In abundance and superfluity of luxury my days were passed, the richest dishes and the sweetest wine were my food.And to what end was it all? What was it all for? In order that I might at last die a death more cruel than that of the meanest beggar in the kingdom? And it was not enough that I should be condemned to so horrible a fate; not enough that before my own end I should behold my father and mother perish in intolerable torment, when I would have willingly given my own life twenty times over to save them; all this was not enough, but before my own death I must hear words of love such as I had never before dreamed of.It was necessary that he should break my heart with his words; that my bitter lot should be rendered still more bitter;that my young life should be made yet more sad; that my death should seem even more terrible; and that, dying, I should reproach thee still more, O cruel fate! and thee--forgive my sin--O holy mother of God!"As she ceased in despair, her feelings were plainly expressed in her face.Every feature spoke of gnawing sorrow and, from the sadly bowed brow and downcast eyes to the tears trickling down and drying on her softly burning cheeks, seemed to say, "There is no happiness in this face.""Such a thing was never heard of since the world began.It cannot be,"said Andrii, "that the best and most beautiful of women should suffer so bitter a fate, when she was born that all the best there is in the world should bow before her as before a saint.No, you will not die, you shall not die! I swear by my birth and by all there is dear to me in the world that you shall not die.But if it must be so; if nothing, neither strength, nor prayer, nor heroism, will avail to avert this cruel fate--then we will die together, and I will die first.I will die before you, at your beauteous knees, and even in death they shall not divide us.""Deceive not yourself and me, noble sir," she said, gently shaking her beautiful head; "I know, and to my great sorrow I know but too well, that it is impossible for you to love me.I know what your duty is, and your faith.Your father calls you, your comrades, your country, and we are your enemies.""And what are my father, my comrades, my country to me?" said Andrii, with a quick movement of his head, and straightening up his figure like a poplar beside the river."Be that as it may, I have no one, no one!" he repeated, with that movement of the hand with which the Cossack expresses his determination to do some unheard-of deed, impossible to any other man."Who says that the Ukraine is my country?
Who gave it to me for my country? Our country is the one our soul longs for, the one which is dearest of all to us.My country is--you!
That is my native land, and I bear that country in my heart.I will bear it there all my life, and I will see whether any of the Cossacks can tear it thence.And I will give everything, barter everything, Iwill destroy myself, for that country!"
Astounded, she gazed in his eyes for a space, like a beautiful statue, and then suddenly burst out sobbing; and with the wonderful feminine impetuosity which only grand-souled, uncalculating women, created for fine impulses of the heart, are capable of, threw herself upon his neck, encircling it with her wondrous snowy arms, and wept.At that moment indistinct shouts rang through the street, accompanied by the sound of trumpets and kettledrums; but he heard them not.He was only conscious of the beauteous mouth bathing him with its warm, sweet breath, of the tears streaming down his face, and of her long, unbound perfumed hair, veiling him completely in its dark and shining silk.
At that moment the Tatar ran in with a cry of joy."Saved, saved!" she cried, beside herself."Our troops have entered the city.They have brought corn, millet, flour, and Zaporozhtzi in chains!" But no one heard that "our troops" had arrived in the city, or what they had brought with them, or how they had bound the Zaporozhtzi.Filled with feelings untasted as yet upon earth, Andrii kissed the sweet mouth which pressed his cheek, and the sweet mouth did not remain unresponsive.In this union of kisses they experienced that which it is given to a man to feel but once on earth.
And the Cossack was ruined.He was lost to Cossack chivalry.Never again will Zaporozhe, nor his father's house, nor the Church of God, behold him.The Ukraine will never more see the bravest of the children who have undertaken to defend her.Old Taras may tear the grey hair from his scalp-lock, and curse the day and hour in which such a son was born to dishonour him.
