Part 7
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. Their _cossackins_,[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!
II.
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. The _consuls_, 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 the _lictors_[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 the _bandora_[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 only _en 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.