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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[1] sometimes written zaporovian.

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.

[2] enormous wooden sheds, each inhabited by a troop or kuren.

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.

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.

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.

“oh, if i had no horse to hold,” exclaimed taras, “i would join the dance myself.”

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.”