Do you know a Ukraine night? No, you do not know a night in the Ukraine.
Gaze your full on it. The moon shines in the midst of the sky; the
immeasurable vault of heaven seems to have expanded to infinity; the
earth is bathed in silver light; the air is warm, voluptuous, and
redolent of innumerable sweet scents. Divine night! Magical night!
Motionless, but inspired with divine breath, the forests stand, casting
enormous shadows and wrapped in complete darkness. Calmly and placidly
sleep the lakes surrounded by dark green thickets. The virginal groves
of the hawthorns and cherry-trees stretch their roots timidly into the
cool water; only now and then their leaves rustle unwillingly when that
freebooter, the night-wind, steals up to kiss them. The whole landscape
is hushed in slumber; but there is a mysterious breath upon the heights.
One falls into a weird and unearthly mood, and silvery apparitions rise
from the depths. Divine night! Magical night! Suddenly the woods, lakes,
and steppes become alive. The nightingales of the Ukraine are singing,
and it seems as though the moon itself were listening to their song. The
village sleeps as though under a magic spell; the cottages shine in the
moonlight against the darkness of the woods behind them. The songs grow
silent, and all is still. Only here and there is a glimmer of light in
some small window. Some families, sitting up late, are finishing their
supper at the thresholds of their houses.
"No, the 'gallop' is not danced like that! Now I see, it does not go
properly! What did my godfather tell me? So then! Hop! tralala! Hop!
tralala! Hop! Hop! Hop!" Thus a half-intoxicated, middle-aged Cossack
talked to himself as he danced through the street. "By heaven, a
'gallop' is not danced like that! What is the use of lying! On with it
then! Hop! tralala! Hop! tralala! Hop! Hop! Hop!"
"See that fool there! If he were only a young fellow! But to see a grown
man dancing, and the children laughing at him," exclaimed an old woman
who was passing by, carrying a bundle of straw. "Go home! It is quite
time to go to sleep!"
"I am going!" said the Cossack, standing still. "I am going. What do I
care about the headman? He thinks because he is the eldest, and throws
cold water on people, and carries his head high. As to being headman--I
myself am a headman. Yes indeed--otherwise----" As he spoke, he stepped
up to the door of the first cottage he came to, stood at the window,
drumming with his fingers on the glass, and feeling for the door-handle.
"Woman, open! Woman, open quickly I tell you! It is time for me to go to
sleep!"
"Where are you going, Kalenik? That is the wrong house!" some young
girls who were returning from the dance called to him as they passed.
"Shall we show you yours?"
"Yes, please, ladies!"
"Ladies! Just listen to him!" one of them exclaimed. "How polite Kalenik
is! We will show you the house--but no, first dance before us!"
"Dance before you? Oh, you are clever girls!" said Kalenik in a drawling
voice, and laughing. He threatened them with his finger, and stumbled,
not being able to stand steadily. "And will you let yourselves be
kissed? I will kiss the lot." With tottering steps he began to run after
them.
The girls cried out and ran apart; but they soon plucked up courage and
went on the other side of the road, when they saw that Kalenik was not
firm on his legs.
"There is your house!" they called to him, pointing to one which was
larger than the rest, and which belonged to the village headman.
Kalenik turned towards it, and began again to revile the headman.
But who is this headman to whose disadvantage so much has been said? Oh,
he is a very important person in the village. Before Kalenik reaches his
house, we shall doubtless find enough time to say something about him.
Everyone in the village takes off his cap at the sight of him, and even
the smallest girls wish him good morning. Which of the young Cossacks
would not like to be a headman? The headman has an entry everywhere, and
every stalwart rustic stands respectfully, cap in hand, so long as the
headman feels round his snuff-box with his thick, coarse finger. In
parish-meetings and other assemblies, although his power may be limited
by the votes of the majority, the headman still maintains the upper
hand, and sends whom he chooses to make roads or dig ditches. In outward
manners he is morose and severe, and not fond of talking. Long ago, when
the Empress Catherine of blessed memory journeyed to the Crimea, he was
chosen as one of her escort for two whole days, and had the high honour
of sitting with the imperial coachman on the box.
Since then the headman has formed the habit of shaking his head solemnly
and thoughtfully, of stroking his long, drooping moustache, and of
darting hawk-like glances from his eyes. Whatever the topic of
conversation may be, he manages to refer to his having accompanied the
Empress, and sat on the box of the imperial coach. He often pretends to
be hard of hearing, especially when he hears something that he does not
like. He has an aversion for dandies, and himself wears under a black
caftan of cloth, made at home, a simple, embroidered, woollen
waist-band. No one has seen him wear any other dress except, of course,
on the occasion of the Czarina's journey to the Crimea, when he wore a
blue Cossack's uniform. Hardly anyone in the village remembers that
time, and he keeps the uniform packed up in a chest.
The headman is a widower, but his sister-in-law lives with him. She
cooks his dinner and supper, keeps the house and furniture clean, weaves
linen, and acts as housekeeper generally. The village gossips say that
she is not a relation of his; but we must remark that the headman has
many enemies who spread all kinds of slanders about him. We have now
said what we considered to be necessary about the headman, and the
drunken Kalenik is not yet half-way to his house. He continued to abuse
the headman in terms which might be expected from one in his condition.