“Yes,” thought Tovkatch, “you might have slept forever.” But he said nothing, only shook his finger, and motioned him to be silent.
“But tell me where I am now?” asked Taras, straining his mind, and trying to recollect2 what had taken place.
“Be silent!” cried his companion sternly. “Why should you want to know? Don’t you see that you are all hacked3 to pieces? Here I have been galloping4 with you for two weeks without taking a breath; and you have been burnt up with fever and talking nonsense. This is the first time you have slept quietly. Be silent if you don’t wish to do yourself an injury.”
But Taras still tried to collect his thoughts and to recall what had passed. “Well, the Lyakhs must have surrounded and captured me. I had no chance of fighting my way clear from the throng5.”
“Be silent, I tell you, you devil’s brat6!” cried Tovkatch angrily, as a nurse, driven beyond her patience, cries out at her unruly charge. “What good will it do you to know how you got away? It is enough that you did get away. Some people were found who would not abandon you; let that be enough for you. It is something for me to have ridden all night with you. You think that you passed for a common Cossack? No, they have offered a reward of two thousand ducats for your head.”
“And Ostap!” cried Taras suddenly, and tried to rise; for all at once he recollected7 that Ostap had been seized and bound before his very eyes, and that he was now in the hands of the Lyakhs. Grief overpowered him. He pulled off and tore in pieces the bandages from his wounds, and threw them far from him; he tried to say something, but only articulated some incoherent words. Fever and delirium8 seized upon him afresh, and he uttered wild and incoherent speeches. Meanwhile his faithful comrade stood beside him, scolding and showering harsh, reproachful words upon him without stint9. Finally, he seized him by the arms and legs, wrapped him up like a child, arranged all his bandages, rolled him in an ox-hide, bound him with bast, and, fastening him with ropes to his saddle, rode with him again at full speed along the road.
“I’ll get you there, even if it be not alive! I will not abandon your body for the Lyakhs to make merry over you, and cut your body in twain and fling it into the water. Let the eagle tear out your eyes if it must be so; but let it be our eagle of the steppe and not a Polish eagle, not one which has flown hither from Polish soil. I will bring you, though it be a corpse10, to the Ukraine!”
Thus spoke11 his faithful companion. He rode without drawing rein12, day and night, and brought Taras still insensible into the Zaporozhian Setch itself. There he undertook to cure him, with unswerving care, by the aid of herbs and liniments. He sought out a skilled Jewess, who made Taras drink various potions for a whole month, and at length he improved. Whether it was owing to the medicine or to his iron constitution gaining the upper hand, at all events, in six weeks he was on his feet. His wounds had closed, and only the scars of the sabre-cuts showed how deeply injured the old Cossack had been. But he was markedly sad and morose13. Three deep wrinkles engraved14 themselves upon his brow and never more departed thence. Then he looked around him. All was new in the Setch; all his old companions were dead. Not one was left of those who had stood up for the right, for faith and brotherhood15. And those who had gone forth16 with the Koschevoi in pursuit of the Tatars, they also had long since disappeared. All had perished. One had lost his head in battle; another had died for lack of food, amid the salt marshes17 of the Crimea; another had fallen in captivity18 and been unable to survive the disgrace. Their former Koschevoi was no longer living, nor any of his old companions, and the grass was growing over those once alert with power. He felt as one who had given a feast, a great noisy feast. All the dishes had been smashed in pieces; not a drop of wine was left anywhere; the guests and servants had all stolen valuable cups and platters; and he, like the master of the house, stood sadly thinking that it would have been no feast. In vain did they try to cheer Taras and to divert his mind; in vain did the long-bearded, grey-haired guitar-players come by twos and threes to glorify19 his Cossack deeds. He gazed grimly and indifferently at everything, with inappeasable grief printed on his stolid20 face; and said softly, as he drooped21 his head, “My son, my Ostap!”
The Zaporozhtzi assembled for a raid by sea. Two hundred boats were launched on the Dnieper, and Asia Minor22 saw those who manned them, with their shaven heads and long scalp-locks, devote her thriving shores to fire and sword; she saw the turbans of her Mahometan inhabitants strewn, like her innumerable flowers, over the blood-sprinkled fields, and floating along her river banks; she saw many tarry Zaporozhian trousers, and strong hands with black hunting-whips. The Zaporozhtzi ate up and laid waste all the vineyards. In the mosques23 they left heaps of dung. They used rich Persian shawls for sashes, and girded their dirty gaberdines with them. Long afterwards, short Zaporozhian pipes were found in those regions. They sailed merrily back. A ten-gun Turkish ship pursued them and scattered24 their skiffs, like birds, with a volley from its guns. A third part of them sank in the depths of the sea; but the rest again assembled, and gained the mouth of the Dnieper with twelve kegs full of sequins. But all this did not interest Taras. He went off upon the steppe as though to hunt; but the charge remained in his gun, and, laying down the weapon, he would seat himself sadly on the shores of the sea. He sat there long with drooping25 head, repeating continually, “My Ostap, my Ostap!” Before him spread the gleaming Black Sea; in the distant reeds the sea-gull screamed. His grey moustache turned to silver, and the tears fell one by one upon it.
At last Taras could endure it no longer. “Whatever happens, I must go and find out what he is doing. Is he alive, or in the grave? I will know, cost what it may!” Within a week he found himself in the city of Ouman, fully26 armed, and mounted, with lance, sword, canteen, pot of oatmeal, powder horn, cord to hobble his horse, and other equipments. He went straight to a dirty, ill-kept little house, the small windows of which were almost invisible, blackened as they were with some unknown dirt. The chimney was wrapped in rags; and the roof, which was full of holes, was covered with sparrows. A heap of all sorts of refuse lay before the very door. From the window peered the head of a Jewess, in a head-dress with discoloured pearls.
“Is your husband at home?” said Bulba, dismounting, and fastening his horse’s bridle27 to an iron hook beside the door.
“He is at home,” said the Jewess, and hastened out at once with a measure of corn for the horse, and a stoup of beer for the rider.
“Where is your Jew?”
“He is in the other room at prayer,” replied the Jewess, bowing and wishing Bulba good health as he raised the cup to his lips.
“Remain here, feed and water my horse, whilst I go speak with him alone. I have business with him.”
This Jew was the well-known Yankel. He was there as revenue-farmer and tavern-keeper. He had gradually got nearly all the neighbouring noblemen and gentlemen into his hands, had slowly sucked away most of their money, and had strongly impressed his presence on that locality. For a distance of three miles in all directions, not a single farm remained in a proper state. All were falling in ruins; all had been drunk away, and poverty and rags alone remained. The whole neighbourhood was depopulated, as if after a fire or an epidemic28; and if Yankel had lived there ten years, he would probably have depopulated the Waiwode’s whole domains29.
Taras entered the room. The Jew was praying, enveloped30 in his dirty shroud31, and was turning to spit for the last time, according to the forms of his creed32, when his eye suddenly lighted on Taras standing33 behind him. The first thing that crossed Yankel’s mind was the two thousand ducats offered for his visitor’s head; but he was ashamed of his avarice34, and tried to stifle35 within him the eternal thought of gold, which twines36, like a snake, about the soul of a Jew.
“Listen, Yankel,” said Taras to the Jew, who began to bow low before him, and as he spoke he shut the door so that they might not be seen, “I saved your life: the Zaporozhtzi would have torn you to pieces like a dog. Now it is your turn to do me a service.”
The Jew’s face clouded over a little.
“What service? If it is a service I can render, why should I not render it?”
“Ask no questions. Take me to Warsaw.”
“To Warsaw? Why to Warsaw?” said the Jew, and his brows and shoulders rose in amazement37.
“Ask me nothing. Take me to Warsaw. I must see him once more at any cost, and say one word to him.”
“Say a word to whom?”
“To him — to Ostap — to my son.”
“Has not my lord heard that already —”
“I know, I know all. They offer two thousand ducats for my head. They know its value, fools! I will give you five thousand. Here are two thousand on the spot,” and Bulba poured out two thousand ducats from a leather purse, “and the rest when I return.”
The Jew instantly seized a towel and concealed38 the ducats under it. “Ai, glorious money! ai, good money!” he said, twirling one gold piece in his hand and testing it with his teeth. “I don’t believe the man from whom my lord took these fine gold pieces remained in the world an hour longer; he went straight to the river and drowned himself, after the loss of such magnificent gold pieces.”
“I should not have asked you, I might possibly have found my own way to Warsaw; but some one might recognise me, and then the cursed Lyakhs would capture me, for I am not clever at inventions; whilst that is just what you Jews are created for. You would deceive the very devil. You know every trick: that is why I have come to you; and, besides, I could do nothing of myself in Warsaw. Harness the horse to your waggon39 at once and take me.”
“And my lord thinks that I can take the nag40 at once, and harness him, and say ‘Get up, Dapple!’ My lord thinks that I can take him just as he is, without concealing41 him?”
“Well, hide me, hide me as you like: in an empty cask?”
“Ai, ai! and my lord thinks he can be concealed in an empty cask? Does not my lord know that every man thinks that every cast he sees contains brandy?”
“Well, let them think it is brandy.”
“Let them think it is brandy?” said the Jew, and grasped his ear-locks with both hands, and then raised them both on high.
“Well, why are you so frightened?”
“And does not my lord know that God has made brandy expressly for every one to sip42? They are all gluttons43 and fond of dainties there: a nobleman will run five versts after a cask; he will make a hole in it, and as soon as he sees that nothing runs out, he will say, ‘A Jew does not carry empty casks; there is certainly something wrong. Seize the Jew, bind44 the Jew, take away all the Jew’s money, put the Jew in prison!’ Then all the vile45 people will fall upon the Jew, for every one takes a Jew for a dog; and they think he is not a man, but only a Jew.”
“Then put me in the waggon with some fish over me.”
“I cannot, my lord, by heaven, I cannot: all over Poland the people are as hungry as dogs now. They will steal the fish, and feel my lord.”
“Then take me in the fiend’s way, only take me.”
“Listen, listen, my lord!” said the Jew, turning up the ends of his sleeves, and approaching him with extended arms. “This is what we will do. They are building fortresses46 and castles everywhere: French engineers have come from Germany, and so a great deal of brick and stone is being carried over the roads. Let my lord lie down in the bottom of the waggon, and over him I will pile bricks. My lord is strong and well, apparently, so he will not mind if it is a little heavy; and I will make a hole in the bottom of the waggon in order to feed my lord.”
“Do what you will, only take me!”
In an hour, a waggon-load of bricks left Ouman, drawn47 by two sorry nags48. On one of them sat tall Yankel, his long, curling ear-locks flowing from beneath his Jewish cap, as he bounced about on the horse, like a verst-mark planted by the roadside.
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1
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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2
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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7
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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9
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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10
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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13
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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14
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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15
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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16
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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18
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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19
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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20
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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21
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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23
mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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24
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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25
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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26
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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27
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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29
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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30
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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32
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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33
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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34
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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35
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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36
twines
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| n.盘绕( twine的名词复数 )；麻线；捻；缠绕在一起的东西 | |
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37
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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38
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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39
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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40
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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41
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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42
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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43
gluttons
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| 贪食者( glutton的名词复数 )； 贪图者； 酷爱…的人； 狼獾 | |
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44
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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45
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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46
fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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47
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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48
nags
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| n.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的名词复数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的第三人称单数 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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