Taras Bulba and his sons had been in the Setch about a week. Ostap and
Andrii occupied themselves but little with the science of war. The Setch
was not fond of wasting time in warlike exercises. The young generation
learned these by experience alone, in the very heat of battles, which
were therefore incessant. The Cossacks thought it a nuisance to fill up
the intervals of this instruction with any kind of drill, except
perhaps shooting at a mark, and on rare occasions with horse-racing and
wild-beast hunts on the steppes and in the forests. All the rest of
the time was devoted to revelry--a sign of the wide diffusion of moral
liberty. The whole of the Setch presented an unusual scene: it was one
unbroken revel; a ball noisily begun, which had no end. Some busied
themselves with handicrafts; others kept little shops and traded;
but the majority caroused from morning till night, if the wherewithal
jingled in their pockets, and if the booty they had captured had not
already passed into the hands of the shopkeepers and spirit-sellers.
This universal revelry had something fascinating about it. It was not
an assemblage of topers, who drank to drown sorrow, but simply a wild
revelry of joy. Every one who came thither forgot everything, abandoned
everything which had hitherto interested him. He, so to speak, spat
upon his past and gave himself recklessly up to freedom and the
good-fellowship of men of the same stamp as himself--idlers having
neither relatives nor home nor family, nothing, in short, save the free
sky and the eternal revel of their souls. This gave rise to that wild
gaiety which could not have sprung from any other source. The tales and
talk current among the assembled crowd, reposing lazily on the ground,
were often so droll, and breathed such power of vivid narration, that
it required all the nonchalance of a Zaporozhetz to retain his immovable
expression, without even a twitch of the moustache--a feature which to
this day distinguishes the Southern Russian from his northern brethren.
It was drunken, noisy mirth; but there was no dark ale-house where a
man drowns thought in stupefying intoxication: it was a dense throng of
schoolboys.
The only difference as regarded the students was that, instead of
sitting under the pointer and listening to the worn-out doctrines of a
teacher, they practised racing with five thousand horses; instead of the
field where they had played ball, they had the boundless borderlands,
where at the sight of them the Tatar showed his keen face and the Turk
frowned grimly from under his green turban. The difference was that,
instead of being forced to the companionship of school, they themselves
had deserted their fathers and mothers and fled from their homes; that
here were those about whose neck a rope had already been wound, and who,
instead of pale death, had seen life, and life in all its intensity;
those who, from generous habits, could never keep a coin in their
pockets; those who had thitherto regarded a ducat as wealth, and whose
pockets, thanks to the Jew revenue-farmers, could have been turned wrong
side out without any danger of anything falling from them. Here were
students who could not endure the academic rod, and had not carried away
a single letter from the schools; but with them were also some who knew
about Horace, Cicero, and the Roman Republic. There were many leaders
who afterwards distinguished themselves in the king’s armies; and there
were numerous clever partisans who cherished a magnanimous conviction
that it was of no consequence where they fought, so long as they did
fight, since it was a disgrace to an honourable man to live without
fighting. There were many who had come to the Setch for the sake of
being able to say afterwards that they had been there and were therefore
hardened warriors. But who was not there? This strange republic was a
necessary outgrowth of the epoch. Lovers of a warlike life, of golden
beakers and rich brocades, of ducats and gold pieces, could always find
employment there. The lovers of women alone could find naught, for no
woman dared show herself even in the suburbs of the Setch.
It seemed exceedingly strange to Ostap and Andrii that, although a crowd
of people had come to the Setch with them, not a soul inquired, “Whence
come these men? who are they? and what are their names?” They had come
thither as though returning to a home whence they had departed only an
hour before. The new-comer merely presented himself to the Koschevoi, or
head chief of the Setch, who generally said, “Welcome! Do you believe in
Christ?”--“I do,” replied the new-comer. “And do you believe in the
Holy Trinity?”--“I do.”--“And do you go to church?”--“I do.” “Now cross
yourself.” The new-comer crossed himself. “Very good,” replied the
Koschevoi; “enter the kuren where you have most acquaintances.” This
concluded the ceremony. And all the Setch prayed in one church, and were
willing to defend it to their last drop of blood, although they would
not hearken to aught about fasting or abstinence. Jews, Armenians,
and Tatars, inspired by strong avarice, took the liberty of living and
trading in the suburbs; for the Zaporozhtzi never cared for bargaining,
and paid whatever money their hand chanced to grasp in their pocket.
Moreover, the lot of these gain-loving traders was pitiable in the
extreme. They resembled people settled at the foot of Vesuvius; for when
the Zaporozhtzi lacked money, these bold adventurers broke down their
booths and took everything gratis. The Setch consisted of over sixty
kurens, each of which greatly resembled a separate independent republic,
but still more a school or seminary of children, always ready for
anything. No one had any occupation; no one retained anything for
himself; everything was in the hands of the hetman of the kuren, who,
on that account, generally bore the title of “father.” In his hands were
deposited the money, clothes, all the provisions, oatmeal, grain, even
the firewood. They gave him money to take care of. Quarrels amongst the
inhabitants of the kuren were not unfrequent; and in such cases they
proceeded at once to blows. The inhabitants of the kuren swarmed into
the square, and smote each other with their fists, until one side had
finally gained the upper hand, when the revelry began. Such was the
Setch, which had such an attraction for young men.
Ostap and Andrii flung themselves into this sea of dissipation with
all the ardour of youth, forgot in a trice their father’s house, the
seminary, and all which had hitherto exercised their minds, and gave
themselves wholly up to their new life. Everything interested them--the
jovial habits of the Setch, and its chaotic morals and laws, which even
seemed to them too strict for such a free republic. If a Cossack stole
the smallest trifle, it was considered a disgrace to the whole Cossack
community. He was bound to the pillar of shame, and a club was laid
beside him, with which each passer-by was bound to deal him a blow until
in this manner he was beaten to death. He who did not pay his debts was
chained to a cannon, until some one of his comrades should decide
to ransom him by paying his debts for him. But what made the deepest
impression on Andrii was the terrible punishment decreed for murder. A
hole was dug in his presence, the murderer was lowered alive into it,
and over him was placed a coffin containing the body of the man he had
killed, after which the earth was thrown upon both. Long afterwards the
fearful ceremony of this horrible execution haunted his mind, and the
man who had been buried alive appeared to him with his terrible coffin.
Both the young Cossacks soon took a good standing among their fellows.
They often sallied out upon the steppe with comrades from their kuren,
and sometimes too with the whole kuren or with neighbouring kurens, to
shoot the innumerable steppe-birds of every sort, deer, and goats. Or
they went out upon the lakes, the river, and its tributaries allotted to
each kuren, to throw their nets and draw out rich prey for the enjoyment
of the whole kuren. Although unversed in any trade exercised by a
Cossack, they were soon remarked among the other youths for their
obstinate bravery and daring in everything. Skilfully and accurately
they fired at the mark, and swam the Dnieper against the current--a
deed for which the novice was triumphantly received into the circle of
Cossacks.
But old Taras was planning a different sphere of activity for them.
Such an idle life was not to his mind; he wanted active employment. He
reflected incessantly how to stir up the Setch to some bold enterprise,
wherein a man could revel as became a warrior. At length he went one day
to the Koschevoi, and said plainly:--
“Well, Koschevoi, it is time for the Zaporozhtzi to set out.”
“There is nowhere for them to go,” replied the Koschevoi, removing his
short pipe from his mouth and spitting to one side.
“What do you mean by nowhere? We can go to Turkey or Tatary.”
“Impossible to go either to Turkey or Tatary,” replied the Koschevoi,
putting his pipe coolly into his mouth again.
“Why impossible?”
“It is so; we have promised the Sultan peace.”
“But he is a Mussulman; and God and the Holy Scriptures command us to
slay Mussulmans.”
“We have no right. If we had not sworn by our faith, it might be done;
but now it is impossible.”
“How is it impossible? How can you say that we have no right? Here are
my two sons, both young men. Neither has been to war; and you say that
we have no right, and that there is no need for the Zaporozhtzi to set
out on an expedition.”
“Well, it is not fitting.”
“Then it must be fitting that Cossack strength should be wasted in vain,
that a man should disappear like a dog without having done a single good
deed, that he should be of no use to his country or to Christianity!
Why, then, do we live? What the deuce do we live for? just tell me that.
You are a sensible man, you were not chosen as Koschevoi without reason:
so just tell me what we live for?”
The Koschevoi made no reply to this question. He was an obstinate
Cossack. He was silent for a while, and then said, “Anyway, there will
not be war.”
“There will not be war?” Taras asked again.
“No.”
“Then it is no use thinking about it?”
“It is not to be thought of.”
“Wait, you devil’s limb!” said Taras to himself; “you shall learn to
know me!” and he at once resolved to have his revenge on the Koschevoi.
Having made an agreement with several others, he gave them liquor; and
the drunken Cossacks staggered into the square, where on a post hung
the kettledrums which were generally beaten to assemble the people. Not
finding the sticks, which were kept by the drummer, they seized a piece
of wood and began to beat. The first to respond to the drum-beat was the
drummer, a tall man with but one eye, but a frightfully sleepy one for
all that.
“Who dares to beat the drum?” he shouted.
“Hold your tongue! take your sticks, and beat when you are ordered!”
replied the drunken men.
The drummer at once took from his pocket the sticks which he had brought
with him, well knowing the result of such proceedings. The drum rattled,
and soon black swarms of Cossacks began to collect like bees in the
square. All formed in a ring; and at length, after the third summons,
the chiefs began to arrive--the Koschevoi with staff in hand, the symbol
of his office; the judge with the army-seal; the secretary with his
ink-bottle; and the osaul with his staff. The Koschevoi and the chiefs
took off their caps and bowed on all sides to the Cossacks, who stood
proudly with their arms akimbo.
“What means this assemblage? what do you wish, gentles?” said the
Koschevoi. Shouts and exclamations interrupted his speech.
“Resign your staff! resign your staff this moment, you son of Satan!
we will have you no longer!” shouted some of the Cossacks in the crowd.
Some of the sober ones appeared to wish to oppose this, but both sober
and drunken fell to blows. The shouting and uproar became universal.
The Koschevoi attempted to speak; but knowing that the self-willed
multitude, if enraged, might beat him to death, as almost always
happened in such cases, he bowed very low, laid down his staff, and hid
himself in the crowd.
“Do you command us, gentles, to resign our insignia of office?” said
the judge, the secretary, and the osaul, as they prepared to give up the
ink-horn, army-seal, and staff, upon the spot.
“No, you are to remain!” was shouted from the crowd. “We only wanted
to drive out the Koschevoi because he is a woman, and we want a man for
Koschevoi.”
“Whom do you now elect as Koschevoi?” asked the chiefs.
“We choose Kukubenko,” shouted some.
“We won’t have Kukubenko!” screamed another party: “he is too young; the
milk has not dried off his lips yet.”
“Let Schilo be hetman!” shouted some: “make Schilo our Koschevoi!”
“Away with your Schilo!” yelled the crowd; “what kind of a Cossack is he
who is as thievish as a Tatar? To the devil in a sack with your drunken
Schilo!”
“Borodaty! let us make Borodaty our Koschevoi!”
“We won’t have Borodaty! To the evil one’s mother with Borodaty!”
“Shout Kirdyanga!” whispered Taras Bulba to several.
“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” shouted the crowd. “Borodaty, Borodaty!
Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga! Schilo! Away with Schilo! Kirdyanga!”
All the candidates, on hearing their names mentioned, quitted the
crowd, in order not to give any one a chance of supposing that they were
personally assisting in their election.
“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” echoed more strongly than the rest.
“Borodaty!”
They proceeded to decide the matter by a show of hands, and Kirdyanga
won.
“Fetch Kirdyanga!” they shouted. Half a score of Cossacks immediately
left the crowd--some of them hardly able to keep their feet, to such an
extent had they drunk--and went directly to Kirdyanga to inform him of
his election.
Kirdyanga, a very old but wise Cossack, had been sitting for some time
in his kuren, as if he knew nothing of what was going on.
“What is it, gentles? What do you wish?” he inquired.
“Come, they have chosen you for Koschevoi.”
“Have mercy, gentles!” said Kirdyanga. “How can I be worthy of such
honour? Why should I be made Koschevoi? I have not sufficient capacity
to fill such a post. Could no better person be found in all the army?”
“Come, I say!” shouted the Zaporozhtzi. Two of them seized him by the
arms; and in spite of his planting his feet firmly they finally dragged
him to the square, accompanying his progress with shouts, blows from
behind with their fists, kicks, and exhortations. “Don’t hold back, you
son of Satan! Accept the honour, you dog, when it is given!” In this
manner Kirdyanga was conducted into the ring of Cossacks.
“How now, gentles?” announced those who had brought him, “are you agreed
that this Cossack shall be your Koschevoi?”
“We are all agreed!” shouted the throng, and the whole plain trembled
for a long time afterwards from the shout.
One of the chiefs took the staff and brought it to the newly elected
Koschevoi. Kirdyanga, in accordance with custom, immediately refused
it. The chief offered it a second time; Kirdyanga again refused it, and
then, at the third offer, accepted the staff. A cry of approbation rang
out from the crowd, and again the whole plain resounded afar with the
Cossacks’ shout. Then there stepped out from among the people the four
oldest of them all, white-bearded, white-haired Cossacks; though there
were no very old men in the Setch, for none of the Zaporozhtzi ever died
in their beds. Taking each a handful of earth, which recent rain had
converted into mud, they laid it on Kirdyanga’s head. The wet earth
trickled down from his head on to his moustache and cheeks and smeared
his whole face. But Kirdyanga stood immovable in his place, and thanked
the Cossacks for the honour shown him.
Thus ended the noisy election, concerning which we cannot say whether it
was as pleasing to the others as it was to Bulba; by means of it he had
revenged himself on the former Koschevoi. Moreover, Kirdyanga was an old
comrade, and had been with him on the same expeditions by sea and land,
sharing the toils and hardships of war. The crowd immediately dispersed
to celebrate the election, and such revelry ensued as Ostap and Andrii
had not yet beheld. The taverns were attacked and mead, corn-brandy, and
beer seized without payment, the owners being only too glad to escape
with whole skins themselves. The whole night passed amid shouts, songs,
and rejoicings; and the rising moon gazed long at troops of musicians
traversing the streets with guitars, flutes, tambourines, and the church
choir, who were kept in the Setch to sing in church and glorify the
deeds of the Zaporozhtzi. At length drunkenness and fatigue began to
overpower even these strong heads, and here and there a Cossack could
be seen to fall to the ground, embracing a comrade in fraternal fashion;
whilst maudlin, and even weeping, the latter rolled upon the earth with
him. Here a whole group would lie down in a heap; there a man would
choose the most comfortable position and stretch himself out on a log of
wood. The last, and strongest, still uttered some incoherent speeches;
finally even they, yielding to the power of intoxication, flung
themselves down and all the Setch slept.