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<h2> CHAPTER II </h2>
<p>All three horsemen rode in silence. Old Taras’s thoughts were far away:
before him passed his youth, his years—the swift-flying years, over
which the Cossack always weeps, wishing that his life might be all youth.
He wondered whom of his former comrades he should meet at the Setch. He
reckoned up how many had already died, how many were still alive. Tears
formed slowly in his eyes, and his grey head bent sadly.</p>
<p>His sons were occupied with other thoughts. But we must speak further of
his sons. They had been sent, when twelve years old, to the academy at
Kief, because all leaders of that day considered it indispensable to give
their children an education, although it was afterwards utterly forgotten.
Like all who entered the academy, they were wild, having been brought up
in unrestrained freedom; and whilst there they had acquired some polish,
and pursued some common branches of knowledge which gave them a certain
resemblance to each other.</p>
<p>The elder, Ostap, began his scholastic career by running away in the
course of the first year. They brought him back, whipped him well, and set
him down to his books. Four times did he bury his primer in the earth; and
four times, after giving him a sound thrashing, did they buy him a new
one. But he would no doubt have repeated this feat for the fifth time, had
not his father given him a solemn assurance that he would keep him at
monastic work for twenty years, and sworn in advance that he should never
behold Zaporozhe all his life long, unless he learned all the sciences
taught in the academy. It was odd that the man who said this was that very
Taras Bulba who condemned all learning, and counselled his children, as we
have seen, not to trouble themselves at all about it. From that moment,
Ostap began to pore over his tiresome books with exemplary diligence, and
quickly stood on a level with the best. The style of education in that age
differed widely from the manner of life. The scholastic, grammatical,
rhetorical, and logical subtle ties in vogue were decidedly out of
consonance with the times, never having any connection with, and never
being encountered in, actual life. Those who studied them, even the least
scholastic, could not apply their knowledge to anything whatever. The
learned men of those days were even more incapable than the rest, because
farther removed from all experience. Moreover, the republican constitution
of the academy, the fearful multitude of young, healthy, strong fellows,
inspired the students with an activity quite outside the limits of their
learning. Poor fare, or frequent punishments of fasting, with the numerous
requirements arising in fresh, strong, healthy youth, combined to arouse
in them that spirit of enterprise which was afterwards further developed
among the Zaporozhians. The hungry student running about the streets of
Kief forced every one to be on his guard. Dealers sitting in the bazaar
covered their pies, their cakes, and their pumpkin-rolls with their hands,
like eagles protecting their young, if they but caught sight of a passing
student. The consul or monitor, who was bound by his duty to look after
the comrades entrusted to his care, had such frightfully wide pockets to
his trousers that he could stow away the whole contents of the gaping
dealer’s stall in them. These students constituted an entirely separate
world, for they were not admitted to the higher circles, composed of
Polish and Russian nobles. Even the Waiwode, Adam Kisel, in spite of the
patronage he bestowed upon the academy, did not seek to introduce them
into society, and ordered them to be kept more strictly in supervision.
This command was quite superfluous, for neither the rector nor the monkish
professors spared rod or whip; and the lictors sometimes, by their orders,
lashed their consuls so severely that the latter rubbed their trousers for
weeks afterwards. This was to many of them a trifle, only a little more
stinging than good vodka with pepper: others at length grew tired of such
constant blisters, and ran away to Zaporozhe if they could find the road
and were not caught on the way. Ostap Bulba, although he began to study
logic, and even theology, with much zeal, did not escape the merciless
rod. Naturally, all this tended to harden his character, and give him that
firmness which distinguishes the Cossacks. He always held himself aloof
from his comrades.</p>
<p>He rarely led others into such hazardous enterprises as robbing a strange
garden or orchard; but, on the other hand, he was always among the first
to join the standard of an adventurous student. And never, under any
circumstances, did he betray his comrades; neither imprisonment nor
beatings could make him do so. He was unassailable by any temptations save
those of war and revelry; at least, he scarcely ever dreamt of others. He
was upright with his equals. He was kind-hearted, after the only fashion
that kind-heartedness could exist in such a character and at such a time.
He was touched to his very heart by his poor mother’s tears; but this only
vexed him, and caused him to hang his head in thought.</p>
<p>His younger brother, Andrii, had livelier and more fully developed
feelings. He learned more willingly and without the effort with which
strong and weighty characters generally have to make in order to apply
themselves to study. He was more inventive-minded than his brother, and
frequently appeared as the leader of dangerous expeditions; sometimes,
thanks to the quickness of his mind, contriving to escape punishment when
his brother Ostap, abandoning all efforts, stripped off his gaberdine and
lay down upon the floor without a thought of begging for mercy. He too
thirsted for action; but, at the same time, his soul was accessible to
other sentiments. The need of love burned ardently within him. When he had
passed his eighteenth year, woman began to present herself more frequently
in his dreams; listening to philosophical discussions, he still beheld
her, fresh, black-eyed, tender; before him constantly flitted her elastic
bosom, her soft, bare arms; the very gown which clung about her youthful
yet well-rounded limbs breathed into his visions a certain inexpressible
sensuousness. He carefully concealed this impulse of his passionate young
soul from his comrades, because in that age it was held shameful and
dishonourable for a Cossack to think of love and a wife before he had
tasted battle. On the whole, during the last year, he had acted more
rarely as leader to the bands of students, but had roamed more frequently
alone, in remote corners of Kief, among low-roofed houses, buried in
cherry orchards, peeping alluringly at the street. Sometimes he betook
himself to the more aristocratic streets, in the old Kief of to-day, where
dwelt Little Russian and Polish nobles, and where houses were built in
more fanciful style. Once, as he was gaping along, an old-fashioned
carriage belonging to some Polish noble almost drove over him; and the
heavily moustached coachman, who sat on the box, gave him a smart cut with
his whip. The young student fired up; with thoughtless daring he seized
the hind-wheel with his powerful hands and stopped the carriage. But the
coachman, fearing a drubbing, lashed his horses; they sprang forward, and
Andrii, succeeding happily in freeing his hands, was flung full length on
the ground with his face flat in the mud. The most ringing and harmonious
of laughs resounded above him. He raised his eyes and saw, standing at a
window, a beauty such as he had never beheld in all his life, black-eyed,
and with skin white as snow illumined by the dawning flush of the sun. She
was laughing heartily, and her laugh enhanced her dazzling loveliness.
Taken aback he gazed at her in confusion, abstractedly wiping the mud from
his face, by which means it became still further smeared. Who could this
beauty be? He sought to find out from the servants, who, in rich liveries,
stood at the gate in a crowd surrounding a young guitar-player; but they
only laughed when they saw his besmeared face and deigned him no reply. At
length he learned that she was the daughter of the Waiwode of Koven, who
had come thither for a time. The following night, with the daring
characteristic of the student, he crept through the palings into the
garden and climbed a tree which spread its branches upon the very roof of
the house. From the tree he gained the roof, and made his way down the
chimney straight into the bedroom of the beauty, who at that moment was
seated before a lamp, engaged in removing the costly earrings from her
ears. The beautiful Pole was so alarmed on suddenly beholding an unknown
man that she could not utter a single word; but when she perceived that
the student stood before her with downcast eyes, not daring to move a hand
through timidity, when she recognised in him the one who had fallen in the
street, laughter again overpowered her.</p>
<p>Moreover, there was nothing terrible about Andrii’s features; he was very
handsome. She laughed heartily, and amused herself over him for a long
time. The lady was giddy, like all Poles; but her eyes—her wondrous
clear, piercing eyes—shot one glance, a long glance. The student
could not move hand or foot, but stood bound as in a sack, when the
Waiwode’s daughter approached him boldly, placed upon his head her
glittering diadem, hung her earrings on his lips, and flung over him a
transparent muslin chemisette with gold-embroidered garlands. She adorned
him, and played a thousand foolish pranks, with the childish carelessness
which distinguishes the giddy Poles, and which threw the poor student into
still greater confusion.</p>
<p>He cut a ridiculous feature, gazing immovably, and with open mouth, into
her dazzling eyes. A knock at the door startled her. She ordered him to
hide himself under the bed, and, as soon as the disturber was gone, called
her maid, a Tatar prisoner, and gave her orders to conduct him to the
garden with caution, and thence show him through the fence. But our
student this time did not pass the fence so successfully. The watchman
awoke, and caught him firmly by the foot; and the servants, assembling,
beat him in the street, until his swift legs rescued him. After that it
became very dangerous to pass the house, for the Waiwode’s domestics were
numerous. He met her once again at church. She saw him, and smiled
pleasantly, as at an old acquaintance. He saw her once more, by chance;
but shortly afterwards the Waiwode departed, and, instead of the beautiful
black-eyed Pole, some fat face or other gazed from the window. This was
what Andrii was thinking about, as he hung his head and kept his eyes on
his horse’s mane.</p>
<p>In the meantime the steppe had long since received them all into its green
embrace; and the high grass, closing round, concealed them, till only
their black Cossack caps appeared above it.</p>
<p>“Eh, eh, why are you so quiet, lads?” said Bulba at length, waking from
his own reverie. “You’re like monks. Now, all thinking to the Evil One,
once for all! Take your pipes in your teeth, and let us smoke, and spur on
our horses so swiftly that no bird can overtake us.”</p>
<p>And the Cossacks, bending low on their horses’ necks, disappeared in the
grass. Their black caps were no longer to be seen; a streak of trodden
grass alone showed the trace of their swift flight.</p>
<p>The sun had long since looked forth from the clear heavens and inundated
the steppe with his quickening, warming light. All that was dim and drowsy
in the Cossacks’ minds flew away in a twinkling: their hearts fluttered
like birds.</p>
<p>The farther they penetrated the steppe, the more beautiful it became. Then
all the South, all that region which now constitutes New Russia, even as
far as the Black Sea, was a green, virgin wilderness. No plough had ever
passed over the immeasurable waves of wild growth; horses alone, hidden in
it as in a forest, trod it down. Nothing in nature could be finer. The
whole surface resembled a golden-green ocean, upon which were sprinkled
millions of different flowers. Through the tall, slender stems of the
grass peeped light-blue, dark-blue, and lilac star-thistles; the yellow
broom thrust up its pyramidal head; the parasol-shaped white flower of the
false flax shimmered on high. A wheat-ear, brought God knows whence, was
filling out to ripening. Amongst the roots of this luxuriant vegetation
ran partridges with outstretched necks. The air was filled with the notes
of a thousand different birds. On high hovered the hawks, their wings
outspread, and their eyes fixed intently on the grass. The cries of a
flock of wild ducks, ascending from one side, were echoed from God knows
what distant lake. From the grass arose, with measured sweep, a gull, and
skimmed wantonly through blue waves of air. And now she has vanished on
high, and appears only as a black dot: now she has turned her wings, and
shines in the sunlight. Oh, steppes, how beautiful you are!</p>
<p>Our travellers halted only a few minutes for dinner. Their escort of ten
Cossacks sprang from their horses and undid the wooden casks of brandy,
and the gourds which were used instead of drinking vessels. They ate only
cakes of bread and dripping; they drank but one cup apiece to strengthen
them, for Taras Bulba never permitted intoxication upon the road, and then
continued their journey until evening.</p>
<p>In the evening the whole steppe changed its aspect. All its varied expanse
was bathed in the last bright glow of the sun; and as it grew dark
gradually, it could be seen how the shadow flitted across it and it became
dark green. The mist rose more densely; each flower, each blade of grass,
emitted a fragrance as of ambergris, and the whole steppe distilled
perfume. Broad bands of rosy gold were streaked across the dark blue
heaven, as with a gigantic brush; here and there gleamed, in white tufts,
light and transparent clouds: and the freshest, most enchanting of gentle
breezes barely stirred the tops of the grass-blades, like sea-waves, and
caressed the cheek. The music which had resounded through the day had died
away, and given place to another. The striped marmots crept out of their
holes, stood erect on their hind legs, and filled the steppe with their
whistle. The whirr of the grasshoppers had become more distinctly audible.
Sometimes the cry of the swan was heard from some distant lake, ringing
through the air like a silver trumpet. The travellers, halting in the
midst of the plain, selected a spot for their night encampment, made a
fire, and hung over it the kettle in which they cooked their oatmeal; the
steam rising and floating aslant in the air. Having supped, the Cossacks
lay down to sleep, after hobbling their horses and turning them out to
graze. They lay down in their gaberdines. The stars of night gazed
directly down upon them. They could hear the countless myriads of insects
which filled the grass; their rasping, whistling, and chirping, softened
by the fresh air, resounded clearly through the night, and lulled the
drowsy ear. If one of them rose and stood for a time, the steppe presented
itself to him strewn with the sparks of glow-worms. At times the night sky
was illumined in spots by the glare of burning reeds along pools or
river-bank; and dark flights of swans flying to the north were suddenly
lit up by the silvery, rose-coloured gleam, till it seemed as though red
kerchiefs were floating in the dark heavens.</p>
<p>The travellers proceeded onward without any adventure. They came across no
villages. It was ever the same boundless, waving, beautiful steppe. Only
at intervals the summits of distant forests shone blue, on one hand,
stretching along the banks of the Dnieper. Once only did Taras point out
to his sons a small black speck far away amongst the grass, saying, “Look,
children! yonder gallops a Tatar.” The little head with its long
moustaches fixed its narrow eyes upon them from afar, its nostrils
snuffing the air like a greyhound’s, and then disappeared like an antelope
on its owner perceiving that the Cossacks were thirteen strong. “And now,
children, don’t try to overtake the Tatar! You would never catch him to
all eternity; he has a horse swifter than my Devil.” But Bulba took
precautions, fearing hidden ambushes. They galloped along the course of a
small stream, called the Tatarka, which falls into the Dnieper; rode into
the water and swam with their horses some distance in order to conceal
their trail. Then, scrambling out on the bank, they continued their road.</p>
<p>Three days later they were not far from the goal of their journey. The air
suddenly grew colder: they could feel the vicinity of the Dnieper. And
there it gleamed afar, distinguishable on the horizon as a dark band. It
sent forth cold waves, spreading nearer, nearer, and finally seeming to
embrace half the entire surface of the earth. This was that section of its
course where the river, hitherto confined by the rapids, finally makes its
own away and, roaring like the sea, rushes on at will; where the islands,
flung into its midst, have pressed it farther from their shores, and its
waves have spread widely over the earth, encountering neither cliffs nor
hills. The Cossacks, alighting from their horses, entered the ferry-boat,
and after a three hours’ sail reached the shores of the island of
Khortitz, where at that time stood the Setch, which so often changed its
situation.</p>
<p>A throng of people hastened to the shore with boats. The Cossacks arranged
the horses’ trappings. Taras assumed a stately air, pulled his belt
tighter, and proudly stroked his moustache. His sons also inspected
themselves from head to foot, with some apprehension and an undefined
feeling of satisfaction; and all set out together for the suburb, which
was half a verst from the Setch. On their arrival, they were deafened by
the clang of fifty blacksmiths’ hammers beating upon twenty-five anvils
sunk in the earth. Stout tanners seated beneath awnings were scraping
ox-hides with their strong hands; shop-keepers sat in their booths, with
piles of flints, steels, and powder before them; Armenians spread out
their rich handkerchiefs; Tatars turned their kabobs upon spits; a Jew,
with his head thrust forward, was filtering some corn-brandy from a cask.
But the first man they encountered was a Zaporozhetz (1) who was sleeping
in the very middle of the road with legs and arms outstretched. Taras
Bulba could not refrain from halting to admire him. “How splendidly
developed he is; phew, what a magnificent figure!” he said, stopping his
horse. It was, in fact, a striking picture. This Zaporozhetz had stretched
himself out in the road like a lion; his scalp-lock, thrown proudly behind
him, extended over upwards of a foot of ground; his trousers of rich red
cloth were spotted with tar, to show his utter disdain for them. Having
admired to his heart’s content, Bulba passed on through the narrow street,
crowded with mechanics exercising their trades, and with people of all
nationalities who thronged this suburb of the Setch, resembling a fair,
and fed and clothed the Setch itself, which knew only how to revel and
burn powder.</p>
<p>(1) Sometimes written Zaporovian.<br/></p>
<p>At length they left the suburb behind them, and perceived some scattered
kurens (2), covered with turf, or in Tatar fashion with felt. Some were
furnished with cannon. Nowhere were any fences visible, or any of those
low-roofed houses with verandahs supported upon low wooden pillars, such
as were seen in the suburb. A low wall and a ditch, totally unguarded,
betokened a terrible degree of recklessness. Some sturdy Zaporozhtzi
lying, pipe in mouth, in the very road, glanced indifferently at them, but
never moved from their places. Taras threaded his way carefully among
them, with his sons, saying, “Good-day, gentles.”—“Good-day to you,”
answered the Zaporozhtzi. Scattered over the plain were picturesque
groups. From their weatherbeaten faces, it was plain that all were steeled
in battle, and had faced every sort of bad weather. And there it was, the
Setch! There was the lair from whence all those men, proud and strong as
lions, issued forth! There was the spot whence poured forth liberty and
Cossacks all over the Ukraine.</p>
<p>(2) Enormous wooden sheds, each inhabited by a troop or kuren.<br/></p>
<p>The travellers entered the great square where the council generally met.
On a huge overturned cask sat a Zaporozhetz without his shirt; he was
holding it in his hands, and slowly sewing up the holes in it. Again their
way was stopped by a whole crowd of musicians, in the midst of whom a
young Zaporozhetz was dancing, with head thrown back and arms
outstretched. He kept shouting, “Play faster, musicians! Begrudge not,
Thoma, brandy to these orthodox Christians!” And Thoma, with his blackened
eye, went on measuring out without stint, to every one who presented
himself, a huge jugful.</p>
<p>About the youthful Zaporozhetz four old men, moving their feet quite
briskly, leaped like a whirlwind to one side, almost upon the musicians’
heads, and, suddenly, retreating, squatted down and drummed the hard earth
vigorously with their silver heels. The earth hummed dully all about, and
afar the air resounded with national dance tunes beaten by the clanging
heels of their boots.</p>
<p>But one shouted more loudly than all the rest, and flew after the others
in the dance. His scalp-lock streamed in the wind, his muscular chest was
bare, his warm, winter fur jacket was hanging by the sleeves, and the
perspiration poured from him as from a pig. “Take off your jacket!” said
Taras at length: “see how he steams!”—“I can’t,” shouted the
Cossack. “Why?”—“I can’t: I have such a disposition that whatever I
take off, I drink up.” And indeed, the young fellow had not had a cap for
a long time, nor a belt to his caftan, nor an embroidered neckerchief: all
had gone the proper road. The throng increased; more folk joined the
dancer: and it was impossible to observe without emotion how all yielded
to the impulse of the dance, the freest, the wildest, the world has ever
seen, still called from its mighty originators, the Kosachka.</p>
<p>“Oh, if I had no horse to hold,” exclaimed Taras, “I would join the dance
myself.”</p>
<p>Meanwhile there began to appear among the throng men who were respected
for their prowess throughout all the Setch—old greyheads who had
been leaders more than once. Taras soon found a number of familiar faces.
Ostap and Andrii heard nothing but greetings. “Ah, it is you, Petcheritza!
Good day, Kozolup!”—“Whence has God brought you, Taras?”—“How
did you come here, Doloto? Health to you, Kirdyaga! Hail to you, Gustui!
Did I ever think of seeing you, Remen?” And these heroes, gathered from
all the roving population of Eastern Russia, kissed each other and began
to ask questions. “But what has become of Kasyan? Where is Borodavka? and
Koloper? and Pidsuitok?” And in reply, Taras Bulba learned that Borodavka
had been hung at Tolopan, that Koloper had been flayed alive at
Kizikirmen, that Pidsuitok’s head had been salted and sent in a cask to
Constantinople. Old Bulba hung his head and said thoughtfully, “They were
good Cossacks.”</p>
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