassian? where is Borodavka? where Koloper? where Pidsyschok?" But Tarass Boolba only got for answer that Borodavka had been hanged by the Poles, that Koloper had been flayed alive by the Tartars, that Pidsyschok's head had been salted and sent in a tub to Constantinople. Old Tarass bent his head and thoughtfully muttered, "Good Cossacks were they!"

Tarass Boolba and his sons had remained already more than a week at the Ssiecha. Ostap and Andrew had not yet much profited by warlike exercises. The Zaporoghians did not like spending their time in the mimicry of war; the education and martial accomplishments of the young were acquired by experience alone, during the raging of battles which, for the same reason, were almost incessant. The Cossacks found it dull work to employ their leisure in learning discipline, and if they ever studied anything it was shooting at a target, and sometimes pursuing on horseback the wild animals of the steppes; the whole remaining time was given up to carousing—the proof of a widely diffused freedom. The whole Ssiecha presented a strange scene; it was like an unceasing festival, a banquet which had begun noisily and forgotten to end. Some Zaporoghians were occupied in different handicrafts; others had shops and busied themselves with trade; but the greater part feasted from morning till night, as long as the possibility of feasting jingled in their pockets, and as long as the conquered booty had not found its way into the hands of the tradesmen and the proprietors of brandy-shops. This universal festival had something seductive about it; it was not an assembly of men who had been driven to drunkenness by grief; it was nothing but the maddest expression of mirth. Every one who had found his way thither, forgot and at once cast off everything which had till then occupied his mind. He seemed to drive away all his past life, and to give himself up, soul and body, with the fanaticism of a new convert, to freedom and to comradeship, with men who, like himself, had no relations, nor home, nor family, and to whom nothing was left but the canopy of Heaven, and the unintermittent festival of their hearts. This gave rise to that mad gaiety, which could never have found any other source. The tales and narratives which might be heard among the groups lazily reclining upon the ground, were often so droll and breathed such lively animation, that one must needs have had the immoveable features of a Zaporoghian to have kept an indifferent countenance and never so much as curled the lip; and this, indeed, is one of the most striking features which distinguish the Southern Russian from the rest of the Russians. The mirth was provoked by wine, was attended by noise, but yet there were none of those disfigured outlines of a caricatured gaiety, which one finds in the dirty brandy shop. It was the friendly circle of schoolfellows. The only difference consisted in this, that instead of poring over books, and listening to the stupid lessons of professors, these schoolfellows made invasions, mounted on about five thousand horses; that instead of the field in which they had formerly played at ball, they now had, unguarded and uncared for, boundaries beyond which might be seen the swift head of the Tartar, and the Turk haughtily glancing from beneath his green turban. The difference was this, that instead of the forced will which had brought them together at school, they had, of their own free choice, left their fathers and mothers and fled from the parental roof. Here were to be found those who had already felt the halter dangling about their necks, and who, instead of pale-faced death, had found life, and life in its utmost gaiety. Here were those who followed the noble principle of never retaining a farthing about them. Here were those, who, thanks to the Jews, tenants of Polish lords, could always have their pockets turned inside out without the fear of losing anything. Here were all the collegians, who had not had the patience to endure the college rods, and who, of all their school learning, had not retained so much as the alphabet. But besides these, here were to be found some who knew who Horace was, who Cicero, and what the Roman Republic. Here were many who afterwards acquired distinction as officers in the army of the King of Poland. Here were many experienced volunteers who felt the noble conviction that it was quite the same thing where and why the war took place so that wars were made, and that no man of noble feelings could remain without fighting. Many more were here who had come into the Ssiecha for no other purpose, but that they might say afterwards that they had been there, and that they were hardened warriors. But what, indeed, were the characters that could not be found here? Those who liked warfare, who liked gilded cups, who liked rich stuffs, or gold and silver coins, could at all times find employment here. Those only who worshipped womankind could find nothing to suit their taste; for no woman was allowed so much as to show her face even in the suburb of the Ssiecha.

During their abode in the Ssiecha, Ostap and Andrew were much astonished at seeing that crowds of people came, without so much as any one asking whence they came, or what were their names. They came thither as if they were returning to their own homes which they had but recently quitted. The new-comer only went to the Koschevoï Ataman,[15]who addressed him in these terms:—

"Good day! dost thou believe in Christ?

"I do;" answered the new-comer.

"And dost thou believe in the Holy Trinity?"

"I do."

"And dost thou go to church?"

"I do."

"Make the sign of the cross!"

The new-comer made it.

"Well," said the Koschevoï, "thou mayest go into whichever kooren thou pleasest."

And thus the ceremony ended.

The whole population of the Ssiecha went to the same church, which they were ready to defend to the last drop of their blood; and yet the Cossacks would never attend to fasts and abstinence. The suburb was chiefly inhabited by Jews, Armenians, and Tartars, who, incited by the love of gain, dared to live and to have shops there, knowing that the Zaporoghians never bargained, but paid as much money as their hands took out of their pockets. But the fate of these greedy tradespeople was much to be pitied; they were like those who build their houses at the foot of Vesuvius: as soon as the Zaporoghians had no money left, the most desperate among them pillaged the shops, and carried away everything without payment.

The Ssiecha consisted of upwards of sixty koorens, which were very like so many independent republics, and still more like so many boarding-schools. No one provided any furniture or food for himself; the Koorennoï Ataman[16]had charge of everything, and was called on this account "father." He kept the money, the clothes, the furniture, the flour, the oats, and even the fuel; all money was deposited with him. It was no rare occurrence that one kooren quarrelled with another; on such occasions, fighting immediately ensued. The rival koorens rushed into the field, and fought till one of them got the upper hand, and then all ended in a general carouse.

Such was this Ssiecha, which had so many attractions for young men.

Ostap and Andrew plunged at once with the heedlessness of youth into this sea of pleasure, forgetting in no time their father's roof, the college, and all that had till then occupied their thoughts, and they gave themselves entirely up to this new mode of life. Everything was strange to them; the loose habits of the Ssiecha, its unsophisticated laws and administration, which even then seemed to them too severe in such a self-willed community. If a Cossack had committed theft, were it but of the most insignificant rubbish, his fault was reputed to be a shame to the whole community; he was, as a dishonourable person, tied to a pillory, and beside him was placed a club, with which every one who passed by might give him a blow, until the criminal expired. An insolvent debtor was fastened to a cannon, and remained there till some of his comrades ransomed him and paid his debts. But the greatest impression made on Andrew was produced by the terrible penalty prescribed for murder. Before his eyes, a hole was dug in the ground, the murderer was put into it alive, and over him was placed the coffin containing the corpse of the man whom he had murdered; then both were covered with earth, and the hole was filled up. For a long time the dreadful ceremony of this punishment haunted Andrew, and he thought he saw again and again the man buried alive with the terrible coffin.

Both youths soon gained the best repute among the Cossacks. Often did they go together with some comrades of their kooren, sometimes with the whole kooren, and with other koorens too, to shoot in the steppes an innumerable quantity of wild birds, stags, and goats; or they resorted to the lakes, rivers, and arms of the Dnieper, assigned to every kooren by lot, to throw their fishing nets and bring to land a rich booty of fish, sufficient to feed the whole kooren. It was not as yet a trial of true Cossack life, but still they succeeded in distinguishing themselves from among other youths by their audacity and their dexterity in everything. They never missed their aim when shooting, and they swam across the Dnieper against the current, an exploit for which every new-comer was triumphantly admitted into the assemblies of the Cossacks.

But Tarass was preparing a new scene of action for them; he did not like this idle mode of life; he desired real activity for them. After ruminating for a while how to raise the Ssiecha on some daring enterprise, where one might find true knightly exploits to perform, he, at last, went one day to the Koschevoï, and said to him, abruptly:

"Koschevoï, it is high time for the Zaporoghians to take the air in the field."

"There is nowhere to take it," answered the Koschevoï, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and spitting-on one side.

"How so? Nowhere? There are the Turks; there are the Tartars!"

"We cannot go either against Turks or against Tartars," answered the Koschevoï, coolly resuming his pipe.

"And why not?"

"So it is; we have promised peace to the Sultan."

"But is he not an unbeliever? Well, do not the Scriptures order us to combat all unbelievers?"

"We have no right to do it; had we not sworn by our faith, well, maybe we might have done it; but now, no, we cannot."

"Why can we not? Why dost thou say we have no right? Here have I two sons, both of them young men. Neither the one nor the other have ever seen war, and thou sayest, 'we have no right;' and thou sayest, 'the Zaporoghians cannot go to war.'"

"So it must be."

"So then, the Cossack's strength must run to seed? So men must end their lives like so many dogs, without having been of any use to their country, or to Christendom? What do we live for, then? What the devil is the use of our life; tell me that? Thou art a sensible man; there was some reason for electing thee Koschevoï; tell me, what do we live for?"

The Koschevoï left the question unanswered. He was a stubborn Cossack; he remained silent for a while, and then said, "Nevertheless, there can be no war."

"So there will be no war?" once more asked Tarass.

"No."

"So it is of no use to think of it?"

"It is of no use."

"Well, wait a little, thou—devil's fist!" said Boolba to himself. "I'll teach thee to know me!" And he resolved on the spot to take his revenge of the Koschevoï.

After having talked first with one and then another, he made up a drinking party, and a number of tipsy Cossacks rushed to the public square; here, tied to a pole, were the kettle-drums, which were used for summoning therada[17]but not finding the sticks, which were in charge of an official calleddoobish, they caught up logs of wood, and began beating the drums with them. The first who appeared on hearing the sound of the drums was the doobish, a tall one-eyed man, whose only eye was still very sleepy.

"Who dares to beat the drum?" cried he.

"Be silent; take thy sticks, and beat the drum when thou art ordered to do so," answered the tipsy elders.

The doobish complied at once, and took out the sticks, which he had brought in his pocket, being well acquainted with the usual end of such occurrences. The kettle-drums resounded, and soon dark crowds of Zaporoghians were seen swarming like bees into the square. All assembled in a circle, and after the third beating of the drum, came at last the chiefs: the Koschevoï with the mace, token of his dignity; the judge, with the seal of the Ssiecha; the secretary, with his inkstand, and the essaool with the staff. The Koschevoï, and the other dignitaries, took off their caps, and bowed on every side to the Cossacks, who stood haughtily holding their arms a-kimbo.

"What means this assembly? What do you wish, gentlemen?" said the Koschevoï.

Clamours and scolding words put a stop to his speech.

Back to Index Next