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diff --git a/78316-0.txt b/78316-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a114c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/78316-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9025 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78316 *** + + + + +[Illustration: + + ШЕВЧЕНКО В 1860 Р. + Фотографія. + + Shevchenko in 1860 + Photograph +] + + + + + TARAS SHEVCHENKO + + _The Poet of Ukraine_ + + SELECTED POEMS + + + [Illustration: Decorative symbol] + + + Translated with an Introduction + + _by_ + + +Clarence A. Manning+ + + Acting Executive Officer + Department of East European Languages + Columbia University + + + UKRAINIAN NATIONAL ASSOCIATION + + Jersey City, New Jersey + + 1945 + + + + + +Copyright+ 1945 by + UKRAINIAN NATIONAL ASSOCIATION + JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Introduction v + + Chapter One--The Literary Scene 1 + Two--The Life of Shevchenko 8 + Three--The Poetry of Shevchenko 36 + Four--The Religion of Shevchenko 55 + + Selected Poems of Shevchenko 61 + The Kobzar 63 + Dedication 64 + Perebendya 67 + The Poplar 70 + Dumka (What do my black hairs avail me) 76 + To Osnovyanenko 78 + Ivan Pidkova 81 + The Night of Taras 83 + Katerina 88 + The Haydamaki 108 + Prelude 110 + To the Eternal Memory of Kotlyarevsky 117 + Dumka (Water flows into the blue sea) 120 + Hamaliya 121 + To Oksana K. 127 + The Dream 128 + To Šafařík 145 + The Great Grave 148 + The Caucasus 165 + The Epistle 171 + The Testament (When I die, O lay my body) 179 + In the Fortress, No. 1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 12 180 + Poems of Exile 184 + 1847 (Songs of mine, O songs of mine) 184 + N. N. (Sunset is coming, mountains are shadowed) 184 + N. N. (My thirteenth birthday was now over) 185 + Return 186 + Fortune 187 + The Muse 187 + To Marko Vovchok 189 + Mary 190 + Hosea, Chapter XIV 211 + I do not murmur at the Lord 213 + The Approaching End 214 + The years of youth are passed away 215 + Is it not time for us to stop? 215 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Taras Shevchenko is the poet of Ukraine. There is hardly a Ukrainian +home from the humblest to the richest that does not contain a portrait +of the poet who during his short life touched every chord of the +Ukrainian heart. He shared the fortunes of his people and during his +unhappy life he suffered all the hardships of serfdom, of exile, +of police supervision that was the fate of the greater part of his +compatriots. Seldom has a poet lived and suffered to the full as +did Shevchenko and rarely has a man so fully incorporated all the +aspirations of his people. + +That is not all. As an artist and a thinker Shevchenko deserves the +sympathetic knowledge and understanding of the entire civilized and +democratic world. He deserves it as the representative of his people, +a nation of forty millions who have so far failed to receive that +independence for which they have long struggled. He deserves it also +for himself, for his own writings, since it can be truly said that +he is one of those men who have a message for all humanity, for the +suffering and the downtrodden, the victims of injustice and oppression +everywhere. + +It is the object of this book to make available in English translation +some of the masterpieces of this poet whose works have lived for +a century with an ever widening influence and an ever increasing +appreciation of his genius both at home and abroad. It has been a +strange fate that has confined knowledge of his works to some scanty +references in books on literature, while lesser men in other languages +have received fantastic praises. Such was fate. In his lifetime many +of the most penetrating critics in Russia saw fit to place him above +Pushkin and Mickiewicz for his mastery of language and for the depth +and sincerity of his ideas. Yet they were in the minority, for the vast +multitudes were only inclined to see in him a young serf writing in his +native language and they passed him by with a shrug of the shoulders. + +He formed part of that great flowering of poetry which commenced with +the period of Romanticism in Europe and he was one of those men who +passed by a natural evolution to the great period of realism and of +sensitiveness to the social problems of the day. Now in the twentieth +century we are learning as never before to judge him for himself, as a +flowering of the Ukrainian character and as a man who has a message not +only for his own times and country but for the entire world. He has +stood the test of time and he deserves due recognition in these days +when the entire world is sunk in war and desolation. + +There can be no doubt to-day that Taras Shevchenko is one of the great +Slavonic poets. He is one of the great poets of the nineteenth century +without regard to nationality or language and his fearless appeal to +right and truth and justice speaks as eloquently in the New World as it +did in the Old or in the little village where he was born, the city to +which he was taken or the treeless steppes to which he was exiled. + + + + +_CHAPTER ONE_ + +THE LITERARY SCENE + + +The half century before Taras Shevchenko began to write saw the +beginning of those tendencies which were to develop to their full +power at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth +centuries. It was a period of transition in which the principles and +ideas which had dominated Europe for centuries were being steadily +shaken and losing all authority over the minds of men. They were +questioned logically by the leading thinkers of the day but they were +with equal vigor attacked by the uneducated masses who were vaguely +hoping for better conditions of living. At the same time these new +ideas with a few exceptions had not been translated into effective +political and economic action and the resulting situation was the +despair of both the reformers and the conservatives. There was an +uneasy stalemate which differed from land to land and even from +district to district. + +On the positive side the successful revolt of the American colonies +and the establishment of the Republic of the United States left a +deeper imprint upon European thought, even in the east of Europe, than +we usually think. There is no need to exaggerate this but for good or +ill the ideas of federation, as shown by the new country in the West, +penetrated into distant lands and was hailed as a substitute for the +centralizing policies of the autocratic monarchs who were working +to destroy on paper as well as in practice the local liberties and +traditions which had existed for centuries. + +This had been followed by the French Revolution and then the Napoleonic +Wars. The confusion and hostilities had aided the ambitious plans of +such rulers as Catherine II of Russia who had used the preoccupation +of Europe with the West to finish the dismemberment of Poland and the +annihilation of the last Ukrainian organizations. It comes as something +of a shock to realize that the Zaporozhian Sich, long reduced to only +a shadow of its past greatness, was not destroyed until 1775, and the +last vestiges of the Hetmanate, which had been practically turned into +an aristocratic regime, were wiped out in 1783 and the territory was +divided into governments and ruled on the Russian pattern. Thus so far +as Ukraine was concerned, the final extinction of the old liberties +came precisely at the period of the American Revolution. In 1792, with +the division of Poland, Russia took over the region of Kiev, the +area where Shevchenko was later to be born, incorporated that into +its grandiose structure, and reduced the population to the status of +Russian serfs. + +The final end of local liberties was thus hardly carried into practice +when Russia was compelled to face the Napoleonic Wars. The officers +of the aristocratic and Europeanized classes were brought face to +face with the new ideas which they met definitely in Paris and in the +contact with their allies during the campaigns and they began to dream +of introducing into their native country some of the modern practices +which they had seen in the West. + +These men were however too weak and too scattered to combine their +influence for an effective movement and when they attempted it in the +short-lived Decembrist revolt of 1825, they were decisively checked, +and their leaders were executed or exiled to Siberia. The Polish +revolt of 1831 fared little better and by the time that Nicholas I was +securely established on the throne, he could in his own imagination +breathe easily and forget that there had been such turmoils in the +governmental organization. + +Thus in the Russian Empire, it seemed as if the powers of the reaction +had been definitely established. The ideas of the Holy Alliance and of +Prince Metternich seemed as solid as the monolithic structure erected +in Moscow by Peter the Great. On the political side the conservative +and reactionary factions were in full control and the rulers no longer, +as in the days of Catherine, played with new ideas, even if they had +no serious intention of practicing them. There were peasant disorders +but there were no more such convulsions as that led by Pugachov and +his Cossacks which seriously menaced the established order and which +demanded the use of large military forces to save the regime. + +In the meanwhile every step forward in the Europeanization of the +Russian aristocracy meant an increase in the exactions demanded of the +serfs. This was a process that had been continuing especially since +the reforms of Peter the Great, when there was inserted a steadily +deepening wedge between the manorhouse and the peasant. Long hours of +forced labor on the nobleman’s lands and the ever diminishing size of +the serf allotments because of an increase of population made the life +of the poor unfortunates more and more miserable. This was especially +marked in those areas where the Russian system had been but recently +introduced and where traditions of an older and happier time still +lingered on in the minds of the older inhabitants. + +Along with this political and economic stagnation and retrogression +went a new intellectual and artistic development. This made itself +felt throughout the whole of the Empire. It had both its good and its +bad sides. On the positive side, there was in Russia the appearance of +a new art, a new literature which tried to imitate and then to adapt +the French pseudo-classic culture of the eighteenth century. Nobles +who had previously known little but the traditional Church Slavonic +conceptions, handed down from antiquity, were fascinated by the new +innovations. New methods of literary composition were introduced. A new +language was devised. New influences from Western Europe came in. + +All this could not fail to draw away a large part of the intellectually +alert landowners from their original moorings. During the eighteenth +century the Ukrainian educated class tended more and more to accept +the Europeanized Russian culture. This was the easier, because the +Ukrainian centres, as the old Academy of Peter Mohyla in Kiev, had +busied themselves entirely with Church Slavonic and theological +subjects. The system of education had not included any of the results +of Western development, the language used was artificial and differed +markedly from the colloquial speech of the villagers, and even such +a man as Skovoroda in the eighteenth century had not taken any +definite step to assault the entrenched system except by the power +of his own personal refusal to bend himself to its demands. Where +in the seventeenth century the Kiev schools had sent scholars to +reeducate Moscow, now after the absorption by Russia, they contented +themselves with a continuation of the old policies. As a result +there was a growing exodus of the young men to the dominant center +of St. Petersburg and there was a consequent fall in the culture and +educational resources of the Ukrainian lands and a rise in Russian +influence. + +These tendencies were again counterbalanced by a new series of +developments in Western Europe which could not fail to create a +reaction throughout the whole of the continent. On the one hand, +Rousseau in France developed his theories that the natural man had a +higher moral virtue than the man of civilization and culture. There +started a return to the primitive which could not fail to turn people’s +attention to the condition of the serfs, while at the same time the +renewed theories of the rights of man attracted attention to their +misfortunes. + +Side by side with this there were the doctrines of Herder as to the +superiority of the folk song as a form of literature and the focussing +of the attention of the educated on the speech of the common people and +on their poetic productions and artistic practices. Those tendencies +which had manifested themselves in Percy’s _Reliques_, a collection of +Scotch ballads, which had continued with a desire to collect German +folksongs, in which even Goethe took part, and the later interest in +the Serb popular ballads naturally spread into Russia and resulted +not only in the discovery of the _byliny_ in the far north but in a +revaluation of the Ukrainian folk songs which had passed unnoticed +outside of the villages or which had been treated with amused disdain +by the polished noblemen. A new wave of interest was therefore set into +motion and it came so soon after the disintegration of the old order +that parts of it could be easily absorbed into the new movement. + +It was in this environment that Ivan Kotlyarevsky published in 1798 the +_Eneida_, the first work to be written in the Ukrainian vernacular. It +is to be noticed that the author in his humorous adaptation of the old +Latin story to the Ukrainian scene rested rather on the old classical +traditions of the eighteenth century and the practices of the Kiev +Academy than on the newer ideas which were beginning to appear on the +intellectual horizon. Yet the work appeared at a critical time and it +showed to the people still smarting under the newly imposed yoke that +it was possible to develop the vernacular and to produce outstanding +works of literature in it. This was all to the good and it in a way +corresponded to the revival of the Czech language which was being +started by the philologically inclined Josef Dobrovský. + +Yet before the vernacular literature could take a firm foothold, +some other idea was necessary. This was found in the beginnings of +Romanticism which swept with startling rapidity throughout Europe. This +was a complicated movement and its form varied with the individual +countries. + +It made its appearance in Russia largely through the influence of +Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky, who was for nearly half a century +the leading critic and adviser of the young aristocratic poets who +developed at the Lycée of Tsarskoye Selo at the imperial court of +Alexander I. This circle included Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, the +greatest of Russian poets, although in his composition there was always +more of the older classical ideas and practices than it was fashionable +to admit at the time. + +Zhukovsky, who was an excellent translator, acclimatized in Russia +the whole apparatus of the weird, the supernatural and the mediaeval +that was being developed in Germany. He early translated Bürger’s +_Lenore_, the story of the dead lover returning to claim his living +bride. He gave his people poems and stories of mediaeval chivalry and +he translated many of the ballads of Goethe and Schiller. Very soon he +added to this movement the influence of Byron and for some fifteen or +twenty years the gilded youth of the Russian capital not only imitated +Lord Byron’s poems in their writings but they acted out his ideas in +real life and considered themselves to be wanderers persecuted by the +world. + +With it all, the twenties and the thirties were the Golden Age of +Russian poetry. Pushkin especially soon outgrew the narrow imitation +of Byron. He added to the influences to which he was subjected those +of Sir Walter Scott and Shakespeare. He wrote historical poems +conceived in a profound admiration for Peter the Great as _Poltava_ +but at the same time in _The Captain’s Daughter_ and other works he +showed a strong appreciation of the career of that doughty old rebel +Pugachov. Yet during the last years of his life he expressed more +sympathy as in the _Brazen Horseman_ with the sufferings of the poorer +class of the people. The collapse of the Decembrist movement and the +silencing of the reforming elements among the aristocracy gave rise +to the beginnings of a more critical literature based on an attempted +understanding of Western ideas and sharply divided Russian thought +between the Slavophiles who were primarily conservative and attempted +to find differences between Russian development and that of Western +Europe to the advantage of the former and the Westerners, conservative +and liberal alike, who sought to emphasize the backwardness of Russia +and to demand the remodeling of the country on western lines. By 1840 +these men, led by the furious Vissarion Grigoryevich Belinsky, had +secured the ear of most of the literary journals and were well on +their way toward the formation of a realistic school and the radical +intelligentsia. + +The Romantic movement therefore had but a short life in Russia. This +is not to be wondered at, for the Russian mediaeval history was not of +a character that lent itself easily to the glorification of the past +and of the feudal period that was so effective in German. Chivalry as +an organized movement had not taken root in mediaeval Moscow with its +strong Tatar and Asiatic influences and Russian Romanticism always +lacked a certain basis which was found in the Western European +countries where for centuries the lords and barons had waged petty +warfare with many deeds of individual daring. + +A special position in this movement was held by Nikolay Vasilyevich +Gogol, the son of one of the early writers in Ukrainian. In his +_Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka_ and later in _Mirgorod_ and +especially in his powerful Cossack tale of _Taras Bulba_, he pictured +the romantic side of Ukrainian or Little Russian tradition (to use the +name which he gave it himself) and he told tales of the happier side +of the life of the region where he had been born. His works really +introduced into Russian literature a Russianized Ukrainian school of +writing which by its color and charm attracted wide attention. + +On the other hand in Poland, even after the division, there was the +same outpouring of the Romantic spirit. Adam Mickiewicz who had started +his brilliant poetical career in Wilno and Kaunas and had then been +exiled to Russia and had finally gone abroad was the leading figure. +One of that group of Polish patriots which had gathered around the +University of Wilno, he had raised Polish literature to a new level +of excellence. He was ably seconded by other writers as Juljusz +Slowacki and Zygmunt Krasiński, the two other Romantic poets who were +also forced into exile. The writings of this group were more in the +conventional Romantic style and exercised an even stronger influence on +Poland than did the Russian Romanticists in the narrow sense. Many of +the writers of this time as Antoni Malczewski were familiar with the +picturesque aspects of Ukrainian life, its rich supply of folksongs and +its elaborate peasant rituals. As a result they introduced so-called +Ukrainian themes into Polish literature and relying upon their Galician +experiences, they made the Ukrainians or Ruthenians as they called them +really popular. + +In the meanwhile the energetic young group at Wilno were preparing for +revolt which finally took place in 1831. Despite initial successes, the +Russian Tsar speedily got control of this as he had of the Decembrist +uprising among the Russian aristocrats. He suppressed it as brutally +and for some decades the Poles were compelled to maintain abroad in +France their chief literary activity, which continued to emphasize the +principles of Romanticism with a strong feeling for their dismembered +country. + +Finally we cannot overlook the first halting steps of that movement +which was destined to be labelled Pan-Slavism or the Slavonic +brotherhood. It was really launched in Bohemia by the Slovak Jan +Kollár who in 1824 published a collection of sonnets, the _Daughter +of Slava_, in which he pleaded for a brotherhood of all the Slavonic +races. His work set the key for much of the later Czech literature +and his ideas expanded in more prosaic form by Pavel Šafařík and +others slowly permeated all classes of thinking Slavs. To Kollár and +his friends this undoubtedly meant a free brotherhood with Russia as +the most powerful member and protector against the Germanic world. To +the Russians it meant the absorption of the other Slavs by Russia and +the Slavophiles easily took many of the current ideas of the German +philosophers and crossed them with conceptions of the Russian Orthodox +Church to create a theory for their new nationalism. + +All of these various impulses combined to influence the newly born +Ukrainian literature. There was much that directly appealed to the +writers. For example the Ukrainians were conscious of their past, at +least those who were conscious of anything. They knew that the exploits +of the Kozaks were exactly the sort of thing that had attracted the +attention of the Romantic poets of both Russia and Poland. They knew +the wealth of their folklore, the number of weird themes that they had +at their disposal. They realized the potentialities of the description +of their folk customs. Besides, tales of the unhappy peasant, the +seduced girl, the serf were common in the Romantic literature and the +everyday life around them gave them countless examples to illustrate +their writings. + +It required the work of a master to put the new modern Ukrainian +literature on its feet. Kotlyarevsky had made a start in fashioning +the language in which they could work. Kvitka-Osnovyanenko had carried +on the work with his prose tales but there was needed an outstanding +author who was sincerely devoted to the Ukrainian cause and was at +the same time a master of the language, to weld together the various +elements and to produce in Ukrainian works which would be on a par with +those of the two conquering cultures which were then at their highest +stage of poetic development. With the loss of most of their educated +classes and with the hard conditions and the scanty opportunities +offered to the peasants and the serfs, it might seem as if the man +could not be found and as if the Ukrainian start was from the beginning +foredoomed to failure. To the surprise of even the most optimistic, a +great poet suddenly appeared, Taras Shevchenko. + + + + +_CHAPTER TWO_ + +THE LIFE OF SHEVCHENKO + + +Taras Shevchenko was born in Ukraine in the village of Morintsy in the +district of Zvenihorod, Government of Kiev on the right bank of the +Dniper River. The situation of this community was of great importance +in the formation of the character of the poet. It was in this general +vicinity that the bloody outbreak of the Koliischchina had taken place +in 1768, when the infuriated Orthodox population of the province had +risen against their Polish masters and had burned the city of Uman. +This war was to be the theme of Shevchenko’s great poem, _Haydamaki_. +The revolt was bloodily suppressed, especially after Catherine the +Great had listened to the pleadings of King Stanislas Poniatowski of +Poland and had sent her troops to aid in the defeat of the rebels who +had erroneously believed that they were acting in accordance with the +will of the Russian Empress. + +The only result of the war was the still deeper subjugation of the +Ukrainian population and the hardening of the rule of the Polish +masters. The second division of Poland which brought this right bank +of the Dniper under the control of Russia did not aid the unfortunate +Ukrainians. They found themselves bound still more strictly to the soil +and they soon learned to their discomfiture that Russia would herself +back up the claims of the Polish landlords. The demands of the masters +were carried to a new high and there was little or no redress for the +unfortunate victims. They had only their memories of the past and the +traditions and folksongs which they had inherited to remind them that +their ancestors and the Kozaks had once been free men and able to +control their own destiny. + +Among the survivors of this merciless struggle was Ivan Shevchenko, +the grandfather of the poet and he lived well into the lifetime of his +grandson and was wont to tell him and the other members of the family +of the savage events of 1768 and the unfortunate consequences. He was a +living contact between the old and the new. + +The old man must have been a superior type of peasant for he had seen +to it that his son Hrihori Shevchenko had been taught to read and +write. The son was a prosperous serf at a time when his prosperity +could bring him few advantages, and he constantly sought for a new +and better life on the estates of his master, Vasily Vasilyevich +Engelhardt. After his marriage to Katerina Boykivna, who seems to have +been also a very kind and intelligent woman, the two lived in the +village of Kirilivka, where his father lived, as a carriage maker and +he owned a cart with a team of bulls. His father-in-law soon bought him +a little cabin and some land in Morintsy about a mile away and it was +in a typical Ukrainian peasant cabin that the poet was born on February +25-March 9, 1814. Conditions here were unsatisfactory and it was not +long before the Shevchenkos returned to Kirilivka where Taras spent his +boyhood. + +Kirilivka was a typical large Ukrainian village of the right bank. +It was in a fertile region with an abundance of orchards and fruit +trees and gardens. Picturesquely located, it seemed a real paradise +but beneath the charming exterior, the institution and the practice of +serfdom made the village for its inhabitants a perfect hell, where all +kinds of evil and injustice prevailed and where the hours of forced +labor demanded by the master made life almost impossible. + +Taras was the third of six children and was always attached to his +older sister Katerina who married when he was still very young. His +father tried to give him an education but the opportunities were very +scanty. Taras always remembered his parents with the greatest kindness +but when he was nine years old, his mother died of poverty and of +overwork on the lands of the master. This meant the ending of the happy +period of his life. + +With six small children, the father Hrihori could not maintain his +household without a wife and so he soon married a widow, Oksana +Tereshchenchikha, from Morintsy. She brought her three children with +her to her new home. The marriage was not a happy one. The stepmother +was very cruel to the children of her husband, begrudged them the food +they ate, and quarreled unceasingly. It was a sore disappointment for +the young Taras and to avoid the perpetual beatings which he received, +he used to take refuge with his older sister who was married and living +in a neighboring village. Finally when he was twelve years old, his +father died too and the young Taras was thrown on his own resources, +since his uncle who was his guardian paid little attention to him. + +As a means of finding some respite from the cruelty that was going on +at home, he went to a village clerk Bohorsky in an endeavor to learn +something about painting, for he already had been attracted to this and +also had developed a fertile imagination. His stay with Bohorsky was +none too successful. + +The clerk was an incorrigible drunkard and besides nearly starving +the poor boy, he tyrannized over him in every way but he did succeed +in making him literate and in teaching him to read the Psalter. In +fact Taras became so successful in this that the clerk sent him out to +read the Psalms at peasant funerals and thus allow himself more time +for drinking with his friends. Taras finally had his revenge. One day +when he found his teacher drunk, he flogged him as hard as he could +and then made off with a volume of art works. This was apparently a +book containing some of the stock designs for ikon painting and for +lettering. + +Disgusted with the worthless and brutal teacher from whom he had +imbibed only a feeling that violence was wrong, he made his way to the +village of Lisanka to study under another clerk. This likewise was +unsuccessful. For four days the teacher employed him only in preparing +paints and in bringing water from the river Tykych. At the end of that +day Taras again disappeared and turned up at Tarasivka, where there was +a still more locally famous painter of Saint Nicholas and of Ivan the +Soldier, but here again he met only a rebuff. Finally he had exhausted +all the clerks in the neighborhood who had any reputation for painting, +and there was nothing for him to do but to return to his native village +and there as an orphan secure a scanty living by acting as a herdsman +for the village cattle and by doing any odd jobs that might appear in +the community. + +It was apparently at this moment when he was about thirteen years of +age that Shevchenko had his first taste of love. While he was pasturing +the village sheep, he suddenly started to shed bitter tears and a young +girl who was gathering hemp near by came over to console him and kissed +him. Her name was Oksana Kovalenkivna and her memory remained with him +for many years as a type of sympathetic friend and love. That was all. +It was only a moment in the drab life of the poor boy but it gave him +an ideal of sympathy and affection that he had not had since the death +of his mother and the image of Oksana appeared in many of his later +verses. + +From this idle existence Shevchenko was suddenly torn away by the +overseer of the estate. He had shown little promise in his efforts +to master the old fashioned and then decadent art of ikon painting. +His physical stature did not promise that he would develop into a +valuable laborer in the fields and yet the overseer had no intention +of allowing him to live in idleness. So the boy suddenly found himself +sent into the kitchen of the manor house to work as an assistant baker. +Again Shevchenko failed to acquire the necessary skill and he was +again in disgrace. Another task was sought for him and this time he +was appointed a Kozak servant for the young master Pavel Vasilyevich +Engelhardt. + +His work here was boring and insignificant. He had only to remain +dressed in a Kozak uniform in the anteroom of the master and to serve +his slightest whims and needs. It meant long hours of doing nothing, +the hardest kind of useless labor. He had to hand the young master +his pipe, when he so desired, for it was beneath the dignity of Pavel +Engelhardt to pick up his own pipe, even if it were beside him. All +his other tasks were of the same non-essential character and the boy +accustomed to his freedom was absolutely disgusted with his fate. + +There was however one consolation. The master could not prevent the +young serf from admiring the objects of art that were scattered around +the house. The mansions of the day were very different from the rough +houses of the peasantry. The latter were impoverished representatives +of the past. The mansions were filled with the newest productions of +western Europe and these gave to the sensitive boy a very different +conception of art from that which he had received from the rude +ikonostases of the village churches. He feasted his eyes upon them and +apparently endeavored in stolen moments to make copies of them. + +He also had the opportunity to travel. Pavel Engelhardt was perpetually +going somewhere and he had to travel with an entire retinue of +servants. This meant that the young Shevchenko was torn away from his +native village and his native surroundings. In 1829 Engelhardt who was +a Guards officer took him to Wilno and for fourteen years Shevchenko +did not see again his beloved Ukraine. + +It was at Wilno that an accident happened which determined his fate. +On December 6 Engelhardt and his wife went out to an entertainment and +the young Shevchenko was obliged to stay on watch until they returned. +To wile away the time he set himself to copying a print of the Kozak +Platon which he had acquired on the way to Wilno. He became so absorbed +in this that he did not notice the return of the master who accordingly +found him copying by candle light. Engelhardt became enraged at the +actions of the boy and scolded him violently because he might have set +fire not only to the house but to the whole city. The next day he gave +orders to have him soundly flogged. The episode might have ended here +but Engelhardt noticed that Shevchenko was making an excellent copy of +the work. This led him to inquire further and he saw some of his other +sketches. So, having roundly punished the young culprit, he sent him +to the Art Academy of Wilno, where he perhaps studied under Jan Rustem. +Still later he transferred him to Warsaw to take lessons from the +celebrated Franciszek Lampa. + +It was a critical moment in the life of the young man. Now at least +part of his ambitions could be gratified but he still remained a serf +in his master’s service with no hope of any amelioration of his lot, +for the nobles of the day were only too happy to have under their +control artists, actors, and learned persons of every description. It +was a discouraging situation, for there was little hope of fame or of +satisfaction for a man who was compelled under penalty of flogging or +banishment to physical labor to draw sketches whenever it suited his +master’s whim. + +While at Wilno Shevchenko had again fallen mildly in love with a Polish +seamstress, Dunia Haszowska, a free woman who spoke to him about the +coming Polish uprising. She was an ardent Polish nationalist and +apparently her influence, intended to win Taras to the Polish cause, +only drove him further in his devotion to the cause of Ukraine. + +As the hour of revolt came nearer, Engelhardt suddenly left Warsaw and +went to St. Petersburg. It was a safer place in case of trouble and it +also gave him more opportunity for his social inclinations. Naturally +Shevchenko was taken along with him and here Engelhardt apprenticed him +for four years to the painter Shirayev in 1832. + +There is something strange in this contract. It probably marked a +change in the plans of Engelhardt for his unusual serf. At Wilno and +Warsaw he had had him taught by painters in the best sense of the word +and had apparently not spared money for lessons. Now in St. Petersburg +he did not send Shevchenko to a portrait or landscape painter but to a +professional decorator who was already known for his work in several +St. Petersburg theatres. There was a plebeian and unidealistic side to +this work in the making of designs and transferring them automatically +to the walls and ceilings of buildings that displeased Shevchenko. He +missed all the artistic inspiration that had apparently inspired him +previously and felt that he was becoming a mechanical drudge. + +The contract between Shirayev and Engelhardt must have ended by law +in 1836 but Engelhardt left him to work further as a laborer in the +atelier of Shirayev who was a determined exploiter of his subordinates. +Shevchenko had but two methods of relaxation--to make sketches of +a fellow serf, Ivan Nechuporenko, and to copy statues in the Winter +Garden. + +In 1837 he suddenly made the acquaintance of another Ukrainian artist, +Ivan Maksimovich Soshenko, who was then living in St. Petersburg. +There are two versions of this meeting. The more romantic is that +Soshenko saw him first during one of the white nights of St. Petersburg +sketching a statue of Saturn in the Winter Gardens. The other, that +of Soshenko himself, is that he heard from a relative of Shirayev’s +of this wonderful young Ukrainian artist and decided to make his +acquaintance. + +In either case Soshenko became enthusiastic over the artistic abilities +of Shevchenko and over his possibilities for independent work. He soon +took the opportunity to introduce his young friend to the leading men +in the Imperial Academy of Arts and desired to have him enrolled there +as a student. This was impossible for no serf was allowed to study in +this institution. Yet the Secretary of the Academy, Vasily Ivanovich +Grigorovich, and the celebrated professor, Karl Pavlovich Bryulov, both +desired to have him enrolled as a student. There was only one solution +for the difficulty. It was necessary to obtain freedom for Shevchenko. +Engelhardt was not sympathetic. He had expended considerable money on +the education of the young man and he was not going to be deprived +of his services now that he was becoming recognized as an artist. +He promptly demanded the payment of 2500 silver rubles. This was an +enormous sum and was apparently intended to be prohibitive. + +The group of artists interested in Shevchenko was not to be discouraged +by this demand. They interested in the case Vasily Andreyevich +Zhukovsky, who naturally had great influence in Russian governmental +cultural circles. He was the tutor of the Tsarevich, later Alexander +II; he had been the Russian teacher of the Empress Charlotte of +Prussia, the wife of Tsar Nicholas I. He was the recognized authority +on European literature in Russia. With his court connections, it +was clear that if he would, he could secure the necessary funds. He +therefore arranged with Bryulov to paint his picture to be disposed of +by a private lottery. A portrait of Zhukovsky by Bryulov was an event +for the rich circles of Russia. The money was raised and paid over to +Engelhardt and on April 22, 1838, Taras Shevchenko became a free man +for the first time in his life. + +Shevchenko was almost overcome by his new happiness. From that moment +he was free. Like any other citizen of Russia, he was able to apply +for a passport, to choose his own abode, to do what he liked without +any fear of the changeable moods of an autocratic master. The world +seemed rosy to him and he could hardly concentrate on anything. He at +once procured new clothes, filed the act of liberation in the official +bureau, and the next day registered at the Academy as a student of +Bryulov. + +Karl Pavlovich Bryulov was then at the height of his fame. Originally +of French Huguenot descent, he had been allowed to take a Russian name +when he won a prize in the Academy of Arts and went to Rome. There he +had become acquainted with the leading artists and literary men who +had thronged to that city during the twenties. His painting, _The Last +Days of Pompeii_, had taken Italy and then France and finally Russia by +storm and when he commenced to teach at the Academy of Arts, he raised +its popularity and became the very center of everything artistic and +cultural in the Russian capital. + +The effect of all this upon Shevchenko can hardly be overestimated. +Almost over night he had passed from a nobody, a mere serf eternally at +the beck and call of his master, to an independent student of the Art +Academy and a favorite pupil of the great Bryulov. His sensitive nature +could not fail to react to this overwhelming difference. + +He worked hard every day in the Academy and made a very creditable +success. At the end of the first year he won a silver medal for drawing +from nature. Apparently his earlier instruction here came in handy. +In 1840 he won a silver medal of the second class for his attempt +in painting with oils and in 1841 he received the same award for a +painting on a historical subject and for portraiture. He had made good +use of his opportunities and had not allowed himself to be distracted +by the gay amusements of many of the young artists, although he +apparently had his share of entertainments and dinners. + +More important than this for the young man were the opportunities which +came to him for general culture. His early education was extremely +defective. He had not had even the most irregular schooling outside of +the elementary instruction in reading and writing offered by the local +clerks under whom he had gone through the motions of studying. Now he +was able to read at his leisure and he applied himself ardently to +making up the defects in his training. He read abundantly in Ukrainian +history and he probably was already fairly well acquainted with what +there was in the modern Ukrainian literature. Yet he needed more than +that and his relations with his fellow students and still more with +Bryulov opened his eyes to the classical and Western European cultures. + +While he had been in Rome, Bryulov had been the friend of Sir Walter +Scott, Bulwer-Lytton, and the various writers of France and Germany who +made Rome their headquarters. His great paintings had been on classical +themes and we can well ascribe to his influence Shevchenko’s interest +in classical antiquity, for the younger Russian poets were already +turning away from the classical tradition that had dominated Russian +literature through the period of Pushkin. + +He dined frequently at Bryulov’s home and Bryulov came to dinner in +his poor quarters. The master warned him against marrying on the +ground that geniuses should not marry and then introduced him to the +fascinating actress whom he himself intended to marry and from whom he +was soon separated. + +At the same time Shevchenko was very slow in seeking the society of +ladies whom he might consider above his own station in life. He never +forgot his origin and his chief romance in this period was with a young +girl, the daughter of a neighbor whom he tried to teach to read but +whom he found an unserious pupil. At times he enjoyed the society of a +higher class but there was something in him which urged him to confine +his closest women friends to those of his own class. + +At some time during his stay in St. Petersburg, Shevchenko began +to write verse. It must have been before his emancipation, for the +oldest known poem is the ballad _Prychynna_ (The Mad Girl) which +is reminiscent of Bürger, Zhukovsky, and Mickiewicz with a strong +admixture of Ukrainian folklore. This was exactly the same type of poem +that was practiced throughout the Slavonic world with the coming of +Romanticism. It can be dated in 1837 but it is almost too perfect to be +the first attempt of the young artist and it must have been preceded +by many experiments. The modesty of Shevchenko and his devotion to +his painting made him at first very hesitant in regard to his poetic +performances and it was more or less by accident that they were brought +to the attention of the public. A few of his friends were aware of +his activity. Thus in 1838 Hrebinka wrote to Kvitka that there was in +St. Petersburg a young Ukrainian named Shevchenko writing verses and +excellent ones. Yet the poems attracted little or no comment until at +the end of 1839 a Ukrainian landowner, Petro Martos, met Shevchenko +and arranged for him to paint his portrait. As he was sitting in the +artist’s apartment, he happened to notice some poetry on various +sheets of paper. He succeeded in borrowing them and on reading them +became so thrilled that he resolved to publish them at his own expense. + +The work appeared in 1840 under the title of the _Kobzar_ and it marked +a new era in Ukrainian literature. Kotlyarevsky had died in 1838 and +his passing made a gap which had seemed irreparable. Now the appearance +of the _Kobzar_, small as it was, showed to everyone, both friend and +foe, that his place had been taken by a still greater author. In vain +the Russian critics, including Belinsky and the Westerners, attacked it +as insignificant and peasantlike. The Ukrainians throughout the entire +area of Ukraine welcomed it and saw in it the answer to their confused +hopes for a worthy literature of their own. + +The next year there appeared the _Haydamaki_, the longest of the epics +of Shevchenko. There was the same criticism of his work by the Russian +and Polish critics and the same enthusiastic reception of it by the +Ukrainians. The edition was soon sold out and Shevchenko received a +considerable amount of money for it. More than that, he was sought out +by all the Ukrainians who had occasion to come to St. Petersburg and +many of his later friends he came to know in this period. He had in a +very real sense become a national figure and was more sure of himself +in his relations with society and with all those whom he had to meet. + +Yet despite the apparent success of all that he undertook, things were +not going too well with him. He had many firm friends in St. Petersburg +and his relation with his teacher Bryulov remained as close as before. +Yet he seemed to be dissatisfied. He was dissatisfied with the Academy, +perhaps because he was not making as much progress in his use of colors +as he would have liked. It is to be noted that he won no prize after +1841, that is, after he had become famous from his writings, but there +is no evidence that this was due to any antagonism on the part of the +authorities to his ardent Ukrainian attitude. It could not be that he +had neglected his painting for his writings, for it is remarkable that +at this same time he had almost stopped writing and 1842 was one of his +least productive years. + +Undoubtedly his dislike for St. Petersburg affected him. He had seen +his works hostilely reviewed or scorned by the Russian critics, +especially those of the liberal camp from whom he might have expected +to receive consideration. He was busy with portraits and with his +social life, but at the same time he was struck by the contrast between +the life that he was leading and the misery of his brothers and +sisters in Ukraine. He had not seen them for fourteen years and he +was becoming homesick and he wanted at all costs to pay a visit to his +native land. + +So in the summer of 1843, he succeeded in securing a leave of absence +from the Academy and obtained permission of the authorities to go home. +His return to Ukraine was a real event. He paid a visit to his family +but he was no longer a mere serf. He was the poet of Ukraine and all +the landowners and the persons of prominence vied with one another in +entertaining him. His trip was one triumphal procession, as he passed +from estate to estate. Almost everywhere he was asked to paint one or +more of the members of the family and the trip was successful not only +from the social but even more from the financial point of view. + +Among the families which entertained him, one of the most hospitable +was that of Prince Repnin, the former governor general of Kiev and +the friend of Kotlyarevsky. He was now living on his estates and was +in disfavor with the government, for his wife was a granddaughter +of Kyrylo Rozumovsky, the last of the Hetmans, and his enemies had +charged that he was endeavoring to recover the title, even at the cost +of separation from Russia. Repnin was a good type of the Russianized +Ukrainian landlord who had not lost his interest in the people under +him and who was sincerely opposed to serfdom. + +It was here at his house that Shevchenko met his daughter, Princess +Barbara. She was six years older than the poet but the two were +attracted to one another. The Princess was a little nettled that the +poet showed more interest in the beginning in a young friend than in +her but she was sincerely impressed by his personality and ability and +set herself to induce him to do more serious work and to avoid the +company of the more frivolous and gay young people to whom he might +be attracted. Shevchenko appreciated her interest and called her his +guardian angel. For a while it seemed as if they might fall in love but +the difference in their social position was a barrier to such a union, +and although the two were ardently in love, yet neither betrayed it +except through an extreme friendship in which they addressed each other +as brother and sister. + +By the end of the summer Shevchenko, whose painting had considerably +improved, seriously considered not returning to the Academy. He even +went so far as to write to the Secretary, Grigorovich, to ask his +advice and when he was urged to come back and received a two months +extension of his leave, he paid a hurried visit to Moscow and was back +in St. Petersburg shortly after the beginning of 1844. + +Yet this short trip greatly changed the temper and the work of the +poet. He was able to see the evils under which Ukraine was suffering +not through the memories of a young serf but through the eyes of an +enlightened and progressive and successful man of the world. His +old conceptions based upon the tales of his grandfather that these +ills were a result of Polish hostility and the suppression of the +Koliishchina were proved false. The worst evil was in the present +and that was a direct result of the Russian overlordship and the +suppression of Ukrainian liberties. The evils which came from the +union with Moscow by the so-called Treaty of Pereyaslav were more real +than the danger threatening from an already vanquished and broken +Poland. Henceforth his poems turned against Russia and he abandoned +the romantic scenes of the past that had formed such a large part of +the _Kobzar_. At the same time he increased his emphasis upon the +injustice of the villagers among themselves. He had touched this in the +_Katerina_ but he had learned in his native village of the sad fate of +Oksana Kovalenkivna whom he had once loved. She had been seduced by a +Russian and had later become insane, after she had been disowned by her +parents. + +He occupied himself during this year with the bringing out of a series +of sketches, _Picturesque Ukraine_, and continued his usual life at the +Academy and with his friends. The ferment of opposition to injustice +was however working in him and toward the end of the summer he finished +the _Dream_, one of his most powerful attacks on the present situation +in Ukraine. It was impossible to think of publishing such a poem with +its caricature of the Empress and its open condemnation of both Peter +the Great and Catherine the Great. It did however begin to circulate in +manuscript form among the friends of Shevchenko and the adherents of +Ukrainian liberties. + +This was no exceptional thing under the regime of Nicholas I. Even +such a masterpiece of Russian literature and such a harmless satire on +the social life of the day as the comedy _Sorrow out of Intelligence_ +by Griboyedov was refused publication by the censor, despite the fact +that it was the favorite reading of St. Petersburg society and the work +of a distinguished and trusted diplomat. Most of the poems of Pushkin +and Lermontov were still unpublished, and it was generally understood +that there was in the two capitals a large amount of literature by +the leading writers which were known only to the reading public and +the police chiefs unofficially. The circulation of a poem as the +_Dream_ which might have serious consequences would therefore not +be threatening until it might suit the officials to take cognizance +of it. Shevchenko probably spent some anxious moments when he first +showed it to friends but apparently he gave very little thought to +the possibility that he might be denounced to the authorities and he +continued during the next years to write his great poems attacking the +alien domination of Ukraine. + +On March 22, 1845, Taras Shevchenko finished the course at the Academy +of Arts and received the right to call himself a free artist of the +Academy and later in the same year on December 10 a diploma was +formally issued to him confirming this fact, granting him the rights +and privileges pertaining thereto and allowing him “with complete +freedom and liberty to enter the service into which he as an artist +desires to go.” + +Without waiting for the arrival of the formal diploma, Shevchenko +returned to Ukraine. In fact he went within two days of his formal +departure from the Academy. He travelled by way of Moscow where he +saw again old friends as Prof. Bodyansky and the celebrated actor +Mikhaylo Shchepkin who had taken part in the first performance of +Kotlyarevsky’s drama _Natalka Poltavka_. He spent the summer travelling +around Ukraine and then in the late autumn he secured a position with +the Archaeological Commission which had been formed by the Governor +General Bibikov to study the ancient monuments of Ukraine. For this +he was recommended to receive the sum of 150 rubles a year. It was a +trifling sum even for those days but there was attached a permission to +travel and with his fame and the possibility of making portraits, it +was possible for him to live without too much hardship. + +The year 1845 was one of his most productive years literarily. It +was the time when Shevchenko had the opportunity to acquaint himself +personally with all of the ancient monuments of his country and to +observe for himself the terrible conditions under which the people were +living. The year saw the continuation of the tendencies described in +the _Dream_ and in such poems as the _Great Grave_, the _Caucasus_, +and the _Epistle to my dead, living and unborn countrymen in Ukraine +and not Ukraine_, he expressed his bitter indignation at the denial of +independence and liberty to his people. He was skating on thin ice in +these poems but the blow which was hanging over him was deferred. + +At this time in Kiev there was a very active intellectual life. There +had gathered around the University a group of young men who were +destined to become famous in the Ukrainian movement. Here were Mykola +Kostomariv, the historian, Panteleimon Kulish, Vasil I. Bilozersky, and +many others. They were all attracted by the ideal of doing something +for Ukrainian independence but their patriotic fervor was largely +tinged with romantic dreams. + +The traditions of the Decembrists of 1825 were still alive among a +large part of the younger Russian thinkers, even though the centre +of activity had passed away from the aristocratic officers who had +risked their lives and careers in that abortive movement. They dreamed +of a liberated Russia and they apparently like most of the Russian +conservatives and radicals did not conceive of any dismemberment of +their country. On the other hand in 1824 the Czechoslovak writer Jan +Kollár had published the _Daughter of Slava_, a series of sonnets +appealing for Slavonic liberty and stressing the brotherhood of all the +Slavonic races. Kollár’s work gradually spread throughout the Slavonic +world and produced marked reactions everywhere. Some of the Russians +played with the idea. It found strong repercussions in the Balkans. +In Kiev it affected this group of young thinkers and its influence +was aided by the studies of Slavonic antiquities and general Slavonic +literature by Pavel Šafařík, another Czech scholar. + +The immediate result was the organization of the Society of Saints +Cyril and Methodius in January, 1846. The young enthusiasts of the +Society dreamed of a great Slav republic which was to embrace all +the Slavonic nations with the various groups organized as states. +Perhaps there was much of the Masonic organization in this but there +is the strong likelihood that the example of the American Constitution +played a considerable role in the final method of government that was +proposed. For an internal policy the Society urged the development of +education to fit the people for their new responsibilities. + +There was nothing particularly dangerous about this Society. It +contained the same kind of potential explosiveness as such modern +organizations as Union Now and similar plans for world organization. +The members seem to have believed in the possibility of peaceful change +and the very unmilitary character of the leaders could easily have +shown the Tsar that they were little more than idealists who might +have been used to further the interests of the Russian Empire. Yet to +Nicholas I, anything which savored of free institutions was actually +and not only potentially dangerous. Russia was rushing on to the +debacle of the Crimean War and the Tsar was engaged in a futile effort +to stop all discussion and the appearance of western ideals. It was +evident that danger threatened the entire group and they were compelled +to act as a secret organization. They adopted their own flag, their own +seal, and ritual. + +During the summer of 1846, the members of this Society scattered on +their own business. Shevchenko passed the time on various estates and +dreamed of going abroad to Italy to continue his studies in painting. +He had received an offer of assistance and he did not realize that +Anna Bilozerska, who was marrying Panteleimon Kulish, was planning to +sell her jewels to secure for him the necessary funds which were to be +given anonymously. At the same time he was building high hopes on the +possibility of receiving a definite position as teacher of painting at +the University of Kiev, and this was definitely given him in February, +1847. + +Everything seemed to be favorable for a happy future, when the blow +suddenly fell. Shevchenko had returned to Kiev for the wedding of +Mykola Kostomariv and several of the friends assembled at the same +time, while Kulish who had been called to St. Petersburg and then +given a fellowship to travel abroad was on his way to the border. +Unknown to them, Oleksy Petrov, a student who had lived in a room +near that of Bulak, another member of the group, had listened to the +lively discussions that had gone on at various times when some of the +scattered members had come to Kiev during the preceding months, and +had become convinced that there was some conspiracy afoot. Perhaps he +had even made friends with Shevchenko with the idea of discovering +something about the society. + +At all events on February 28, he suddenly informed M. V. Yuzifovich, +the supervisor of education in the district, of the conspiracy. +The latter at once suspended Shevchenko from his position with the +Archaeological Commission on the technicality that he had gone to Kiev +without permission. Still there was no real suspicion on the part +of the group. Shevchenko appeared at Kostomariv’s wedding. In the +meanwhile Yuzifovich had forwarded the complaint to Bibikov who was +then in St. Petersburg and on March 17, the latter had referred the +matter to Count Orlov, the chief of the gendarmes. + +The police acted speedily, when we consider the difficulties of +transportation and the transmission of news. On April 5, 1847, the +thoroughly unsuspecting Shevchenko together with his friends was +arrested and sent to St. Petersburg. He arrived there on April 17 and +the trial took place almost immediately. + +At an inquiry made at the Academy of Arts, Count Lakhtenberg, the +President, replied after giving Shevchenko’s record at the Academy, +“It is necessary to add that Shevchenko has a gift for poetry and in +the Little Russian language has written several poems, respected by +people who are familiar with the Little Russian language and the former +life of this region; he was always considered as a moral man, perhaps +something of a dreamer and an honorer of the Little Russian past, but +nothing prejudicial came to the knowledge of the Academy.” + +In his examination, Shevchenko denied membership in the +Ukrainian-Slavonic Society but admitted that he had written some +insolent and satirical works, “forgetting his conscience and the fear +of God.” He had nothing to say about his associates in the Society. + +In the summing up of the evidence Count Orlov placed the case of +Shevchenko almost entirely upon his verses. “Shevchenko instead of +feeling eternal gratitude to the persons of the Most August Family, +which had deigned to free him from serfdom, composed verses in the +Little Russian language of the most revolting character. In them he +expressed lamentation for the so-called enslavement and misery of +Ukraine, proclaimed the glory of the old Hetman rule and the former +freedom of the Cossacks, and with incredible boldness poured out +slanders and bile on the persons of the Imperial House, forgetting +that they were his personal benefactors. Besides the fact that all +that was prohibited attracted persons of weak character, Shevchenko +acquired among his friends the fame of a celebrated Little Russian +writer, and so his poems became doubly harmful and dangerous. With his +poems which were beloved in Little Russia there could be sowed and +consequently take root thoughts of the so-called happiness of the times +of the Hetmanate, the happiness of bringing back those times and of the +possibility of Ukraine existing as a separate country. Judging by the +extraordinary respect which all the Ukraine-Slavonians felt personally +for Shevchenko and for his poems, it at first seemed that he might be, +if not the active head among them, yet the tool which they wished to +use in their designs; but on the one hand these designs were not so +important as they appeared at first sight, and on the other, Shevchenko +had begun to write his revolting poems already in 1837, when Slavonic +ideas had not interested the Kiev scholars; similarly the whole case +shows that Shevchenko did not belong to the Ukrainian-Slavonic Society +but acted separately, attracted by his own corruption. Nevertheless by +his revolting spirit and boldness which passes all bounds, he must be +acknowledged one of the chief culprits.” + +The sentence came on May 26 with the verdict, “The artist Shevchenko, +for his writing of revolting and in the highest degree impudent poetry, +as a person of a healthy constitution, is to be sent as a private +to the Orenburg Separate Corps, with the right of freedom through +honorable service and instructions are to be sent to the command to +have the strictest supervision that from him, under no pretext, can +there come any revolting and satirical works.” The Tsar with his own +hand added to this “Under the strictest supervision with a prohibition +of writing and sketching.” + +The sentence was carried out at once and by June 11, Shevchenko was +already in Orenburg and duly outfitted as a soldier. He was attached to +the 5th battalion of the Corps which was stationed at the Fortress of +Orsk, 267 versts (about 150 miles) east of Orenburg in the heart of the +barren steppes. It was an uninviting place amid uninviting surroundings. + +Shevchenko had no desire to become a soldier and he loathed army life +and discipline. It seemed to him a worse slavery than that which he had +known as a serf. Every detail awoke his disgust. It was in vain that +the commanders endeavored to teach him to drill and to march. He was +shocked at the filth and the language of the privates who surrounded +him and with whom he had to associate. They were the exact opposite of +the cultured and intellectual people with whom he had associated at St. +Petersburg and in Ukraine. They were a tough and foul-mouthed gang of +ruffians, and this is not to be wondered at for many of them had been +sent there as a punishment. Yet much of his reaction must be attributed +to the dissatisfaction of a sensitive intellectual with the dreary life +of the barracks in peace times. + +Besides that, the prohibition of writing and painting took away from +Shevchenko the inspiration which he might have drawn from the unusual +surroundings in which he was. He could only dream of Ukraine, think +of its sufferings, bemoan his fate, and hope and pray for something +better. He wrote letters to Princess Repnina and to others of his +friends, lamenting especially the prohibition against painting. The +Princess interceded for him with Count Orlov and in reply merely +received a warning against corresponding with such an evil character. +One of his friends sent him some paints. If he tried to write verses, +he was compelled to do so secretly and to hide them in his boot. + +Apparently the officers were not too hard upon him, and the +intercession of friends as Princess Repnina and Count Aleksyey K. +Tolstoy, the celebrated Russian writer, had some effect, for on January +30, 1848, Count Orlov had sent to Orsk to inquire about the conduct of +Shevchenko and the possibility of removing the ban on his painting. It +is possible that some favorable reply was given for early in May, he +was attached as a sketcher to an expedition which was setting out to +explore the east coast of the Sea of Aral. However Shevchenko looked +upon this unofficial modification of the original sentence, the work +was difficult and attended with many hardships. His mission lasted for +a year and half and he returned to Orenburg in November, 1849. + +The little expeditionary force of infantry, engineers, Kirghiz and +camels had set out from Orsk, gone to the Sea of Aral, built a fleet +of ships and then sailing along the coast to Raim, had landed, built +a fort at Kos-Aral and had passed the winter there. During this time +Shevchenko made many sketches of the scenery under government orders, +despite the official prohibition, and during the winter he was able to +work on several poems. Yet it was a disagreeable journey. The Sea of +Aral was a salt sea. Its banks were monotonous and bare, quite unlike +the blooming fields of Ukraine. In addition to that, he was definitely +cut off from the world. For a year and a half no mail reached him or +the expedition and he imagined that he was entirely forgotten, while +his friends at home thought that he had forgotten them. + +When he returned to Orenburg at the end of 1849, he again presented a +petition to be allowed to paint and in it he stated--what was perhaps +not the exact truth--that never in his painting had he ventured to +commit any impropriety. His officers, knowing his services on the +expedition, seconded his request. + +In the meanwhile they allowed him to live in the city of Orenburg, +to wear civilian clothes instead of the hated uniform, and to paint +as many portraits as he desired. The city was filled with Polish +and Ukrainian exiles and in their company the time passed much more +pleasantly and fruitfully than during the fatiguing and difficult days +in the fortress and on the expedition. + +It was too good to last. In the spring a certain ensign (it is not +sure whether his name was Isayev or Illashenko) presented a complaint +that contrary to the Imperial edict Shevchenko was both writing and +painting. Lieutenant Obruchev, who knew very well that Shevchenko +had been acting under official authority, was yet afraid that the +matter might reach the Third Section and make trouble. As a result he +searched the quarters of Shevchenko and found what he had long known +were there--civilian clothes, paintings, and writings. The poet was +immediately rearrested on April 27 and sent back to the Fortress of +Orsk where his battalion was still stationed. There he was placed in +the guardhouse and his trial lasted from June 28 to July 5 before +General-Adjutant Ignatyev. + +The ground covered was already known to every one. Shevchenko denied +any deliberate wrongdoing and stated that he had supposed that the +prohibition against writing had applied only to imaginative works +and had not been intended to cover private correspondence, which the +authorities forwarded and which had not violated any law of propriety +but had been merely personal greetings and requests for assistance. +There was no defence possible on the charge of having civilian +clothes, but this was a matter that might become far more serious for +his superiors who had allowed him to remain at Orenburg than for the +unfortunate victim. It was to be expected that the Tsar would take a +more serious view of a private wearing civilian clothes than of the +other accusations, for that directly touched his personal views of +discipline. On August 26, the order came to release Shevchenko from the +guardhouse and to send him to the First Battalion at Novopetrovsk under +the strictest supervision. His former commanding officers were also +punished and the results had disagreeable consequences for many of the +friends with whom he had corresponded. + +He arrived on September 13 at his new post. Novopetrovsk was in a still +more forbidding region on the east coast of the Caspian Sea and had +been built four years before to protect the region from depredation by +Kirghiz raiders. It was on a barren peninsula reaching into the Caspian +Sea from the treeless steppe. His reputation had preceded him and also +the knowledge that the Tsar himself had ordered him not to write and +paint. As a result, the commanding officer, Colonel Mayevsky, did not +feel able to mitigate the Imperial order. The company officers, Captain +Potapov and Lieutenant Obryadin, were men of slight culture and of the +most limited military outlook. They were willing to enforce the orders +to the limit and were only interested in compelling the poet to become +an efficient soldier, to drill and march accurately and to go through +the necessary motions in the proper way. + +This was doubly depressing for the poor poet. He was a remarkably bad +soldier. Whether this was because of his stubborn determination not to +be a good one but to maintain his theories to the end or whether he was +temperamentally unmilitary, it is hard to say. It is to be noted in +this connection that even in his youth he had failed in any technical +occupation at the Engelhardt estate, while he made progress so soon as +he was allowed to study art and to write poetry. + +For two years the unequal struggle continued. Shevchenko was watched +minutely and hourly. He was not allowed a scrap of paper and during his +service at Novopetrovsk there was no opportunity for him to write even +the shortest poems. He was able to get out only a very few letters to +Princess Repnina and to some of his closest friends. Yet his spirit +never wavered. He maintained the same unwavering attitude in his +feelings, treating himself as a sufferer for the cause of Ukraine. + +About two years later Major Irakly Uskov was sent to command the +garrison. He was a more determined and broad-minded man and he decided +to do what he could to make the fate of Shevchenko a little more +tolerable. He invited him frequently to his house, acquainted him with +his family, and asked him to paint their pictures. The favor shown to +the prisoner was so marked that gossip arose about his wife Agatha +and Shevchenko and made it very difficult for the old relationship to +continue. Yet Uskov did not on that account turn against the poet. When +Shevchenko conceived the idea of painting the altar picture in the post +chapel, Uskov warmly approved the idea but again the authorities in +Orenburg sternly forbade it on the basis of the Tsar’s orders, and this +new hope of enjoyable activity was abandoned. + +Nicholas I died February 17, 1855 and a new era seemed to dawn for +Russia. The new Tsar, Alexander II, was the pupil of that Zhukovsky who +had had so much to do with the liberation of Shevchenko from serfdom. +The new reign was opening with an appearance of liberality and with a +general amnesty and Shevchenko could hope for his release. Yet he was +not included in the general list of pardons. His attack on the Dowager +Empress in the _Dream_ had been so bitter that she was believed to have +influenced her son against the act. + +Shevchenko was nearly in despair but his friends at St. Petersburg did +not lose heart. Count Feodor Petrovich Tolstoy of the Academy of Arts, +and his wife continued to work through all possible social channels to +secure the release of the poet. It was a hard and thankless task but +by the spring of 1857 his friend Mikhaylo Lazarevsky could write that +a pardon had been secured and that the days of Shevchenko’s exile were +numbered. + +Then came one of the hardest parts of his confinement--the tedious +waiting until the order could travel through official channels to +Orenburg or Astrakhan and then be forwarded to the isolated post. Mail +arrived rarely. Shevchenko began a journal and in it he noted down +with despair the numbers of mails that arrived without bringing the +desired letter. He was continually passing from the heights of hope to +the depths of despair as week followed week without the desired news. +Finally it came on July 21 and as often with such delayed greetings, +Shevchenko was not on hand to receive it. He was living in the city +and in the morning he went to the fortress for a shave “and from the +non-commissioned officer Kulikh I first learned that at nine o’clock in +the morning a mail boat had arrived. Having shaved, and with sinking +heart, I returned to the city and, leaving the fort, I met Bazhanov +who was in charge of the post hospital. And he first greeted me with +Liberty: July 21, 1857, at eleven o’clock in the morning.” + +Shevchenko was now free but he was miles from any vestige of +civilization and eager to return to his friends in the capital. +There were two ways of leaving. The official route was via the corps +headquarters at Orenburg but this meant a journey of 1000 versts across +the desolate steppe before he could reach Astrakhan on the lower Volga. +The simpler way was to board a boat and go directly to Astrakhan. +His definitive orders for departure had not arrived and Uskov had no +power to approve the direct route. He finally did so and on August 2, +Shevchenko boarded a fishing boat for Astrakhan. + +He arrived on the 4th in the late afternoon. For the first time in ten +years he was free of military service. For the first time in ten years +he was able to move around without fear of punishment. He greedily +looked around Astrakhan and made many friends. The Ukrainians there +welcomed him as a great poet and it relieved him to find that he had +not been forgotten during his long exile. + +Finally on August 22 he started with some friends on a river steamship +along the Volga for Nizhni Novgorod. It was a revelation to him and he +endeavored to make sketches of the scenery along the river but it was +all so new and startling in its beauty after ten years of the steppe +that he did not complete any of his drawings. He stopped at Saratov for +a short visit with the mother of his old friend Kostomariv. Finally on +September 20, the boat reached Nizhni and he was able to go ashore. + +Here the police were again waiting for him. His amnesty had not granted +him permission to live in St. Petersburg and Major Uskov had from +ignorance granted him this permission, when he let him go without +requiring him to travel via Orenburg. Under any interpretation of +the orders for his arrest, he would be required to return there for +a formal receipt of future instructions. Yet he found friends at +Nizhni and the Chief of Police and the Police physician very willingly +allowed him to remain and forwarded to Orenburg a statement that he was +too sick to travel. This left him temporarily safe but it postponed +his hope of meeting with his friends for it was not until March 1, +1858, that he received the desired permission and then there was the +disagreeable clause added that he was to remain under the supervision +of the police. + +The winter was not an unpleasant one. Everywhere he was received +as a distinguished writer. He was invited to the Nizhni Club, was +entertained by all the most distinguished social and artistic circles +of the provincial city, and painted pictures of most of the outstanding +persons, supporting himself largely in this way. + +At the same time he wrote to Kulish and also to his old friend, the +actor, Mikhail Semenovich Shchepkin, and asked them to visit him. With +his usual caution Kulish refused to risk his career by visiting the +banished poet but Shchepkin came down from Moscow and spent Christmas +with him. He was the first of his old friends whom he had met since his +return and it gave the poet great pleasure. + +It also helped to precipitate a rather unpleasant episode. Shevchenko +had never in his heart given up thoughts of marriage and while he +was in Nizhni, he became enamored with an attractive young actress, +Katerina Borisivna Piunova. She was apparently of Ukrainian stock for +he saw her in Kotlyarevsky’s _Moskal-Charivnik_. She was dissatisfied +with her position in Nizhni and was trying to secure one in Kazan. +Shevchenko, fascinated by her and thinking as always of Ukraine, tried +to use his influence and that of Shchepkin to get her to Kharkiv. She +seemed to like his attentions but it was not long before he discovered +that she was merely using them in order to secure a better contract and +his devotion resulted only in disillusionment. + +While he was in Nizhni, he had the opportunity of meeting some of the +Decembrists who had been exiled by Nicholas I in 1825 and who were just +being released after thirty years of Siberia. He went into ecstasies +over their high principles. His comments on this group were more +enthusiastic than on most of his friends of his own age. + +As a matter of fact Shevchenko had grown more radical in prison or we +might perhaps put it better by saying that he had become aware that +the Russian government was inflicting upon its own people most of the +same hardships that it had upon the Ukrainians. As a result he read +constantly the various writings of Herzen and of the other radicals +which appeared abroad and from this time on came to have closer kinship +with the leaders of the intelligentsia. + +In productive work during this winter he wrote the _Neophytes_, a +study of the Christian persecutions under the Roman Emperor Nero. +The comparison between him and the Tsar is so obvious that the poem +terrified Kulish and he advised Shevchenko to be slow about letting +its existence be known. This advice did not satisfy the poet who was +utterly fearless and not to be swerved from what he considered right, +but there were no ill effects from its production. + +On March 8, he went by sleigh to Vladimir and there he met Captain +Butakov who had commanded the expedition with which he had gone to +the Sea of Aral. Shevchenko’s remark on meeting his old commander is +very significant. “My heart grows cold at the very memory of that +wilderness, but I think he is ready to settle down there forever.” +(Journal, March 10.) + +From Vladimir he went to Moscow late on the 10th and was taken sick +with some disease of the eyes and for some days he was not allowed to +go out on the street. However he disobeyed this order to go and see +Princess Repnina. She had been his closest friend in the old days and +now when he saw her, he says only in his diary “She has changed for the +better; she looks as if she had grown younger, and were rushing into +matrimony, a thing which I had not noticed previously. Has she not met +in Moscow a good confessor?” (March 17). This seems to have been almost +the end of another dream. He saw her again on the 24th but the old +correspondence seems to have ended. + +The years had treated Shevchenko very unkindly. He was only forty-four +but the exile had made him prematurely aged. His health had suffered +under the harsh regime and the difficult living conditions of the +frontier. Even though his spirit remained unbroken, he was no longer +a young and vigorous man. He still cherished his dreams of a home +and children but from this time on he apparently gave up the hope of +charming any one who might appeal to his mind and fit into the position +to which he could honestly feel that he had risen. With the loss of his +unconfessed love for Repnina and the episode with Piunova, Shevchenko +turned more and more toward the peasantry from which he had sprung. + +Yet it did not affect his dealings with men. He had the opportunity +of making the acquaintance of Sergey Timofeyevich Aksakov, one of +the grand old men of Russian literature and the author of the most +delightful pictures of the good side of the old patriarchal life. +Shevchenko had a sincere admiration for the old Slavophile who was then +sixty-seven years old and whose early life had been spent in pleasant +surroundings on the Bashkir steppes very similar to those where he +himself had suffered. Aksakov invited him to his estates for the summer +and Shevchenko apparently desired to accept. He also renewed his +acquaintance with the family of Stankevich and with M. V. Maksimovich. +At this time also he met the younger Aksakovs, Khomyakov and in fact +all of the important Slavophile leaders, who accepted him as a great +poet. Of course his closest friend was Shchepkin who was with him +constantly but who was unfortunately compelled to leave for Yaroslavl. + +Shevchenko left the same day for St. Petersburg where he arrived on +March 27, just about eleven years from the time when he had been +brought there as a prisoner for his trial and sentence. He went at once +to his old friend, Mikhaylo Mikhaylevich Lazarevsky, who had helped +him so much during his exile and then to see Count Feodor Petrovich +Tolstoy, the Vice-President of the Academy of Arts. + +It was largely through the Tolstoys that he had finally been pardoned +and both the Count and Countess entertained him royally. They gave a +dinner in his honor and acquainted him with many of the leaders of +the cultivated artistic and literary set in the capital. Among these +we may mention Count Aleksyey Konstantinovich Tolstoy, the celebrated +dramatist novelist and poet, who with all of his liberal ideas was +attracted and repelled by the strange figure of Ivan the Terrible, his +cousins, the brothers Zhemchuzhnikov, the poet Lev Aleksandrovich Mey, +the mathematician M. V. Ostrogorsky, Admiral Golenishchev, and many +others. They all accepted the broken Ukrainian, they admired his poetry +and Mey translated several of his poems into Russian. + +On the other hand he also became acquainted with the leading +radicals of the day as Nikolay Gavrilovich Chernyshevsky and Nikolay +Aleksandrovich Dobrolyubov. Both of these men were connected with +the _Sovremennik_, for which Kostomariv and Kulish also wrote. +Chernyshevsky relied heavily upon Shevchenko in pointing out that the +evils that befell the Ukrainians were due to the master-class, which +was identical whether it was Russian, Polish or Ukrainian. To some +extent Shevchenko agreed with him and this is greatly stressed by the +Soviet critics as L. P. Nosenko (Velyky Poet-Revolyutioner, Odesa, +1939, pp. 51 ff.). It is very likely that there is some basis for their +claims but on the other hand in a few poems which Shevchenko wrote +after his return, his references to Khmelnitsky and to Ukraine show +well that he had no desire to see his native country in any connection +with Moscow and the Russian Empire. + +He resumed his studies at the Academy of Arts but this time in etching. +He achieved in this great success and his work under Prof. Yordan was +so distinguished that in the spring of 1859 he was authorized to submit +engravings for a promotion to the grade of Academician. He did this +and on October 31, 1860, he was formally made an Academician of the +Imperial Academy of Arts. + +His life in St. Petersburg was relatively pleasant but he could not +forget Ukraine and his unfortunate brothers and sisters who were +still in serfdom. He finally secured permission to go there and left +St. Petersburg for his last visit early in June, 1859. He planned to +visit several friends and to pay a visit to his brothers and sister at +Kirilivka. He met his sister Irina. They sat down under a pear tree, he +placed his head in her lap, and listened to her sad story of all that +she had had to suffer, especially since she became a widow. Shevchenko +told her of his troubles also and asked her to find him a wife, for now +that he was more or less free, he was determined to marry and have a +home in Ukraine before he died. + +From Kirilivka, he visited other friends and then new troubles overtook +him. He was suddenly arrested at the town of Moshni. The police +authorities at St. Petersburg had notified the police of the various +sections where he would be of his coming and asked them to keep watch +of him. He seems to have expressed himself incautiously to some friends +and apparently some Polish landowners reported him to the police. He +was arrested in Moshni on July 13, taken to Cherkasy, and then to Kiev. +Here his case was brought before the Governor General Ivan Vasilchikov, +who studied it with interest and very soon decided that Shevchenko +had been unjustly accused. He advised the poet to return to St. +Petersburg, “where the people are wiser and do not worry about trifles, +in order to serve well.” + +The poet who had been brought to Kiev on July 27, stayed a few days +longer at liberty under police supervision and then on August 14, he +started back for St. Petersburg. He had been negotiating for a little +piece of land near Mezhirich on the bank of the Dniper but this plan +had fallen through with his arrest, and there was nothing for him to do +but to see a few friends again and make his way back to the capital. +He arrived there on September 7, profoundly convinced that nothing had +changed in Ukraine with the accession of the more liberal Alexander II. + +There was still the problem of his marriage. After his experiences +with Piunova and perhaps with Princess Repnina, he had come to the +conclusion that he should marry a peasant girl as much for symbolic +reasons as for inclination. But where to find one? + +By now he had become friendly with Vartolomey Shevchenko whom he +addressed as his brother. This was not strictly accurate. Osip, the +brother of Taras, had married the sister of Vartolomey, so that +Vartolomey was really the brother of the sister-in-law of Taras. He +had known him earlier but now the two men became very friendly, for +Vartolomey was a practical and business-like man and the manager of the +Korsun estate of Prince Lopukhin. He did not agree with the poet in his +revolutionary and extreme views but Taras recognized his fundamental +honesty and often was willing to follow his advice. + +At this moment he met and became devoted to a servant in the family of +Vartolomey. She was the sixteen year old Kharyta Dovhopolenkivna, an +attractive but illiterate serf on the estate of Prince Lopukhin. She +seemed to Taras to represent exactly the type of girl that he wished +to marry. It was in vain that his friends advised him against the +union, for they realized that Kharyta could not share in any of his +higher interests, in his poetry or his painting. It was all in vain. +Shevchenko insisted on formally offering her his hand. The girl solved +the problem by refusing him because she was unwilling to marry an +aged _pan_ and she had no intention of becoming the slave to another +nobleman. The fame of the poet was so great that the girl insisted upon +looking at him as a person of a higher social stratum and Shevchenko +despite his efforts could not disillusion her on this point. Besides +she already had her own fiancé whom she had selected herself. + +It was another blow to the aged man, but he even yet did not lose hope. +He spent some time in the composition of his last great poem, _Mary_, +an unconventional retelling of the life of the Blessed Virgin, largely +on the basis of the apocryphal legends. His choice of material and the +realistic tinge which he gave to the sacred story annoyed many of his +friends and his enemies used it to spread a charge of atheism. The work +is however fundamentally religious but the poet modified the story to +bring it closer to the fate of Ukraine. + +He was friendly at that time with a nephew of Aksakov, Karteshevsky. +The latter’s wife was a sister of Mykola Makarov, a Ukrainian landowner +and literary man, and at their house many of the Ukrainian and Russian +writers used to gather for pleasant evenings. It was here for example +that Shevchenko met Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev, although the two +men never became close friends. At one of these parties, to honor +Shevchenko, they dressed in an elegant Ukrainian costume a young serf +girl, Lykeria Polusmakivna. + +She was a clever, coquettish and scheming little creature who knew +both Russian and Ukrainian but for the occasion she pretended to know +only Ukrainian. Her charm and beauty completely fascinated the poet +and still saddened by the rebuff of Kharyta, he decided to marry her. +He had her taught to read and tried to educate her. The girl responded +quickly but it was soon clear to all, even to Shevchenko, that she was +hoping to marry him only to get to Paris and to move in society. This +completely broke the poet’s heart and he began to feel that his chances +for a happy married life in Ukraine were doomed never to be realized. + +At the same time, however, he was busy with other plans. He was working +hard on his etching and was achieving real success. He also reopened +negotiations with the censor to bring out another edition of the +_Kobzar_ and he secured it in 1860, provided only it did not include +poems written after his arrest and exile. + +His visit to Ukraine and his new realization of the hardships of his +family in serfdom aroused in him the desire to have them liberated. +It was certain that a general emancipation would not be long delayed, +but the poet would not wait. He opened negotiations with their master, +V. E. Fliorkovsky, to emancipate, with a little piece of land, his +two brothers, Mykola and Osip, and his sister Irina with their +families. Fliorkovsky refused and demanded a considerable sum for the +emancipation but refused to give them land, even when the Society +for Aid to Russian Writers, with such imposing names as those of +Turgenev, Kavelin, a professor of the University of St. Petersburg, +Chernyshevsky and various others appealed to him. Finally on July 10, +1860, Fliorkovsky succeeded in coming to an agreement with his serfs +and gave them their liberty in return for 900 silver rubles but without +land. The poet was angry at this solution but there was nothing that he +could do. He saw his relatives freed but they were compelled to rent +their land on disadvantageous terms until 1865 when as a result of the +emancipation settlement they were able to receive some. + +During the exciting year when it seemed as if the general emancipation +would come almost daily, Kulish and his friends worked energetically on +educational plans for the Ukrainians. Sunday schools were established, +textbooks prepared in the Ukrainian language, and in general the +future seemed rosy. Shevchenko was not behind in his interest and he +set to work on a _South Russian Primer_ for the Ukrainian children. It +consisted of an alphabet, prayers, and easy selections for reading, +with somewhat moralizing texts. It was an unimportant work which the +poet had prepared to meet a real national need and it came out early in +1861. + +It was about the end. By the fall of 1860, the hardships which he had +undergone began to tell upon his health. He complained of pains in +his chest but continued to work. In vain doctors and friends tried to +persuade him to be careful. At Christmas he insisted upon visiting his +friends but it was too much of an exertion. In the middle of January, +1861, he became worse and for some weeks was unable to leave his bed or +to go out of his room. A watery swelling came in his chest and it grew +constantly worse. Towards the end of February he was in constant pain. +On February 25, his birthday, his friend Lazarevsky visited him and the +dying poet asked him to write to Vartolomey about his condition. Late +that evening he came back with a friend and they found Taras sitting +up, breathing heavily but unable to speak. All that night he suffered +greatly and could not sleep. In the morning he asked to be taken to his +study but he had hardly crossed the threshold into the hall, when he +staggered and fell--and never rose again. + +The poet had lived to be one day over forty-seven. Out of those years +he had been a serf for twenty-four, a free man for nine, a Russian +soldier for ten and under police supervision for four. It was a sad +life. + +Two days later on February 28, there was an enormous funeral in the +Academic Church and his friends and admirers gave glowing eulogies of +his life and merits. Among the speakers were Kulish, Bilozersky, and +Kostomariv. He was buried in the Smolensky cemetery. + +Meanwhile his friends planned to have the body taken back to Ukraine. +The necessary permission was secured and on May 8, the body left the +capital. It was taken through Moscow, Tula and Orel to Kiev. In every +city ever increasing crowds welcomed the funeral procession. Finally +on May 18, it reached Kiev but again there was a question whether the +body could be taken to the Church of the Nativity. Permission was +finally granted by the same Governor Vasilchikov who had freed the poet +at his last arrest. At the bank of the Dniper, his friend Mikhaylo +Chaly made a last eulogy: “The poetry of Shevchenko has won for us the +right of literary citizenship and has spoken aloud in the family of +Slavonic nations. In this is the great merit of Taras Shevchenko and +his glory, which will never perish.” He told the truth. The Dniper was +in full flood but the enthusiastic admirers succeeded in getting the +body across and in burying it on the Chernecha Hora, one of the poet’s +favorite spots. In 1892 Vartolomey bought this ground and handed it +over to the local duma of Kaniv to preserve as a memorial to the poet. + +Shevchenko lived a life of tribulation and sorrow. There was little +that was joyous about it. His muse is one of sadness but of firm belief +in the ultimate triumph of the right and of human brotherhood and he +saw the Ukrainian cause as a part of this noble movement. Whatever he +did for it politically, from the standpoint of spirit and of literature +he placed his native land and literature on a firm basis among the +Slavonic nations. He perfected the work of his predecessors and he +still remains the greatest example of the Ukrainian genius. + + + + +_CHAPTER THREE_ + +THE POETRY OF SHEVCHENKO + + +In estimating the greatness of the poetry of Shevchenko, we can never +forget that he must be judged in two different spheres and on two +different planes. He is first and foremost the poet of Ukraine, and +his poems breathe the secret longings of every Ukrainian heart. He is +the spokesman of his people and from his lips we hear in all their +clarity and intensity the prayers, the hopes, the disappointments of +the Ukrainians. No one of the other Ukrainian poets has equalled him in +the understanding of his fellow countrymen and his people have accorded +him the highest praise and honor that they can bestow upon a man. + +At the same time, his sympathy and compassion range far beyond the +boundaries of his own people and here he becomes a world poet, able +to stand comparison with such writers as Pushkin and Mickiewicz, the +great masters of Russian and Polish verse at their periods of greatest +excellence. Far more even than they he expressed the sufferings +of humanity, the evil of injustice and of wrong, the need and the +inevitability of the triumph of right, of kindness, and of brotherly +love. His poems in this sphere have a message for all humanity and are +an appeal for a better, a truer, a more decent life for all men and +women everywhere. + +It is one of the mysteries of genius how the poor serf was able to +develop into the magnificent poet that he was to become in after years, +despite the blows that fate hurled upon him, of poverty, of suffering, +of imprisonment and of ill health. Yet there is no royal road to genius +and there is no predicting where or when a genius will be born. The +world can only note it and give due acclaim to the man who is thus +favored or cursed by fortune. + +Let us look a little more closely at the work of Shevchenko in the +national sphere. For centuries the free Kozaks had been holding up to +view the principles of a free life and a free political organization +on the steppes of eastern Europe. They had paid for their liberty +with their blood. They had fought a losing fight, for disunity and +factionalism had destroyed them even at the moments when they seemed +the nearest to success and victory. Social classes had made an +appearance among them. The Kozak officers had tended to turn themselves +into nobles and to seek from outside powers the ratification of +their claims. They paid the price for their ambitions and with them +the people who might have stood out as a strong and self-contained +band were thrown into serfdom. It was a long, slow process and with +unfailing psychological truth Shevchenko put his finger unerringly +upon the defects of the Kozak system. He traced the downfall of his +country through the ages. He pictured it in its ruin and he never lost +hope that someway, somehow it would rise again. He was not a soldier +at heart. He was not a conspirator. He was not interested in the +secret passwords, the underground existence, the spiritual isolation +and discipline that must become the dominating features of the life of +every revolutionist. In childhood he had learned why the Koliishchina +had failed. As a kindly, loving soul, he could not excuse the ferocity +of that movement which he painted so vividly. He had seen the failure +of the Decembrist movement in Russia and of the Polish revolt in 1831 +and he understood the lessons. Yet he did not waver in his belief. He +did not express himself as to the manner in which Ukraine would become +free. He was not a political theorist and did not speculate on the form +of government which would then come. He was too cultured, too modern +to believe that the old Kozak system could return, that the Hetmans +could be reestablished and recover their power. But never for a moment +did he give up his feeling of loyalty to his mother-country. Never for +an instant did he mitigate or reduce her claims to independence. Full +friendship and trust in the Moskals could only come when Moscow was +ready to greet Ukraine as a brother with all the rights and obligations +that that meant. + +At the same time that he avoided political revolution, Shevchenko was +a bold and defiant revolutionist in the ideal sense of the word. He +was not satisfied with a revolution which would remove the tsars whom +he hated and put other men in power with the same privileges. To him +the goal of human life was freedom, brotherhood, democracy. He wanted +a society which would not injure the unfortunate and the downtrodden, +which would not be composed of hypocritical Pharisees and snobbish and +ambitious and conceited rulers and wealthy roués, no matter what terms +they applied to themselves. + +It is here that Shevchenko far transcended Ukraine and her problems. +Wherever there was a suffering soul, an oppressed woman or child, an +enslaved man, the message of Shevchenko demanded unflinchingly that +evil must be wiped out, that need and want and fear must be eliminated +from the earth, and that greed and lust must be annihilated. In holding +up these goals which are independent of and above national existence, +which are in the realm of religion and of ethics, Shevchenko has a +message for the entire world. His works are far more modern in their +direct and simple speech than are those of most of his contemporaries. +They cannot grow old or fade until those great ideals which we to-day +call by the name of democracy and for which the world is fighting, +are fully brought to reality. They are the dominant factors in man’s +struggle to achieve civilization and on man’s success in obtaining them +depends the future of peace and prosperity. + +Yet we would be very wrong to think that Shevchenko acquired his point +of view only from his own meditations and ideas. The picture that +is often drawn of him as a mere serf who somehow or other appeared +in literature is far from the mark. Of course he had no formal +education--but that was true of many of the scholars and gentlemen of +the early nineteenth century. We often say of them that they acquired +their knowledge and outlook on life through constant association with +the outstanding men of a previous generation. This is obviously untrue +of Shevchenko who was born a serf and passed his childhood under the +harsh conditions of life in a poor Ukraine village, where he could +only secure an education from the ignorant and inefficient clerks and +chanters of the various village churches and they were hardly the +proper instructors for a young and ambitious man. Yet somehow or other +Taras Shevchenko acquired a real education which enabled him to meet on +an equality many of the most distinguished men of his time, he won a +real insight into the psychology of his people, and he mastered their +language as no one else has ever done. There is needed far more study +than has hitherto been undertaken as to the way in which he acquired +knowledge and trained himself for his great work. + +We can only dimly trace in broad outlines the process of his +development. From his earliest boyhood he had ambitions to become an +artist and his first teachers were the local ikon painters. From them +he seems to have learned little except to read and sing the psalms, +but he was so expert in this that his first master used to send him +out to officiate at peasant funerals, when the master was too drunk to +attend them himself. Of painting he could learn only how to draw and +color the general types of saints that were to be found in the local +ikonostases and the sketchy outlines of the details of hagiography and +printing that were included in the cheap handbooks that served the +rural workmen as patterns--and we must remember that at this period +the art of ikon painting as an art was sadly on the decline. He also +absorbed from his grandfather the latter’s memories of the Koliishchina +and from the village a knowledge of the folksongs and of the dances and +other traditional elements of the village culture. He had certainly +read Skovoroda, Kotlyarevsky, and the other early masters of Ukrainian +literature. + +All this represented the full range of his possibilities until he +appeared at the Engelhardt manorhouse and was taken with the young +master to Wilno and Warsaw. He had not only picked up by this time a +knowledge of the Church Slavonic but he had also a general acquaintance +with both Russian and Polish and he probably used every opportunity +to read what books were in the manorhouse exactly as he feasted his +eyes upon the works of art that were there. Yet we must not lay too +much stress upon this possibility, for in those days books were often +more neglected than cherished and there were many great nobles whose +libraries contained fewer books than windows. + +Shevchenko’s opposition to serfdom and his irritation at being dragged +from his homeland may have colored his own reminiscences as to the +opportunities that he had for acquiring a knowledge of the cultures of +the oppressors of his country. At the time he was far more interested +in painting than he was in writing, and we are better able to trace the +influences exerted upon his art than those upon his poetry. Yet his +stay in Wilno was undoubtedly an important factor in his development. + +At this time Wilno was the cultural centre of the movement for the +liberation of Poland. Around the restored university there had gathered +a group of talented young men who were ardent Polish patriots. Among +them was Adam Mickiewicz who had been arrested and removed to Russia +in 1824, just six years before the young serf arrived in the city. +It was possible for him to be affected by the growing preparations +for the Polish revolt of 1831 and his friendship with Dunia Haszowska +undoubtedly did much to increase his already strong Ukrainian feelings. +At the same time from her and from his teacher, Franciszek Lampa, he +could hardly fail to become acquainted with the newer works of Polish +literature and with the beginnings of the Romantic movement which was +basing itself upon the newer German and English developments. He was +probably already aware of the ideas of Schiller and Byron, before he +went to St. Petersburg and there he was again subjected to the same +type of influences in their Russian form. + +During his work with Shirayev, he probably had little time to continue +this self-education, although it is always hard to say exactly what he +was reading or what opportunities the poor serf had to study. At all +events with his meeting with Bryulov and his subsequent emancipation, +he was brought definitely into contact with men who were familiar with +Europe and who had known personally most of the great writers of the +day in all the European literatures. Many of their works had appeared +in poor and often anonymous Russian translations. Even translations of +the stories of Washington Irving were appearing and an ambitious and +intellectually eager young man, even with his limited opportunities, +was able to assimilate a great deal of literary knowledge. Up to the +present time there are no exhaustive studies of this type of Russian +publications, for we can hardly call some of these translations by +the proud name of literature. Many of the students of Shevchenko have +sought to confine the influences upon him to Polish and Russian. In +a sense this is true, for Shevchenko gives no sign of learning more +than a few words in any non-Slavonic language, but it is equally +false to neglect the possibility that the young man got to know the +masterpieces of the world through such defective sources. Besides this, +he was in touch with Zhukovsky, who was the outstanding student of +European literature in Russia at the day and the foremost translator. +The poet was a friend of Bryulov and it is not fantastic to suggest +that the years of his stay in St. Petersburg both before and after his +emancipation were used to good advantage to give him a knowledge of +literature as well as of painting. + +At all events we do not know what occasion set Shevchenko to writing. +We do not have any of his first attempts and the earliest poem which we +know is the _Prychynna_, (the Mad Woman) which is very definitely based +upon the weird, supernatural type of ballad which was so popular at the +time and which had been acclimatized in Russian by Zhukovsky and in +Polish by Mickiewicz on the basis of Bürger’s _Lenore_. + +It is interesting in this poem that Shevchenko has completely +Ukrainianized the scene. The lover is a Kozak who has fallen in battle. +There is a sympathetic description of the Ukrainian landscape and +unlike the vast number of ballads of this period, the stanza form +has been completely neglected and can be marked only by the rhyming +sequence which already has taken the form which is characteristic of +most of the mature poems of our author. There is the same variation +in metre which we are to find in his later poems and it is with good +reason that critics regard this as one of his most successful works. +Wonder grows when we reflect that this is the work of a twenty-three +year old poet who was still a serf at the time when he composed it. + +The same characteristics can be found in the other ballads which were +included in the original _Kobzar_ and in those which he wrote before +his arrest. They are ostensibly based upon the Ukrainian folklore; they +handle the traditional themes in a highly original way, but at the +same time they fall well within the limitations of the form as it was +worked out by the general Romantic movement. The same question comes up +again and again in Gogol’s Ukrainian stories, _Evenings on a Farm near +Dikanka_, when there can be no decision how far the author is using +exclusively peasant material and how far he has been influenced by +literary models. + +A careful examination of these ballads will show that Shevchenko +was by no means the guileless and unthinking poet of nature that he +appeared to Russian critics as Belinsky. When the _Kobzar_ appeared, +Belinsky with all of his critical sense was so hostile to the use of +the Ukrainian or Little Russian language for literary purposes, that he +emphasized with malice aforethought the use of the vernacular and of +peasant words, and regarded the poems as unimportant and unliterary. +The Russian radicals and progressives certainly interpreted the +brotherhood of man and the superiority of Russian to the other Slavonic +languages as organs for their attempts to unify all inhabitants of +the Russian Empire and their opposition to the Tsar and the system of +Nicholas I did not lead them to have a shred of sympathy for any one +who sought for himself the same privileges which they were so proudly +acclaiming. From the beginning to the end of Shevchenko’s career he +did not find among the Russian radicals any who appreciated what he +was really endeavoring to do. They might sympathize with his attacks +on tyranny and slavery but they all looked askance at his use of the +native speech of Ukraine as much as did the tsarist officials. + +In the historical ballads as _Ivan Pidkova_ and the _Night of Taras_, +we have likewise the use of Ukrainian subjects and the adaptation of +the ballad form for historical episodes, such as we find in Schiller +and Byron. They are filled with the wild ferocity, the careless love +of freedom that were the traditional features of the Zaporozhtsy +throughout their history. + +When we turn to _Katerina_, we are on different ground, for here we are +dealing with the story of the peasant girl abandoned by her noble lover +that was familiar in the Romantic period and which had been introduced +into Russian literature as early as Karamzin’s _Poor Liza_. It is +typical also of Shevchenko that he dedicated this poem to Zhukovsky who +had been so instrumental in securing his freedom. A lesser and less +outspoken person might have hesitated to do this, for Zhukovsky was +himself the illegitimate son of a Russian nobleman and a Turkish slave +girl. Yet apparently there had been a happy outcome to this situation, +for the girl and Mme. Bunina, the wife, remained friendly and Zhukovsky +was not faced with the hardships that confronted Ivas. + +Through all these poems runs the fervent belief in Ukraine and her +tragedy. Perhaps in _Perebendya_, Shevchenko modelled his old bard on +the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ in the poem of Sir Walter Scott, who was +himself an apologist for the long overthrown Stuart dynasty in England. +The minstrel had been compelled to suffer by the changes of politics +and Shevchenko could easily parallel him to the blind bards wandering +around Ukraine and singing of the past glories of the Kozaks and the +Ukrainian people. The Romantic glorification of the past fitted in well +with his point of view and in the _Kobzar_ almost every poem breathes +the poet’s sadness over the loss of his country’s liberty and the +present hardships of the people. They emphasize his dislike for Poland +and his aversion to the indifference of the Moskals to the people of +Ukraine. + +Thus the _Kobzar_ is far more than a mere imitation of peasant songs. +It goes far beyond the talented reworking of peasant themes and +it shows us Shevchenko as already a person well familiar with the +literatures of Europe as reflected through Russian and Polish, with +the Russian influence predominating. This was only natural for he was +living at the time in the Russian capital, and his associates were +drawn from the Russian cultural circles. The _Kobzar_ appealed to the +Ukrainian people. It set forth their case and their sufferings as well +as their past glory, and it naturally won for the poet their love and +esteem. + +The next year he produced the _Haydamaki_, the longest of all +his works. It is a long epic poem describing the revolt of the +Koliishchina, the last outbreak of Western Ukraine against the Polish +domination. The movement had been convulsive and brutal and the poet +has endeavored to catch that fierce spirit of revolt that animated +the unfortunate peasants. He studied the materials available for the +history of the movement but he was also influenced by the stories which +he had heard from his grandfather and his associates in childhood and +like epic poets in general he did not content himself with a mere +versified history. He followed the better artistic method of creating +a relatively minor figure as hero, in this case Halayda and here again +Shevchenko followed the favorite device of Scott, which had also been +adopted by Pushkin in his novel, _The Captain’s Daughter_, a study +of the revolt of Pugachov, the last great outbreak of the Russian +peasants against the new order in Russia at almost the same time as the +Koliishchina. + +There are passages in this poem, which seem to the modern reader +unnecessarily brutal but on the whole Shevchenko was not a military +poet. The parts of the _Haydamaki_ which will live forever are not so +much the scenes of battle and of bloodshed, as the descriptions of +Ukrainian nature, the oppression of the peasants by their overlords, +the blessing of the arms, and the introduction and epilogue which give +the motif of the poem, “Ukraina’s weeping.” + +The work met with the same reception as the _Kobzar_. The Ukrainians +in St. Petersburg and at home welcomed the work. It was appreciated +by many of the foremost Russian poets, but the leaders of liberal +thought like Belinsky attacked it savagely. The great liberal and +lover of freedom remarked of it (Vol. VII, p. 214 ff.) “Works of such +a character are published only for the pleasure and edification of +the authors themselves.” They rest “on an abundance of vulgar and +commonplace words and expressions, lacking simplicity of conception +and story, filled with pretensions and mannerisms natural to all +bad poets--often not at all popular, although they are supported by +reliance upon history of song and tradition.” Belinsky had nothing +better to say than to urge the poet if he desired to help his people +“to talk to the people in a simple, intelligible language about various +useful subjects of civil and family life, as Osnovyanenko commenced +(but unfortunately did not continue) in his pamphlet, _Thoughts for my +dear countrymen_.” Incidentally this pamphlet had aroused amusement +and irritation, because Kvitka-Osnovyanenko as a provincial nobleman +was giving vent to views on the divine rights of the Tsar which had +long been unpopular even with the most reactionary circles in the +capital. Such comments on the _Haydamaki_ can be explained only by the +ardent desire of Belinsky and his friends to bar the development of +literature in the Ukrainian or Little Russian language as they insisted +upon calling it. + +Belinsky did not change his opinions and about the time of Shevchenko’s +arrest, the great liberal critic wrote to Count Annenkov in December +1846 that “common sense must see in Shevchenko an ass, a fool and a +scoundrel, and above all a bitter drunkard, a lover of spirits because +of _Khokhol_ patriotism.” + +Perhaps it was as a result of these attacks, that Shevchenko came to +feel himself even more isolated in the Russian capital. He wrote very +little during the next year and what he wrote breathes with every +syllable the feeling that he was a stranger in a strange land and that +the glory of Ukraine had definitely departed. He gradually ceased to +glorify the past and to hope that it might return and he came to bewail +the past. + +It was in this state of mind that he returned to Ukraine for a visit +in 1843 and was overwhelmed with the tragedy, the poverty, and the +unhappiness which he found in his own country and his own family. His +naturally radical propensities were reinforced and he felt on his +return that his stay in St. Petersburg was rather taking him away from +the field of action and of practical life. The pleasant associations +which he had with Bryulov and his friends, his occupations with +painting and writing, all seemed to him insignificant in comparison +with the festering sore which he had seen at home. In _Three Years_ he +deplored the passing of his youth in unimportant occupations and he +yearned to be able to do something more positive, more immediate for +his fellow men. In this he was probably stirred by the general note of +sentimentalism that swept over Russian literature in the forties and +the beginnings of definite sympathy with the people and a call for the +liberation of the serfs. + +A striking result of this visit was a mitigation of his hostility for +the Poles. In the more romantic dreams of his youth, he had harked +back to the Kozak exploits against the Polish state. Now he definitely +turned upon Bohdan who had been the first to sign a formal treaty +with Moscow. It is idle to argue that Shevchenko was thinking only of +the Russian tsar and the Russian landowners. The whole trend of his +works, his denunciation of the German bureaucracy, his attitude toward +individuals all indicate that he sharply differentiated the Russians +and the Ukrainians and was willing to risk his life in order to create +again an independent Ukraine. + +The poems of the years between his first visit to Ukraine and his +arrest are perhaps his greatest consistent mass of writing and in them +he allows his imagination to play over the whole field of life. Working +in the Archaeological Commission, he resented the Russian excavation +of the Ukrainian funeral mounds and the removal of the contents, where +they were of artistic character, to the capital. He resented the +glorification of Peter the Great and Catherine, the two rulers who had +wiped out the Ukrainian self-government. He resented the praise of +Bohdan for his subservience to Moscow and the condemnation of Mazepa +for his joining with Charles XII against Peter. He resented the Russian +advance in the Caucasus and the attempts of Russia to strengthen her +power without solving her internal difficulties. He resented the +willingness of many of the Ukrainian landowners to climb upon the band +wagon of Moscow and to avoid their own culture. He hated the injustice +of the people themselves towards the unfortunate girl who had been +seduced, especially by a Russian stranger. His moral indignation urged +him to speak out against every form of oppression. + +He therefore willingly accepted the ideas of Kollár, a Slovak, when he +wrote the _Heretic_ and glorified Jan Hus as a Slav hero, but it is +to be noted that in the introduction which was dedicated to Šafařík, +he definitely criticized Pushkin’s views on the necessity of Slavonic +union under Russia and demanded a real Slavonic brotherhood in which +all the Slavs would appear as brothers. + +Naturally the Society of Sts. Cyril and Methodius and the association +of the United Slavs made a strong appeal to him. Here was a group of +young idealists who seriously believed, following Kollár, that all +the Slavs should be brothers, that the German influence should be +eradicated, and that a great Slav republic should be set up. Like the +Decembrists a quarter century before, these young leaders had very +little idea as to the ultimate consequences of their acts and the +methods by which they would realize their ideals. Shevchenko saw in +them a standard which would help humanity and he turned to it. + +Naturally it was impossible for any author to express these thoughts +openly under the iron rule of Nicholas I. To the administration, the +problem of Ukraine had been settled when the country had been divided +into governments and the full Russian administrative system introduced. +It was therefore necessary for the poet to indicate rather than to +state definitely the goals for which he was striving and hence it is +that we have such poems as the _Dream_ and the _Great Grave_. There +is much that is unclear about them. The _Great Grave_ is a masterpiece +of allusion and of vague indirection but the reader is able from it to +grasp a full sense of the indignation which Shevchenko felt over the +ruin of his country and his guarded expressions of hope that it will +rise again free of Russian domination. The old nostalgic note of sorrow +for the failures of the past still continues but the pressing needs of +the present and the realization that there is much internal reform, +much increase of brotherhood, much hard and unromantic work to be done, +before the glorious days of the past can return, now take precedence +over the old laments for a golden age. Shevchenko had come to realize +that it was internal disunion as well as foreign pressure that had +brought the country to its present state and he believed that this had +to be fought at home as well as on the field of battle. + +Just as before Ukraine is pictured as a poor widow, an orphan, +abandoned by all in a cold world, and he poured out his heart over it. +At the same time he expressed his bitter condemnation of the court and +in the _Dream_ he produced an unforgivable and unforgettable satire on +the slavish manners of the court itself. He must have been aware that +he was risking his own personal liberty and fortune on such attacks. +At times they were hardly tactful or in good taste but the bitterness +which rankled in Shevchenko’s soul made him oblivious to this. + +It is perhaps idle to wonder what change would have taken place in him, +had he received a fellowship to study abroad. He had already come a +long way culturally from the little village where he was born and he +was familiar with the accomplishments of the world outside. He lacked +that personal knowledge that even a short trip to the West would have +given him. We cannot tell how he would have reacted to a freer and a +better life. He might have become a potent factor as an emigré in the +life of his country as Drahomaniv was in after years. He might have, +but it is hardly likely, been swept from his feet by the allurements of +the outside world. Almost certainly his active mind would have drawn +some lesson for his people, would have gained some experience, had he +had the opportunity to make friends and to observe. + +It was not to be and perhaps we are not going too far when we ascribe +to the introduction of the second _Kobzar_ which never appeared a +fairly good summary of Shevchenko’s views on the very eve of the +catastrophe. He had planned to publish some of his poems and they +were already in the hands of the censor when he was arrested. In the +introduction which he submitted with the text and which was only +discovered in the files of the police in 1906, he bewailed the fact +that all the Slavonic races were able to print freely, Poles, Czechs, +Serbs, Bulgars, Montenegrans, Moskals but not his own people, and +he complains even more bitterly that a large part of the Ukrainian +educated class are ashamed of their own mother tongue and try to read +and write Russian. “Do not pay attention to the Moskals; let them +write in their fashion, and let us write in ours. They have a people +and language--and we have a people and language, and let people decide +which is the more beautiful. They rely upon Gogol, because he wrote +not in his own language, but in Muscovite, as on Walter Scott, because +he did not write in his language. Gogol grew up in Nizhen and not +in Little Russia, and does not know his own language; and W(alter) +S(cott) in Edinburgh and not in Scotland--and perhaps there was some +reason why they gave it up.... I do not know. But Burns was also a +great folk poet, and Skovoroda would have been, had he not been beaten +from his course by Latin and then by Muscovite.” “Why were not V. S. +Karadjić, Šafařík and others not turned into Germans (it would have +been easier for them) and why did they remain Slavs, sincere sons of +their mothers, and acquire good fame?” This and other passages disposes +of the widespread idea that Shevchenko was only opposed to the Russian +autocratic rule. The whole trend of his thinking and development shows +that he regarded Ukraine and the Ukrainians as entirely different +from the Russians and on a par with the other Slavonic races. His +comparison with Scott and Burns shows his general feelings and also his +acquaintance with what European literature had to offer. He had worked +through many of his original difficulties, and if he was of a radical +term of mind, he still viewed his radicalism only through the eyes of +his own people. It naturally made it harder for him in the capital and +it alienated him from many of his more easy-going countrymen and more +than that it prepared the way for the great catastrophe that was to +overtake him. + +Up to this time with the single exception of the _Heretic_ he had +confined himself entirely to Ukrainian themes. But during these years +his understanding had broadened. He was as devoted as before to the +cause of Ukraine but in his shift from the Romantic glorification of +the past of his country to an eloquent plea for the elimination of the +evils which he saw there, he had come to realize that these evils were +universal. The sins of injustice, of cruelty, and of meanness were +everywhere and the poor of all nations suffered as did the Ukrainians. +This gave to his poetry a far wider human significance than before. +From this time on, the suffering and insulted girl who had been +conceived as a Ukrainian phenomenon now becomes a universal figure. +This type which had figured in world literature and been naturalized +in Russian, Polish, and then in Ukrainian, now is seen as a universal +phenomenon. The appeals for justice for the mother, for the poor are +universal appeals, placed in a Ukrainian setting with a background of +Ukrainian nature and reality. They can be read with sympathy throughout +the civilized world and not merely as local peculiarities. A sort of +national ethnography had served as the basis for many of the early +Ukrainian writings and the authors had vied with one another to see how +accurately they could describe the minutiae of village life. Shevchenko +was not satisfied with this and he laid the weight of emphasis on the +individual and the universal rather than on the local background. + +It all marked another step in the transformation and broadening of the +poet and the process would have continued with beneficent results, had +it not been for his unfortunate arrest and exile. During the weeks of +confinement, his poetry became more purely lyrical, more definitely +personal than before and the little collection _In the Fortress_, +shows a newer and deeper insight into his own psychology and that of +his people. He realized that it meant the shattering of his hopes, the +possible ending of his career, and the regret that he could not have +done more burned him deeply. Yet it is interesting that in this very +series, there grew in his mind the comparison between Ukraine and the +poor girl driven from her own village. This was to be one of the main +themes of his later verses. + +Then came the stunning sentence that he was to be exiled and put in the +army without permission to write or paint. He at first made attempts +to have the ban on painting lifted. We cannot tell whether this was +because painting was nearer to his heart or because it was his verses +that had brought his condemnation and he believed that since his pencil +and brush were less guilty of political opposition, he might be granted +more mitigation of his sentence on this score than on the field of +poetry in which he had definitely offended the Tsar. + +The sentence was carried out spasmodically. Thus at Orsk he was +apparently able to write a little. During the winter at Kos-Aral, he +had still more liberty and while he was at Orenburg, he was able both +to write and paint. It was only after his second arrest that the ban +was ruthlessly and rigorously enforced for some years and apart from +some reworking of old themes in Russian, he did not attempt anything. + +Life in the army was not kind to the poet. The needlessly harsh and +stern discipline hurt his sensitive soul. His companions were largely +ignorant peasants; many of them were political exiles and criminals. +Their rough and obscene language, their brutal cynicism disgusted +him as much as did the ignorance and lack of culture of many of the +officers. He never became a good soldier and by his rigid performance +of his duties never won some sort of alleviation of the hardships +of his life. In addition, even on the expedition to Kos-Aral, there +was a surprising lack of the necessaries of life for all, high and +low, willing and unwilling. All this coupled with the prohibition of +indulging openly in his favorite pastimes wore him down and his health +was gravely shattered by scurvy and other diseases. In short by the +time of his liberation, he had become a prematurely old man. + +Intellectually he was, like Dostoyevsky at almost the same period, cut +off from all the currents of literature and confined in his reading to +the New Testament. Unlike him, Shevchenko did not grow and expand his +range of interest during this period. He did not drink in and transcend +his new experiences but he retreated more into himself and maintained +his intellectual poise by meditating upon the same themes which +had been stirring in his brain before he was arrested. He deepened +his meditations and his thoughts and universalized them instead of +absorbing the world around him and meditating upon it. + +It is highly typical of Shevchenko and indeed of all the Russian +intelligentsia of the period that this sudden forcible intrusion into +a new and strange life did not produce in his writings any pictures +of his experiences. The treeless steppe and the impoverished and +nomadic Kirghiz might become the proper subjects for his painting and +sketching. They leave on his poetry only his feeling of isolation from +Ukraine. The hardships on the expedition do not rouse him to song to +describe them nearly as much as do his memories of the green fields of +Ukraine and the sufferings of the unfortunate serfs. + +More than ever his poetry re-echoes the same motifs that we have +already seen--the unwedded mother, a comparison of her with the widowed +and desolated Ukraine, his solitude, his dreams of liberty. A Lermontov +or a Tolstoy could thrill to the beauty of the Caucasus, the grandeur +of the mountains, the sandy desert. Shevchenko could not but every +step, every new event only increased his nostalgia and led him to a +deeper and deeper lyricism which contrasts with the narrative themes +which he reworked with slight variations. We can explain this in many +ways, his feelings of alienation from his surroundings, his dislike of +the army, his sufferings from the discipline, but the fact remains that +his experiences remained apart from his poetry and his mind dwelt upon +the past and the dreams that he had once cherished. + +In Orenburg he came to know many of the exiled Poles and Ukrainians. On +his release he met some of the Decembrists who were returning after a +quarter of a century in Russian prison camps. The period taught him to +overlook many of the Polish misdeeds in Ukraine. This was foreshadowed +by that memorable passage in the epistle where he told his countrymen +that the Kozaks had overthrown Poland but that her fall had ruined +them. So in the poem _To the Poles_ he was able to plead for a renewal +of brotherly relations. + +The Decembrists impressed him but it is highly significant again that +not one word of his poetry pleaded for a reconciliation between them +and Ukraine. He viewed them as martyrs, he eulogized them, but the fact +that Pushchin, the Decembrist, the poet, and the friend of Pushkin, had +an illegitimate daughter just like a gay hussar, shocked him to the +depths. He must have remembered that passage in _Katerina_, + + Yes, the Moskal loves you lightly, + Lightly he will drop you. + +But there is a difference in his last period. He returned unbroken in +spirit and almost his first experiment in poetry was the _Neophytes_ +written while he was detained at Nizhni Novgorod. His friend Kulish who +was always cautious and fearful warned him that the poem was dangerous +but that made no difference to Shevchenko. Even after his experiences +in the army and while he was still in doubt as to whether he might be +returned to the cheerless steppe, he wrote a poem which pointedly drew +a comparison between the Russian tsar and the Emperor Nero. It is a +sharp criticism of the abuse of Christianity by the modern despots. In +form it is a retelling of a story that might have been the theme of a +painting by Bryulov, the picture of decadent, luxurious, persecuting +Rome, and the fate of the early Christian martyrs. In a sense the poem +offers a conventional picture. Shevchenko chooses however, and this is +in line with his development, the emotions of a mother of a martyr +who is converted by her son’s courageous death to a belief in the +Crucified. There are phrases which express the poet’s dissatisfaction +with organized Christianity but they reveal nothing more than his +belief that truth and right are being mocked by their so-called +observers and believers. We can read the story as it stands or we can +take the very obvious comparison of the mother and Ukraine, and read +the moral that Ukraine can only arise when truth is restored to its +supreme position on earth, and men live again as brothers. + +Shevchenko’s return to St. Petersburg was almost a triumphal +procession. He was entertained everywhere by the Slavophile leaders, +as Sergey Timofeyevich Aksakov who had pleasant memories of that +remote area among the Bashkirs which was somewhat similar to the land +where Shevchenko had suffered. In St. Petersburg he met Count Aleksyey +Konstantinovich Tolstoy and his relatives. He also became friends +with Chernyshevsky and this friendship is of course exploited by the +Communists who have tried to translate Shevchenko into their own +language. It is true that the great radical spoke of the 1860 edition +of the _Kobzar_ in terms more favorable than did Belinsky but it is +equally clear that he persisted in seeing in it only the folk elements +and refused to grant it a proper place in the literature of a civilized +nation. To him like Belinsky, Ukrainian had no right to exist except +as a vehicle for folksongs. He rebuked the language and the writers +for borrowing Russian and European words and believed that one East +Slavonic language was all that had a right to appear and be counted. +He denied to the Ukrainians that right which Russian in the eighteenth +century had so generously utilized of modernization. He could quote +Shevchenko on the abuses of serfdom with an easy conscience but both +he and Turgenev were very sceptical of the validity of the underlying +thesis of Shevchenko that Russia had its people and language and so had +Ukraine. + +Shevchenko had returned broken in body. His fiery will was unbroken but +he was weary and the main notes in his later poems were a universal +call for action against injustice and a personal lamentation for his +bachelor life outside of Ukraine. Only rarely as in the attack on +Bohdan did he revert to direct laments for the fall of his country. For +the most part his works are adaptations of the Old Testament, breathing +the moral indignation and the call to repentance that inflamed the Old +Testament prophets. Again and again he emphasizes the need for truth +and love and brotherhood, if mankind is to be truly happy. + +To this series may be ascribed _Mary_. This is a striking study of the +Blessed Virgin and Shevchenko deliberately changed the sacred story in +order to make Mary typical of the lot of the average peasant woman. He +also used apocryphal tales that were current among the peasants. Yet +despite the surface variations in the story which take away much of the +scriptural character, the story cannot fairly be called irreverent. It +is not even unmiraculous in character, for the Star of Bethlehem, here +called a comet, certainly plays a distinct role. + +In writing this poem Shevchenko prefaces it with a glorious invocation +of the Blessed Virgin, but exactly as he did in the _Neophytes_, the +emphasis is laid upon the devoted woman, that truly human figure who +carries on the work of her Son in the great cause of human freedom and +human brotherhood after his untimely death at the hands of evil men. +There is none of that spirit of deliberate blasphemy which appears +so markedly in Pushkin’s _Gavriliada_ or in most of the attempts to +humanize the sacred story. It brought down upon the unfortunate head of +the poet a great deal of criticism but here as elsewhere a more careful +reader will see the fundamentally religious nature of the poet, even +when he at first sight seems to turn his back upon the adherents of +conventional religion. + +The other note of his last days is the more personal one of grieving +over his own unfortunate fate. His one ambition in life was to have a +wife and a little home on the banks of the Dniper and his last years +were a pathetic search for the girl who was to share it with him. His +last poem written only a few days before his death is a real swansong +and a definite assurance that it will be in the next world that he can +satisfy these innocent desires. + +Taras Shevchenko finished his sad and thwarted career at the age of +forty-seven. For only nine years was he free to write as he would and +even during that period publication was denied his works. He could be +known officially only by the _Kobzar_ and the _Haydamaki_. A second +edition of the _Kobzar_ was stopped by his arrest. Another edition +which did appear in 1860 could contain only those early poems which +had appeared before his arrest. All his other works were known either +by manuscript copies which were in the hands of devoted friends and +were circulated at the risk of arrest and imprisonment or were buried +in his own notebooks or in the more inaccessible files of the Imperial +police. All this makes it more remarkable that he was so widely known +and highly valued during his own lifetime. + +There is a deceptive simplicity about his works. He seems to be the +mere imitator of the folksongs and the traditions of his people but he +is far more than that. He possessed a command of language and a degree +of metrical skill which overshadows that of many of his famous Slavonic +contemporaries. Pushkin was content to ring changes upon the iambic +metre. Shevchenko uses with equal skill iambics, trochees (perhaps his +favorite) and anapaests. He was a master in the art. He could employ +the simple measures of the folksong and give them a real dignity and +he was equally at home with the formal rhythms but always he was the +master of his medium and the freedom which he uses in his system of +rhyming and of accentuation show a skill in technique that is not +rivalled by any poet of his own or later times. The very simplicity and +artlessness which he reveals conceal the master artist and are the more +amazing when we realize that he has left us no hints as to the way in +which he attained his skill, for the earliest poems which we possess +from his pen are as perfect in their own way as are his greatest +masterpieces. + +Shevchenko commenced his work at the height of the Romantic period, +when the poets of eastern and western Europe were heavily under the +spell of the supernatural and the historical and from there with the +ripening of his talent, he passed by evolutionary stages into the age +of realism and of social reform. Through it all there is a majestic +dignity that is characteristic of the finer passages of the Old +Testament together with a tender and sympathetic understanding of all +the sufferings and sorrows of humanity. It is this characteristic that +has made him a timeless poet of the human heart and has given to his +works not only national but permanent and universal value. + +It is now nearly a century since the promising career of Taras +Shevchenko was blighted by arrest and exile. The Russian authorities +hoped that they had silenced him and with him the cause for which +he stood and the uncomfortable and dangerous ideas which he was +expressing. They failed miserably. They isolated him for ten years and +warped his spirit; they broke his health but he never wavered in his +ideas and to the end of his life he proclaimed the selfsame undying +truths. Year by year his poems have been recovered, they have been +studied, edited and reedited. Year by year his fame has increased and +to-day it is abundantly evident that he was not a petty revolutionist +and plotter, a poet who repeated in more or less agreeable form the +old village folksongs, the last remains of a passing phase of life in +one small period of human history, but that he was a man who against +tremendous obstacles developed his heaven-given gift of song by long +and serious study, who assimilated the best that the civilization +of his time had to offer, and who was a flaming guide to the hearts +of men and a prophet of a new and better world in which all that +stains and ruins and tortures the human spirit will disappear. The +poet of Ukraine, he is also a poet of humanity. His works have more +than a purely local significance. To-day we realize as never before +that freedom and truth and justice and mercy and brotherhood must be +worldwide in scope and universal and eternal, if man is to be free +and happy and peaceful. There are poets who express some of these +ideals. There is none who speaks out more clearly, more artistically, +and more touchingly to men everywhere than Taras Shevchenko. Those +qualities which are local and temporal disappear. The underlying merits +come to the surface and shine more brightly. Efforts to deride him +or to bend him to the uses of aggressors and tyrants must fail and +Taras Shevchenko appears to-day as some of the more keensighted and +understanding of his contemporaries both at home and abroad realized, +a poet of the first rank who deserves the ear and the study of every +civilized man. + + + + +_CHAPTER FOUR_ + +THE RELIGION OF SHEVCHENKO + + +What was Shevchenko’s attitude toward religion? The best critics of +the poet, whether they are Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Greek Catholic, +or Protestant, have come to the conclusion that he was fundamentally a +religious man but that at times he employed certain phrases which have +allowed the advocates of militant atheism to claim him for their party. +Yet to prove their point, this latter group is compelled to believe +that he distinctly concealed his own thoughts to satisfy the dictates +of the censorship in a way that he did on no other subject and their +comments are so biassed that it is difficult to take them too seriously. + +There can be little doubt that, especially after his visit to Ukraine +in 1843, Shevchenko was carried away by his bitterness over the lot +of the Ukrainian people. This is expressed again and again in his +attack on the official representatives of the Orthodox religion, which +had been definitely bureaucratized by Peter the Great, destroyer of +Ukrainian freedom, and Shevchenko could not resist the temptation +to attack the Church on all counts. Thus in both the _Dream_ and +the _Caucasus_ there are lines that reflect his distaste for the +established Church of Russia. In the _Heretic_ he employs his choicest +invectives against the condemnation of Hus. Later while he was in +exile, he expressed himself very sharply about the role of the Jesuits +in Poland. After his return he inserted certain phrases in _Mary_ that +vary from the traditional thought of the Church. + +All this might be interpreted as an extreme form of that type of +anti-clericalism that is not uncommon in nineteenth century authors, +except for the fact that at times when his sense of social injustice +gets the better of him and he is writing with a burning zeal against +the social order, he seems at times to include God Himself in his +condemnations. It must be admitted by the best friends of the poet that +on occasion he indulged in decidedly intemperate language. + +On the other hand there are remarkable examples of Shevchenko’s deep +interest in the religion of the people. We must remember that the +Russian occupation of Ukraine had led to a transfer of the clergy +from the supervision of Constantinople (where it had been during the +great days of Kiev) to Moscow and that the change bore as hardly upon +the religious life of the villages as it did upon the political and +cultural. The Russian tsars were trying to standardize and organize +everything under their own supervision and upon their own system and +while they did not change in any important degree the native rites and +practices, they tried to fit them into a different framework. + +Nowhere in the whole of the poet’s writings does he cast any shadow +of contempt or brand as superstitious the peasant practices of making +the sign of the cross or of lighting candles or praying. The normal +religious life of the village where it concerns the peasants and God he +treats with the greatest respect. He recognized very clearly that there +was in it a something that answered the religious needs of the people, +that brought them into contact with a superior Power that alone could +make life tolerable, and he never deliberately cast any aspersions upon +it. It was part of the poet’s endeavor to build his future Ukraine on +all sound principles in the national life. + +Similarly he makes absolutely no attacks upon the teachings of +Christ, on His pleas for brotherly love, on the Crucifixion and the +Resurrection. The birth of Christ and the redemption of humanity form +the central point in the entire history of mankind. He acknowledges and +glorifies His teachings, even if at moments of vexation he complains +that God is waiting too long, is allowing too much innocent blood to be +shed, too many abuses to continue on this planet. + +So too with the Blessed Virgin. In the introduction to the poem _Mary_ +he pays a glowing tribute to her, as sinless, the sacred power of all +saints, and he implores Her to give to the suffering poor the power +of Her martyr Son. In the introduction to the _Neophytes_, he again +appeals to Her as “Blessed among women, the holy, righteous Mother of +Her holy Son on earth.” All these references fit in strangely with the +arguments that the poet was in any way hostile to religion. + +Besides this, there is abundant evidence that Shevchenko knew the Bible +thoroughly. In his letters from exile, he writes to Princess Repnina +that he read the Gospel constantly and he asked her to send him also +a copy of Saint Thomas à Kempis. He declares that only a Christian +philosophy could encourage a person in his hopeless position. We +certainly do not need to assume that in these passages he was writing +only with an eye to the effect that it would produce upon the Princess, +his friends in the capital and the censors. + +More than that, Shevchenko drew heavily upon the Bible for themes for +his poems, especially in his later years. A favorite device might +almost be called a meditation upon the Old Testament, particularly upon +passages where the ancient prophets condemned severely the abuses +and the faults of their own day. Then in a direct manner he used the +present situation in Ukraine to illustrate the great truths of the +past. It is certainly interesting that it is not in these poems that +he resorts to expressions which are really in bad taste, for the great +majority of these occur in the poems written after his first return +to Ukraine, when he was deeply shocked by the conditions which he +saw there. Again on his last visit he apparently made remarks that +irritated some of the Polish landowners and involved him in trouble +with the police and the authorities. + +The religious development of the poet thus seems to move along with +the general development of his thought. In the poems of the early +period through the _Haydamaki_ and _Hamaliya_, when he was interested +in picturing the romantic tales of the Kozaks, he accepts without a +murmur the popular rites and devotions. There is a deep sincerity +in the picture of the priests blessing the army before the uprising +of the _Haydamaki_. It is a scene of deep piety and also one that a +cynic could easily have turned into an attack on religion. The same +is true of the prayers of the Kozaks in prison in _Hamaliya_. Even in +_Katerina_, while he recognizes the harsh treatment of the poor mother, +he goes little further than to ask God why such things are allowed to +exist on earth. + +It was after his visit to Ukraine in 1843 that the horrible position +of his people burst upon him with all of its terror, cruelty, and +injustice. To him the violation of the Christian law of love and +charity was the overwhelming fact in life. He became openly rebellious +against every institution--whether religious or civil--which seemed +even remotely to imply toleration for a social order that could be so +near a hell on earth. Yet even in his attacks on these institutions, +we can always feel the underlying belief of the poet that religion and +God are being deliberately misrepresented and that all would be well, +if we could only break through the iron wall that seems to surround +this world and penetrate the mystery beyond. There is much of the +spirit of Job in these poems, although the author could not at all +times hold fast to his vision of God’s justice and mercy. Here there +is undoubtedly a limitation on the thought of Shevchenko but it is +a limitation that is liable to confront any forthright thinker who +bounds his horizon with this planet and with life on earth. He was +not a mystic to indulge in the contemplation of the Divine but a man +suffering for the sad fate of his fellowmen, who believed with all his +heart in truth and justice and who was willing to sacrifice himself for +the good and true. + +His arrest and imprisonment undoubtedly had a definite effect upon +him. We know from his letters to Princess Repnina and others that he +attended church services during his stay in the fortress. Later he +endeavored to secure permission to decorate both a Roman Catholic and +an Orthodox chapel and it can hardly be supposed that he did this only +to have an opportunity to draw and to paint. It was rather the feeling +that he could dedicate some part of his work to God at the moment when +it seemed impossible for him to carry on his work for his country. + +On his return to St. Petersburg, he was of course thrown into company +with the fashionable radicals of the day with their deliberate and +unadulterated atheism and we might expect that he would give some +definite sign of their influence. He does nothing of the kind. Rather +he turned to the Old Testament for its harsh judgments on kings and +rich men who robbed and oppressed the poor and the downtrodden. He had +long dreamed of analyzing the character of the Blessed Virgin as a +typical mother and it is this that he does in _Mary_. While he might +have been influenced by some of the more irreligious of the popular +authors, the work emerged on an entirely different plane with an ardent +religious introduction and a reverent treatment of the entire theme. So +too with all of his writings. + +In his last days Shevchenko had to some degree softened in his +ideas. Perhaps he had learned by experience. He certainly was not +terrorized. The man who had spoken so boldly in the _Neophytes_ that +he had frightened the timid Kulish would hardly have added a religious +introduction merely to silence opposition. Such an idea conflicts with +all that we know of Shevchenko’s character but he came to differentiate +more carefully between those elements of evil in the formal religion of +the day and religion itself and sharp as are some of his criticisms, +it is impossible for any honest scholar to claim that his works are +deliberately irreligious. + +An additional sign of this is his _Primer_, which he secured permission +to publish only a few months before his death. It was definitely +written for the Sunday Schools which were springing up in Ukraine +under the new order. Shevchenko introduced a large amount of religious +material into it and he shows again in this the same interest in seeing +the social ideas of Christianity worked to the fullest possible extent. +It would have been so easy for him to have created a purely secular +book, had he been so inclined. + +Thus at every stage of his life, we can find distinct traces of the +religious interests of Shevchenko. He was no trained theologian, he +was not a mystic, he was not a man who sought to evade the troubles of +earth by taking refuge in heaven. He felt that here on earth there was +a crying need for reform and human brotherhood and he never indicated +for a second that there was any other possibility for achieving this +than through the pure and applied teachings of the Gospel. + +We know that he was familiar with the ideas of Skovoroda and of other +writers of a similar character. We know too that in his own time there +were various movements aiming for a new social order. He was influenced +by the ideas of the Brotherhood of Saints Cyril and Methodius, and he +was led to revolt against the more formal and ritualistic sides of a +Christianity which neglected its task of teaching the people and was +willing to follow the dictates of a tyrannical government. + +Despite all criticisms, the overwhelming impression that the poems, +the stories, and the letters of Shevchenko leave upon the careful +reader is that he is a man who profoundly appreciates the Crucified +and Risen Savior and who is only too ready to support his teachings +and suffer for his fellowmen. Some of his outbursts may be extreme but +it is very doubtful, if a single intelligent reader has ever found his +faith shaken by any poem of Taras Shevchenko. When we subtract from +his criticized remarks those that may be influenced by literary models +and those that come from blazing indignation, we shall find an amazing +residue of serious moral instruction, of deep respect for the worship +and practices of his people, of his own deep and abiding belief in +the traditional teachings and doctrines of Christianity in their true +development and application. His prayers and invocations are no sham, +no attempt to curry favor or to escape responsibility. They are a +product of a believing mind and a great soul. + + + + +SELECTED POEMS OF TARAS SHEVCHENKO + + + The day doth come, the night doth come, + And with your head in hands clasped tight, + You wonder why there does not come + The Herald of the truth and right. + + + + +THE KOBZAR + + +The eight poems included in the _Kobzar_ were selected by Shevchenko +himself for publication in a single volume of poems and are the only +group which appeared during his lifetime and under his editorship as a +collected whole. They date from his early residence in St. Petersburg +before his visit to Ukraine in 1843 and reflect the thoughts and +interests of the poet in his first phase, when he was still under the +influence of Romanticism. They consist of ballads, supernatural and +historical, written under the influence direct or indirect of the +Western Romantic writers. They emphasize Shevchenko’s feelings that he +was a stranger in a strange land in St. Petersburg, and that however +much he was enjoying his work in the Academy of Arts, his heart was +back in Ukraine and he was dreaming of the old free life there, of the +heroic deeds of the past as contrasted with the sadness of the present. + +The ideas of the later Shevchenko are all here. Ukraine, bereft of her +Hetmans and the Sich, is tacitly compared to an orphan girl or a poor +widow. The opposition to the Poles is clearly expressed but his dislike +of Russian domination is more than hinted and it is certain, as General +Dubelt, the Commander of the Gendarmes, thought at the time of the +poet’s arrest that there is a connection in thought between the poems +which serve to illustrate the various aspects of the sad condition of +Ukraine. + +The Kobzars were the old bards who travelled through the country, +singing tales of the past and of the supernatural. Shevchenko pretends +to pitch his poems on the key struck by these wandering singers of +the people but only a superficial observer does not see that the poet +is far more than a singer of folksongs, that he has a real literary +knowledge and skill far transcending the traditional bards and is +familiar with modern literature. + +The first poem which serves as an introduction really enumerates all +the themes that are treated and it is small wonder that the censor in +allowing the collection to be published eliminated lines 28-100 which +express the poet’s feeling of exile in the north and glorify the past +of Ukraine. + +The collection well shows the versatility of Shevchenko’s genius and +the way in which he succeeds in grouping a number of poems on varied +subjects around the central theme, the sufferings of Ukraine. It was +received most favorably by his fellow countrymen and made him famous +almost at once and respected by all who were interested in Ukrainian +rights and liberties. + + ++Dedication+ + + Songs of mine, O songs of mine, + You’re a worry to me. + Why do you stand out on paper + In sad rows before me?... + Why did not the wind remove you + To the steppe as dust? + Why did fate not overlay you + Like a mortal child? + + For misfortune brought you to this world to mock you, + Tears have flowed.... Why did they not drown you, + Wash you to the sea, or lose you in the field? + If so, people would not ask me of my pain, + Would not ask me why I curse my evil fate, + What I seek on earth?... “No, there is naught to do.” + There would be no mocking.... + + Oh, my flowers, children, + Why did I so love you, why did I caress you? + Is there one heart weeping so throughout the whole, wide world, + As I have wept for you?... Perhaps I should have felt it.... + Mayhap somewhere is a maiden + With a heart and coal black eyes, + Who will weep above these songs-- + I can wish no more-- + Just one tear from those black eyes + Lord of lords will make me. + Songs of mine, O songs of mine! + You’re a worry to me. + + * * * * * + + For those loving coal black eyes, + For the dear black brows, + My poor heart has worked, has laughed, + And has poured out verses, + Poured them out the best it could, + For the darksome nights, + For the cherry orchard green, + For a maiden’s love, + For the spacious steppes and tombs + That are in Ukraina,[1] + My poor heart was sad and would not + Sing in foreign land, + Would not ’mid the snow and forest + Summon to a council + All the forces of the Kozaks + With their mace and banners! + Let the spirits of the Kozaks + Dwell in Ukraina. + There it’s broad and there it’s cheerful + Everywhere you wander. + Like the freedom which has vanished + Is the sea-like Dniper. + The broad steppe, the roaring rapids, + And the tombs like mountains; + There was born and there was nurtured + All the Kozak freedom. + With the szlachta and the Tatars + It sowed all the meadows, + Sowed the meadows with the corpses, + Till it wearied sowing. + Then it lay to rest, and straightway + Rose the lofty tomb, + And above it a black Eagle + Flies just as a sent’nel. + And about it to good people + Do the Kobzars sing, + And they sing just how it happened, + Beggars blind and poor, + For they know the way but I, I + Only know to weep. + I have only tears for Ukraine, + Since I lack for words, + And all evil--be it far! + Who has failed to know it! + And the man who looks unfeeling + At the souls of people, + May he suffer here in this world + And in that.... + From sorrow + I will never curse my fortune, + Since I do not have it. + Let the evil live for three days, + I will keep them hidden, + Keep the great ferocious serpent + Right around my heart, + That my foes may never notice + How the evil smileth. + Let the song fly as a raven, + All around and call, + And my heart, a nightingale, + Warble on and weep + Quietly; men will not notice + And they will not mock it. + Do not wipe away my tears-- + Let them flow in torrents + And besprinkle day and night + Foreign fields I know not + Till--until my eyes they cover + With a foreign dust. + So it may be!--What will follow? + Sorrow will not help me. + He who envies a poor orphan, + Punish him, O God! + + * * * * * + + Songs of mine, O songs of mine, + O my flowers, children, + I have reared you, have caressed you, + Whither shall I send you? + Go to Ukraina, children, + To our Ukraina, + Quietly, as little orphans, + Here--I’m doomed to perish. + There you’ll find a loving heart + And a pleasant greeting, + There you’ll find a purer truth + And perhaps some glory.... + + Welcome, O my darling mother, + Oh, my Ukraina, + Welcome my unthinking children + As your own dear child. + +[1] Shevchenko constantly varies between treating Ukraina as a word of +three syllables, U-krai-na and one of four, U-kra-i-na. + + ++Perebendya+ + +_Perebendya_ is a picture of the last of the old Kobzars. To earn a +scanty living he is forced to sing to the people all the songs of the +peasant village but he does not fail to include in them the story of +Ukrainian vengeance on their enemies as Chaly who was killed in 1741 +for betraying the Haydamaki and the final story of the downfall of the +Sich. + +Yet he is more than this and when he retires to the tombs to commune +with nature, he is really the voice of Ukraine past, present, and +future, the embodiment of the national spirit and the spirit welcomes +him for his unbending allegiance to the cause of his nation. + +Some scholars have tried to see in him a representation of Shevchenko +himself. Others have sought to find literary sources for the conception +in the poems of Mickiewicz and in Pushkin’s _Prophet_. Much scholarship +has been expended to little purpose upon the subject. _Perebendya_ +remains one of the great poems of Shevchenko and the picture of the +old bard, whatever its source, throws light upon the poet’s feelings +for his country and its present fate. It forms a poetic introduction +to the rest of the work, not so personal as is the first poem in which +Shevchenko speaks for himself, but more fully national and in a more +spiritual and eternal key. + + ++Perebendya+ + + Blind and aged Perebendya-- + Who has failed to know him? + Everywhere he wanders slowly + On his kobza[1] playing. + By his songs the people know him + And sincerely thank him, + For he drives away their sorrows + Though he too is burdened. + ’Neath the hedgerows as an orphan + Days and nights he bideth; + Nowhere does he have a cabin; + Poverty ne’er stops her jesting + O’er his helpless person. + But he never pays attention. + By himself he sits a-singing, + “Do not rustle, meadow!” + He sings on in simple measures + That he is an orphan, + That he’s grieving and he’s weeping, + Sitting ’neath the hedgerows. + Such a man is Perebendya, + Aged, and so moody; + Now of Chaly bold he’s singing,[2] + Turns unto Horlitsa; + With the maidens in the pastures, + Hritsya and Vesnyanka, + With the fellows in the tavern, + Serbin and Shinkarka; + Feasting with the newly married + (Where one mother’s bitter) + Of the poplar and misfortune + And then “In the forest.” + On the square, he sings of Lazar,-- + But, that all may know it, + Tells with dignity and feeling + How the Sich was ruined. + Such a man is Perebendya, + Aged, and so moody, + And he sings, but while he’s smiling, + Brings tears to his hearers. + Wings may blow and keep on blowing + O’er the fields a-straying; + On a tomb the bard is sitting, + On his kobza playing. + Round him spreads the steppes unbounded + Like a deep blue ocean. + Tombs and tombs in rows extending + Far as eye can follow. + See, the wind his hoary mustache + And his hair is tossing, + As it comes and softly listens + How the bard is singing. + With a smile in his heart, while his blind eyes are weeping. + It listens, then blows on.... + The old man is hidden + ’Mid tombs on the steppe, where no eye may behold him, + The wind can sweep off his sweet words as they fall, + No ear to give heed,--’tis the message of God. + His heart can converse with the Lord without fear + As it warbles unceasing the glory of God. + And his thoughts, rising up, wander free ’mid the clouds, + Like a grey winged eagle, which soars ever higher, + Until it is lost in the blue of the sky; + It rests in the sun and it asks of the orb, + Where it spends the night? How it wakes at the dawn? + It harks to the sea and the words which it speaks, + And it asks the black mountain why it is so mute, + And again to the sky, for there’s sorrow on earth, + And in all its expanse there is not e’en a corner + For him who knows all and who hears every sound, + Both what the sea says and where sleepeth the sun-- + No one on the earth has a place for that man, + He is lonely among them, as is the great sun, + The people know him, for the earth bears him ever, + But if they should hear how, alone in his sorrow, + He will sing to the tomb and will talk with the sea, + They would all of them mock at the word of the Lord, + They would call him a fool and would drive him away, + And would say, “Let him wander above the wide sea.” + Thou art noble, aged poet, + Father, you act wisely, + That to sing and to hold converse, + You the tombs do visit. + Wander on, my noble spirit, + Till your heart grows silent + And sing on your choicest songs + Where men will not hear you. + And that men may not avoid you, + Fit their whims, my brother! + Leap, just as the lord gives order; + That is why he’s wealthy. + + Such a man is Perebendya, + Aged, and so moody; + Singing songs of joy and gladness + And to sadness turning. + +[1] The kobza is a stringed instrument of the type of the violin, and +was the favorite instrument of the wandering bards of Ukraine. + +[2] The poet lists folk songs of various types, each of which was sung +at the appropriate occasion. They range from historical ballads of the +deeds of the old Kozaks to spring songs, drinking songs, and songs of +domestic unhappiness and tragedy. + + ++The Poplar+ + +_The Poplar_ is a good example of Shevchenko’s union of Ukrainian folk +motifs and the literary usages of the Romantic poets. The supernatural +was dear to Romanticism, the transformation of maidens into trees +is a theme that can be traced back to the classical authors and yet +it received a new interpretation in the early nineteenth century. +Shevchenko gives us a purely Ukrainian scene, he describes the tragedy +that often happened in the days of the wandering Kozaks, he feels the +horror of the enforced marriage arranged between the parents and the +bridegroom without the willing consent of the bride, and he unites all +these motifs in a work which is in the highest degree both national and +literary. + + ++The Poplar+ + + Through the oaks the wind is blowing, + O’er the field it revels, + Near the road it bends the poplar + Till the ground it touches. + Tall its form, its leaves are spreading, + Why so green it’s growing? + Round about the field is spreading + Wide as sea of azure. + Here the carter comes and marvels + And his head bows downward. + And the shepherd sits a-playing + On the tomb so sadly, + For he looks--his heart is grieving. + There’s but grass around him, + And it dies just like an orphan + In a foreign country. + + Who has reared her slender, pliant, + In the steppe to perish? + Hearken to me, I will tell you. + Listen to me, maidens! + Once a happy black-haired maiden + Loved a Kozak hero, + Loved him--and she did not heed it; + And he went and perished. + Had she known that he would leave her, + She would not have loved him; + Had she known that he would perish, + She would have detained him; + Had she known, she had ne’er wandered + Late at night for water, + Had not stood until the midnight + With him ’neath the willow; + Had she known!... + Oh, that’s the trouble-- + In advance to reckon + What to us will later happen ... + You know not, O maidens! + Do not ask about your fortune! + But your heart will tell you + Whom to love. Let it now perish, + While they it will bury! + For not long, you black haired maidens, + With black eyes a-sparkling, + And your white face deeply blushing, + ’Tis not long, O maidens! + By the noonday it will wither + And your brows grow paler ... + Love and take your fill of loving, + While your heart will bid it. + + Now the nightingale is warbling + On the little bushes, + And a Kozak young is singing + In the little valley. + He sings on, until a maiden + Comes from out her cabin, + Then he turns and asks the question-- + “Does your mother know it?” + So they stand embracing closely, + While the bird is singing; + So they listen, then they’re parting,-- + Both are very happy ... + No one notices the meeting, + No one asks the question-- + “Where were you, what were you doing?” + She knows what she wishes. + She was happy, she was loving, + And her heart was singing. + For a little while she heard it, + Could not make a murmur, + Not a word--she stayed and waited. + Day and night she’s cooing + Like a dove without its darling, + And no one doth notice. + + Now the nightingale sings never + There above the water, + Never sings the black haired maiden + Underneath the willow; + She sings not--but like an orphan, + Shuns the burning daylight; + He is gone--her father, mother + Seem like unknown people; + He is gone--and now the sunshine + Seems like hateful leering; + He is gone--the tomb surrounds her + While her heart still’s beating! + + One year passed and then another-- + There is still no Kozak; + She dries up as doth a flower. + No one ever asks her. + “Why are you thus pining, daughter?” + Mother does not ask her, + But unto an old, rich master + Secretly she joined her. + “So, my daughter”, says the mother, + “Do not dally always; + He is rich, and he is lonely, + You will be a lady!” + “I don’t want to be a lady, + I won’t marry, mother! + With the towels I have woven, + Let me now be buried! + Let the priest sing o’er my coffin, + Let my friends bewail me; + I would rather now be buried + Than be living with him.” + Mother paid her no attention, + Carried out her project. + But the black-haired maiden noticed, + Pined away in silence. + To a witch she went in darkness, + To consult her fortune, + Whether she could live here longer, + Live without her lover. + “Mistress, Oh, my trusted teacher, + O my heart and guider! + Tell me now the truth though bitter; + Where is my beloved? + Is he well? Does he still love me? + Or has he forgotten? + Tell me now where is my lover! + I will fly unto him! + Mistress, Oh my trusted teacher, + Tell me, if you know it! + For my mother soon will wed me + To an aged husband. + I would go, drown in the river ... + Suicide is evil ... + If my lover is not living, + Grant to me, my angel, + That I never reach my cabin, + It is bitter to me-- + There’s the old man with his wooers,-- + Tell me all my fortune.” + “Fine, my daughter! Rest a little, + Do as I now bid you. + If you have remained a virgin, + I can know the trouble; + It is past and I have learned it. + I give help to people. + Your whole fortune, O my daughter, + Last year I have noticed. + Last year all the herbs I gathered + For this very purpose.” + Then she went and brought a vessel + Hidden ’neath her clothing. + “This is made to tell your fortune! + Go unto the fountain; + And before the songs they’ve finished, + Wash in the cool water, + Drink a little of this potion. + It will cure the evil. + Drink and run and do not tarry; + If you hear some shouting, + Look not back until you’re standing + Where from him you parted. + Rest right there. And when there rises + The bright moon in heaven, + Drink again; if he’s still absent, + Drink again the third time. + At the first, you’ll be as handsome + As you were before him; + At the second, you will notice + That his horse is stamping. + If your Kozak still is living, + He will dash to meet you ... + At the third, my darling daughter, + Ask not what will happen! + Make no cross, remember surely-- + It will spoil the water. + Go, my darling, and recover + All your former beauty.” + + Then she took the herbs and answered, + “Thank you, mistress teacher!” + Left the cabin: “Come what happens, + I shall never wed him!” + So she went and washed and drank it, + Seemed to change her person, + Then a second and a third time, + Sang as if a-sleeping: + + “Swim, O swim, my swan beloved, + Here across the blue sea! + Grow, O grow, O little poplar, + Higher and yet higher! + Grow so tall and yet so slender + To the clouds of heaven, + Ask of God, if I shall find him + Or not wait this marriage! + Grow and grow and look around you + Far across the blue sea! + On that side is my good fortune, + On this, only sorrow. + There my black-haired love is going + O’er the meadow happy. + And I weep, my years I’m wasting, + And I seek to find him. + Tell him, O my heart so loving, + I am mocked by people; + Tell him that I soon will perish, + If he does not hurry! + For my mother now is seeking + In the earth to lay me ... + Who then will her needs provide for, + Guard and care, protect her? + Who will care for her and cheer her, + Help her, when she’s older? + O my mother, O my fortune! + God, O God most gracious! + Rise and look, O little poplar! + If he’s gone--weep sorely + Till the sunrise in the morning, + That no one may notice. + Grow apace, O little poplar, + Higher and yet higher! + Swim, O swim, my swan beloved, + Here across the blue sea!” + Thus sang on the black-haired maiden + On the steppe a-lying, + Then the herb produced a marvel-- + She became a poplar. + + Through the oaks the wind is blowing, + O’er the field it revels, + Near the road it bends the poplar, + Till the ground it touches. + + ++Dumka+ + +This is a lament of an orphan girl and can be read exactly as it is +written. It naturally follows the Poplar as a simple expression of +disappointed love. On the other hand, the reader cannot overlook the +fact that already the poet has compared Ukraine to a weeping mother and +himself to an orphan. To the Gendarme General Dubelt, the poem seemed +an introduction to the following poem to Osnovyanenko. + + ++Dumka+ + + What do my black hairs avail me, + Or my black eyes, sparkling, + What do youthful years avail me, + Cheerful and a maiden’s? + All my youthful years are passing, + Passing to no purpose, + And my eyes are weeping; meanwhile + Winds turn pale my tresses. + My heart sinks, it shuns the daylight, + As imprisoned birdlet. + What avails me all my beauty, + If I’ve no good fortune? + It is hard for me, an orphan, + To live on hereafter; + All my people are as strangers-- + I have none to talk with; + I have no one to ask questions + Why my eyes are weeping. + I have no one to tell freely + What my heart is wishing, + Why my heart, just as a dovelet, + Day and night is mourning. + No one wishes to ask of it, + Knows it not nor hears it. + Strangers will not ask me of it-- + Why should it concern them? + Let the orphan go on weeping, + Let her waste her hours! + Weep, my heart! My eyes, keep weeping, + Till you close forever, + Cry aloud, complain unceasing, + For the winds to listen, + And take all my lamentations + Far across the blue sea, + To the false and black-haired lover, + To his bitter sorrow! + + ++To Osnovyanenko+ + +Hrihori Kvitka-Osnovyanenko (1778-1843) was the leading Ukrainian prose +writer between Kotlyarevsky and Shevchenko. He was an aristocrat and a +conservative but in his prose tales, he expressed well the Ukrainian +village and the difference between the people and the Moskals. He had +published a story on Antin Holovaty some time before and Shevchenko now +appeals to him to write more of the same type of story. + +Antin Holovaty after the destruction of the Sich and the flight of many +of the Zaporozhians to Turkey secured permission for the establishment +of the Black Sea Army from Catherine the Great. This was really the +beginning of the Kuban Kozaks. Shevchenko rightly or wrongly valued +Holovaty highly for he saw in this new foundation an attempt to replace +the vanished Sich, even if it was not on the same territory. + +Later after his return from the army, Kulish persuaded Shevchenko +to omit the reference to Holovaty. Growing disagreement between +Osnovyanenko and the poet over the conservatism of the former led +Shevchenko to dedicate the poem in the edition of 1860 merely to +a Ukrainian writer. The poem forms a transition to the definitely +historical ballads that follow it. At the same time it very definitely +emphasizes the sad present of Ukraine in comparison with its past. + + ++To Osnovyanenko+ + + Rapids roar. The moon is setting, + As in former ages. + There’s no Sich, and he is perished, + He, the famous leader. + There’s no Sich. The rushes murmur + By Dnipro’s swift waters: + “What has happened to our children? + Where do they now revel?” + And the gull cries, flying over, + Weeping for the children; + Warm’s the sun, the wind is blowing + Where the Kozaks wandered. + On the steppe the tombs are scattered + And they mourn in sadness, + Asking of the stormy breezes, + “Where are our men ruling? + Where are they now ruling, feasting? + Where have you been staying? + Come on back! And look around you; + All the grain is leveled, + Where your horses used to pasture, + Where the grasses rustled, + Where the blood of Poles and Tatars + Reddened all the water! + Come on back!” + “No, nevermore!”-- + The blue sea repeated. + Then it added: “Nevermore! + They are lost forever!” + True it is, ’tis true, O blue sea; + Such is their misfortune! + Those you seek are gone forever, + Gone the ancient freedom, + Gone are all the Zaporozhtsy, + Gone are all the hetmans. + Their red tunics nevermore + Will protect Ukraina,-- + Like a torn and ragged orphan, + She weeps o’er the Dniper; + It is bitter for the orphan + And no one will notice, + But the foe is smiling brightly. + Smile, O foeman evil, + Not for long, for all will perish-- + Glory will not perish, + Will not perish but will tell men + What the world has witnessed, + Whose the right and whose the evil, + And whose children we are.[1] + Without gold and without jewels, + Without clever phrasing, + But as clear and always truthful + As the Lord’s own utterance. + Is that so, my master, father? + Am I singing truly? + Yes, I am!... And I must say it, + But I have no talent. + And in Muscovy I’m staying, + Strangers are around me. + “Do not notice”--you may tell me, + But what will come of it? + They will laugh at the sad message, + That I fashion, weeping. + They will laugh. ’Tis hard, my father, + To live with the foemen! + Still perhaps I would be struggling, + If I had the power, + Would be singing, had I knowledge + And the gift of verses. + That is why it is so bitter, + O my dearest father! + For I wander in the snowdrifts; + “Do not murmur, meadow!” + I can do no more, but, father, + Sing to them, my dearest master, + Of the Sich, the barrows, + How they heaped the earth upon them, + How they buried heroes; + Of past ages and the marvels + That have been and ended ... + You know, father! Let the wide world, + Learn against its wishes, + What was done in Ukraina, + Why it now has perished, + Why the former Kozak glory + Through the world is famous. + + You know, father, noble eagle! + Let me keep on weeping, + Let my eyes again be gladdened + By my Ukraina; + Let me once again soon listen + How the sea is playing, + How the maiden ’neath the willows + Sings of Hrits’s wooing. + Let my heart once more be smiling + In a foreign country, + Till a foreign land receive it + In the grave of strangers. + +[1] In the first edition follows here this reference to Holovaty: + + Our unyielding Holovaty + Will not die or perish; + There, O people, is our glory + And Ukraina’s glory. + + + + ++Ivan Pidkova+ + +In _Ivan Pidkova_ we have the first of the two historical ballads, +showing the Zaporozhians at the height of their power and discipline. +During the early part of the seventeenth century, they were strong +enough to make several raids upon Constantinople and the neighboring +region. The real Ivan Pidkova aimed to be ruler of Moldavia and was +executed by the Poles at the inspiration of the Turkish Sultan in 1578 +but Shevchenko found certain sources that identified Pidkova with one +of the Kozak atamans who stormed Constantinople and so developed his +theme. His apparent object was to represent the type of discipline that +was enforced in a free community during the raids when military order +and control were indispensable. + + ++Ivan Pidkova+ + + _To V. I. Sternberg_ + + I + + At one time in Ukraina + Cannons roared like thunder; + At one time the Zaporozhtsy + Knew the path to power. + So they ruled and they acquired + Glory, yes, and freedom; + That is past--they’ve left behind them + Tombs upon the meadows. + And those tombs are high and lofty, + Where they laid to slumber + The white body of a Kozak + Wrapped in cloth of crimson. + And those tombs are high and lofty, + Black as gloomy mountains. + In the field they speak of freedom + Softly to the breezes. + And they speak to passing breezes + Of the past and serfdom. + And the grandson reaps the harvest, + Singing songs they fashioned. + At one time in Ukraina + There was evil dancing. + Sorrow vanished with the drinking + In the jolly circle. + At one time in Ukraina + Life was good and merry. + Let us tell it! Our hearts, maybe, + Can thus find some solace. + + + II + + From Lyman a black cloud covers + Both the sun and heavens; + The blue sea, an angry monster, + Groans and tosses wildly, + And Dnipro’s great mouths are flooded. + “Come now, boys, and revel! + To the boats! The sea is playing-- + Let us go to revel!” + + So the Zaporozhtsy started, + Filled Lyman with vessels. + “Play, O sea!”--they started singing + As the waves were foaming. + Waves rose round about like mountains, + Earth and sky were hidden. + Hearts might waver, but the Kozaks + Found it what they wanted. + Now they’re sailing and they’re singing, + Storm birds keep on flying ... + And the ataman who’s leading + Takes them where he wishes. + Up and down his deck he strideth, + His great pipe neglecting; + And he looks in every quarter + For a proper mission. + His black mustache he is twisting, + Pulls his black hair fiercely, + Lifts his cap--The boats come closer. + “Let the foeman perish! + Atamans, not to Sinop, + O my daring heroes, + But to Tsargrad to the Sultan + We will go for feasting.” + “Fine, ’tis fine, O noble father!” + Comes a roar resounding. + “Thank you, sons!” + Again he covers. + The blue sea keeps foaming. + Up and down his deck he strideth + In unceasing motion, + And the ataman in silence + Gazes at the tempest. + + ++The Night of Taras+ + +This poem describes the victory of the Kozaks under Taras Tryasilo +over the Polish troops of General Koniecpolski at Pereyaslav in 1630. +Kozak tradition described this as one of the greatest victories of the +Kozak armies and Shevchenko followed the tradition. It is striking that +he contrasts more clearly than in _Pidkova_ the present acquiescence +of the younger generation in their state of slavery with the valor of +their ancestors who were willing to fight even against overwhelming +odds. The concluding sections of the poem have been often taken to be +an appeal for the renewal of open hostilities but it is hardly likely +at this time with the collapse of the Polish revolt less than ten years +previously that the poet went as far as this. And even General Dubelt +in his attempt to read all possible evil intentions into the poems +did not regard it as a direct incendiary appeal but as a poem written +to drive home the evil of the present time and to rouse the people to +anti-Russian thoughts, if not actions. + + ++The Night of Taras+ + + At the cross roads sits the kobzar, + Playing on his kobza; + Round about are boys and maidens, + Red as poppy flowers. + Plays the kobzar and he’s singing, + Telling in his stories + How the Poles, the Horde, the Moskals + Struggled ’gainst the Kozaks; + How the brotherhood assembled + Early on a Sunday; + How they buried a young Kozak + In a boat of green leaves; + Plays the kobzar and he’s singing, + But his smile is evil. + + “Formerly we had the Hetmans, + That is gone forever; + Formerly they knew to govern, + Nevermore we’ll do it. + Yet the former Kozak glory + We are ne’er forgetting! + Ukraina, Ukraina! + My dear heart! My darling! + When I tell of your misfortune, + Then my heart starts weeping! + What has happened to the Kozaks + With their crimson tunics? + Where are vanished our old freedom, + Standards, and the Hetmans? + What has happened? Are they ashes? + Has the blue sea swallowed + All your noble, holy mountains + And your tombs so lofty? + Mountains speak not, plays the blue sea. + And the tombs are mournful, + While above the Kozak children + Heathen pagans triumph! + Play, O sea! Speak up, O mountains! + Blow, winds, o’er the meadows! + Weep, O children of the Kozaks! + Such is now your fortune! + + “From Lyman a cloud is rising, + From the field, another; + Ukraina’s plunged in sadness-- + Such is its misfortune! + Plunged in sadness, drenched with weeping, + Just as little children. + There is no one who can save her + And the Kozaks perish; + Lost is glory and the country; + Nowhere it is sheltered. + So the little Kozak children + Grow up unbaptized, + They must love apart from marriage; + Without priests, they’re buried; + To the Jews the faith is traded; + Churches are barred to them ... + As the crows the meadows cover, + So the Poles and Uniats + Fly around--and there is no one + Who can give good counsel. + + “Nalivayko gave the signal,-- + He is gone forever. + Then Pavlyuha raised his banner-- + Quickly too he vanished. + Then Taras Tryasilo challenged + With his tears so bitter; + ‘Oh my wretched Ukraina, + Whom the Poles have trampled.’ + -------------- + -------------- + -------------- + -------------- + Then Taras Tryasilo challenged + That the faith he’d rescue. + Gave the signal, the gray eagle, + Let the Poles know of it. + Pan Tryasilo gave the signal: + ‘There’s enough of weeping! + Let us go, my noble brothers, + ’Gainst the Poles to struggle!’ + + “More than three days and three nights too + Fought there Pan Tryasilo. + From Lyman unto Trubaylo, + Filled the field with corpses. + The poor Kozak was exhausted, + And was filled with sadness, + While the cursed Koniecpolski + Felt more happy daily, + For he gathered all the szlachta, + To produce a triumph! + But Taras called to his Kozaks, + Asked them for their counsel; + ‘Otamani and my comrades, + Brothers dear, and children! + Give to me your wisest counsel, + What can we accomplish? + Now the Poles are celebrating, + For we have no leaders. + Let them banquet for their pleasure + And for their successes! + Let the cursed devils banquet, + Till the sun is setting. + Mother night will give good counsel; + Kozaks Poles can locate!’ + + “The sun set behind the mountains, + Then the stars appeared, + Like the clouds, then came the Kozaks + And the Poles surrounded. + When the moon reached the high heavens, + Thundered out a cannon. + Then the little Polish masters + Fled--but found no refuge! + Then the little Polish masters + Fled--to rise no more; + But at sunrise, Polish masters + Lay stretched out in masses. + Like a winding serpent crimson, + Alta bore the tidings, + That the ravens were assembling + To consume the masters; + That black ravens came together + To awake the nobles, + While the Kozaks came together + Unto God to pray. + The black ravens cawed and cried out, + Eating out the eyeballs; + But the Kozaks kept on singing + Of that wondrous battle, + Of that night that was so bloody, + That created glory + For Taras and for the Kozaks + Who the Poles had vanquished. + + “O’er the river in the meadow, + Now a tomb looms blackish; + Where the Kozak blood was flowing, + Now green grass is growing; + On the tomb a raven’s sitting + And it shrieks in hunger. + When a Kozak thinks of Hetmans, + As he thinks, he’s weeping.” + + The sad kobzar ceased his music, + For his hands betray him! + Round him all the boys and maidens + Strive to hide their weeping. + + Formerly the Kozaks cherished + Freedom and great glory. + Glory lives but bitter slavery + Freedom has devoured. + Formerly they knew to govern. + Nevermore we’ll do it, + But that former Kozak glory + We remember always. + + Down the street the kobzar wanders + With his sorrow playing! + Round about the boys are dancing + And he says on parting: + “Let it be without a sequel! + Sit upon the stove, my children. + For the inn I’ll sadly enter + And a burning drink I’ll ask for, + Ask for, drink it to the bottom, + And I’ll laugh at all those foemen.” + + ++Katerina+ + +The theme of the country girl seduced by a nobleman and deserted by +him was very popular in all European literature from the time of the +sentimental novels of the eighteenth century. It was carried into +Russian by Karamzin in _Poor Liza_ and into Ukrainian by Kvitka in such +a story as _Serdeshna Oksana_ (The Unfortunate Oksana). Shevchenko +followed the tradition in this poem but he added the other idea of +making the lover a foreigner. The message of the bard in the beginning +specifically warns the Ukrainian girls against the Moskals and there is +not a word to imply that the manners of the ordinary Russian soldiers +as distinct from the officers would be any different. + +The poem completes the original collection of the _Kobzar_ with a +tragic story of the present. It is the only poem that definitely pins +the stigma of oppression upon the Russians, although this is inherent +in the other poems. When we remember the frequent identification of +an orphan or a widow with Ukraine, we can see that the poet wants the +readers to see in the sad fate of Katerina driven into banishment +the fate of Ukraine but at the same time he is pleading the case of +the seduced girls who have been driven out of their homes. The poem +fittingly concludes the _Kobzar_ with its comparison of the past and +the present and the survival of that past only in songs and legends. + + ++Katerina+ + + _To V. A. Zhukovsky_ + _In memory of April 22, 1838_ + + I + + Have your love, you black haired maidens, + But avoid the Moskals, + For the Moskals--they are strangers, + And they treat you foully. + Yes, the Moskal loves you lightly, + Lightly he will drop you, + Goes away unto his country, + And the maiden’s ruined. + Were that all, it would be nothing, + But her aged mother + Who into God’s world once brought her, + She must perish with her. + So her heart will pine a-singing, + If she knows the reason; + People will her heart not notice, + And they’ll say: “She’s nothing.” + Have your love, you black haired maidens, + But not with the Moskals, + For the Moskals--they are strangers, + And they always mock you. + + Katerina did not listen + To her father, mother, + But she went and loved a Moskal, + As her heart had urged her. + So she loved the youthful stranger, + Went into the garden, + And she ruined there her fortune + And herself, unthinking. + Mother calls her to have supper, + Daughter does not listen; + Where she dallies with her Moskal, + There the night she spendeth.... + Not two nights she spent caressing + His black eyes so charming, + Till the gossip in the village + Had condemned her roundly. + Let the people talk about her, + Say whate’er they’re thinking; + She’s in love and will not notice + That there’s evil brewing. + Suddenly bad news is coming-- + He must go on service-- + Unto Turkey went the Moskal, + It Katrusya startled. + She cared not, as ’twere a trifle, + That her head was covered, + For her lover she would either + Sing or grieve at random. + He, the black haired lover, promised, + If he did not perish, + That he would come back unto her, + And then Katerina + Should become herself a Moskal + And forget her sorrow; + In the meanwhile let the people + Say whate’er they’re wishing-- + Katerina does not worry! + Wipes away her weeping, + For the maidens who surround her + Sing their songs without her, + And she takes the pails at nightfall + To go for the water, + That her foes may never see her; + To the spring she’s coming, + Takes a place beneath the bushes + And of Hrits she’s singing; + So she sings and so repeats it + Till the bushes sorrow. + She comes back--in perfect quiet + That no one may see her. + Katerina does not worry, + She has no forebodings; + In her new and modern kerchief + She looks out the window. + Katerina looks around her-- + Six months now are passing. + At her heart a pain is gnawing, + And her side is aching. + Katerina feels her illness, + It prevents her breathing. + She recovers. In her cradle + There’s a child now lying. + And the women foully murmur, + Jest unto her mother, + That the Moskals are returning + And in her are resting. + “Yes, you have a black haired daughter, + And she is not lonely, + On the stove she has in training + A good Moskal baby. + She has now a black haired baby, + Mayhap she has studied.” + May the devil, scandalmongers, + Beat you as severely + As that mother whom you’re mocking + For her little baby. + Katerina, O my darling! + You are so unhappy! + Where can you go to find refuge + With a little orphan? + Who will feed you or receive you + Without your dear lover? + Father, mother now are strangers, + Hard ’tis to live with them. + + Katerina was now healthy, + Left her little quarters, + Looked upon the street around her, + And caressed her baby; + As she looks, there’s no one friendly! + What is next to happen? + If she went into the garden, + People there would see her. + At the sunrise Katerina + Walks around the garden, + In her arms her son she carries, + And her eyes she covers; + “Here I looked at them parading, + Here I used to greet him, + There, O there ... my son, my baby!” + More she never uttered. + + In the garden soon the cherries + Hung all full of blossoms. + When the first came out in flower, + Katerina walked out, + Walked out but she was not singing, + As was her old custom, + When she waited for the Moskal + In the cherry orchard. + Now the black haired maiden sings not, + Curses her ill fortune, + While the bitter, hateful women + Say whatever moves them, + Hammer out their unkind speeches. + What will be her future? + Were the black haired lover present, + He could stop their talking. + But the black haired lover’s distant, + Hears not, does not notice + How her enemies laugh at her, + How Katrusya’s weeping. + Has the black haired lover perished + By the quiet Danube?... + Or in Muscovy he’s staying + With another darling? + No, the lover has not perished, + He is well and living. + Where can he find eyes so handsome, + Black hair so alluring? + There in Muscovy the distant + Or across the blue sea-- + There he has no Katerina. + Here she’s doomed to sorrow! + Mother knew to give her black hair, + Coal black eyes to give her, + But she knew not how to give her + Fortune for her lifetime. + Without fortune is her beauty + But a fading flower; + In hot sunshine, raging breezes, + Soon it ’gins to wither. + Wash your white face every hour + With your tears so bitter, + For the Moskals have gone homeward, + Other roads they’ve taken. + + + II + + Sits the father at the table + With his shoulders drooping; + He cannot behold the sunshine, + Heavy is his sorrow. + Near him sits the aged mother + On the bench hand-carven. + Through her tears she’s speaking coldly, + Speaking with her daughter. + “When’s the wedding, O my daughter? + Where is he you’ve chosen? + When’s the wedding party coming + With its chiefs and boyars? + There in Muscovy my daughter! + Go and search and find them; + Do not tell there to good people + That you have a mother. + Cursed be the day and hour + When I bore you for us! + Had I known, I would have drowned you + Ere the sun had risen.... + You have turned into a monster, + And into a Moskal ... + O my daughter, O my daughter, + Once my rosy flower! + Like a berry, like a birdlet + You have lived and changed + Into evil ... O my daughter, + What have you done to us? + So you’ve thanked us.... Go now after + Moskals as your kinsfolk. + You have not obeyed my warnings, + Now give heed to others! + O, my daughter, go and find them, + Find them and address them, + Be content among strange people, + Never come back to us. + Come not back to us, my daughter, + From a distant country ... + Who will bury my old body, + When you have departed? + Who will weep above my coffin + As my child would sorrow? + Who upon my grave will set out + The dark red _kalynas_![1] + Who without you will remember + My poor soul so sinful? + Oh, my daughter, O my daughter, + O my darling daughter. + Go from us now.” + Coldly, coldly, + She gave her a blessing. + “God be with you!”--and as dying + On the floor she’s fallen. + + Then the aged father added: + “Why are you delaying?” + Katerina started sobbing, + To his feet she’s fallen: + “O, forgive me, O my father, + For my awful misdeed! + O, forgive me, dearest father, + Dearest, loving falcon!” + --“Let the Lord Himself forgive you + And good people likewise! + Pray to God and go your own way-- + I shall feel far better.” + + Then she rose and said a farewell, + Silently departed; + While her aged parents stayed there + Just as two poor orphans. + She went to the cherry orchard, + Said a prayer on leaving, + Took some earth from ’neath a cherry, + On her cross she placed it. + Then she said: “I’ll come back never! + In a distant country, + In strange earth I shall be buried + By the hands of strangers, + But this earth which I am taking + Lies upon my spirit + And repeats to foreign people + All that I have suffered. + Do not tell it, treasured keepsake! + May I ne’er be buried, + That the people ne’er may notice + I’m a ruined sinner. + Say it not--and who will tell them + That I am his mother; + O my God! My woe unbounded! + Where can I be buried? + Son, I soon shall myself bury + Underneath the water, + And you will my sins atone for + As an orphan lonely, + With no father!--” + Katerina + Wept as she departed. + On her head her little kerchief, + In her arms her baby. + Going from the village sadly, + Back she scarcely glances, + But her head she cast down earthward + And began lamenting. + Like a poplar in the meadow, + She stood on the highway; + Like the dew just at the sunset, + So her tears were gleaming. + Through the bitter tears she’s shedding, + Nothing she can notice, + But she pressed her baby closer, + Kissed him while she’s weeping, + And her son, the little angel, + Pays it no attention. + His small arms he stretches to her + And he seeks her bosom ... + Then towards sunset, ’mid the oakwoods + Glows the sky with crimson; + She lost hope and she turned backwards. + Walked ... and only sorrowed. + In the village evil gossip + And unkind was spoken + But her father and her mother + Did not hear the stories. + Why, O why do people always + In this world harm others? + One they bind, and one they murder, + One they joy in hurting ... + Why is this? The saints can tell us! + For the world is spacious + But there is no place upon it + Where a man’s unbothered. + One his fortune has predestined + Everywhere to wander, + While another will be buried + Where his home was ever. + Where, O where are there good people + Who wish only one thing, + To live with and love their fellows? + They have gone, have vanished. + There’s on earth a fortune, + Who can it discover? + There’s on earth a freedom, + Who can e’er possess it? + On the earth are people + Who reap gold and silver, + They succeed in ruling + And they know no trouble.-- + Neither that nor freedom! + With their woe and sorrow + Others don their tunics. + Take your gold and silver + And be rich in treasures. + It is tears I’m choosing + To shed them in plenty; + I will drown misfortune + With my bitter weeping. + Slavery I’ll trample + With my feet unshodden! + Then I will be happy + And I’ll be so wealthy, + If my heart is able + To remain in freedom! + + + III + + Owls are calling, sleeps the forest, + Stars are shining brightly. + O’er the path and o’er the bushes + Larks are singing freely. + All good people now can slumber,-- + Each has been so wearied. + Joy or tears have wearied each one + But the night doth hide them. + The dark night is come to hide them + Like a bird a-nesting; + Where has it Katrusya hidden-- + In the woods? a cabin? + Or is she her son amusing + ’Neath an open haymow? + In a forest is she fearing + Wolves behind each treetrunk? + God grant that no one may ever + Have such fine black tresses, + If they must such heavy payment + Make for their possession! + What can yet the future give her? + ’Twill be evil, evil! + Yellow sands are on her pathway, + Strangers are there many; + Savage winter will confront her ... + And the man she’s seeking, + Will he know his Katerina, + Give his son a greeting? + With him would the black haired maiden + Roads, sands, woe not notice; + If he greets her as a mother, + Speaks as does a brother ... + Let us notice, let us listen ... + And meanwhile--I’m resting + And I’m asking at this hour + For the road to Moscow. + It is far, my noble brothers, + That is true, I tell you! + Now my heart is chilled and downcast, + When I think upon it. + I have measured it before this, + May no one repeat it! + I would tell about the hardships-- + No one would believe them! + “He who tells them sure is raving, + (That’s their talk in secret) + He is only telling stories + To deceive the people.” + That’s your truth, your truth, O people! + Why should it concern you + That I shed my tears before you + From my hard bought knowledge! + Why is this? Each living person + Has his own misfortune! + Devil take it! At this moment + Give to them tobacco + And a match, that they may never + Be at home unhappy, + Or they will tell you so quickly, + They have evil visions.-- + Let the devil seize them firmly-- + ’Tis my task to notice + Where my wretched Katerina + With her Ivas travels. + + Far past Kiev and the Dniper, + ’Mid a darksome forest, + On the carters’ road they’re going, + Of the Owl they’re singing. + There she is, a-pressing onward, + Like a pious pilgrim! + Why is she so sad and gloomy, + Why are her eyes weeping? + On her head is but her kerchief, + On her back a basket, + In one hand her staff she carries, + Bears her sleeping baby. + She has met with some stray carters, + Has the baby hidden, + And she asks of them, “Good people! + Where’s the road to Moscow?” + --“Road to Moscow? You are on it! + But it’s a long journey.” + “Yes, to Moscow, I implore you, + Give me money for it.” + That’s the first step--how she hates it! + Begging is not easy! + Why is this? The baby needs it, + And she is his mother! + So she wept, pressed on her journey, + In Brovary[2] rested, + With the coin she bought a cookie + For her little baby ... + Long, so long she walked exhausted + And she asked assistance; + Then at last, all spent and weary, + ’Neath a hedge she rested.... + + O, why was she granted those black eyes so sparkling, + For them to weep sorely beneath a strange hedge! + O maidens, look now and regret when you’ve seen her, + That you had no need for your Moskal to search, + That you did not need, as Katruysa is needing, + So then do not ask why the people abuse her, + And why they will turn her away from their doors,-- + + Do not ask, O black haired maidens; + People cannot answer. + Him whom God deems right to punish + They will punish also. + People bend as do the willows + As the wind is blowing. + For an orphan, when the sun shines, + Warmth is always lacking. + People would obscure the sunlight, + If they had the power, + That it might not light the orphan, + Dry away his weeping. + Why is this, O God most loving? + Why is light so painful? + What has she done unto people? + What do they want of her? + That she weep? O my poor darling! + Weep not, Katerina! + Do not show your tears to people, + Hold them till you perish! + Let not your bright face be darkened + With its clear black tresses-- + Until sunset, in the forest + Wash your face with weeping! + Weep away!--they will not notice + And they cannot mock you + And your heart can find some solace, + While your tears are flowing. + + So notice, O maidens, how great is the evil! + The Moskal has lightly forsaken his love. + Misfortune sees not him with whom she was loving, + And people may see but no mercy they know. + “’Tis right, so they say, that this wretched girl perish, + For she did not know to be careful with love!” + Restrain yourselves, beauties, at times inauspicious, + That you may not need a bad Moskal to seek. + + Where’s Katrusya straying? + She slept nights beneath the hedgerows, + Rose up in the morning, + Unto Muscovy she hastened. + Then the winter opens. + O’er the fields the blizzard’s howling. + Katerina travels + In light sandals--it is awful-- + And without warm clothing, + Katya goes--her feet grow sorer-- + And she sees disaster. + Then behold, here come the Moskals-- + No ... her heart is dying ... + She flies up and goes to greet them, + Asks: “Is there among you, + My own Ivan, my dear lover?” + But they say: “He is not.” + Then as is the Moskal habit, + They laugh loud and murmur, + “What a woman! We have talent! + Whom are we not fooling?” + Katerina looked in wonder,-- + “But you seem like people! + Do not weep, my son, my burden! + What must be, is coming! + I’ll go further--I’ve been coming ... + And perhaps I’ll meet him. + I will give you up, my darling, + And myself will perish!” + + Meanwhile howls and roars the blizzard, + O’er the field it eddies. + In the fields is Katya standing, + Weeping without measure. + Then the blizzard seems to tire, + Here and there relaxes; + Katerina would be weeping, + But her tears are lacking. + Then she looked upon the baby; + Drenched with tears, it’s ruddy + As the flower in the morning + Shining in the dewdrops. + Katerina smiled a little, + But her smile was bitter; + Round her heart, a coal black serpent + Wound itself around it. + Near at hand she heard some voices. + Nearby is the forest. + At its edge, hard by the roadside, + There’s a little cabin. + “Let us go, my son! ’Tis twilight. + They may let us enter. + If they don’t, within the courtyard + We can find some shelter. + Near the cabin we will rest us, + Ivas, my poor baby! + Where will you find nightly shelter, + When I am not with you? + From the dogs, my darling baby, + You must seek for friendship! + Dogs are evil--they will bite you. + But they will not blame you, + Will not say amid their jesting, + ‘Go, eat with the puppies!’ ... + O my poor, unhappy person, + What will happen to me?” + + A parentless dog will have its own fortune. + An orphan can find a good word in the world; + They beat him, growl at him, and bind him in fetters, + But no one tries ever his mother to mock. + Ivas they will ask and before he can answer, + They give not the child e’en a moment to speak. + At whom on the street are the dogs wont to bark? + The naked and hungry who sleep ’neath the hedge. + Who leads the blind beggars? The black-haired young bastards ... + For one is their fate.... They have little, black eyebrows, + And people all envy the beauty they have. + + + IV + + Beneath the hill’s a narrow valley + And like the brows of noble sires, + The oaks of Hetmans proudly stand; + There is a pond, a dam, and willows, + The ice holds fast the little pond, + A very little open water + Is shining like a kettle red-- + By heavy clouds the sun is shaded, + The wind blows up and how it howls, + There’s nothing near, around all’s white, + And loud’s the roaring of the woods. + + So the blizzard moans and whistles, + Howling through the forest. + Like the sea, the field is whitened + By the driving snowflakes. + From the cabin comes a woodsman + To inspect the forest. + What is that? It is a pity + That you can see nothing! + “That is wild and devilish music! + Keep from out the forest! + In again!... But what is coming? + Who the devil are they? + Misery has sent them onward, + It must be real trouble. + O the devil! Just look at them! + See, they are snow-covered!” + --“Are these Moskals? Are they really?” + --“What is this? You’re crazy.” + --“Where are now my darling Moskals?” + --“Here they are. Look at them!” + Katerina came a-flying, + And she did not falter. + Maybe Muscovy this moment + Comes where she can find it, + For she only knows in sorrow + That she calls a Moskal. + Through the stumps and through the hedges + She flies out, scarce breathing, + Stood barefooted in the roadway, + Rubbed her face--it’s freezing. + Then the Moskals came to meet her, + Every one on horseback, + “This is ill! This is my fortune!” + With them, as she’s looking, + In the van the captain’s riding. + “Ivan, O my darling! + O my heart! my dearest lover! + Where have you been hiding?” + She ran to him, caught his stirrup ... + He looked on in wonder ... + With his spur his horse he’s striking ... + “Whither are you fleeing? + You remember Katerina? + Have you now forgotten? + Look again, my darling sweetheart! + Look again upon me! + I am your beloved Katrusya! + Why do you dash from me?” + But his horse he spurred on wildly + And he will not notice. + “Wait a moment, darling sweetheart! + See, I am not weeping. + Ivan, have you now remembered? + Darling, look one moment! + Yes, by God, I am Katrusya!” + --“Fool, let go my stirrup! + Take away this crazy woman!” + --“God! you do this, Ivan! + Are you leaving me forever? + After all you’ve promised?” + --“Take her off! What is the matter?” + --“What’s this? Take me from you? + Why? O tell me, O my darling! + To whom are you giving + Your Katrusya, who once followed + You into the garden,-- + Your own Katya, who bore to you + Your own son and baby? + O my father, darling brother! + If you will avoid me! + I will be a servant to you ... + Go and love another ... + Love the world!... I will forget it + That you were my lover, + That I bore a son unto you, + Bore it out of wedlock, + Wedlock! What an awful scandal! + Why must I die for it? + Leave me now, forget me always, + But don’t fail your offspring! + You’re not leaving? O my darling! + Do not hurry from me. + I will bring your son to see you....” + She has dropped his stirrup, + Rushes to the house. Returning + She is bringing Ivas; + Dirty, swaddled, stained with weeping + Is the child unhappy. + “Here he is! Just look upon him! + Where have you been hidden? + He is gone and vanished, baby! + Father has disowned you! + O my God! My child unhappy! + What can I do with you? + O you Moskals! O my darlings! + Take him with you from me! + Oh, my friends! Do not forsake him! + He is but an orphan! + Take him with you; hand him over! + He’s your captain’s offspring! + Take him with you! I will leave him, + As his father left him,-- + May God grant an evil hour + Will not leave him also! + ’Twas in sin your mother bore you + Into God’s bright world. + Grow on up, a jest for people.” + On the road she laid him. + “Let him go and seek his father, + As I have been seeking.” + Then she vanished in the forest, + Leaving him behind her. + The child wept--It made no difference + Unto them--They left it. + There it is and to its sorrow + Did the woodsman find it. + Katya, barefoot, ran a-crying, + Ran into the forest, + Cursing Ivan, her base lover, + Weeping, weeping, pleading. + So she ran into the clearing, + Cast one glance around her, + Saw the pond, ran to it, stood there, + Waited for a moment, + “God, accept my sinful spirit! + Pond, you take my body!” + In she leaped--passed ’neath the surface, + And the water gurgled. + + So the black haired Katerina + Found what she was seeking. + Then the wind howled o’er the surface-- + There was no trace of her. + It is not the stormy breezes + That the oak will shatter. + ’Tis not hard and ’tis not evil, + When the mother dieth; + Little children are not orphans, + Who have lost their mother, + For her good name stays behind her, + And her tomb stays also. + Evil people all are laughing + At the little orphan; + At the tomb his tears are flowing, + But his heart is quiet. + But what is there for that orphan, + What can be left for him, + When his father has not seen him, + And his mother leaves him? + What is there for that poor bastard? + Who will speak unto him? + He has neither folk nor cabin; + Woe and sand and highways ... + Noble face and mother’s tresses ... + Why? For men to know him! + She has stamped him, cannot hide it. + Would his beauty withered! + + + V + + Unto Kiev went a kobzar, + Sat him down to rest him; + And his escort was well burdened + With a pile of baskets. + For a little child was escort. + Now he drops to slumber. + At that moment the old kobzar + Sings a song of Jesus. + All who pass, come up and offer + One, a roll; one, money + To the old man and the children + Come to the young escort. + All the beauties look and marvel + When they see him ragged: + “See what wondrous hair fate gave him, + But it gave no fortune!” + Then along the road to Kiev + Comes a coach resplendent, + In the coach there is a lady + With her lord and family. + See, it stopped beside the beggars + And the dust soon settles. + Ivas ran up. Through the window + A soft hand has beckoned. + Then the lady looks at Ivas + And she gives him money. + The man looked--but turned so quickly-- + For he recognized him, + Recognized the black eyes sparkling + And the black hair also, + Knew his son stood there before him + And he would not take him. + For his name the lady asked him. + “Ivas”--“That is pretty!” + Then the coach moved on and Ivas + In the dust was hidden. + They picked up the things they’d gathered, + Stood up, both poor devils, + Made their prayers at sunset hour, + Went along the highway. + +[1] The kalyna, Viburnum opulus, is used extensively to mark graves and +memorials in Ukraine. + +[2] Brovary is on the boundary separating Muscovy from Ukraine. + + + + +THE HAYDAMAKI + + +The _Haydamaki_ is the longest of all the poems of Shevchenko and the +most striking historical epic in Ukrainian literature. It describes the +bloody revolt of the Koliishchina which broke out under the leadership +of Maksim Zaliznyak and Gonta in 1768 and culminated in the massacre +of the Poles at Uman. It was the last and one of the most terrible +convulsions that shook Ukraine in its relations with Poland. + +Shevchenko lays great stress upon the murder of the sexton which +actually took place in 1766 and throughout the poem there are similar +cases where he has changed the historical course of events for a +better artistic effect but this is common to all epic poems. + +The story is briefly this: a group of Polish szlachta attack a Jew and +to save himself he tells them stories of the wealth of the Orthodox +sexton in Vilshany. They go there and torture him and he dies under +their ministrations. In the meanwhile his daughter Oksana, who loves +the poor orphan Yarema, comes to the aid of her father and is carried +off. Yarema, knowing nothing of the fate of his beloved, goes to seek +his fortune at the Sich. He joins the forces of Zaliznyak and his fury +is redoubled when he learns of the fate of his beloved. The Haydamaki +with the aid of the Zaporozhians rise in revolt. For his desperate and +ferocious bravery, Yarema receives the name Halayda, “the homeless +one.” He succeeds in rescuing his beloved from a tower where the +Haydamaki are besieging her captors and finally takes to a convent and +returns to marry her. The Haydamaki continue their course and capture +Uman, and savagely destroy their foes. + +The poem is a true expression of the wild and merciless character of +these peasant revolts against the hardships and oppressions inflicted +upon them by brutal and careless masters. Shevchenko could feel this +popular frenzy and describe it but he was not himself primarily a +soldier and the finest parts of the poem are the lyrical descriptions +of Ukrainian nature and the pictures of Ukrainian peasant life, even +under the utmost hardships. He was too humane and cultured to enter +fully into the wild emotions of the revolting people and to revel in +the details of the battles. We could not imagine him enjoying the +society of the atamans and hetmans of the past whom he consistently +tried to applaud. + +Rather he was deeply moved by their successes and failures. His heart +was in the glorious past and the terrible present but it is of the +latter that he sings the most sweetly, as he pleads also for the +development of a new and better Ukraine. Yet this does not make him +any the less rebellious that his people have been overthrown and are +now in poverty and misery. It does not make him any milder to their +oppressors. The _Haydamaki_ is his last great outburst of hatred +against the Poles and really it completes the cycle of the _Kobzar_ +which aims to picture Ukraine in the past and present through the +Romantic tradition. + +We include here the poet’s preliminary description of himself and of +Ukraine. + + ++The Haydamaki--Prelude+ + + All things ever come, ever pass, without ending ... + Oh! whence are they coming? And whither they go? + The fool and the wise man know naught of the future. + Each lives and each dies.... One plant bursts into bloom, + Another has faded, has faded forever ... + The winds spread abroad all the yellowing leaves, + The sun still arises, as in the past ages, + The stars are as bright as they were in the past, + And so will they be.... Come thou, moon, with thy white face, + Come out to make merry across the blue sky, + Come out to admire the stream and the fountain, + The infinite sea; thou still dost shine on + As o’er ancient Babylon and its fair gardens, + So over the fate that will call to our sons. + + Eternal and endless!... I love to hold converse + With thee just as if thou wert brother or sister, + And sing to thee tales thou hast whispered to me. + Oh! teach me once more how to deal with my burden! + I am not alone, and no orphan am I; + For I have my children, what fate will they suffer? + To bury them with me? My soul is alive! + Perhaps it will find that life there is less bitter, + If some one repeats all those bitter sweet words + Which it has so generously poured out with weeping + And which it so humbly has sobbed o’er their cradles. + No, I will not hide them, my soul is alive! + As heaven is blue and it has no fixed limit, + The soul also has no beginning or ending. + And what will it be? Not mere words of deceit. + Oh! let some one cite them again in this world,-- + The unknown dread always to pass to the future. + So speak up, my maidens, for you need to speak! + It loved you, my maidens, the world’s pretty flowers, + And it loved without ceasing to sing of your fate. + Until it is sunrise, feast on, all my children, + And I shall think how I can find you a host. + + Sons of mine, O haydamaki, + Broad’s the world, and freedom, + Sons of mine, go out to revel + And to try your fate! + Sons of mine, who still are youthful, + Children still untutored! + Who in all the world will greet you, + If you have no mother? + Sons of mine! My little eaglets! + Fly to Ukraina! + Though the evil spreads around you, + Still you’re not ’mid strangers. + There a soul sincere will meet you, + ’Twill not let you perish. + There, O there ... ’tis hard, my children! + When they let you in a cabin, + They will meet you, ridicule you,-- + Those, you know, are people; + They are learned, reading, cultured, + And the sun they censure, + “For it rises where it shouldn’t, + Shineth incorrectly. + It should change its stupid doings.” + What can you do with them? + You must listen; perhaps truly + The sun never rises + As in books the learned read it ... + Surely they are clever. + But what will they say then of you? + Yes, I know your glory. + They know how to scoff and mock you, + Hurl you ’neath the benches. + --“Let them stay there,”--they will answer, + “Till the father rises + And will tell us in our language + Of his famous hetmans, + Or the fool will sing unto us + In dead words that bore us + And present some old Yarema + In his sandals. Fool! They beat him + But they taught him nothing. + Of the Kozaks, of the hetmans, + Lofty tombs are with us-- + Nothing else remains among us, + And these too they ruin. + And he wishes us to hearken + To the elders chanting. + Vain the labor, O sir brother! + If you wish for money, + You will sing what they desire! + Sing about Matyosha + Or Parasha, who’s our pleasure, + Sultan, spurs, and parquet. + There is glory! But he’s singing + ‘The blue sea is playing.’ + And he’s weeping, and your hearers + In their peasant costumes + Weep with you.” ’Tis true, O wise man! + Thank you for the counsel! + Warm’s the furcoat, but I’m sorry + That it doesn’t fit me. + And your wise words are embroidered + With a lie accursed. + Pardon me--shout for your pleasure, + I will still not hearken, + Will not call you to my circle; + You are wise, good people, + I’m a fool and unattended + In my little cabin + I will sing and sob unceasing + Like a child unhappy. + I will sing; the blue sea’s playing, + And the wind is blowing, + Black’s the steppe and with the breezes + Speaks the tomb forsaken. + I will sing--and then there opens + Wide that tomb so spacious. + To the sea the Zaporozhtsy + The broad steppes all cover. + Atamans on swift black horses + With their banners waving + Dash ahead; the thundering rapids + ’Mid the reeds all hidden + Howl and groan and rage in fury + And their roar strikes terror. + Yes, I hearken and I worry + And I ask the elders: + “Why are you so sad, my fathers?” + “Son, it is not cheerful, + For the Dniper’s angry at us; + Ukraina’s weeping.” + I weep too. That selfsame hour + In their shining squadrons + Atamans set out a-marching, + Captains with their nobles, + And the hetmans, gold-attired; + To my humble cabin + They have come, they sit around me + And of Ukraina + They will speak and tell me stories, + How the Sich was founded, + How the Kozaks boldly traversed + Rapids, rafting downwards, + How they revelled on the blue sea, + Dashed into Skutari, + How they lit their pipes beloved + At the Polish fires; + Then came back to Ukraina, + How they nobly feasted ... + “Play, kobzar! Pour out, O tapster!-- + Let the feast continue! + Minstrel, sing!” and all the Kozaks-- + As Hortitsa’s bending-- + Leap erect and never stopping + Start their joyous dances. + Pitchers come and pass around them, + Till they all are empty. + “Revel, sir, throw off your zhupan, + Revel, wind, a-blowing! + Play, kobzar! Pour out, O tapster, + Till our fortune cometh!” + Young and old, the Kozak heroes + Dance the native dances. + “Fine, O children; good, O children! + We will be the masters!” + Atamans at the rich banquet + Act as in the council. + They are walking, are conversing, + But the noble heroes + Feel the spell and join the others + Though their legs are aging. + And I marvel, I am looking, + Smiling, while I’m weeping,-- + I marvel, I’m smiling, I’m wiping my eyelids-- + I’m not all alone, for I live with those men! + In my little cabin as on the steppes boundless, + The Kozaks are sporting and singing their pride; + In my little cabin, the blue sea is playing, + The tomb sadly sobs, while the poplar is rustling, + The maiden is singing, Hritsa, very softly, + I’m not all alone! I can live with those men! + These are all my blessings, money, + These are all my glory, + And for counsel I will thank you, + For the counsel evil! + Stay with me, while I am living, + O dead words that bore you, + To pour out my tears and sorrow. + Comrades, now farewell! + I must go and speed my children + On a distant journey. + Let them go--they may be meeting + Some revered old Kozak, + Who will greet my little children + With his aged weeping. + That suffices. I will tell you, + Lord of lords it makes me. + So I’m sitting at the table, + Singing, meditating; + Whom to ask? Who is the leader? + Outdoors it grows lighter. + Fades the moon, the sun is blazing, + And the boys are rising, + They have prayed, have donned their clothing, + They now stand around me. + Sadly, sadly, just as orphans, + They have bowed in silence; + “Bless us, father,”--so they beg me, + “While we have the power, + Bless us that we find our future + In the wide expanses.” + --Keep on waiting. Life’s no cabin, + You are little children, + Foolish too. For who will lead you + As his gallant comrades? + Who will lead you? And I suffer, + Suffer with you near me! + I have fed you, have caressed you, + You have grown a little. + Now be people; there you’ll notice + All is clearly written. + Pardon me that I learned nothing, + For you beat me roundly, + Beat me well and much you’ve taught me + Of a certain order. + _Tma_ and _mna_ I know, but _oksiyu_ + I cannot explain it. + What will men remark? My children, + We will go and ask them. + I have now an aged father + (Kin I have none living) + He will give me counsel with you, + For he in his wisdom + Knows how hard it is to wander + As a homeless orphan; + And he is a noble spirit, + Kozak through and through. + He is not ashamed to utter + Words his mother taught him, + When she reared him in his cradle, + Trained him as a youngster; + He is not ashamed to utter + Tales of Ukraina + Which the blind old bards repeated, + Singing in the evening. + And he loves the old true legends, + Sings the Kozak glory, + Loves them. Come, my little children, + To his kindly counsel. + Had he years ago not met me + In the worst of seasons, + Long ago would I be buried + In a foreign country, + Buried and all men would scorn me. + “He was good for nothing.” + Hard it is to fight and conquer, + If you have no motive. + Times have changed, till dreams are useless. + Let us go, my children! + If he did not let me perish + In a foreign country, + So he will accept and greet you + Just as his own children, + And from him, with pious praying, + Start for Ukraina! + + Greetings, father, in the cabin! + On your ancient threshold + Give a blessing to my children + For a distant journey. + + + + +TO THE ETERNAL MEMORY OF KOTLYAREVSKY + + +This is one of the earliest poems of Shevchenko and was apparently +written soon after he had learned of the death of Ivan Kotlyarevsky +which took place in 1838. Kotlyarevsky with his parody of the _Aeneid_ +published in 1798 had commenced the modern Ukrainian literature in the +vernacular. He had transformed Aeneas and his companions into typical +exiled Ukrainian Kozaks and had used every opportunity to call back +memories of the past. It was a frivolous but yet absolutely serious +piece of work and it aroused an interest in Ukrainian history and +manners that had been long forgotten. Kotlyarevsky followed his poem in +after years with the first Ukrainian dramas of peasant life, _Natalka +Poltavka_ and _Moskal Charyvnyk_. These two became popular and the +young Shevchenko on receiving the news of the death of the poet poured +out his lamentation that the one great Ukrainian poet had passed away. +It is a sincere tribute to the founder of the literature from the man +who was to be its greatest exponent. There is the same mixture of +elements of nature and of history that the poet was to employ so often +later and it marks that union of social and historical themes under the +influence of which Shevchenko began his work. + + ++To the Eternal Memory of Kotlyarevsky+ + + Warm’s the sun, the breeze is blowing + From the field to valley, + O’er the water bend the willows + With the red kalyna. + In a bush all solitary + There’s a nest a-swaying. + Where’s the nightingale a-straying? + Ask it not, it knows not! + For the evil, it is absent. + It is gone and perished + For the good, their heart is pining. + Why did it not stay here? + So I look and think about it; + When the eve was coming + It would sing in the kalyna. + No one could ignore it: + For the rich who had good fortune + Like a loving mother, + Would steal up and look upon it, + Never pass, unseeing; + And the orphan who at dawning + Rose to go to labor, + Would awake and listen to it, + As if his dear parents + Were alive and talking to him, + And his heart beat gaily, + And the world seemed like an Easter, + People all were people; + Or the maiden seeking daily + For her lover’s coming, + Pines away just as an orphan, + Knows not where to seek him, + Goes to wander o’er the pathway, + Weeping ’mid the thicket, + Then the nightingale would warble, + Stop her bitter weeping. + She would listen and then smiling, + Walk through the dark thicket, + As if she spoke to her lover. + And the bird was singing. + So softly, so calmly, as if he were praying, + Until a foul villain came out to do harm + With knife in his boot-top--his steps echo dully, + They come and they stop; but the song’s to no purpose. + It cannot restrain the cruel heart of the villain. + He ruins his voice, but can teach nothing good. + Let him go on raging, until he shall perish, + Until the crow caws with hoarse voice at his death. + The vale will sleep; in the kalyna + The nightingale sleeps too. + The wind blows softly through the valley, + The echo passes in the grove. + The echo, like God’s voice, is fading, + The poor arise to go to work, + The cows come out into the thicket, + The maidens after water come, + The sun is shining--all seems happy! + The willow smiles--and all is good. + The villain weeps, the savage villain. + It was so once--now look and see: + Warm’s the sun, the breeze is blowing + From the field to valley, + O’er the water bend the willows + With the red kalyna. + In a bush all solitary + There’s a nest a-swaying. + Where’s the nightingale a-straying? + Ask it not; it knows not! + + So recently, recently here, in Ukraina + The old Kotlyarevsky sang sweetly to us; + The poor man is silent, has left just as orphans + The mountains and sea, where he formerly dwelt, + Where he led his bands of outcasts, + Taking them to travel, + All is left, and all is saddened, + As Troy’s ancient ruins. + All is grieving--but his glory + Like the sun is shining, + For the kobzar dies not. Glory + Ever will proclaim him. + Father, you will reign forever, + While mankind is living. + While the sun shines in the heavens, + Men will not forget you. + + O spirit most righteous! accept my poor tribute, + Accept it as stupid and yet as sincere! + Leave me not an orphan as you left the forest, + Fly to me and help me, if but for one moment, + And sing to me songs of my own dear Ukraine. + + O grant that my soul may yet smile in its exile, + May smile even once, as it hears how you brought + The whole Kozak glory in words so appealing + Into the poor hut where an orphan did dwell. + Fly here, O gray eagle, for I am an orphan + Alone in the world, in a land that is strange; + I look at the sea which is deep and far spreading, + And seek to go over it--there is no boat! + I think of Aeneas, I think of my country, + I think and I weep, as a child that is grieving. + The waves come and roar and they break over there, + And perhaps I am dull and there’s naught that I notice, + Perhaps a bad fate on that side is a-weeping? + The orphan is mocked by all people he meets! + Let them keep on mocking, for there the sea’s playing, + For there is the moon, and the sun brighter shines, + The grave with the wind on the steppe is conversing; + Were I with them there, I’d be no more alone. + + O spirit most righteous! accept my poor tribute, + Accept it as stupid and yet as sincere! + Leave me not an orphan as you left the forest, + Fly to me and help me, if but for one moment, + And sing to me songs of my own dear Ukraine! + + + + ++Dumka+ + + + Water flows into the blue sea, + But it never leaves it. + A young Kozak seeks his fortune, + Seeks, but does not find it. + He has gone where chance has beckoned, + Where the sea is playing, + And his Kozak heart is playing, + But his thoughts arouse him: + “Where have you not gone, a stranger? + To what hands entrusting + Father and your aged mother + And your smiling sweetheart? + People there are not your family, + Life with them is very hard. + With them there you cannot weep, + Cannot freely talk.” + Far from home the Kozak’s sitting, + While the sea is playing, + Thinking, he will find good fortune + But he meets with sorrow. + And the cranes hie homeward swiftly + In their ordered row. + Weeps the Kozak,--on life’s pathway + Piercing thorns have grown. + + + + +HAMALIYA + + +During the early part of the seventeenth century, the Zaporozhian +Kozaks, especially under the ataman Peter Sahaydachny, made many raids +into the Black Sea and there was hardly a single city of importance, +even including Constantinople itself, which was not the victim of their +attacks. They showed to the full the weakness of the shore defences of +the Ottoman Empire and the defects of its navy. In their small boats, +hastily constructed below the rapids of the Dniper, they dared to put +to sea in the middle of the wildest storms that raged on the Black Sea +and their courage and seamanship stood them in good stead against the +superior arms and inferior morale of their enemies. + +This poem seems to be an independent poetical creation of Shevchenko +to bring out this period of Kozak history and to picture the naval +exploits of the Zaporozhians. It is in a way a continuation and +amplification of the poem _Ivan Pidkova_ but it presents a rounded +picture in concise form of one of these expeditions. The name of the +leader Hamaliya seems to have been created by the poet, and while the +sequence of events described is true to history, the poem is not based +on any specific historical event. + + ++Hamaliya+ + + “Oh, there’s no wind and there’s no wave now coming + From our own Ukraina. + Do they gather and prepare the Turk to battle? + We hear not in foreign prison. + Oh, blow, Oh blow, O wind, across the waters, + From Great Luh bring tidings. + Dry our tears and mute our clanging fetters, + Scatter all our sorrow! + Oh, play on, play on gaily, sparkling blue sea, + And beneath the sturdy barges + Which the Kozaks sail, scarcely can their caps be seen, + And they will come for us. + Oh, God, our God! E’en if they fail us, + Carry them from Ukraina, + We will hear the glory, all the Kozak glory, + We will hear and then we’ll perish!” + + So sang the Kozaks in Skutari’s strong prison, + So sang the poor devils and loudly they wept, + They pour out their tears and they uttered their sorrow. + The Bosphorus trembled, for never before + Had it heard laments of Kozaks; with great groaning, + It roused itself mightily like a gray bull, + And roaring aloud, it sent out to the distance + A wave which resounded upon the blue sea. + The sea then reechoed the Bosphorus message + And bore it to Lyman, and Lyman repeated + Unto the Dnipro the sad voice of the wave. + Our mighty sire ’gan to laugh + Till from his mustache foam ran down. + “O brother Luh, don’t sleep but listen! + Khortitsa sister?” + Both replied, + Luh and Khortitsa, “Yes, I hear it.” + Dnipro was covered with the barges + And thus the Kozaks loudly sang: + + “Over there the Turk is happy + In a well built palace. + Hay, Hay! Sea, play on, + Roar and break the cliffs. + We will go as guests! + + “There the Turk has in his pockets + Talars, yes, and ducats, + We won’t rob his pockets, + We’ll tear them and burn them, + And we’ll free our brothers. + + “There the Turk has janissaries, + A pasha’s their leader. + Hay, there, look out foemen, + We know not to waver! + That’s our strength and glory!” + + So they sail; they’re gaily singing, + Winds hear all the waters; + In the van sails Hamaliya, + Guiding his boat wisely. + Hamaliya, you are anxious-- + Then the sea is maddened, + He heeds not. They soon are hidden + By great waves like mountains. + + All sleep in the harem. As if in high heaven + Skutari, Byzantium sleep! There’s a roar + Of terror from Bosphorus, groaning and tossing. + It seeks to awake the great city from sleep. + “Disturb it not, Bosphorus; you will be sorry! + I’ll break your white cliffs into powdery sand, + And hide them away.” Thus the blue sea was roaring.-- + “Pretend you don’t know what fine guests I now bring + Unto the great Sultan.” When thus the sea threatened, + (For it loved the stedfast, the brave tufted Slavs) + The Bosphorus feared. So the Turk kept on sleeping + And in his rich harem the Sultan dozed on. + Alone in Skutari in prison the Kozaks, + Poor devils, sleep not. But for what do they wait? + They pray to their God in the midst of their fetters, + The waves pass along and reecho their song. + + “O God, dear God of Ukraina, + Let us not die in foreign prison, + Us, free Kozaks, in fetters bound! + ’Twill be a shame both here and there + To rise from out a foreign coffin + And to Thy righteous judgement come, + With our strong hands encased in iron + And there in fetters before all + Stand out as Kozaks!” + “Slash and kill! + Destroy the unbeliever foul!” + The cry’s outside. What can it be? + Hamaliya, your heart’s anxious. + Now Skutari’s raging! + “Slash and kill”--upon the ramparts + Thus shouts Hamaliya. + + Skutari thunders with its cannon, + The foemen roar and rage apace; + The Kozaks charge without a waver, + The janissaries fall in heaps. + Hamaliya’s in Skutari, + Through the hell he wanders, + He, himself, breaks in the prison, + Shatters all the fetters. + “Fly, you birds, fly for your fortune + To the wide bazaar!” + Then the falcons spread their winglets, + Long time none had told them + Such fine words of Christian speech. + Then the night was startled; + The old mother had ne’er noticed + How the Kozaks paid. + Do not fear, but cast your glances + On the Kozak banquet. + It is dark as on a workday + But it is a banquet. + The bold boys with Hamaliya + Eat not leavings calmly + Without meat. “We want good lighting!” + To the clouds above them + With the many masted schooners + All Skutari’s burning. + Then Byzantium was startled, + Rubbed its sleepy eyelids, + And it crossed to bring assistance, + With its teeth a-gnashing. + + Byzantium awakes and rages + And gains the bank with eager hands, + She reached it, screamed, and started back, + Grew mute before the bloody knives. + Skutari’s blazing like a hell; + Through the bazaar red blood is flowing + And turning red the Bosphorus; + Like black birds gathered in a grove, + The Kozaks fly without a care. + No one dares now to interfere, + The fire burns not these brave men. + They wreck the walls. The Kozaks bear + The gold and silver in their caps + And load with spoils the heavy boats. + Skutari blazes, work abates, + The brave boys meet, they gather round + And light their pipes from blazing fires. + Upon the boats--they lounge around + And cleave the mountain-high red waves. + + They sail forth as from their homeland-- + Just as if they’re playing, + That is like the Zaporozhtsy, + And they’re sailing, singing: + “Our otaman Hamaliya, + He’s a worthy leader, + He got boys and then he started + O’er the sea to revel-- + O’er the sea to revel + And to gather glory + And release from Turkish prison + All his captive brothers. + Oh, then sailed up Hamaliya + Right into Skutari. + There he found the Zaporozhtsy + Facing bitter sentence. + Ho! then cried out Hamaliya, + ‘Brothers, we’ll be living, + We’ll be living, wine be drinking, + Killing janissaries, + And we’ll deck our homes in velvet + And with costly kilims.’ + So the Zaporozhtsy sallied + To sow well their meadows, + Sowed them well and reaped the harvest, + And they sang together: + ‘Glory be to Hamaliya, + Through the world he’s famous-- + Through the world he’s famous, + Through all Ukraina, + For he did not let his comrades + Die in foreign prison.’” + + They sail and sing. Behind them there + Courageous Hamaliya’s sailing, + Just as an eagle guards its eaglets. + The wind blows from the Dardanelles, + Byzantium can find no rest, + For it still fears that once again + Chernets may light up Galata + Or the hetman Ivan Pidkova + May summon them to give a present. + So they sail. Behind the billows + Reddens all the sun. + And before them the kind waters + Murmur on and call. + Hamaliya, winds are blowing. + Here, O here, the sea is ours. + And they hid behind the billows-- + And the rosy mountains. + + + + +TO OKSANA K ... + + +This was long supposed to be a complete poem written by Shevchenko in +memory of his first love. Only in 1914 was it fully realized that it +was the preface to an unfinished poem _Maryana Chernetsa_ (Maryana +the Nun) and a considerable part of this poem was then published. +Unfortunately Shevchenko did not complete it and efforts to determine +the definite form of the poem have been in vain. The text as we have it +opens with the love of a peasant girl Maryana for a poor boy Petrus. +He leaves to seek his fortune. The girl promises to be true to him, +although her mother is determined that she will marry a rich old man. +The poem was then another in the series dealing with the poor girl +condemned to marry someone whom she did not love, one of the favorite +themes of Shevchenko. + + ++To Oksana K ...+ + + (_In memory of what was long ago_) + + In the forest winds toss wildly + Branches and the poplars, + Break the oaks, and o’er the meadows + Sweep the tumbleweed. + So is fate: one man it crushes, + And another tosses, + Me it carries off; its purpose + It can never vision. + In what distant land am I destined to perish? + Where shall I lie down for my last endless sleep? + If there is no fortune and there is no joy, + There’s no one to feel. There’s no one to remember + Or say, e’en in jest, “Let him rest in his slumber, + It was his good fortune to perish so young.” + It’s true, O Oksana, O black-haired young stranger, + You do not remember that orphan of yore, + In his ragged coat, but who always was happy, + If he could but look at your beauty divine. + When you without speech, without words him instructed + To speak with his eyes, with his soul, with his heart, + With whom you have smiled and have wept and have sorrowed, + To whom you have sung the sad tale of Petrus? + You do not remember! Oksana! Oksana! + But I am still weeping, still sorrow till now. + I pour out my tears when I think of Maryana. + I look unto you and for you do I pray. + Remember, Oksana, O black-haired young stranger, + And deck your Maryana with blooms bright and gay, + And smile at Petrus, smile at him and be happy, + And be it a joke, yet remember the past. + + + + +THE DREAM + + +After Shevchenko’s return from Ukraine in 1843, he had changed his +mind as to the vital needs of his country. Henceforth Poland takes a +secondary place among the oppressors and his wrath is concentrated more +on Russia and the Russian monarchy. It was difficult and dangerous to +express this opinion in St. Petersburg and almost impossible to secure +the publication of works which criticized the imperial regime. Yet +Shevchenko did not hesitate and in a series of poems, partly mystical, +partly ethical, he spoke out against the oppression of his native land. + +The _Dream_ which he labels a comedy and to which he prefixes a +passage from the Gospels is one of the bitterest of these attacks. He +introduces it with a series of criticisms against various types of +selfish and unpatriotic people and contrasts himself, shedding his +own blood for his native land and weeping day and night, with these +self-satisfied and self-righteous egotists. Then he passes to what +purports to be a drunken dream for reality is so ghastly that he feels +it necessary to be in an unusual state to dare to notice it. + +First he visits Ukraine, the poor and helpless widow, who has been +abandoned with her population to the mad whims of an autocratic despot +and the feudal lords. The misery of the people is overwhelming beneath +the exactions of the upper classes. + +In his attempts to flee from the world he is carried to Siberia and +here he is no more happy for the sound of the fettered prisoners +working in the mines brings home to him again man’s inhumanity to man. +He probably alludes to Ukrainian exiles but it is possible that he is +citing the example of the Decembrists who suffered for their ideals and +of the Polish revolutionists of 1831. + +The capitals are the next places which he visits in his imagination +and here he is completely disillusioned. He condemns the Muscovite +slavery to the Tsar, the power of the Tsar to beat the highest members +of his organization and their corresponding right to tyrannize over +their subordinates, until the lowest of the people, the common man, +is proud and happy to be beaten indirectly by the Tsar. It is another +example of Shevchenko’s belief that the Moskals were incapable of +appreciating liberty and that this sharply differentiated them from the +people of Ukraine, the worthy sons of which were ready to sacrifice +themselves for their ideals and for the truth. + +Then when he sees the statue of Peter the Great erected by Catherine, +the two monarchs who had ruined Ukraine, he turns to the misery and +captivity of Polubotok and the Kozaks who were sent to St. Petersburg +to build the capital and to perform other severe labor under which they +died in great numbers between 1720 and 1725. Polubotok, the acting +Hetman, was himself arrested and died in prison in 1724. + +He sees the poverty of the people, even the Russians, the girls +forced by poverty to enter upon prostitution, and he returns to the +palace where he beholds the ridiculous character of the Tsar and the +subservient manners even of the Imperial Family, who are unworthy to +acquire such power and unable to hold it. + +Then he wakes up with the renewed explanation that it was all a dream. + +The poem is a violent attack upon the lack of truth and righteousness +in the Russian dealings with Ukraine and the injustice which emanates +from the throne. The attack upon the Imperial Family and in particular +the Empress whom he called a dry mushroom so infuriated Alexander II +that the poet was excluded from the general amnesty on his accession +to the throne. It is the one of the series which emphasizes specially +the political side of the Russian domination and it contains some of +the most powerful denunciations of political oppression of all of +Shevchenko’s work. + + ++The Dream+ + + _A Comedy_ + + _The Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it + seeth him not, neither knoweth him._ + + --St. John, 14, 17. + + Each man’s fate is special to him, + And his own broad highway; + One man builds, another ruins, + Or with eye unsated + Looks a third beyond th’ horizon + Seeking to discover + What to seize and carry with him + To his grave as booty. + This man counts as lawful victims + Kinsmen in his cabin; + This one, crouching in the corner, + Aims to kill his brother; + While another, mild and sober, + With a pious feeling, + Stealthily as any kitten, + Sees when a misfortune + Strikes you and he slyly buries + Deadly knife within you. + Ask no mercy! He will hearken + To no wife or children. + And another, rich and gen’rous, + Builds the churches richly + And he loves so well his country + That he sorrows for it, + And he therefore most sincerely + Sheds its blood like water, + And the company all silent + With their eyes wide open + Like the lambs--say, “Let him do it! + It perhaps is needed!” + + It is needed! For there is not + Any Lord in heaven! + You beneath the yoke are falling, + And you’re still believing + There is paradise above you? + No, there’s not! There’s not! + Vain’s your effort! Just think sanely, + All upon this planet,-- + Be they tsars or be they beggars-- + All are Adam’s children. + He ... and he ... what do I matter? + Not a bit, good people; + For I feast and have a banquet + Sundays and on work days. + Are you bored? Are you complaining? + Heavens, I don’t hear it. + Do not shout!--My blood I’m drinking, + Not the blood of others! + + One time returning home unsteady + From a rich banquet late at night, + I thought upon this all my journey + Until I came unto my cabin. + At me the children do not shout, + A wife’s never scolding,-- + ’Tis calm as in heaven. + On all is the blessing of God-- + In heart as in cabin. + So I could sleep calmly; + But when a drunken man once sleeps, + E’en though the guns roared loudly, + He would not stir a hair. + A dream, a dream unprecedented + Disturbed my slumbers. + A sober man would gladly tipple, + A miser Jew would give a penny + To have a glimpse of what I saw. + Yes, devils two. + I see as if it were an owl + A-flying over fields and banks and thickets, + And o’er deeply cut ravines, + And across the steppes unbounded, + And the forests. + And I fly after her unceasing. + I fly and bid the earth farewell. + + “World, farewell! Farewell, O earth, + Cruel and unkind land! + All my bitter torments cruel + I’ll hide in the cloud. + Greetings, my dear Ukraina, + Poor and helpless widow! + I will fly to you and meet you, + From the cloud will speak, + In a quietly sad meeting + Seek advice from you. + I will fall on you at midnight + Like the dew of morning. + Let us talk and let us counsel + Till the sun arises, + Till your poor and little children + Stand upon the threshold. + Then farewell, my darling mother, + Poor and helpless widow! + Help your children, truth is living + At the throne of God!” + I fly and look. The dawn is breaking + And the sky grows brighter; + Nightingales in the dark forest + Greet the rising sun; + Softly blow the morning breezes, + Steppes and fields are clearer; + ’Mid ravines above the waters + Willows seem far greener; + Flowers bend beneath the dewdrops; + Poplars just as sentinels + Stand apart and separated, + Talking with the meadows. + Everything upon the landscape + Is all wreathed in beauty, + Growing green, and being freshened + By the morning dewdrops; + Nature all is being freshened + And the sun is greeting ... + Nowhere is there a beginning, + And there is no ending. + No one can perfect its beauty, + No one can it ruin, ... + It is full and fair.... My spirit! + What do you know of it? + Oh my poor and wretched spirit, + Why do you weep vainly? + Why do you complain? For the ills you don’t notice? + When you cannot hear how the people do weep? + Then look and look well! For I now shall be flying + Above, far above the swift-moving blue clouds. + No rulers are there, nor are punishments known. + The people’s loud cries and their laughs are not heard. + But see, in that paradise which you are leaving, + They strip the patched clothing from off of the beggars, + They strip with the hides--for the poor must find shoes + For youthful young princes. They pummel the widow + To pay her poll taxes; they fetter her son, + Her son, her one son, the one child which she has, + Her hope--and they send him away to the army! + ’Tis but for a while--but in mud and in filth + The boy soon is bloated,--from hunger he dies, + His mother is reaping the wheat at forced labor. + Do you see him? Eyes, my poor eyes! + Why do you have vision? + Why did you not dry to blindness, + Washed out by your weeping? + Here a ruined maiden wanders, + Wanders with her bastard. + Both her parents cast her off, + Strangers will not take her!... + All the elders flee her presence, + The young lord rejects her, + With the twentieth libation + Drinks away their souls. + + Does God from behind the clouds + See our tears and sorrow? + He may see it but he helps us + Like the giant mountains + Of past ages which were flowing + With the blood of humans. + Oh my sad and troubled spirit, + You are sad and wretched. + Let us drink the bitter poison, + Lie down on the ice, + Let us send our thoughts to God, + Tell them to inquire + How much longer it is fated + Hangmen rule this world! + Fly across the world, my thought, my bitter sorrow! + Gather all the sorrows and the evils too + As your ancient comrades!--You were reared to know them, + You have loved them truly; and their heavy arms + Wrapped themselves around you. Pick them up and fly + And then scatter them throughout th’ entire sky. + Let them turn it black or red, + Let them fan the flames, + Let again the serpent’s venom + Fill the earth with corpses. + And without you I shall somehow + Bury all my heart + And shall seek that selfsame moment + Paradise apart. + + Again I fly above the earth, + Again I say farewell to it. + It is hard to leave the mother + In her roofless cabin, + But it is still worse to notice + Both her tears and rags. + I fly, I fly, the wind is howling; + Before me is the snowbank white; + Around me are the woods and marshes, + The fog, the fog, a boundless waste. + No human sound, there is no trace + Of any human footstep here.... + + Ye foes, and ye who are not foes, + Farewell! I shall not come as guest! + Go on feasting, have your banquets, + I shall yet not notice-- + All alone for evermore + I’ll rest in the snowbank-- + But until you know for certain + That there is a country + Not bedrenched with tears and blood, + I will rest here gladly ... + I shall rest.... But yet I’m hearing + Sounds of fetters clanking + ’Neath the earth.... And I will notice. + Oh, the wretched people! + Where are you? What are you doing? + What are you now seeking + ’Neath the earth? No, no, perhaps, + I cannot be hidden + In the heavens! Why this torture? + Why these woes I feel? + Who has suffered ill from me? + Whose harsh arms have fettered + My poor soul within my body, + Have inflamed my heart + And my birdlike strength-- + Have disturbed my thoughts? + For what,--I know not, but I suffer, + Bitterly I suffer. + And when I repent my evil? + When will be the end? + I don’t see, don’t know. + + The wilderness has roused itself, + As from its last and narrow dwelling + For that dread final judgement day + When all the dead for truth arise. + These are not the dead, the murdered, + And not asking judgement,-- + They are people, living people, + Stricken down in chains, + From deep holes the gold they’re fetching + To pour down the lusty throats + Of the greedy. They are convicts. + Why? Almighty God alone + Can reply.... Perhaps He also + Has not noticed this! + Here the branded convict stumbles + With his heavy fetters; + He, a tortured ugly bandit, + Grits his teeth in anger-- + Tries to kill his lucky fellow + Who has suffered less! + And among them in their torture, + Wrapped in fetters heavy, + Is th’ almighty tsar of freedom + Branded with the selfsame mark! + In the prison torture quiet, + Weeping not or groaning; + Once your heart is warmed with blessing-- + It will never cool. + + But where are your thoughts, O ye flowers of roses? + Admired and bold, well beloved little children? + To whom did you give them, my friend, to whose hands? + Or are they forever sunk deep in your heart? + O brother, don’t hide them! No, spread them abroad! + They’ll gather and grow and go out in the world! + + What is this trial, what will it be? + It is coming, for it’s chilly,-- + Frost the mind awakens. + + Again I fly. The earth grows darker. + My mind’s asleep. My heart is aching. + I look--the houses o’er the roadways, + The cities with their hundred churches + And in the cities like the cranes. + The Moskals formed in solid lines; + Well fed, in splendid boots arrayed, + And laden down with heavy chains, + They are drawn up; again I look; + Down in the valley like a pit, + The city glows as in a fire; + Above it hangs a heavy fog + Black as a cloud--To it I fly ... + A city without end. + But is it Turkish? + Or is it German? + Or yet it may belong to Moscow ... + Palaces and churches + And pot-bellied lords, + But not a single peasant cabin. + It has grown dark.... The fire’s blazing + And spreading all around,-- + I was afraid.... “Hurrah! Hurrah! + Hurrah!”--they all did shout. + “Well, well, you fools! Where is your mind? + Why are you glad at this? + What are you burning?”--“Hey, khokhol! + He does not know parades. + We are parading! For He deigns + Himself to sport to-day!” + “But what is this amazing toy?” + “You see the palace there ...” + I push my way; a turncoat there, + (I thank you, he confessed!) + With all his gaudy uniform; + “Where did you come from, man?” + --“From Ukraina!”--“So that you + Do not know how to speak + Like people here?”--“Oh, yes,”--I say,-- + “I do know how to speak, + I do not wish to.”--“What a crank! + I know the entrance here; + I serve within, and if you wish, + I’ll try to take you in + Into the palace. Only, see, + We are enlightened, friend,-- + Don’t spare your cash for what you’ll get.” + “Be gone, you fool accursed!” + Once more I made a sudden change + And was invisible, + And so I boldly walked within. + My God, my only God! + It was a heaven! Parasites + Were there, all wreathed in gold! + And then He, tall and angry too + Strode out among the crowd. + Beside him came the empress too, + On whom his love did rest. + She seemed just like a dry mushroom, + So thin and long of leg, + And constantly she nods her head + To bring both good and woe. + “Is that a goddess, there, I see? + The devil take you now! + And I, a fool, who had not seen + This game a single time, + Believed your stupid, ignorant + Verse hucksters as they are. + O what a fool! And what a price! + I dared to trust as pledge + A Moskal’s word! Go on and read, + And see the faith they have!” + Like gods, the nobles are around, + In silver and in gold, + Like well-matured and aged boars + With muzzles and with fat. + Like them they shove, like them they push + To be the nearest ones + Unto the Persons; They may give + Or deign to offer fruit. + It may be small but yet it’s fine, + E’en though but half a pear, + If They distribute it. + They stood arranged in solid rows, + All quiet,--not a word-- + A bell.--The Tsar then stammers out, + Likewise Her gracious self, + Just like a heron midst the birds, + She hops and struts about. + Long time the two walked back and forth + As pompous as two owls + And they conversed in muttered voice + (Afar I could not hear) + About their country, so it seems, + About the newest ropes, + About the very last parades. + And then the empress took + Her seat upon a little stool. + I look; the Tsar goes up + Unto the oldest man and then + He hits him in the face. + He slapped him and a younger man + Upon the belly struck. + Oh, what a shout! The victim struck + His junior on the back. + He chose another lesser man + And he some one below. + And so it went, till each in turn + Beyond the palace gate + Upon the streets kept up the game + Until they pummeled well + The still unbeaten Orthodox + And they began to yell + And cry; and how they all did roar. + “Our father revels, that is sure! + Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” + I had to laugh, it was so good. + They even gave to me + The selfsame blessing. Ere the dawn + They all were sound asleep. + + But here and there the Orthodox + Upon the corners groaned + And groaned and groaned and thanked the Lord + For all their father gave. + ’Mid tears and laughter I set out + To look around the place. + Night was like day. And so I looked. + So many palaces + Above the quiet river stood. + Its bank was edged with stones + Throughout and so I stood and looked + Like a benighted fool. + The job was done with thoroughness + Amid the mud and slime. + It was a marvel. So much blood + Was shed of human kind-- + Without a knife! And on that side + A fortress and a tower + Just like a needle overlong,-- + ’Twas wonderful to see, + And clocks were striking everywhere. + Then as I turn away-- + A horse flies up and with its hoofs + It pounds a mighty rock. + He sits upon the unsaddled horse + In cloak of strange design, + Without a hat--his head is wreathed + As with a sort of leaf. + The horse rears up--and towards the stream + As if it would leap o’er + And he extends his lordly hand + As if he wished to seize + The whole wide world. Who is this man? + I read myself the words + That are engraven on the crag. + “The Second to the First.” + At first it seemed a title strange + But now I know the truth. + It is the first who crucified + Our own Ukraina; + The second stabbed with savage blow + The widow spent and poor. + Oh hangmen! Foes of human kind! + You both have had your fill, + You’ve stolen much! What did you take + Unto that world with you? + It was so hard, so very hard + For me when I did read + Ukraina’s sad history! + I stand and sink in heart.... + And still it softly, softly sings + And yet so sadly too + That these were very monstrous deeds. + + “From the ancient town of Glukhov + Have the troops departed + With their shovels in due order + And they sent me with them + As appointed hetman. + O our God of love and mercy! + O the tsar of evil! + Cursed tsar, and wicked ruler, + Viper never sated! + What have you done with the Kozaks? + You have filled the marshes + With their skeletons so noble! + You have built a city + On their dead and buried bodies! + And in loathesome prison + Me, a free man and a hetman, + You have killed with hunger + In my chains!... O tsar, O tsar! + God will never sever + You and me. It’s hard and painful + To hang o’er the Neva. + Ukraina is not near me + But it may have perished. + I would fly and look upon it + But God does not will it. + Mayhap Moscow’s burned the region + And has turned our Dnipro + To the blue sea! Has it opened + Lofty tombs, our glory? + It may be, but, Lord of mercy, + Pity us, dear Lord!” + All was still. I saw while looking + How a white cloud covers + The gray sky, and in those clouds + Like a beast that’s roaring. + It’s no cloud, a white bird settled + As a cloud descending + O’er the tsar, the cruel and evil, + And began to speak: + + “We are fettered firmly with you, + Murderer and viper! + At the last great day of judgement + We will shelter God + From your always greedy eyes. + Us from Ukraina + You have driven, naked, hungry, + To the foreign snowbanks. + You have slain us and have taken + Our skins for your mantle. + You have sewed it with our sinews + And have clad your city + In new robes. Look and admire! + Palaces and churches. + Revel on, O savage hangman, + Cursed, ever cursed!” + + So we flew and so we wandered. + Then the sun was risen, + And I stood and looked with horror + At the scenes occurring, + For the poor were now in motion, + Hurrying to labor, + And the Moskals at the crossroads + Were drawn up in order. + On the streets the girls were running + Homeward, not to labor. + They were sleepy, for their mothers + Sent them out to labor + All night long without a respite + And to earn a living. + And I stood, depressed and troubled, + Thinking and remarking, + How severe a task for mortals + Just to earn their living. + + And the brotherhood decided + To join in the senate, + Sign its papers and to plunder + Father, yes, and brother. + And among them all the turncoats + Seek the way of fortune. + So they murder like the Moskals, + Laughing and tirading + At their fathers who neglected + To teach them as children + To speak German,[1] and at present + They exploit their sorrows. + Peacocks, peacocks! Mayhap father + Sold his last poor cow + To the Jews, before you knew well + The new Moscow language. + Ukraina! Ukraina! + These too are your children, + These are your fresh youthful flowers, + Spotted now with ink. + Deafened by the Moscow bleatings + In the German gardens. + Weep, O weep, my poor Ukraina, + As a childless widow! + + Merely go and look at leisure + At the tsars, the palace. + What is done there! I am going. + The pot-bellied elders + Stand in rows; they sigh, they’re snoring, + And they all are pompous + Like a turkey, and they’re glancing + At the door askance. + Sunk in slumber, they are waiting. + Then the bear approaches + From his lair. He barely, barely + Totters on his way. + And he’s swollen, till he’s bluish, + For his cursed orgy + Bothers him. And how he bellows + At the fatted fellows. + All the bellies--no exception-- + Fall to earth before him. + He has taken off his bandage + And all now are trembling, + That are left. Just as a mad man, + He strikes at his lessers,-- + They fall down; the smaller people-- + And they quickly perish. + He turns to the mass of servants. + They are lost and ruined. + To the Moskals--little Moskals, + There is only groaning. + To the earth they fall! A marvel + Is come to this planet. + Then I look to see what follows, + What my little bearcub + Will do now. Why, he is standing + With his head dejected + Like an orphan. Is he showing + Aught of bear’s true nature? + He’s a kitten--it is wondrous, + And I laughed about it. + Then he heard and how he thundered, + And I too was frightened. + I awoke, and then I noticed + It was a strange dream. + It was strange. For only mystics + And the race of drunkards + Have such dreams. So do not marvel, + Dearest brothers, ever, + That I told you not my story + But what I had dreamed. + +[1] German. It is usually assumed that Shevchenko is using the word +German to mean foreign, i.e. Muscovite or Great Russian. There is very +probably an allusion to the hold that the German bureaucracy had over +the entire empire. Only a few years before, the famous marshal Suvorov +in answer to a request from the tsar as to what reward he desired, +answered: “Your Majesty, make me a German.” The following years had not +broken the hold of this clique upon the Russian administration. Cf. the +Epistle. + + + + +TO ŠAFAŘÍK + + +This dedication to Šafařík was used as the preface to the poem the +_Heretic_ in which Shevchenko glorifies Jan Hus. It expresses, better +than any other poem, the spirit with which the poet entered the Society +of Saints Cyril and Methodius and his dreams of a union of the Slavs in +which all would be truly free. It is interesting that this preface is +a direct answer to Pushkin’s poem, _To the Slanderers of Russia_, in +which he expressed his assurance that the future of the Slavs lay in +submitting to the domination of Russia. + +Pavel J. Šafařík (1795-1861) was one of the brilliant leaders of the +movement for a Slav brotherhood following the ideas of Jan Kollár. He +had published a _History of the Slavic Languages and Literatures_ and a +very valuable work on _Slavonic Antiquities_, so that his name was well +known to the entire group of young men at Kiev. + + ++To Šafařík+ + + Evil neighbors burned the dwelling, + It was new and modern, + Of a neighbor. Then well warmed, + They lay down in slumber, + But they quite forgot the ashes + By the wind were scattered; + On the crossroads lay the ashes. + Under them there smouldered + A lone spark of that great fire, + Smouldered, did not perish, + Waited kindling, as th’ avenger + Waits for the right season, + For the hour. So it smouldered, + Smouldered and it waited + There upon the traversed crossroads, + And began to perish. + + The Germans once destroyed by fire + The mighty house and then they scattered + The Slavic family far and wide, + And stealthily they sent into it + The cursed snake of family feuds. + There poured out freely streams of blood, + The fire they extinguished, + And then the Germans parcelled out + The place and the poor orphans. + The children of the Slavs grew up, + All bound in fetters heavy. + In their slavery forgetting + They were in the world. + But amid the burnt out embers + Smouldered on the spark + Of their brotherhood and waited + Firm courageous hands again-- + So it waited. For the fire + You saw hidden deeply + With your bold, courageous spirit + And your eye like eagle’s. + Seer, you caught the glimpse of freedom, + Freedom, and of truth! + And the Slav wide-scattered family + Sunk in dark and slavery, + You collected all together, + Yes, and e’en the corpses + And those Slavs no longer. Then you + Mounted on the debris, + Stood upon the crowded crossroads + As Ezekiel. + ’Twas a marvel--all the corpses + Rose, their eyes they opened. + Brothers clasped the hands of brothers + And they promised loudly + Oaths of quiet love and friendship + Ever and forever! + Into one great sea there gathered + All the Slavic rivers. + + Glory be to you, O wise man, + Czech and Slav together, + That you did not leave to perish + In the German swampland + All our truth! Your mighty ocean + Of the Slavs, reviving, + Will be full again, ’tis certain + And the boat goes sailing. + With its mighty sails wide spreading + And a helmsman noble + It will sail on a free ocean + O’er the boundless waves. + Glory to you, Šafařík, + Ever and for ever! + That you called into one ocean + All the Slavic rivers! + Welcome in your mighty glory + My poor, lowly tribute + That is neither wise nor mighty, + To that Czech renowned, + To the martyr great and holy, + Hus the well revered. + Take it, father, I will humbly + Pray to God Almighty + That the Slavs may be hereafter + Worthy friends and brothers, + Sons of that same light of truth, + Heretics forever, + Like that noble heretic, + Who at Constance suffered! + May they give true peace to mortals, + Glory too forever! + + + + +THE GREAT GRAVE + + +In the preceding poems Shevchenko laid stress upon the political +corruption and cruelty of Russia in the _Dream_ and on the general +ethical conception of Slavonic brotherhood in the _Heretic_. In the +_Great Grave_ he summarizes the leading faults in Ukrainian history and +character. He called the poem a mystery and so it is in the traditional +sense of the word, for it is a careful and complete exposition by means +of symbols of all that had led Ukraine to its deplorable situation. It +also incorporates a definite criticism of Bohdan Khmelnitsky, whom the +poet was regarding by now as the source of Ukraine’s troubles. + +The poem opens with the appearance of three souls who are debarred from +heaven and hell. At first sight their crimes seem negligible but they +represent three stages in the downfall of the country. The first had +crossed the path of Bohdan with a pail full of water (a good omen!), +without knowing that he was going to Pereyaslav to submit to Moscow. +That act marked the end of the hopes of a strong, united and free +Ukraine. The great Hetman had almost won his country’s independence and +his reliance on the word of the Tsar caused the division of the country +and the loss of everything. This act of the first caused the death of +“father, mother, self and brother and the dogs”--in a word, the death +of all Ukraine. + +The second soul had watered the horse of Peter after the overthrow +of Mazepa, who had united Ukraine with Charles XII of Sweden in an +effort to recover the liberty of at least part of the land. The soul +represents that part of the country that had been loyal to Peter; the +slaughtered sister, that part which had fought for liberty. Again the +mother represents the entire Hetmanate, and the grandmother who buried +the young girl is almost certainly the whole conception of a great and +independent country. + +The third soul, a mere child at death, smiled at Catherine, when she +was on her way to liquidate the Hetmanate. It represents that Ukraine +which was willing to accept ignorantly and gladly even the few shreds +of liberty left by Catherine and the mother again symbolizes all that +was left of Ukraine that was forced to yield. + +Thus each soul speaks for a smaller and smaller Ukraine, a lesser and +lesser demand upon Russia, but even by yielding there was no salvation. +They only succeeded in debarring themselves from the heaven of a free +country or at least an honorable death. + +Then come three crows. The second crow, representing Poland, has seen +the end of the country, has driven the nobles to Siberia, and has +feasted in Paris with the emigrés after 1831. The third crow represents +Russia. It has fostered tyranny but despite that has been sold out to +the Germans. + +The first crow represents Ukraine. This crow confesses its evils, its +treachery, its bloodshed. It acknowledges that during the centuries it +has destroyed Ukraine by its civil wars, its treachery, and its evil. +Yet it must weep even now for all that it has done and it predicts the +coming of twins, one like Gonta, the leader of the Haydamaki, who will +fight for freedom and the other like the modern people who care nothing +for virtue. It hopes with the aid of its friends to ruin the first and +help the second. + +Then come the three bards, one blind, one crippled, and one +hunchbacked. They are all that is left of Ukraine, for they know the +songs, they can glorify the past, but they are perfectly ready to sing +of their nation’s glory to please the conquerors, if they can only +secure a living and some financial return. The tomb of Bohdan is to +be excavated by the enemy. They see nothing of the disgrace of this, +nothing of the misery around them. All they ask is a good profit. + +They arrive at Subotiv. The people are taking orders from the conqueror +who expects by this symbolic act of opening the tomb of the Ukrainian +leader to secure a rich profit. There is nothing there--nothing but +a few old bones and the disappointed and humiliated Russian official +flogs the bards for daring to put in an appearance. Even their +servility has brought them no more than servility brought the souls. +The mystery ends with the question as to when the Great Grave that +contains the liberty of Ukraine will be opened. + +The poem is obscure, for no open defiance would have stood any chance +of spreading among the people and would have subjected the poet himself +to certain punishment. Yet its impression is very powerful. It is a +formal declaration of war by Shevchenko on the masters of Ukraine and +it is also an expression of his abiding confidence that somehow there +will be a better future. It is not based on a political program; there +is less of the ethical aspects than we find elsewhere but it is a +definite history of the Ukrainian spirit which can never die. + + ++The Great Grave+ + + _A Mystery_ + + _Thou makest us a reproach to our neighbors, a scorn and a derision + to them that are round about us._ + + _Thou makest us a byword among the heathen, a shaking of the head + among the people._ + + --Psalms 44, 13-14 (Psalm 43, 14-15) + + +Three Souls+ + + Three snow-white little birds came flying + Up through Subotiv and they lighted + Upon a torn and twisted cross + On an old church.--“The Lord forgive us: + We are now souls, no longer people! + And from this height we’ll see more clearly + How men will excavate the grave. + The sooner that grave will be opened, + The sooner may we enter heaven. + For so the Lord has promised Peter: + ‘You may admit them into heaven + When the Moskal has all well plundered + And has dug open the Great Grave.’” + + _First Soul_ + + “When I was a mortal being, + I was named Prisea. + I was born in this same village + And was reared right here. + In this churchyard with my comrades + I was wont to play. + With Yuras, the hetman’s son, + We played blindman’s buff. + And his mother would come out + And invite us in + To the nearby house and then + Raisins, figs, and fruit, + She would often give to me. + She was fond of me. + And when guests came from Chihrin, + Oft the hetman sent + Unto me to come and join them, + Clothes and shoes they gave me. + And the hetman was my escort, + And he used to kiss me. + So here in Subotiv village, + I was reared and blossomed + Like a flower. All the people + Loved and welcomed me, + And to no one ever, ever + Did I speak unkindly. + And I was a black haired maiden + Beautiful, I tell you. + All the boys were wont to court me, + Many sought my hand. + For the moment I was ready + With my towels woven + And I soon would have consented, + When misfortune came. + + “Very early, ’twas near Christmas, + Yes, it was a Sunday, + I ran out to fetch some water ... + But I found the spring + Was all muddy, ceased its flowing, + And I kept on flying ... + Then I saw the hetman’s party. + And I got the water. + With full pails I passed before them, + For I had no knowledge + That he went to Pereyaslav + For an oath to Moscow!... + It was very hard to carry + To the house that water. + Why had I not sense to shatter + All the pails that held it? + Father, mother, self and brother + And the dogs I poisoned + With that thrice accursed water! + That is why I’m punished; + That is why they keep me, sisters, + From the gates of heaven.” + + _Second Soul_ + + “This, my sisters, is the reason + Why they barred me also, + For I watered well the horse + Of the Moscow ruler + There in Baturin, when he + Went back from Poltava. + I was but a little maiden, + When at night the Moskals + Set in flames great Baturin + And they murdered Chechel + And they drowned the young and adults + In the river Seyma. + I fell down among the corpses + In the very chambers + Of Mazepa. And around me + Mother and my sister, + Murdered in each other’s arms, + Lay there dead beside me. + Then by force and violence + From my stricken mother + They removed me once for all. + And I kept on begging + From a Moscow captain that he + Would kill me at once. + But they did not. No, they sent me + As a toy for Moskals. + But I fled and found a refuge + ’Mid the raging fire. + There was but one house left standing + In all Baturin. + In that house they had determined + That the tsar would stay + On his way back from Poltava. + And I went with water + To the house.... And then he beckoned + With his hand to me. + And he bade me tend his horse. + So I gave it water. + I had no idea I’d wrought + Such a grievous sin. + I had scarcely reached the building + When I fell down dead. + The next day, when he departed, + I was safely buried + By grandmother, who was staying + ’Mid the growing fire. + For she laid me out with kindness + In a roofless building. + On the next day she died too + And decayed right there, + For in Baturin was no one + Who could bury victims. + But they well the house demolished + And they burned the beams, + Turned them into coals with curses. + I must keep on flying + Over the ravines and meadows + And the Kozak steppes. + But the reason why I’m punished, + That I do not know. + May be, ’twas because I aided + Every one in need, + And to please the tsar of Moscow + Watered well his horse.” + + _Third Soul_ + + “See, my birthplace was in Kaniv. + I was but a baby, + When one day my mother took me + In her arms to see + How the Empress Katerina + Came there on the Dniper. + Mother sat with me in silence + On an oak-grown hill. + I was weeping, but I know not + Whether I was hungry + Or if something hurt me badly + On that very day. + Then my mother tried to cheer me, + Pointed to the Dniper, + And she showed to me the gorgeous + Golden galley towering + Like a building.... And upon it + Sat the princes, nobles, + Leaders, and amid the throng + The renowned tsaritsa. + Then I looked, and then I smiled, + And I lost my soul! + Mother died. And on one morning + Both of us they buried. + That is why it is, my sisters, + That I now am punished, + That they still do not admit me + For that grievous sin! + Did I know, a little baby, + That the empress was + Ukraine’s bitter enemy + And a hungry wolf? + Tell me this, my sisters!” + It grows dark. So let us hasten + For the night to Chuta,-- + What is now the next to happen. + There we can find out! + + So the spirits spread their wings + To the forest flying, + And together in an oak tree + Rested for the night. + + + +Three Crows+ + + _First_ + + “Caw! Caw! Caw! + Goods Bohdan stole, + Took them all to Kiev, + And he sold to knaves + All the goods he stole.” + + _Second_ + + “I have drunk in Paris. + With Potocki and Radziwill + Three gold coins I squandered.” + + _Third_ + + “O’er the bridge Satan comes. + The goat is on the water. + Woe is coming! Woe is coming!” + + So called the crows and they flew up + From different sides and lighted + On a dead tree upon a hill + Amid the forest, three of them. + With feathers upright as ’gainst cold, + Each grimly eyed the other crows, + Just as three stern and aged sisters, + Who lived alone and lived alone, + Until they were with moss o’ergrown. + + _First_ + + “That’s for you, and that’s for you! + I have just been flying + To Siberia and stealing + From a poor Decembrist + Bits of gall. And so you see + I have something still to eat. + But in all your land of Moscow + Is there food for you? + E’en the devil knows there’s nothing.” + + _Third_ + + “Sisters, no, there is abundance. + I cawed out three royal orders + On one road alone....” + + _First_ + + “On which road? The road of fetters? + No, you have done very well.” + + _Third_ + + “And six thousand souls I strangled + In one verst alone....” + + _First_ + + “Do not lie, there were but five. + It was with von Korff. + Go on boasting for it shows you + Taking praise for others. + You are only pickled cabbage, + And you, gracious lady, + Take your banquets there in Paris! + O you cursed pagans! + You have shed a bloody river + And have chased your nobles + To Siberia--it’s proper + And you talk about it. + What a noble peahen you are!” + + _Second and Third_ + + “What have you done better?” + + _First_ + + “It is not for you to ask me! + You were not yet born, + When I poured the wine in plenty + And shed lots of blood. + Marvel how! You both have read + Karamzin’s creations, + And you think that you are like me! + Get away, you blockheads, + You have never been in fetters, + Beggars featherless!” + + _Second_ + + “No one dares to touch you. + She did not rise early, + Who was drunk till daylight + But who drank and slept.” + + _First_ + + “You have drunk enough without me + With those priests of yours! + Devil take you! I burned Poland, + With its kings and all. + Without you, you tongue unruly, + I would still stand firmly. + With the free Kozaks, my victims, + What have I accomplished? + Unto whom have I not sold them, + Unto whom betrayed them? + But they live forever, curses! + I believed that with Bohdan + I had buried them forever-- + But the rascals rallied + With the foul upstart Mazepa. + What was there accomplished! + When I think of it, I shudder. + Baturin I burned, + And the Sula there at Romna + I dammed with the leaders + Of the Kozaks--With the others, + With the simple Kozaks + Finland’s fields I made to sparkle + And I piled them high + And I sent my children + To Orel ... and in Ladoga + Band on band I killed + As they filled the awful swamps + At the tsar’s command, + And the famous Polubotok + In the prison smothered. + Oh, that was a holy feast! + And when hell was sated, + Blessed Mary there in Rzhavets + Once again was sobbing.” + + _Third_ + + “I have had a splendid living. + I intrigued with the foul Tatars, + With the Torturer I revelled, + I have drank with dear Petrukha, + And I sold them to the Germans.” + + _First_ + + “You have done your work superbly; + You have chained up all the Kozaks + In the German fetters. + Now lie down to sleep! + Devil knows, what sort of person + They will see in me. + For I handed all to slavery + And the power of the nobles + I increased with uniforms, + When I introduced these lice; + All of them are nobles’ bastards! + And the cursed Sich is loaded + With the German spawn + And the Moskal’s just as bad. + He knows how to warm his hands! + I am cruel and just the same + I cannot see calmly + What the Moskals do in Ukraine, + Do unto the Kozaks. + Such an order do they publish: + ‘By the mercy of the Lord, + You are Ours, all is Ours, + Whether good or bad!’ + Now they’ve come to excavate + The ‘antiquities’ + From the tombs ... for there is nothing + In the house to take,-- + You have plundered all so nicely! + But the devil knows full well + What they’re seeking now again + From the worthless grave! + They should wait a little longer + And the church would fall. + Then they could describe two ruins + In the journal _Bee_!” + + _Second and Third_ + + “Why did you call us to come here? + Just to see a grave?” + + _First_ + + “Yes, a grave! Yet now two marvels + Are about to happen; + On this night in Ukraina + Twins are to be born. + One will scourge, as once did Gonta, + All the hangmen evil! + And the other--will be ours, + Help the hangmen work. + Ours pinches in the belly ... + And I have read often + When this Gonta is a man, + All of ours perish. + He will plunder all their goods, + Not forsake a brother, + And will scatter truth and freedom + Through all Ukraina. + So take care, my dearest sisters, + What they are preparing. + They are making fetters ready + For our knaves and friends.” + + _Third_ + + “I will close his eyes forever + With a golden shower.” + + _First_ + + “He, the cursed charlatan, + Will not heed the gold.” + + _Third_ + + “I will tie his hands with tokens + Of the royal honors.” + + _Second_ + + “I will bring from everywhere + All the ills and torments.” + + _First_ + + “No, my sisters, ’tis not needed. + While mankind is blind, + There is need to bury him + Or there will be trouble. + See there; high above our Kiev + Is his broom uplifted. + O’er the Dniper and Tyasmino + Is the earth hard shaken. + Do you hear? A groan is rising + Over old Chihrin. + And the whole of Ukraina + Laughs and sobs again. + Both the twins have now been born, + And the crazy mother + Laughing says that she will call both + By the name of Ivan! + Let us fly.” And so they flew off, + And they sang, a-flying. + + _First_ + + “Then will come our Ivan + O’er the Dniper to Lyman + With his Kuma.” + + _Second_ + + “The dear lamb will run off + So as to eat serpents + By my side.” + + _Third_ + + “When I seize him, when I catch him, + Unto very hell I’ll fly + Like an arrow.” + + + +Three Bards+ + + One was blind and one was crippled + And the third was hunchbacked, + Going to Subotiv singing + Of Bohdan to people. + + _First_ + + “What is this the crows have uttered? + They have paved the way! + Just as if the Moskals kindly + Made a seat for them.” + + _Second_ + + “And for whom? They will not seat + Any man, I’m sure, + Counting stars.” + + _First_ + + “You tell the truth. + Maybe they will place + There a Moskal or a German. + Either of them there + Can find good support.” + + _Third_ + + “Why do you talk utter nonsense? + What are all the crows? + And the Moskals and the seats? + May the Lord protect us! + Mayhap they will bid us lay eggs + And hatch out some Moskals. + For there’s rumors that the tsar is + Seizing all the world.” + + _Second_ + + “Maybe so! Upon the devil + They will be on high + For they are so lofty minded + That they’ll reach the clouds + To crawl out ...” + + _Third_ + + “That’s really true. + Or there’ll be a flood + And the lords will crawl out there + And will look and marvel + How the peasants have to drown.” + + _First_ + + “You are men with sense. + But you have no whit of knowledge; + For they have created + All these phantoms just for this; + That men may not steal + River water and that never + They will plough the sand + That is there near Tyasma.” + + _Second_ + + “Devil knows their purpose! + You can’t guess. So don’t talk nonsense! + Just suppose we sit + Down beneath this tree before us. + And we’ll pause a while. + In my pack I have two pieces + Of dry bread for us. + Let us stop and take our rest + Till the sun arise. + (_They sat down_.) And who, my brothers, + Will sing of Bohdan?” + + _Third_ + + “I will sing to men of Yassy, + And the Yellow Waters, + And the town of Berestechko.” + + _Second_ + + “They to-day won’t fail + To bring to us splendid profit, + For around the grave + Is a crowd of people gathered, + And a few of nobles. + That will mean a lot to us. + Let us try our songs + As a sample.” + + _First_ + + “Not at all! + Let us rather rest! + Take our sleep. ’Twill be a good day. + And we’ll sing enough.” + + _Third_ + + “So I say. Come, let us pray + And we’ll go to sleep.” + + * * * * * + + The bards beneath the tree soon slept. + The sun still slept. The birds are still, + But near the grave men have awaked + And they have started out to dig. + They dig one day, they dig a second, + And up on the third with toil + They dug until they reached a wall. + Then they rested briefly + But first they set a guard around, + For the captain ordered + Not to let a soul come near. + To Chihrin he sent + “For his chief.” That chief disgusting + Came without delay, + And he marvelled,--“Yes, we must + Break the vault at once.” + “’Tis the proper course.”--They broke it + And they were all frightened. + In the grave some bones were lying + As if they were laughing + That they saw the sun again. + That’s the wealth of Bohdan. + It’s a skull and rotted feedtrough, + Bones encased in fetters. + Had a uniform appeared, + They could profit by it. + All were laughing and the captain + Was the jest of all. + There was nothing fit to take + And he had worked hard. + Day and night he had been striving + And it proved no good. + If Bohdan had chanced to happen + Into his stern hands, + He would put him in the army, + Till he knew he must not + Fool officials! And he runs, + Like a fool he cries, + Hits the face of Yaremenko, + Cursing in his Russian + All the crowd; he turns in anger + To my aged bards: + “What are you here for, you rascals?” + “Sir, we came just now + So that we Bohdan can sing.” + “I’ll give you Bohdan! + Rascals, knaves, and parasites! + You have made a song + For that foul accursed knave!...” + “We have learned them, sir!” + “I will teach you! Thrash them well!” + So they took and thrashed them + And they steamed their insides out + In a Moscow bath. + Thus the singing of Bohdan + Brought to them a profit. + So the small grave in Subotiv + Was cleaned up by Moscow. + But the great grave that is there + She has not located. + + + + +THE CAUCASUS + + +During the early part of the nineteenth century, Russia was occupied +with the conquest of the Mohammedan mountaineers of the Caucasus who +defended themselves long and ably especially during the time when +Shamyl was in charge of their resistance. Pushkin glorified the Russian +victories. Lermontov and Count Leo Tolstoy took a personal part in the +conquest in behalf of the civilizing mission of Russia among the wild +and untutored mountaineers. + +Count Yakov de Balmen, a friend of Shevchenko at this time, had entered +the Russian army and had been killed in the fighting in the Caucasus. +His death deeply affected Shevchenko and the latter wrote this poem +in which he expresses his sympathy with the mountaineers who were +struggling for their liberty and caustically comments on the blessings +of civilization which they could receive from Russia. The hitherto free +peoples would become as Ukraine, they would become ruined serfs, and +they would see only a travesty of the Christian religion and not its +essence. + +The poem expresses again Shevchenko’s friendship with the foes of +Russian tyranny and his sincere admiration for all peoples who are +struggling for a real liberty. The loss of this, the loss of human +dignity, cannot be counterbalanced by the extension of the vices of +civilization and the creation of a sterile advanced culture. + + ++The Caucasus+ + + _Dedicated to my Yakov de Balmen_ + + _Oh that my head were tears, and mine eyes a fountain of waters, + that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my + People!_ + + --Jeremiah, 9, 1 + + High mountains on mountains with clouds e’er surrounded, + Illumined by sorrow, with blood ever watered. + On Prometheus an eagle + Feasts throughout the ages. + Every day it’s tearing, rending + Both his heart and body, + Rending but it ne’er drains fully + All his living blood, + For again he is revived + And again he’s smiling. + And our human spirit dies not + And our freedom dies not; + And the greedy man ploughs never + Fields beneath the ocean, + Does not bind the human spirit + And the living word, + Does not carry off the glory + Of Almighty God. + + ’Tis not for us to quarrel with Thee, + ’Tis not for us to judge Thy deeds. + It is for us to keep on weeping + And mix each day our daily bread + With bloody sweat and bitter tears. + The hangmen jest and mock about us + And truth sleeps on in drunken sleep! + When will it awake to action? + When will God be weary + And lie down to slumber peaceful, + Give us leave to live? + We believe Thy strength and power + And Thy living spirit,-- + Truth will rise! And so will freedom! + And to Thee, Almighty, + Every tongue will pray unceasing + Ever and for ever! + And meanwhile the streams are flowing, + Streams of blood are flowing. + + High mountains on mountains, with clouds e’er surrounded + Illumined by sorrow, with blood ever watered. + From there we in our Mercy boundless + Have drawn our heartfelt liberty, + Unfed and naked as it was, + And tracked it down. It lies ’mid bones + Of men once mustered in the army. + And tears? And blood? Enough is shed + To give their fill to all the rulers, + And drown them with their sons and scions + In widow’s tears.... And those of maidens + Shed secretly the whole night long! + The hot and blazing tears of mothers. + The aged bloody tears of fathers! + Not rivers--seas have poured apace! + A sea of fire! Glory! Glory! + To dogs and hunters and to trainers + And to the tsars, our dearest fathers! + Glory! + + Glory be to you, blue mountains, + Girded with your ice, + And to you, ye aged heroes + By God not forgotten! + Struggle on--and you will conquer! + God is helping you! + On your side is truth and glory + And the sacred freedom! + + “The bread and hut--they are your own. + They were not begged, they were not given; + No one has seized them as their own, + No one has led you off in chains! + And we! But we are trained to write + And we can read the word of God, + But from the prison’s lowest cell + Unto the highest throne above + We’re all in gold--but naked too. + And knowledge! We all learn too well + The cost of bread, the price of salt. + And we are Christians,--churches, schools, + All good there is and God are ours! + But yet your hut allures our eyes! + Why does it stand in your domain + Without our sanction? Why do we + Not throw to you, if we so please, + Your bread as to a dog? You owe + + To us the price for your clear sun! + And only that! We are not pagans, + But we are really Christians true-- + We’re satisfied with little.... So, + If you would really be our friends, + You could learn much of many things! + We have a world and what is more-- + Siberia that none can leave. + And prisons? People? Without end! + From the Moldavian to Finn + On every tongue there is a seal. + For--there is happiness!... With us + The holy monk the Bible reads + And teaches us to realize, + A tsar who once did pasture swine + And took another’s wife to him + And killed a friend--is now in heaven! + And so you see, what people we + Regard in heaven! You are dull + And not enlightened with the cross! + So learn from us!... Come join us now, + Pay us and so + To heaven go, + E’en though your family is destroyed! + Join us! What is there we don’t know! + We count the stars, we sow buckwheat, + We curse the French, and we can sell + Or lose at will, when we play cards, + Real people--they’re not negroes--no, + They’re Christians too--but ‘simple men.’ + We are not Spaniards--Keep us, God, + From buying any stolen goods, + As do the Jews! We live ‘by law!’” + + By the law of the apostle + Do you love your brothers? + Hypocrites and idle talkers, + Cursed by the Lord! + For you love your brother’s carcase, + Care not for his spirit! + And you rob him “by the law,” + For a coat for daughter, + For a dowry for a bastard, + For a wife’s new footwear, + For yourselves for many reasons + Wife and children know not. + + For whom wast Thou crucified, + Christ, the Son of God? + For us good folk or the word + Of the truth? Perhaps ’tis so, + That we mock at Thee, forever? + Is that why it happened? + The churches, chapels, and the ikons, + The candles and the incense smoke, + The endless, ever endless bowings + Before Thy image in the church + For stealing, for a war, for blood-- + They pray to shed a brother’s blood. + And then they bring Thee as a gift + A shirt they’ve stolen in the fire! + We’re enlightened. So we’re seeking + Others to enlighten. + To reveal the sun of justice + To the blinded children! + We will show all! Only let us + Take you in our power! + How to build and fill the prisons, + How to forge the fetters. + How to wear them, how to fashion + Narrow, useful lashes,-- + We’ll teach all! But give us only + Your own high blue mountains. + That is all--the rest we’ve taken, + All the land and ocean! + + * * * * * + + They banished you cruelly, friend so beloved, + My Yakov so dear! But not for Ukraina + But for its harsh hangmen you had to pour out + Good blood, not the bad, and they forced you to drink + The poison of Moscow from Muscovite cup. + O friend, my good friend, whom I’ll never forget, + Come with your live soul to my dear Ukraina; + Fly with the brave Kozaks above its broad banks + And see on the steppe the old ruins of tombs, + And weep with the Kozaks their salt, bitter tears, + And look with me out on the steppes from a prison. + Meanwhile I will sow to aid you + All my verse and sorrow. + Let them grow until that moment + And speak with the breezes; + And the quiet wind from Ukraine + Will bear with the dewdrops + All my verses, bring them to you! + With a brother’s sorrow + You, my friend, will meet and greet them, + You will read them softly, + And the tombs and steppes and blue sea, + Yes, and me remember. + + + + +THE EPISTLE + + +The Epistle is really Shevchenko’s political and social testament. It +summarizes all that he had seen and read and thought as to the fate of +his country and it emphasizes the great gap which he saw between Russia +in all its forms and Ukraine. + +From the days of Peter the Great, there had come a steady flow of +Western European (especially German) influence into Russia. Old Moscow +had given way to the modern St. Petersburg and the scholars, including +the historian Karamzin, had developed the theory of Russian history +that the Ukrainians and especially the Kozaks were a mixture of Tatar +tribes who had been more or less Russianized. The ambitious youths, the +socially aspiring nobles, all were eager to go to the capital and to +acquire there that advanced civilization which they could not find at +home. + +Shevchenko, bewailing in St. Petersburg the fate of his people and +then returning to Ukraine to live, wrote this poem as an appeal to his +fellow countrymen to avoid this cheap adulteration of their ancient +culture. He urged them to be themselves, to strive for a new and human +and Christian order at home. Nobles and peasants alike have to repent +of their evils, the old order of serfdom needs to be abolished, and +men need to realize that they must live as brothers. The poem aims to +unite all classes in the country for the good of mother Ukraine who has +lost so many of her children and for the mutual good. Those who refuse +to obey will be overwhelmed in the judgement of the coming revolution +which will be directed against traitors as well as against the foreign +foe. + +Shevchenko attacks all of those who seek a closer union between Ukraine +and Russia than between Ukraine and the other Slavs. As he expressed +later in the preface to the edition of the _Kobzar_ prepared in 1847, +the Ukrainians have the same rights as the Russians, Czechs, Poles, +etc. They equally deserve consideration as a part of the Slavonic world. + +In the past they fought for every one but themselves. They ruined +Poland but her fall destroyed the Kozaks and Ukraine. They aided Russia +and were enslaved. To Shevchenko it is sacrilege to boast of such a +history, when there is so much good available for the future, if they +will only awake and see it and use it. + +The poem is a statesmanlike and wise summary of Ukrainian history and +the Ukrainian character. There is little of the extreme in it and it +can well serve as a masterpiece of advice to a people. As such it ranks +with the great specimens of its kind in world literature. + + _To my Dead and Living and Unborn Countrymen in Ukraine and not in + Ukraine_ + + ++My Friendly Epistle.+ + + _If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar._ + + --_I John 4, 20_ + + Dusk descends, the light returneth, + And God’s day is passing, + Once again the wearied people + And all things are resting. + Only I, as one accursed, + Day and night am weeping + At the always crowded crossways + But no one e’er sees it, + No one sees it, no one knows it, + They are deaf and hear not, + They exchange their heavy fetters, + O’er the truth they haggle + And the Lord neglect they always, + While they harness people + Into heavy yokes. For evil + They are ploughing, sowing. + The results? Just watch and notice + What the harvest will be! + Pay attention, O hyenas, + Crazy little children! + Look upon the quiet heavens, + At your own dear country; + Love with a sincere, true heart + Such a mighty ruin! + Break your chains and live as brothers! + In a foreign country + Do not seek and do not search for + What is non-existent + E’en in heaven and not only + In a foreign country ... + In your home, you’ll find your justice + And your strength and freedom! + + The world has only one Ukraina, + Dnipro cannot be found elsewhere. + But you dash to a foreign country + To find another and a better, + More sacred good! And freedom too! + A closer brotherhood! You sought, + You found and brought from countries foreign + And carried into our Ukraine + The mighty power of great slogans, + And nothing more.... So now you shout + That God has made us not for that, + That you should bow unto injustice! + You bow your heads, as formerly, + And once again you strip the hides + From brothers, blind unseeing peasants + And to discern the sun of truth, + To German lands you call not foreign, + You rush again.... If you should take + With you the misery around you + And all the goods the masters stole, + Dnipro would stay a lonely orphan + With all of its most holy mounts! + + Oh, if it should happen you never returned, + That you should rest there, where you truly were reared, + No children would weep, no mother would sorrow, + No one of God’s friends would e’er notice your murmurs; + The sun would not warm, would not rot the manure + Upon the pure, broad, and the truly free land; + No person would know what brave eagles you are + And they would not nod with their heads a poor greeting. + Mark my words! Come! Act like humans, + For you will meet evil; + Swiftly will release be given + To the fettered people; + Judgment nears. Dnipro, the mountains + Will appear against you. + And the blood of your poor children + Will flow down in torrents + To the blue sea.... There’ll be no one + Who will ever help you; + Brother will deny his brother, + Mother will her children. + Smoke like clouds will cover over + The bright sun before you, + And you will be met with curses + By your children ever. + Change your minds! And do not sully + God’s bright face with foulness! + Do not try to fool your children + That they are sent hither + Only that they may rule others ... + For an eye unlearned + Looks into their very spirits + Deeply, Oh so deeply! + For the children will soon notice + What a hide you’re wearing; + They will judge you and the stupid + Will deceive the wiser. + + If you had studied what is needful, + This wisdom would be yours by now; + But you thus climb the road to heaven: + “We are not we, and I’m not I. + I have seen all and well I know it, + There is no heaven, there’s no hell, + There is no God, there’s only I. + The little German self-possessed, + And nothing more!”--“It’s fine, my brother, + What are you then?” + “The German’s willing + To tell you, for we do not know!” + So you’re set to go and study + In a foreign country. + There they’ll tell you: “You are Mongols, + Mongols, Mongols, Mongols! + Tamurlane’s the golden leader, + You’re his naked children!” + They will tell you, “Slavs we count you. + Slavs, yes, Slavs, we count you! + Of your great and famous sires, + You are worthless children!” + You continue to read Kollár + With unceasing ardor, + Šafařík and Hanka also + And you strive to follow + All the Slavophiles. The language + Of the Slavic peoples-- + You know everything, neglecting + What you’re heir to!--“When we + Talk as we are duly practiced, + If the German shows us, + And will tell to us, moreover, + Our own past in lessons, + Then we can begin our answer!” + + You have started nobly, + When the German gave the order. + You besides are speaking + So he cannot understand you, + He’s a splendid teacher, + And not like the common people, + Then the shouting! Shrieking! + There is harmony and power, + Music, all is splendid! + History? It is the poem + Of a freeborn people! + Oh, you poor and wretched Romans! + Damn it--you’re no Brutus! + But our Brutus and our Cocles + Are well-known forever! + Freedom grew and flourished with us, + In Dnipro was washed, + Sent her rays upon our mountains, + In our steppes was hidden! + In our blood she oft was bathed, + Slept together with us + On piled corpses of free Kozaks, + Corpses which they’ve plundered.... + + To admire their old virtues, + Read again the story + Of that glory, read it over, + Word by word reread it; + Do not miss a single chapter, + Or a little comma-- + Learn it well and you will answer + For yourselves. Who are we? + Whose sons are we? Of what fathers? + What is there that charmed you? + Read it and you soon will notice + Who’s your famous Brutus? + Yes, slaves, the “footstools,” filth of Moscow, + The noble lords of Warsaw’s garbage, + Hetmans so noble and revered, + Do you pride now yourselves on that? + Content as sons of free Ukraina + To walk contented ’neath the yoke, + And do it better than your fathers? + Boast not; from you they’ll strip the belts. + From them they tried out all the fat. + You are boasting that the brothers + Well the faith defended? + That they baked bread in Sinop, + Or in Trapezont? + True, ’tis true, they ate their fill + And you fade away, + On the Sich the clever German + Plants potatoes now; + You are glad to buy their crop + Eat it for your health, + And the Zaporozhia praise. + Whose blood in past ages + Made that land so very fertile + That potatoes grow? + You care not, so long as you + Raise a goodly crop. + You can boast that once we could + Beat the Poles in fight! + You are right, for Poland fell + But that ruined us. + And so your fathers poured their blood + For Moscow and for Warsaw too, + And handed over to their sons + Their fetters and their fame! + Ukraina struggled bravely + To her utmost limit. + Now her children crucify her + Worse than Poles e’er dreamed of; + For instead of beer--they draw out + Blood from every body; + But they claim they wish to give light + To a mother’s vision + With the fires of the present, + Guide the poor blind singer + In his ignorance and darkness + For the age and Germans. + Fine it is! Go on and lead him! + Let the aged mother + Learn the method of beholding + These her modern children! + Show your nature! ’Tis for knowledge-- + Worry not; for Mother + Will pay well for all these lessons. + Eyesores vanish quickly + On the eyes of your base grabbers! + You will see the glory, + Living glory of your sires + And your evil fathers ... + Do not fool yourselves, however! + Go to learn and study + And the foreign knowledge master, + But don’t spurn your own. + God will punish every mortal + Who forgets his mother. + And his children will avoid him, + Keep him from their cabin; + Strangers too will drive him onward, + And the evil have not + In the whole wide world a refuge + Cheerful welcome giving. + I am sobbing, when I’m thinking + Of the heroic exploits + Of our sires; they were mighty! + Yes, but to forget them, + I would give up half the pleasure + I shall ever have here ... + Of such nature is our glory + And of Ukraina!... + So go on and read the story + Till awake you’re dreaming + Of the ills, and the mounds open + And reveal their secrets + Right before your eyes, and then + Ask the martyrs frankly, + How and why and for what purpose + They have been so punished? + Oh, embrace, my dearest brothers, + E’en your poorest brother-- + Let your mother smile with pleasure, + She has long been weeping ... + Let her bless her faithful children + With a fervent blessing! + Let her kiss her little children + With lips now unfettered. + Then the shame will be forgotten, + All the recent epochs, + And new glory will be rising, + Ukraina’s glory! + Then the sun will shine eternal, + Quietly and sweetly ... + O, embrace, my darling brothers, + That is what I beg you! + + + + +THE TESTAMENT + + +Shevchenko wrote this poem on December 25, 1845, at Pereyaslav, the +city where the Hetman Bohdan Khmelnitsky had made the agreement with +Moscow. Kostomariv, in publishing the first eight lines, gave it the +title by which it is now generally known. The poem is one of the most +famous of Shevchenko’s works and has been accepted as the keynote of +the movement for Ukrainian liberation. + + ++The Testament+ + + When I die, O lay my body + In a lofty tomb + Out upon the steppes unbounded + In my own dear Ukraine; + So that I can see before me + The wide stretching meadows + And Dnipro, its banks so lofty, + And can hear it roaring, + As it carries far from Ukraine + Unto the blue sea + All our foemen’s blood--and then + I will leave the meadows + And the hills and fly away + Unto God Himself ... + For a prayer.... But till that moment + I will know no God. + Bury me and then rise boldly, + Break in twain your fetters + And with the foul blood of foemen + Sprinkle well your freedom. + And of me in your great family, + When it’s freed and new, + Do not fail to make a mention + With a soft, kind word. + + + + +IN THE FORTRESS + + +Shevchenko arrived in St. Petersburg under arrest on April 17, 1847 +and was sentenced on May 30. During this period of his confinement +and trial, the poet composed some of his most exquisite lyrics. They +are short and concise but there is a personal touch about them that +was often lacking in his longer works. Thrown back on himself, unable +to associate with his friends, and in danger of death, he achieved +a concentrated form of verse that has put these poems in a class by +themselves. + + ++In the Fortress+ + + + 1 + + I’m alone, all alone, + As a leaf in the meadow, + For the Lord gave me not + Either joy or good fortune. + God gave to me naught + But black eyes and my beauty + And I wept them away + As a lonesome young maiden. + Not a brother I knew + Nor yet ever a sister, + Amid strangers I grew + And I grew--without loving. + Where’s the husband I sought? + Where are all you good people? + There are none. I’m alone. + And no husband will cheer me. + + + 2 + + There is grove after grove, + There’s the steppe and the tomb-- + From the tomb a Kozak + Rises gray and bent double, + Rises there in the night, + And he turns to the steppe, + And he sings, sadly singing, + “They have piled up the earth, + And gone back to their homes, + But no one remembers! + For three hundred of us + Have been shattered as glass, + But the earth will not take us. + Since the hetman has sold + Into serfdom the Christians + And has ordered to drive us + Upon our own lands, + We have poured out our blood + And have murdered our brothers. + Their blood we have drunken + And we henceforth are lying + In the curse of the tomb.” + So he spoke in his sorrow + And he leaned on his spear + At the edge of the tomb + And he looked at Dnipro + And he sobbed and he wept. + The blue waves have made answer + From across the Dnipro, + From the village it echoes. + Then the third cockcrow sounded. + The Kozak quickly vanished, + Then the grove waved in terror + And the tomb groaned aloud. + + + 3 + + It makes no difference to me, + If I shall live or not in Ukraine + Or whether any one shall think + Of me ’mid foreign snow and rain. + It makes no difference to me, + In slavery I grew ’mid strangers, + Unwept by any kin of mine; + In slavery I now will die + And vanish without any sign. + I shall not leave the slightest trace + Upon our glorious Ukraine, + Our land, but not as ours known. + No father will remind his son + Or say to him, “Repeat one prayer, + One prayer for him; for our Ukraine + They tortured him in their foul lair.” + It makes no difference to me, + If that son says a prayer or not. + It makes great difference to me + That evil folk lull now to sleep + Our mother Ukraine, and will rouse + Her, when she’s plundered, in the flames. + That makes great difference to me. + + + 4 + + “Leave not your dear mother,” they told you, + But you paid no heed and went off. + She sought for you but could not find you, + At last she abandoned her effort. + She died ’mid her tears. Long ago + No playmate was left of your comrades. + Your dog has strayed off and is vanished. + A window is broke in your house. + In the garden the lambs go to pasture + By day, and when darkness is come, + The owls wake the night with their cries + And give to the neighbors no quiet. + Your bridal wreath grew and it flourished + But now it is faded to dust, + For you did not pick it. Your pond + Dried up in the neighboring forest + Where you once delighted to bathe. + That forest is sad and lies low. + No bird is still singing within it, + You carried them off when you went. + In the meadow the spring is not flowing, + The willow is leafless and fallen. + The path where you formerly wandered + Is covered with many a thorn. + Where did you direct your sad footsteps? + To whom have you flitted away? + In an alien land, amid strangers + Whom do you rejoice? Unto whom, + To whom have your arms been outstretched? + My heart whispers that you are happy + In palaces, where you ne’er think + Of the home that you once have abandoned. + God grant that no drop of remorse + May ever disturb your sweet slumber, + That it may not enter your palace, + That you never turn on your God + And never your own mother curse. + + + 10 + + ’Tis hard to bear the yoke--though freedom, + To tell the truth, was never there. + But yet somehow I could live on, + Though in another’s home and field. + But now I have been brought to wait + An evil fate as I do God. + I wait for it, and as I look, + I curse my poor and untrained mind + That I allowed poor fools to fool me, + To drown pure freedom in the mud. + My heart grows cold, when I remember + That in Ukraine I shall not die, + That in Ukraine I shall ne’er live, + To love both people and the Lord. + + + 12 + + Shall we again e’er meet together + Or are we parted once for all? + The word of truth and of pure love + Has been cast out to steppe and jungle. + Let it be so! ’Tis not our mother! + To her we still must pay respect; + It is God’s will! Respect it fully! + Be humble now and pray to God + And think yourselves of one another, + And love our dear Ukraina. + So love it ... in this time of woe, + And in that last and awful minute. + Let each pray to the Lord for her! + + + + +POEMS OF EXILE + + +During the first years of Shevchenko’s service in the Russian army, +when he was in the fortress of Orsk and at Kos-Aral, he was able with +difficulty to write. His mind was filled with longings for Ukraine, +with dreams of his own past life, and some of the poems of this period +are among his finest personal lyrics. + + +1847 + + Songs of mine, O songs of mine, + You are all I have. + Do not leave me now, I pray, + In this dreadful time. + Fly to me, my little dovelets, + With your wings of gray. + From the spreading Dnipro fly here + To the steppes and stay + With the poor and needy Kirghiz. + They are really poor, + Yes, and naked, but in freedom + They can pray to God. + Fly to me, my darling thoughts, + With calm words and true, + I shall greet you as my children + And shall weep with you. + + +N. N. + + Sunset is coming, mountains are shadowed, + Birds sink to quiet, fields cease their murmur, + Peoples are gladly stopping their labors, + But I am looking, while my heart’s flying + To a dark garden in Ukraina; + Flying, I’m flying, my thoughts ever roaming, + Thus my poor heart is receiving some quiet. + Fields are in shadow, mountains and forest, + In the blue heaven, stars are appearing. + Stars, O bright stars, for I am weeping, + Have you come out yet there in Ukraina? + Are the black eyes there awaiting your coming + In the blue heaven? Have they forgotten? + If they’ve forgotten, do not disturb them. + Let them not notice what I am suffering! + + +N. N. + + My thirteenth birthday was now over. + Near where I dwelt, I pastured lambs. + Perhaps it was the bright sun shining, + Perhaps it was something in me,-- + I felt so happy, yes, so happy, + I loved the Lord.... + They called me to share in their fortune, + But I sat on the little hill + And prayed to God. I have no memory + Of what as little boy I sought + When I was praying so contented, + Or what a cheerful thought I had. + The Lord’s own heaven and the village, + The lambs appeared to be so merry. + The sun just warmed,--it did not bake. + + It was not long the sun was warm, + Not long endured the prayer. + It ’gan to bake, it turned bloodred, + And heaven it burned up. + I wondered, as if waked from sleep, + The village turned to black, + God’s heaven turned unto dark blue + And lost its golden sheen. + I looked again upon the lambs,-- + They were no lambs of mine. + I turned again unto the homes, + There was no home of mine. + For God had nothing given me, + And then my tears welled forth, + Such bitter tears. A little girl + Upon the selfsame road, + Not far away from where I stood, + Was plucking at the hemp. + She noticed I was weeping loud; + She came and spoke to me, + She wiped away my bitter tears + And gave to me a kiss. + + Again the sun was shining brightly, + Again all things in the wide world + Were mine, the lambs, the fields and forests, + And we were smiling as we drove + Another’s lambs to water. + + How foolish! Now, when I remember, + My heart weeps sadly and still aches; + Why did the Lord not let me linger + Some time in that dear paradise? + I would have died a simple ploughman, + I would have known naught of the world, + I would ne’er been a fool to others, + Would not have cursed both men and (God). + +This poem from the Fortress of Orsk shows again the great impression +that his first love Oksana Kovalenkivna made upon him. It is one of the +few poems that are definitely autobiographical in character. + + + + +RETURN + + +After Shevchenko returned from his service in the army, he was a broken +man. His health was shattered, and while his spirit was not quenched, +there is a note of finality in much that he undertook. He had been +forced to realize the limitations on his sphere of activity. There +is a deeper note of austerity in his writings and a different spirit +animates most of his verses, a spirit which becomes more strong and +poignant as the end neared. The two following poems were written at +Nizhni Novgorod on his way back to St. Petersburg. + + ++Fortune+ + + You never played me false, I swear it: + You grudged to me a brother, sister, + And e’en a friend; you took me early + And led me as a little boy + And put me in a school for peasants, + Where I might learn from drunken clerk. + “Work hard, my darling! You will later + Become a man!”--These were your words, + And I obeyed, I studied hard, + And learned my lesson. + And you lied! + What sort of man! ’Twas all in vain. + We never played you false, I swear it, + We lived our life! And never, never + Left any seed of lie behind us ... + + So let us go, my humble fortune, + My friend so poor, so free from guile, + Let us go on; ahead is glory + And glory is my only guide. + + ++The Muse+ + + O thou most chaste and holy maiden, + Of Phoebus the beloved young sister, + You took me when I was a child + And carried me into the meadow; + There on a tomb upon the meadow, + You wrapped me in a cloud of gray + Just as that freedom in the valley + And fondled me and sang your measures + And worked your charms ... + And I, meanwhile ... + O my enchantress ever fair, + You helped me wheresoe’er I was, + You watched o’er me wheree’er I was, + And everywhere, my star of brilliance, + You glowed, by evil never spotted, + And on the steppe, the barren steppe, + In my deepest prison + You shone there in gleaming raiment + Like flower in the field. + From the filthy hole of prison + You flew out to meet me + As a bird both pure and holy, + And above my person + You flew down with pennons golden + And you sang so sweetly. + You refreshed my thirsty spirit + With the living water. + And so I live, above my head + With all your Godlike charm and beauty, + You blaze forever, star of heaven. + You will receive me, cherubim, + Revered six-winged seraphim, + My holy counselor adored, + My fate which leads me since my youth, + Do not forsake me! + And at night + In daytime, evening, and the morning + Be with me ever, teach to me + With my sincere and truthful lips + To tell the truth! + Then help me too + To send a prayer unto my end; + And when I die, my sacred friend, + My loving mother, place your son + Within his small and narrow casket, + And show at least one little tear + In your immortal, holy eyes! + + + + +TO MARKO VOVCHOK + + +The appearance of the Narodni Opovidaniya (Folk Sketches) of Marko +Vovchok in 1858 was an event in Ukrainian literature. It was the +penname of Maria Markovich (1834-1907) but she wrote in Ukrainian for +only a few years. Her stories of the hardships of serfdom, especially +on the women, were very powerful and were translated into Russian by +Turgenev and others of the leading authors. Shevchenko welcomed her +literary advent most warmly, for he saw in her his most talented prose +successor. + + ++To Marko Vovchok+ + + (_In memory of January 24, 1859_) + + Some time ago beyond the Urals + I wandered and I prayed to God + That our dear truth would never perish, + That our dear word would never vanish. + My prayer was heard. + God sent to us + In you a mild and tender prophet, + A bitter scourge of all the greedy + And ruthless men. + My beacon star, + You are the holy star I wished for, + The youthful strength that I desired! + Shine on me, shed your warmth afar, + And now refresh my broken spirit, + My poor and shattered heart and power, + My hungry heart! + I live anew + And call to life from out the grave + Free thought that bides forever true, + Free thought forever.--My good fortune! + Our prophet! Yes! my darling daughter, + I dare to call my poems yours. + + + + +MARY + + +After his return from imprisonment, Shevchenko planned to write a poem +on the Blessed Virgin and equate her lot with the fate of Ukraine +and the average Ukrainian peasant woman. To do this, he made certain +studies in the apocryphal legends and read some of the more liberal +books of the day. + +As a result he produced this poem on unorthodox lines. He was bitterly +attacked for it but his dominant mood is throughout reverence for his +subject, and the preface is thoroughly in line with the traditional +faith. + + ++Mary+ + + “_Rejoice, for thou hast renewed all creatures._” + (_Akafist of the Blessed Virgin, l. 10_) + + I place my hope and consolation + On Thee, my Heaven fair and bright, + Upon Thy mercy without limit,-- + I place my hope and consolation + On Thee, O Mother ever holy, + The holy Power of all saints, + All-sinless and forever blest! + I pray to Thee, I weep and sob; + Look, holy Mother, down on them, + Those prisoners who have been seized + And who are blind; give them the strength + Of Thine own martyred Son, that they + May bear their cross and heavy fetters + Unto the end, the bitter end. + O worthy of all praise! + I bless Thee, + The holy Queen of earth and heaven; + Hark to their groans, and send to them + A worthy end, O ever worshipped; + Without ill feeling, I will sing, + When the poor villages are happy, + Thy sacred fortune everywhere + With quiet and with cheerful psalms. + But now there’s tears and woe and weeping + For each poor soul and, poor myself, + I add to them the final mite. + + + I + + Once Mary dwelt, a hired servant, + With Joseph, the old carpenter, + Perhaps he was a pious cooper. + She grew and turned to maidenhood + And blossomed as a lovely flower + Within a stranger’s poor abode, + A quiet, holy paradise. + The carpenter looked on his servant + As on his own beloved child. + He used to leave his plane and saw + To look at her. + The years passed by + But he did not once even notice + And think: “She has no living kin, + No cabin of her very own-- + She’s all alone. And yet perchance + Death stands not far behind my back.” + + She stays there underneath the hedge + And spins white wool which she will fashion + Into a festal suit for him, + Or to the shore she’s wont to drive + The goat with its warm-hearted kid + To feed them and to give them drink; + Although ’twas far, she loved to look + At that serene and holy lake, + By name Tiberias. And then + She was so radiant with joy + That Joseph sitting there was still + And did not bar in any way + Her trips to the dear lake. + She went + All smiling and he sat as ever + And did not reach for plane or saw. + The goat would drink and eat its fill. + The maiden stood there by herself, + As if entranced, amid the woods + And looked with sad and troubled gaze + Upon that broad and holy lake + And prayed, “O beautiful, broad sea, + Wide tsar of all the lakes that be, + Tell me, O my wise counselor, + What fate will open unto me + With aged Joseph? O, my lot!” + Then she bent over as a poplar + Bends in the wind towards the ravine. + “He looks upon me as his child. + With my young shoulder I’ll support + His weakened and infirm old age.” + She cast her eyes around the scene, + Until the sparks shown in her eyes, + And from her good and youthful shoulders + The ragged tunic softly slipped + Away; such holy charm divine + No eye had ever dared to see + Or to imagine. Evil fate + Brought to her such a crown of thorns + And mocked about her beauty fair. + O such a fate! + Above the water + She walked with the same quiet step. + She found some flowers on the bank, + She broke them off and made them then + A flower cover for her head, + Upon her holy, troubled brow, + And entered in the forest dark. + + O our unsetting Sun of light, + Most holy of all women ever! + The fragrant gem of all the herbs! + Within what woods and what ravines, + And what unknown and secret caves + Thou hidest now from that fierce heat + Of those consuming rays of passion + That burn the heart without a fire + And drown it without water, drown + The holy thoughts Thou always hast? + Where art Thou hiding? + No, nowhere, + The fire blazed, as well it might. + It burst to flame and then alas, + For nothing is its power lost. + It goes into the blood, the bone, + That cursed fire naught can quench. + And still unbroken, Thou must pass + Through all the hottest flames of hell + For Thy dear Son. + Thy future fate + Like prophecy appears to Thee + Before Thine eyes. Do not look at it. + Wipe off the tears that herald this, + Adorn Thy head, a maiden’s head, + With lilies and the wildly spread + Red poppies too and fall asleep + Beneath the vines where it is cool + And see what comes! + + + II + + Towards evening, like a shining star, + Sweet Mary wandered from the grove, + All wreathed in flowers, There Mount Thabor + Just as if wrapped in gold and silver + Shone far away so dazzling bright. + It blinded all. + Then to that Thabor + Sweet Mary lifted up her eyes, + So mild and holy as they were, + And smiled. And then she caught the goat + With its gay kid within the grove + And ’gan to sing: + “Heaven, heaven, + O dense forest! + I am young and, + Gracious God, + In Thy heaven + Can I rest me, + Play with pleasure?” + Thus she spoke; + Around her once she glanced so sadly + And then into her arms she took + The kid. She held him firmly + And felt so happy as she went + Unto the carpenter’s poor hut. + She walked along and cuddled kindly + And sang and played with the young kid + And pressed it to her bosom softly + And kissed it. + For its part, the kid, + As if it were a little kitten, + Did not object and did not struggle; + It nestled in her bosom, played. + For two long miles she danced along + With that sweet kid still in her arms + And was not wearied. + The old man + Sat sadly ’neath the hedge and sought + Her as if she were his own child; + He came to meet her, welcomed her, + And softly said: “Where have you been? + My poor, dear child, please let me know! + Let us go in the house and rest + And have our supper there together + With a delightful visitor. + Let us go, daughter.” + “Who is he, + This new-come guest?” + “From Nazareth + He has come down to spend the night, + And says, ‘The grace of God is come + Upon the old Elizabeth. + ’Twas yester morn it has occurred + For yesterday,’ he says, ‘she bore + A son and aged Zachariah + Has called him by the name of John.’ + That’s what he says....” + The guest, relaxing, + Well washed, now came out of the house, + Dressed only in a tunic white. + He shone like any flaming star. + He paused majestic on the threshold, + Made a low bow, and then he greeted + Sweet Mary calmly. + It seemed strange + And wondrous too. The guest stood there + And gleamed with more than human gleam. + On him one glance did Mary cast + And trembled and she turned away. + She seemed just like a frightened child + And to her aged Joseph turned. + Her eyes then asked the youthful guest + To enter in (or yet, ’tis better, + They led him in.) + At once she brought + Cool water from the nearby spring + And milk and goat’s cheese which she gave + To them to have their evening meal. + Herself she did not eat or drink, + But silently knelt in the hut + And looked and looked upon the guest + And listened till the stranger spoke + And turned his words to her directly. + His holy words fell bright and clear + Upon the heart of Mary dear, + Until they chilled and burned it too. + “In all Judea there never was--” + So spoke the guest--“in ancient times + What now is seen, for a new rabbi, + A rabbi with a flaming word, + Is coming now upon the meadow. + His words grow swiftly and will bear + A rich and overflowing crop, + A holy seed. I go to preach + A new Messiah to the people!” + Then Mary prayed a silent prayer + To the apostle. + On the hearth + The fire blazes soft and low + And righteous Joseph sits alone + And thinks ... + By now the evening star + Has risen brightly in the heavens. + Then Mary rose and took the pitcher + To fetch fresh water from the spring. + The stranger followed and caught up + With Mary in the deep ravine. + + At dawn, while it was cool, they led + Th’ evangelist to that same sea + And joyful were they in their hearts + And joyously they made their way + Unto their home. + + + III + + For him waits Mary + And waiting, weeps; her youthful eyes, + Her eyelids and her wondrous lips + Grow thin and pale. + “You are not now + As you were once, O Mary dear, + A flower fair, our source of beauty.” + Thus Joseph spoke--“Some thing most strange + Has come o’er you, my dearest daughter. + O Mary, let us go and wed + Or else without a word they’ll kill you + Upon the street but we will hide + In our oasis.” + For the trip + Sweet Mary quickly made her ready + And wept and sobbed to break her heart, + And so they go upon their way. + The old man took his newest yoke + Within a basket on his shoulders; + He wants to sell it and to buy + A kerchief new for his sweet bride + And give it to her as a present. + O righteous, rich, revered old man, + A blessing comes not from Mount Zion + But from your quiet little home + It is proclaimed to us. + If he, + The righteous, had not lent his hand, + We would be worse than slaves of slaves + And we would die. + O suffering great! + O heavy sadness of the soul, + It is not you, ye poor, I pity, + Ye blind and humble, poor in spirit, + But those who wield above their heads + The axe and hammer and who forge + New fetters. For they’ll kill and slay you, + They slay your soul and from a spring + Of blood that comes from human hearts, + They give the dogs to drink. + But where + Went that strange guest who was so evil? + He might have come and glanced e’en once + At this thrice glorious pure wedding, + A stolen wedding! + Not a sound + Of him or of his great Messiah + But men wait something and they wait + What they don’t know. + O Mary dear, + What art Thou waiting in Thy sorrow + And what wilt Thou await from God + And from His people? + Wait for naught + And likewise do not think of waiting + For that apostle. Thou art taken + As bride by that poor carpenter + Into his poor and humble home. + Pray and give thanks, he did not spurn Thee + And did not cast Thee on the street + Or Thou mightst have been stoned to death, + Hadst Thou not hid or fled away. + But men said in Jerusalem + Beneath their breath, who had come down + From out Tiberias’ city + That there the men had crucified + One who proclaimed a new Messiah. + “Can it be he?,” exclaimed sweet Mary, + And joyfully she made her way + To Nazareth. + He too was glad + That his dear servant bore in her + The righteous seed of a good man + Who lost his life for liberty. + + They go from there upon their way, + They come back home and there they live + As married but unhappy too. + The carpenter now sets himself + To make a cradle while she sits, + Sweet Mary the immaculate, + Beside the window and she looks + Into the fields and sews apace + Upon a little infant shirt.-- + For whom is it? + + + IV + + “I want the master,” + A voice cried in the court. “An order + From Caesar, from the lord himself, + Commands you go at once this hour + For a great census in the city + Of Bethlehem. Set forth at once.” + That stern commanding voice is gone; + The echo rings above the wood. + So Mary went at once to bake + Some cakes; and then without a word + She put them in a little basket; + Without a word she followed Joseph + To Bethlehem. + “O holy power, + Protect me now, my God most dear,” + That’s all she said. And so they go. + Both of them are depressed and sad. + Poor as they are--they drive before them + The goat and with it its young kid, + For there’s no one to care for them, + And God might send to her the baby + Upon the journey and the milk + Would be a godsend to the mother. + The animals stray onward feeding + Along the way and side by side + The man and woman walk behind them. + And they begin to speak just as + They will but softly. + Joseph said: + “The high priest Simeon said once + To me a word prophetic, true. + The holy law of Abraham + And Moses now the pious Essenes + Renew again in all its power; + And I shall never die--he told me,-- + Until I see myself Messiah. + O Mary, do you hear my words, + Messiah comes.” + “Nay, he has come, + Ourselves we have Messiah seen.” + Sweet Mary said. + Then Joseph looked + Within the basket, found a cake. + He gave it to her. “Take this, child! + Be strong for what is coming now! + We are not near to Bethlehem, + And I will rest for I am weary.” + So they sat down beside the road + To rest. + Then while they’re sitting there, + The righteous sun sank quickly down + And hid itself behind the hill. + It sank to rest and darkness came + At once--and then a miracle. + No one had ever heard or seen + Of such a marvel. + Joseph trembled + For from the east a blazing comet + Rose over Bethlehem far off. + The comet seemed to be of fire + And lighted all the steppe and mountains. + But Mary did not rise from off + The road. ’Twas then she bore her son, + That child who by his wondrous power + Saved all of us from prison cruel + And as a saint was crucified + For us, the evil and the sinful! + Not far away along the road + The shepherds saw the miracle + And they gave heed. + The wretched mother + Together with the child they took + And carried them into their cave + And there the wretched shepherds gave + To him the name Emmanuel. + + By sunrise in the market place + Of Bethlehem the people gathered + And whispered the exciting news + That something strange would happen now + In all Judea. They passed along + The news in quiet tones. “O people,” + A shepherd came and shouted out, + “The words of Jeremiah and + Isaiah now are true, are true! + Among us shepherds has been born + Messiah yesterday.” + It spread + Throughout the whole of Bethlehem. + “Messiah!... Jesus!... Hail!... Hosanna!” + The people scattered. + + + V + + In an hour + Or maybe two an order came + From out Jerusalem from Herod. + A legion came and brought an order + Which men had never heard before. + The swaddling children slept in peace, + The mothers warmed their food--’twas needless. + They needed not to bathe their children + And to prepare them for the night. + The soldiers bared and dipped their knives + In the just blood of little children,-- + Such was the order Herod gave! + Look on in horror now, O mother! + And see what tsars like him can do! + + But Mary did not need to hide + Herself and child. Praise to your names, + The poor, untutored shepherds there + Who greeted him, had hidden safely + Our Savior and they saved him thus + From Herod! + So they fed him kindly + And gave him drink, a little shirt + And jacket for the toilsome journey, + And poor as they were, yet they gave + An ass’s foal and set the mother + Upon it with her child and led it + By secret paths amid the darkness + Unto the road to Memphis. + Then + The comet, that great ball of fire, + More brilliant than the sun, shone on + That ass which carried into Egypt + Sweet Mary and the young Messiah. + + Had ever queen sat so upon + An ass, the fame of it would quickly + Be spread abroad and all would talk + Of her and of that ass forever + Throughout the world. + But Thee it bore. + The true and living God upon it! + A wretched Copt in after days + Had tried to buy the ass of Joseph + But it had died. Perhaps the road + With its great load had worn it out. + + The child, bathed in the Nile, doth sleep + In swaddling clothes beneath a willow + More safely, and among the willows + The righteous mother weaves a cradle + And weeps the while she spends her time + In weaving of the little cradle, + While Joseph sets himself to build + A little hut out of the reeds, + That he may have a humble shelter. + Across the Nile just like an owl + The Sphinx with dread and fearsome eyes + Looks on the scene; and there behind it + The pyramids on the bare sands + Stand like a chain in order due, + Just as the guards set out by Pharaoh, + As grim as if they had reported + Of what they know, that God’s own truth + Has risen and is come to earth, + A menace to the Pharaoh’s power. + + Then Mary found a job to weave + Soft garments for a Copt, while he, + Saint Joseph, went to feed a flock + That he might keep that single goat + To furnish milk for his dear child. + A year doth pass. + Around the hut + Within his own obscure domain + The righteous holy carpenter + Left no time to be spent in thinking. + He fashions barrels and small kegs + And murmurs oft. + But why is this? + Thou dost not weep and dost not sing; + Thou thinkest ever without pause + How best to teach him and to place + Thy holy son on righteous paths + And how to save him from all ills + And shield him from the storms of life. + + Another year. Around the hut + The goat still feeds, but the young child + And the small kid together play + Within the courtyard, while the mother + Sits at the threshold of the hut + And spins the wool of fibres soft. + Meanwhile the old man walks on tiptoe + And carries to the city barrels + To sell. He buys the child a cookie, + A kerchief for his darling wife, + And for himself a good stout thong + To make some sandals. + There he sat. + And then he said: “Don’t grieve, my daughter! + For Herod, the cruel tsar, is dead! + One evening he enjoyed a feast + And ate so much it caused his death. + Those are the tidings that I heard. + Let us go now unto our grove, + Unto our quiet, little heaven. + Let us go homeward, daughter mine!” + “Let’s go!”, she said and quickly went + Unto the Nile to wash the shirts + For her son’s journey. While the goat + Played with the kid around the house, + Saint Joseph played with his dear son + Upon the threshold and the mother + Washed in the river the small shirts. + And after that within the house, + He packed and tried out his new sandals + For the long journey. All was ready + Before the sunrise; then he took + The basket on his shoulders and they + Within the cradle bore the child. + + + VI + + So on they went and reached their home. + God grant no one may ever chance + On such a sight. + Their little love, + Their quiet refuge in the field, + Their one and only home and fortune, + That place--they could not recognize it-- + All he had loved, the little house-- + All, all was plundered. + ’Mid the ruins + They had to spend a wretched night. + And Mary quickly hurried down + Unto the spring in the ravine, + Where once the bright-faced holy guest + Had met with her. + The heavy grass, + The spiny bushes, and the nettles + Had thickly grown around the spring. + Poor Mary, I am sorry for Thee! + Pray, darling, pray at this sad time! + Forge well Thy true and holy strength, + Forge it with patience and endurance, + Grow strong amid Thy bloody tears! + She almost slipped within the spring + And drowned herself. + Then woe to us, + Who would have been enshackled slaves! + The child would then have grown alone + Without his mother; we would know + No truth and justice on this earth, + No sacred freedom. + She remembered + And then she smiled despite her woe + And sobbed a bit. The holy tears + Poured down upon the wellhead there + And dried away; and then she felt + Much better. + But Elizabeth, + A widow old in Nazareth, + Lived there with her one little son, + With John, and she was distant kin + Unto them. + So in early morning + The unhappy woman took her child + And fed him and she dressed him up + And with her saint she made the trip + To Nazareth unto the widow + To ask her for some hired work. + The little child grew as it should + And played together with young John, + And he was soon a little boy. + The two went out upon the street + And played together. There they found + Two sticks and took them to their homes + And gave the wood unto their mothers + Like other children! + So they live, + Both cheerful and both healthy too-- + The people watch them on their way. + The little boy one day a stick + Picked up from John for his own game, + (For John was playing horse alone) + And made a cross and bore it home + To prove that way unto his mother + That he knew how to work in wood. + Then Mary met her little son + Outside the gate, and lost her courage. + She fainted too when she beheld + That scaffold cross. + “An evil man + With foul intent and unkind plan + Has taught thee to produce this thing. + My dearest child, please drop it, drop it!” + The little boy, all innocent, + Threw down the sacred mark of death + And sobbed aloud and shed boy’s tears + For the first time upon the bosom + Of his dear mother. + This kind act + Refreshed her soul. She rose again + And took him to a nice cool spot + Within the garden on the grass. + She kissed him and she gave him cakes, + Fresh cakes. + And then he fondled her + And played and sang a little while + And fell asleep to lullabies. + Upon her knees he lay and slept. + The child slept on in peaceful slumber + Just like an angel there in heaven. + The mother looked on her one child + And shed such quiet, blissful tears, + The angel slept so still and lovely, + It would be wrong to try to wake him. + She could not look at him enough. + A single tear just as a flame + Fell on him and without delay + The child awoke. + Sweet Mary quickly + Wiped off her tears and tried to smile, + Lest he behold them, but she could not + Deceive her little son at all. + He caught her action, guessed it well + And ’gan to sob. + She earned a little + (Or else the widow lent it to her) + That she might buy a book for him. + She would have taught him, but she knew + Not how to read. She took the boy + And sent him to a little school + Among the Essenes. And meanwhile + She gave him lessons in the good + And in the right. + Meanwhile young John, + The widow’s son, had done the same. + The boys went to the school together + And studied too, He never played + With other children on the street + Or ran around. All by himself, + He used to sit in the long grass + And fashion there with childish hand + A little staff; and try to help + His holy father in his work. + + + VII + + Then in the young boy’s seventh year, + (For he already showed great skill) + While resting in a corner dark + The old man thought about his son, + What trade he would adopt in life, + What kind of man he would become. + He took his pails and other wares + And father, mother, and the son + Went to the greatest market there, + Jerusalem, the capital. + The trip was long but there they could + Get better prices. + So they went. + They strayed apart. The parents then + Sat down to try and sell their goods. + They paid no heed to the young boy. + He ran around.... The mother wept + And sought her son. There was no hint + Of where he was. She went at last + Unto a synagogue to pray + For his return and there, behold, + The child, her child, was sitting there + Among the rabbis in the midst + And teaching in his innocence + How men should live and love their fellows, + Should stand for truth and die for truth-- + Without truth woe comes! “Woe to you. + Ye teachers and ye high priests too!” + The Pharisees looked on amazed, + The scribes all wondered at his words + And great was then the holy joy + That Mary felt! + For she had seen + Messiah, had seen God on earth + With her own eyes.... They sold their wares, + Then in the temple prayed to God + And cheerfully they started home. + They made their journey in the night + Amid the cool. + The Holy Children + Grew up together and they learned + Some more each day; and both their mothers + Were proud and happy when they saw + Their children. + But they finished school. + Then on the thorny path of life + They parted; both preached God’s true word, + The sacred truth for men on earth. + They preached and both were crucified + For freedom, sacred freedom true. + John made his way into the desert. + Thy son--among men; and with him, + With thine upright and truthful son, + Thou wentst along. + In the old hut + She left Saint Joseph there alone + To live alone among the strangers. + She wandered here and wandered there + Until at last she reached her goal + At Golgotha. + + + VIII + + The holy mother + Went everywhere with her dear son; + She listened to his every word; + She watched his acts and was enthralled + And joyed in still anxiety + When she looked at him. + For he would + Sit on the Mount of Olives often + And rest a while. Jerusalem + Was proudly spread before his eyes-- + The priest of Israel flashed proudly + In all his golden robes and rich, + A humble slave of Roman gold! + An hour, two, would pass away. + He would not stir or look at her + But weep and wonder at the wealth + Of the Judean capital. + Then she would weep and make her way + Down to the spring in a ravine + And quickly would bring back with her + Fresh water, and would humbly wash + His sacred feet which were so weary. + She’d give him drink and brush him off + And shake the dust from his white tunic, + She’d mend a hole, and then again + Go to the fig tree and sit down + And look, an ever holy mother, + At her sad son, while he was resting. + Perhaps the children then would run + From out the city; they would follow + Him always through the busy streets + And sometimes to the Mount of Olives + The little ones would come to him. + They would run up,--“O holy ones, + And sinless too”--he used to say. + Then when he saw the children, he + Would rise and kiss them, give his blessing. + He’d play with them just like a child, + Put on a wreath, and gay and happy, + He’d go with all his children dear + Unto Jerusalem to preach, + Tell to the wicked words of truth. + They would not hear and crucified him. + When they led him to Golgotha, + Thou stoodst at a crossroad nearby + With the same children (for the men, + His brothers and disciples too) + Had lost their courage and had fled. + “O let him go, O let him go! + He’ll lead you to the self same fate.” + She said this to the children, then + She fell upon the earth and fainted. + + Thine only child was crucified + And Thou, beneath the hedge abiding, + Went back again to Nazareth. + The widow long before was buried + By strangers in a hired casket. + She’d been alone for her dear John + In prison had been murdered too. + Thy Joseph was no longer there + And Thou wast left alone to live + Just as a broken stick. + Yes, that + Was Thy sad fate, O mother dear! + His brothers and disciples too, + Unsteady men of little soul, + Concealed themselves from hangmen cruel. + They hid and then they separated, + And Thou wast forced to seek them out.... + By night they gathered round about Thee + And came to grieve with thee and mourn, + But Thou, the greatest among women, + Didst scatter all their fear and terror, + Just as the chaff that blows away, + With Thy most holy word of fire; + Thou sentst at last Thy holy spirit + Into their petty souls! + All praise, + All praise to Thee, O holy Mary! + The holy men regained their poise, + They travelled through the whole wide world + And in the name of Thy great Son, + Thy suffering and martyred Child, + They spread the news of love and truth + Throughout the world; Thou weptst and grievedst + And ’neath a hedge among tall grass, + Thou starvedst to death. + Amen! Amen! + + + + +HOSEA, CHAPTER XIV + + +After his return from the army, Shevchenko’s poetry took a more +austere note. A large part of his latest works were adaptations of +the Old Testament and the warnings of the Prophets were transfigured +into lessons for the Ukrainians and on the fate of Ukraine. They deal +with the same themes that he had treated earlier--the uselessness of +depending upon the Russian autocracy, the weaknesses of the people of +the day, especially the intellectuals, and the need for all the people +to apply the lessons of brotherhood to all their fellows. Shevchenko’s +contact with some of the Russian radicals may have influenced him to +some degree but these poems can be read as general denunciations of the +vices of men and countries. Never more than in the works of his last +period did Shevchenko become a stern, commanding teacher holding up to +all men everywhere the proper course of actions for human things to +pursue. Now more than ever he became a great ethical teacher not only +for his generation and people but for all the nations of the world. + + ++Hosea, Chapter XIV+ + + (_Imitation_) + + Yes, you will perish, Ukraina, + And leave no trace upon the earth! + And yet you once were richly famous + For good and wealth! + O Ukraina, + My dear, my innocent poor land, + Why does the Lord send you this fate? + Why punish you? + ’Tis for Bohdan, + And for the mad, insensate Peter, + And for the pagan lords around them, + He ruins you and drives you down, + Destroys you so. + And it is just! + He long with patience looked upon you + And watched your silence and neglect, + Your sinful womb that bore such monsters, + And spake in wrath: “I will destroy + Your beauty and your charm superb. + You will be broken. In their wrath + Your sons will slay you, when full grown, + And others, ill-conceived, shall die + Within your womb, and fade away + As unhatched chickens that are not. + With tears, the tears of a sad mother + I will fill full your towns and fields + That all the earth may see and know + That I am ruler--and see all.” + + Arise, O mother, and return + Unto your spacious home and rest. + You have been burdened long enough + With sins your sons have wrought at times. + A sad and mournful mother, rest + And say to your unfaithful sons, + That they will perish in their sins, + That their dishonor and their treason, + Their crookedness are cut within + The souls of men by fire fierce + And by a bloody flaming sword, + Their destined punishment cries out + And their good tsar will never save them, + Their mild and drunken sovereign lord! + He will not give them food or drink + Or yet a horse to mount unsaddled + And gallop off. You cannot flee, + You cannot hide! + For everywhere + Avenging truth will seek you out. + Men will watch for you, catch you then, + And they will not waste time in trials. + In fetters they will firmly bind you + And take you home for men to see, + And on a cross without a hangman + Or yet a tsar they will spread you, + And nail you fast, tear you apart, + And, dogs, they will give your fresh blood + Unto the dogs to drink. + Add this + And say this word again to them. + Speak plainly, Say, “You have done this. + With foul and filthy hands you made + Your hope and then you say, + ‘The tsar’s our God, the tsar’s our hope + And he will feed and will protect + The widow and the orphans.’” ... No! + Say this to them: “The gods are mad, + The idols in the palace rich.” + Tell them that truth will rise again, + Not the departed, ancient word + That now is rotten; a new word + Will come with might unto the people + And save the plundered and the lost + From the false favor of the tsar. + + + + ++I do not murmur at the Lord+ + + + I do not murmur at the Lord, + I do not murmur at a soul, + I fool myself in my despair + And sing as well. + For I will plough + My meadow, my poor, humble field, + This word of mine; a harvest rich + Will come some day from it. + I fool + Myself, my own poor, humble person + And no one else, as I can see. + + Be thou ploughed, my humble meadow, + From the top to bottom. + Be thou planted, this black meadow + With the shining freedom. + Be thou ploughed, and well turned over, + Let the soil be levelled. + Be thou sown with seed most fertile, + Watered by good fortune. + Be thou turned in all directions, + Ever fertile meadow. + Be not sown with words unmeaning + But with reason, meadow. + Men will come to reap the harvest + In a happy moment-- + Be well worked and be well levelled, + Poor and barren meadow. + + Do I not fool myself again + With this fantastic word of hope? + I do! But it is better far + To fool myself, my very self, + Than live at peace with my cruel foe + And vainly murmur at the Lord. + + + + +THE APPROACHING END + + +The end of Shevchenko’s life was approaching. In the autumn of 1860 +he became conscious of the fact that his health would not allow him +to carry out his dreams of marrying, having a family, and living in a +little home on the bank of the Dniper in Ukraine. He expressed this +feeling in his poem _The years of youth are passed away_, written on +October 19, and soon after he consulted a physician because of his +difficulty in breathing. His friends could not realize his condition +but he failed rapidly and during January, 1861, he was able to do +little work. He finished his last poem, _Is it not time for us to +stop?_ on February 25. It was the end for early the next morning, the +day after his birthday, his eyes closed forever. + + ++The years of youth are passed away+ + + The years of youth are passed away ... + A chilling blast has swept upon me + From hope. + The winter’s on its way. + So sit alone in your cold home + With no one there to hear your word, + With no one to receive your thought, + No one at all, no one at all! + Sit there alone, until hope fools + The fool himself and mocks him well + And seals with frost his lonely eyes + And scatters all his haughty thoughts, + Just as the snowflakes on the steppe. + Sit there alone in your poor home, + Wait not for spring, a holy fate! + It never will appear again + To deck your garden with its green + Or to renew your faded hope. + It will not come to set free thoughts + Again at freedom. No, sit there + And wait for not a thing at all. + + ++Is it not time for us to stop?+ + + Is it not time for us to stop, + My neighbor poor, but yet so dear, + The writing of these worthless verses + And to commence our preparations + To go upon a distant journey? + Unto that world, my friend, to God, + We’ll hurry on to take our rest.... + We’re wearied now, we’ve grown so old + And somehow we have gained some sense. + That is enough! + We’ll go to sleep, + We’ll go to rest in a small cabin ... + The cabin’s cheerful, as you know! + + We’ll not go, we are not going,-- + Friend, it is too early! + Let us go, and let us sit + And enjoy this world. + Let us look, my humble fortune, + Think how broad it is, + How it is both broad and cheerful, + Clear and yet so deep! + Let us go, my friendly star, + And ascend the mount, + There we’ll rest ... + At that same moment + All the stars, thy sisters, + The eternal, heavenly stars, + Will swim up a-shining. + There we’ll wait, my sister dear, + Ever holy comrade, + And with chaste and pious lips + Let us pray to God. + We will start in utter quiet + On our distant journey, + O’er the bottomless and raging + Lethe we must pass. + Bless me for this, O my comrade, + With a holy glory! + + But while we wait to meet the future, + We will go simply--and direct + To pay to Aesculapius + To see if he can trick old Charon + And the wise Fates who spin. + There after + While the wise grandsir is a dreaming, + We’ll stop and write a mighty epic-- + And steam it well above the earth + And weave hexameters for it, + And take it to the attic + A breakfast for the mice ... + And then + We’ll sing in prose--and not by notes + And not as chance may say ... + My friend, + O sacred guide of my whole life, + Before the fire has gone out, + We’d better go to Charon now! + + O’er the Lethe bottomless + With its raging waters + We will sail and carry with us + All our sacred glory, + Ever youthful and eternal ... + For--I dread it, friend! + If I have to go without it, + I’ll be very mournful, + So whether it’s on Phlegethon, + Or on the Styx in heaven, + Or on Dnipro, that mighty river, + I shall construct a little cabin + In the eternal forest there + And plant a garden round the cabin + And thou wilt come to its cool shade + And there I’ll seat thee like a queen; + We will recall Dnipro, Ukraina, + The cheerful forest villages, + The mountain tombs upon the steppes, + And we will sing a cheerful song. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + + Surrounding characters have been used to indicate _italics_ + or +small caps+ + Set poem titles in small caps as needed + Retained inconsistent hyphenation of “black-haired” + Retained inconsistent use of space in “folk song” (and plural) + In the Table of Contents, changed “Haydamakí” to “Haydamaki” + p. 6 changed “Mickiewiez” to “Mickiewicz” + p. 7 changed “was” to “were” in “exploits of the Kozaks were” + p. 7 changed “conqueroring” to “conquering” + p. 12 changed “be” to “he” in “in St. Petersburg he” + p. 12 removed period between “relaxation” and “--to” + p. 21 changed “superviser” to “supervisor” + p. 25 changed “made” to “make” in “and make trouble” + p. 25 changed “set” to “sent” in “and sent back” + p. 25 changed “peninsular” to “peninsula” + p. 29 changed “ecstacies” to “ecstasies” + p. 30 changed “acqaintance” to “acquaintance” in “renewed his + acquaintance” + p. 31 added period after “unjustly accused” + p. 43 changed “Koliischchina” to “Koliishchina” + p. 46 changed “unforgiveable” to “unforgivable” + p. 55 set chapter heading and title in all caps + p. 58 changed “Christianty” to “Christianity” + p. 67 changed “has” to “have” in “others have” + p. 70 italicized “_The Poplar_” before “is a good example” + p. 81 italicized “_Ivan Pidkova_” in “In _Ivan Pidkova_” + p. 85 changed double-quote to single-quote before “Oh my wretched + Ukraina,” + p. 85 added closing single-quote after “trampled.” + p. 86 changed period to comma following “heavens” + p. 104 added close quote after “snow-covered!” + p. 108 italicized “_Haydamaki_” + p. 113 changed “self-same” to “selfsame” + p. 113 removed close quote after “O tapster!” + p. 129 moved “St. John” attribution to separate line and removed + italics + p. 148 unitalicized “the” in “the _Dream_” and “the _Heretic_” + p. 148 changed “Khmllnitsky” to “Khmelnitsky” + p. 150 set “+Three Souls+” in small caps rather than italics + p. 157 added quote before “You have drunk” + p. 158 added quote after “sobbing.” + p. 158 added quotes before “I have” and after “Germans.” + p. 158 added quote before “You have done” + p. 163 moved period inside parenthesis in “(_They sat down_.)” + p. 171 removed hyphen in “fellow countrymen” + p. 179 changed comma to period between “Moscow” and “Kostomariv” + p. 189 added close parenthesis to “(Folk Sketches)” + p. 194 changed period to comma following “And says,” + p. 196 removed quote after “once,” +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78316 *** |