At the time when these things took place, there were as yet on the
frontiers neither custom-house officials nor guards--those bugbears
of enterprising people--so that any one could bring across anything he
fancied. If any one made a search or inspection, he did it chiefly
for his own pleasure, especially if there happened to be in the waggon
objects attractive to his eye, and if his own hand possessed a certain
weight and power. But the bricks found no admirers, and they entered the
principal gate unmolested. Bulba, in his narrow cage, could only hear
the noise, the shouts of the driver, and nothing more. Yankel, bouncing
up and down on his dust-covered nag, turned, after making several
detours, into a dark, narrow street bearing the names of the Muddy and
also of the Jews’ street, because Jews from nearly every part of Warsaw
were to be found here. This street greatly resembled a back-yard turned
wrong side out. The sun never seemed to shine into it. The black wooden
houses, with numerous poles projecting from the windows, still further
increased the darkness. Rarely did a brick wall gleam red among them;
for these too, in many places, had turned quite black. Here and there,
high up, a bit of stuccoed wall illumined by the sun glistened with
intolerable whiteness. Pipes, rags, shells, broken and discarded tubs:
every one flung whatever was useless to him into the street, thus
affording the passer-by an opportunity of exercising all his five senses
with the rubbish. A man on horseback could almost touch with his hand
the poles thrown across the street from one house to another, upon which
hung Jewish stockings, short trousers, and smoked geese. Sometimes a
pretty little Hebrew face, adorned with discoloured pearls, peeped out
of an old window. A group of little Jews, with torn and dirty garments
and curly hair, screamed and rolled about in the dirt. A red-haired Jew,
with freckles all over his face which made him look like a sparrow’s
egg, gazed from a window. He addressed Yankel at once in his gibberish,
and Yankel at once drove into a court-yard. Another Jew came along,
halted, and entered into conversation. When Bulba finally emerged from
beneath the bricks, he beheld three Jews talking with great warmth.
Yankel turned to him and said that everything possible would be done;
that his Ostap was in the city jail, and that although it would be
difficult to persuade the jailer, yet he hoped to arrange a meeting.
Bulba entered the room with the three Jews.
The Jews again began to talk among themselves in their incomprehensible
tongue. Taras looked hard at each of them. Something seemed to have
moved him deeply; over his rough and stolid countenance a flame of hope
spread, of hope such as sometimes visits a man in the last depths of his
despair; his aged heart began to beat violently as though he had been a
youth.
“Listen, Jews!” said he, and there was a triumphant ring in his words.
“You can do anything in the world, even extract things from the bottom
of the sea; and it has long been a proverb, that a Jew will steal from
himself if he takes a fancy to steal. Set my Ostap at liberty! give him
a chance to escape from their diabolical hands. I promised this man five
thousand ducats; I will add another five thousand: all that I have, rich
cups, buried gold, houses, all, even to my last garment, I will part
with; and I will enter into a contract with you for my whole life, to
give you half of all the booty I may gain in war.”
“Oh, impossible, dear lord, it is impossible!” said Yankel with a sigh.
“Impossible,” said another Jew.
All three Jews looked at each other.
“We might try,” said the third, glancing timidly at the other two. “God
may favour us.”
All three Jews discussed the matter in German. Bulba, in spite of
his straining ears, could make nothing of it; he only caught the word
“Mardokhai” often repeated.
“Listen, my lord!” said Yankel. “We must consult with a man such as
there never was before in the world... ugh, ugh! as wise as Solomon; and
if he will do nothing, then no one in the world can. Sit here: this is
the key; admit no one.” The Jews went out into the street.
Taras locked the door, and looked out from the little window upon the
dirty Jewish street. The three Jews halted in the middle of the street
and began to talk with a good deal of warmth: a fourth soon joined them,
and finally a fifth. Again he heard repeated, “Mardokhai, Mardokhai!”
The Jews glanced incessantly towards one side of the street; at length
from a dirty house near the end of it emerged a foot in a Jewish shoe
and the skirts of a caftan. “Ah! Mardokhai, Mardokhai!” shouted the Jews
in one voice. A thin Jew somewhat shorter than Yankel, but even more
wrinkled, and with a huge upper lip, approached the impatient group; and
all the Jews made haste to talk to him, interrupting each other. During
the recital, Mardokhai glanced several times towards the little window,
and Taras divined that the conversation concerned him.
Mardokhai waved his hands, listened, interrupted, spat frequently to one
side, and, pulling up the skirts of his caftan, thrust his hand into his
pocket and drew out some jingling thing, showing very dirty trousers in
the operation. Finally all the Jews set up such a shouting that the
Jew who was standing guard was forced to make a signal for silence, and
Taras began to fear for his safety; but when he remembered that Jews can
only consult in the street, and that the demon himself cannot understand
their language, he regained his composure.
Two minutes later the Jews all entered the room together. Mardokhai
approached Taras, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “When we set to
work it will be all right.” Taras looked at this Solomon whom the world
had never known and conceived some hope: indeed, his face might well
inspire confidence. His upper lip was simply an object of horror; its
thickness being doubtless increased by adventitious circumstances. This
Solomon’s beard consisted only of about fifteen hairs, and they were on
the left side. Solomon’s face bore so many scars of battle, received for
his daring, that he had doubtless lost count of them long before, and
had grown accustomed to consider them as birthmarks.
Mardokhai departed, accompanied by his comrades, who were filled with
admiration at his wisdom. Bulba remained alone. He was in a strange,
unaccustomed situation for the first time in his life; he felt uneasy.
His mind was in a state of fever. He was no longer unbending, immovable,
strong as an oak, as he had formerly been: but felt timid and weak. He
trembled at every sound, at every fresh Jewish face which showed itself
at the end of the street. In this condition he passed the whole day.
He neither ate nor drank, and his eye never for a moment left the small
window looking on the street. Finally, late at night, Mardokhai and
Yankel made their appearance. Taras’s heart died within him.
“What news? have you been successful?” he asked with the impatience of a
wild horse.
But before the Jews had recovered breath to answer, Taras perceived that
Mardokhai no longer had the locks, which had formerly fallen in greasy
curls from under his felt cap. It was evident that he wished to say
something, but he uttered only nonsense which Taras could make nothing
of. Yankel himself put his hand very often to his mouth as though
suffering from a cold.
“Oh, dearest lord!” said Yankel: “it is quite impossible now! by
heaven, impossible! Such vile people that they deserve to be spit upon!
Mardokhai here says the same. Mardokhai has done what no man in the
world ever did, but God did not will that it should be so. Three
thousand soldiers are in garrison here, and to-morrow the prisoners are
all to be executed.”
Taras looked the Jew straight in the face, but no longer with impatience
or anger.
“But if my lord wishes to see his son, then it must be early to-morrow
morning, before the sun has risen. The sentinels have consented, and one
gaoler has promised. But may he have no happiness in the world, woe
is me! What greedy people! There are none such among us: I gave fifty
ducats to each sentinel and to the gaoler.”
“Good. Take me to him!” exclaimed Taras, with decision, and with all
his firmness of mind restored. He agreed to Yankel’s proposition that he
should disguise himself as a foreign count, just arrived from Germany,
for which purpose the prudent Jew had already provided a costume. It
was already night. The master of the house, the red-haired Jew with
freckles, pulled out a mattress covered with some kind of rug, and
spread it on a bench for Bulba. Yankel lay upon the floor on a similar
mattress. The red-haired Jew drank a small cup of brandy, took off his
caftan, and betook himself--looking, in his shoes and stockings, very
like a lean chicken--with his wife, to something resembling a cupboard.
Two little Jews lay down on the floor beside the cupboard, like a couple
of dogs. But Taras did not sleep; he sat motionless, drumming on the
table with his fingers. He kept his pipe in his mouth, and puffed out
smoke, which made the Jew sneeze in his sleep and pull his coverlet over
his nose. Scarcely was the sky touched with the first faint gleams of
dawn than he pushed Yankel with his foot, saying: “Rise, Jew, and give
me your count’s dress!”
In a moment he was dressed. He blackened his moustache and eyebrows, put
on his head a small dark cap; even the Cossacks who knew him best would
not have recognised him. Apparently he was not more than thirty-five.
A healthy colour glowed on his cheeks, and his scars lent him an air of
command. The gold-embroidered dress became him extremely well.
The streets were still asleep. Not a single one of the market folk as
yet showed himself in the city, with his basket on his arm. Yankel and
Bulba made their way to a building which presented the appearance of a
crouching stork. It was large, low, wide, and black; and on one side a
long slender tower like a stork’s neck projected above the roof. This
building served for a variety of purposes; it was a barrack, a jail, and
the criminal court. The visitors entered the gate and found themselves
in a vast room, or covered courtyard. About a thousand men were sleeping
here. Straight before them was a small door, in front of which sat two
sentries playing at some game which consisted in one striking the palm
of the other’s hand with two fingers. They paid little heed to the new
arrivals, and only turned their heads when Yankel said, “It is we, sirs;
do you hear? it is we.”
“Go in!” said one of them, opening the door with one hand, and holding
out the other to his comrade to receive his blows.
They entered a low and dark corridor, which led them to a similar room
with small windows overhead. “Who goes there?” shouted several voices,
and Taras beheld a number of warriors in full armour. “We have been
ordered to admit no one.”
“It is we!” cried Yankel; “we, by heavens, noble sirs!” But no one
would listen to him. Fortunately, at that moment a fat man came up, who
appeared to be a commanding officer, for he swore louder than all the
others.
“My lord, it is we! you know us, and the lord count will thank you.”
“Admit them, a hundred fiends, and mother of fiends! Admit no one else.
And no one is to draw his sword, nor quarrel.”
The conclusion of this order the visitors did not hear. “It is we, it is
I, it is your friends!” Yankel said to every one they met.
“Well, can it be managed now?” he inquired of one of the guards, when
they at length reached the end of the corridor.
“It is possible, but I don’t know whether you will be able to gain
admission to the prison itself. Yana is not here now; another man is
keeping watch in his place,” replied the guard.
“Ai, ai!” cried the Jew softly: “this is bad, my dear lord!”
“Go on!” said Taras, firmly, and the Jew obeyed.
At the arched entrance of the vaults stood a heyduke, with a moustache
trimmed in three layers: the upper layer was trained backwards, the
second straight forward, and the third downwards, which made him greatly
resemble a cat.
The Jew shrank into nothing and approached him almost sideways: “Your
high excellency! High and illustrious lord!”
“Are you speaking to me, Jew?”
“To you, illustrious lord.”
“Hm, but I am merely a heyduke,” said the merry-eyed man with the
triple-tiered moustache.
“And I thought it was the Waiwode himself, by heavens! Ai, ai, ai!”
Thereupon the Jew twisted his head about and spread out his fingers.
“Ai, what a fine figure! Another finger’s-breadth and he would be
a colonel. The lord no doubt rides a horse as fleet as the wind and
commands the troops!”
The heyduke twirled the lower tier of his moustache, and his eyes
beamed.
“What a warlike people!” continued the Jew. “Ah, woe is me, what a
fine race! Golden cords and trappings that shine like the sun; and the
maidens, wherever they see warriors--Ai, ai!” Again the Jew wagged his
head.
The heyduke twirled his upper moustache and uttered a sound somewhat
resembling the neighing of a horse.
“I pray my lord to do us a service!” exclaimed the Jew: “this prince
has come hither from a foreign land, and wants to get a look at the
Cossacks. He never, in all his life, has seen what sort of people the
Cossacks are.”
The advent of foreign counts and barons was common enough in Poland:
they were often drawn thither by curiosity to view this half-Asiatic
corner of Europe. They regarded Moscow and the Ukraine as situated in
Asia. So the heyduke bowed low, and thought fit to add a few words of
his own.
“I do not know, your excellency,” said he, “why you should desire to
see them. They are dogs, not men; and their faith is such as no one
respects.”
“You lie, you son of Satan!” exclaimed Bulba. “You are a dog yourself!
How dare you say that our faith is not respected? It is your heretical
faith which is not respected.”
“Oho!” said the heyduke. “I can guess who you are, my friend; you are
one of the breed of those under my charge. So just wait while I summon
our men.”
Taras realised his indiscretion, but vexation and obstinacy hindered
him from devising a means of remedying it. Fortunately Yankel managed to
interpose at this moment:--
“Most noble lord, how is it possible that the count can be a Cossack? If
he were a Cossack, where could have he obtained such a dress, and such a
count-like mien?”
“Explain that yourself.” And the heyduke opened his wide mouth to shout.
“Your royal highness, silence, silence, for heaven’s sake!” cried
Yankel. “Silence! we will pay you for it in a way you never dreamed of:
we will give you two golden ducats.”
“Oho! two ducats! I can’t do anything with two ducats. I give my barber
two ducats for only shaving the half of my beard. Give me a hundred
ducats, Jew.” Here the heyduke twirled his upper moustache. “If you
don’t, I will shout at once.”
“Why so much?” said the Jew, sadly, turning pale, and undoing his
leather purse; but it was lucky that he had no more in it, and that the
heyduke could not count over a hundred.
“My lord, my lord, let us depart quickly! Look at the evil-minded
fellow!” said Yankel to Taras, perceiving that the heyduke was turning
the money over in his hand as though regretting that he had not demanded
more.
“What do you mean, you devil of a heyduke?” said Bulba. “What do you
mean by taking our money and not letting us see the Cossacks? No, you
must let us see them. Since you have taken the money, you have no right
to refuse.”
“Go, go to the devil! If you won’t, I’ll give the alarm this moment.
Take yourselves off quickly, I say!”
“My lord, my lord, let us go! in God’s name let us go! Curse him! May he
dream such things that he will have to spit,” cried poor Yankel.
Bulba turned slowly, with drooping head, and retraced his steps,
followed by the complaints of Yankel who was sorrowing at the thought of
the wasted ducats.
“Why be angry? Let the dog curse. That race cannot help cursing. Oh, woe
is me, what luck God sends to some people! A hundred ducats merely for
driving us off! And our brother: they have torn off his ear-locks, and
they made wounds on his face that you cannot bear to look at, and yet no
one will give him a hundred gold pieces. O heavens! Merciful God!”
But this failure made a much deeper impression on Bulba, expressed by a
devouring flame in his eyes.
“Let us go,” he said, suddenly, as if arousing himself; “let us go to
the square. I want to see how they will torture him.”
“Oh, my lord! why go? That will do us no good now.”
“Let us go,” said Bulba, obstinately; and the Jew followed him, sighing
like a nurse.
The square on which the execution was to take place was not hard to
find: for the people were thronging thither from all quarters. In
that savage age such a thing constituted one of the most noteworthy
spectacles, not only for the common people, but among the higher
classes. A number of the most pious old men, a throng of young girls,
and the most cowardly women, who dreamed the whole night afterwards of
their bloody corpses, and shrieked as loudly in their sleep as a
drunken hussar, missed, nevertheless, no opportunity of gratifying their
curiosity. “Ah, what tortures!” many of them would cry, hysterically,
covering their eyes and turning away; but they stood their ground for a
good while, all the same. Many a one, with gaping mouth and outstretched
hands, would have liked to jump upon other folk’s heads, to get a
better view. Above the crowd towered a bulky butcher, admiring the whole
process with the air of a connoisseur, and exchanging brief remarks with
a gunsmith, whom he addressed as “Gossip,” because he got drunk in the
same alehouse with him on holidays. Some entered into warm discussions,
others even laid wagers. But the majority were of the species who, all
the world over, look on at the world and at everything that goes on
in it and merely scratch their noses. In the front ranks, close to the
bearded civic-guards, stood a young noble, in warlike array, who had
certainly put his whole wardrobe on his back, leaving only his torn
shirt and old shoes at his quarters. Two chains, one above the other,
hung around his neck. He stood beside his mistress, Usisya, and glanced
about incessantly to see that no one soiled her silk gown. He explained
everything to her so perfectly that no one could have added a word. “All
these people whom you see, my dear Usisya,” he said, “have come to see
the criminals executed; and that man, my love, yonder, holding the
axe and other instruments in his hands, is the executioner, who will
despatch them. When he begins to break them on the wheel, and torture
them in other ways, the criminals will still be alive; but when he cuts
off their heads, then, my love, they will die at once. Before that, they
will cry and move; but as soon as their heads are cut off, it will be
impossible for them to cry, or to eat or drink, because, my dear, they
will no longer have any head.” Usisya listened to all this with terror
and curiosity.
The upper stories of the houses were filled with people. From the
windows in the roof peered strange faces with beards and something
resembling caps. Upon the balconies, beneath shady awnings, sat the
aristocracy. The hands of smiling young ladies, brilliant as white
sugar, rested on the railings. Portly nobles looked on with dignity.
Servants in rich garb, with flowing sleeves, handed round various
refreshments. Sometimes a black-eyed young rogue would take her cake or
fruit and fling it among the crowd with her own noble little hand. The
crowd of hungry gentles held up their caps to receive it; and some tall
noble, whose head rose amid the throng, with his faded red jacket and
discoloured gold braid, and who was the first to catch it with the
aid of his long arms, would kiss his booty, press it to his heart, and
finally put it in his mouth. The hawk, suspended beneath the balcony in
a golden cage, was also a spectator; with beak inclined to one side,
and with one foot raised, he, too, watched the people attentively. But
suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd, and a rumour spread, “They are
coming! they are coming! the Cossacks!”
They were bare-headed, with their long locks floating in the air. Their
beards had grown, and their once handsome garments were worn out, and
hung about them in tatters. They walked neither timidly nor surlily, but
with a certain pride, neither looking at nor bowing to the people. At
the head of all came Ostap.
What were old Taras’s feelings when thus he beheld his Ostap? What
filled his heart then? He gazed at him from amid the crowd, and lost
not a single movement of his. They reached the place of execution. Ostap
stopped. He was to be the first to drink the bitter cup. He glanced at
his comrades, raised his hand, and said in a loud voice: “God grant
that none of the heretics who stand here may hear, the unclean dogs, how
Christians suffer! Let none of us utter a single word.” After this he
ascended the scaffold.
“Well done, son! well done!” said Bulba, softly, and bent his grey head.
The executioner tore off his old rags; they fastened his hands and feet
in stocks prepared expressly, and--We will not pain the reader with a
picture of the hellish tortures which would make his hair rise upright
on his head. They were the outcome of that coarse, wild age, when men
still led a life of warfare which hardened their souls until no sense of
humanity was left in them. In vain did some, not many, in that age make
a stand against such terrible measures. In vain did the king and many
nobles, enlightened in mind and spirit, demonstrate that such severity
of punishment could but fan the flame of vengeance in the Cossack
nation. But the power of the king, and the opinion of the wise, was as
nothing before the savage will of the magnates of the kingdom, who, by
their thoughtlessness and unconquerable lack of all far-sighted policy,
their childish self-love and miserable pride, converted the Diet into
the mockery of a government. Ostap endured the torture like a giant. Not
a cry, not a groan, was heard. Even when they began to break the bones
in his hands and feet, when, amid the death-like stillness of the crowd,
the horrible cracking was audible to the most distant spectators;
when even his tormentors turned aside their eyes, nothing like a groan
escaped his lips, nor did his face quiver. Taras stood in the crowd
with bowed head; and, raising his eyes proudly at that moment, he said,
approvingly, “Well done, boy! well done!”
But when they took him to the last deadly tortures, it seemed as though
his strength were failing. He cast his eyes around.
O God! all strangers, all unknown faces! If only some of his relatives
had been present at his death! He would not have cared to hear the sobs
and anguish of his poor, weak mother, nor the unreasoning cries of a
wife, tearing her hair and beating her white breast; but he would have
liked to see a strong man who might refresh him with a word of wisdom,
and cheer his end. And his strength failed him, and he cried in the
weakness of his soul, “Father! where are you? do you hear?”
“I hear!” rang through the universal silence, and those thousands of
people shuddered in concert. A detachment of cavalry hastened to search
through the throng of people. Yankel turned pale as death, and when the
horsemen had got within a short distance of him, turned round in terror
to look for Taras; but Taras was no longer beside him; every trace of
him was lost.