The Black Council
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
Electronic Library of Ukrainian Literature Panteleimon Kulish The Black Council Abridged and translated from Ukrainian by George S. N. and Moira Luckyj 1 Late in the spring of 1663 two travelers mounted on good horses were approaching Kyiv from the direction of Bilhorod. One was a young Cossack, armed for battle; the other, by his dress and white beard, appeared to be a priest, but by the long sword under his cassock, the pistols at his belt and the long scars on his face, looked like an old Cossack. Their horses were tired, their clothes covered with dust—they had obviously traveled a long way. Two or three versts from Kyiv they turned left and trotted through a grove of trees along a winding track. Whoever saw them turn that way must have guessed at once where they were going. The winding track led to Khmaryshche, the khutir of Cherevan, one of the wealthy, high-living Cossacks who had grown rich during the ten-year war against the Poles. For about ten years Bohdan Khmelnytsky raided the mighty Poles with his Cossacks. That was when Cherevan grabbed his immense wealth and, after the war, settled down on a khutir near Kyiv. Evening was approaching. The sun was no longer hot; it was a joy to see it shimmering through the leafy branches, gleaming on the mossy oak trees and the young grass. Birds were singing and calling joyfully in the grove and the earth around was smiling. Yet the travelers were sad. They seemed unlikely guests of the merry Cherevan. At last they reached Khmaryshche. It nestled among trees enveloping it like clouds. Around it wound a stream graced with reeds and willows. A dike led across the stream to the gate. The gates themselves were made of oak and studded from top to bottom. In those days an enemy might be expected day or night, either a Tatar or a Pole. And so there was a little window in the turret to see if the visitors were welcome or not. A stockade was raised over the entrance and a moat surrounded the entire khutir. Arriving at the gate, the visitors started to pound the studs with their sabres. An echo resounded in the grove, but no one stirred inside. Soon there was a cough and old, shuffling feet could be heard Electronic Library of Ukrainian Literature Panteleimon Kulish. The Black Council 2 climbing up the steps in the turret, accompanied by a muttering. “The devil take them, what sort of people are they? Coming here from nowhere and rattling on the gates enough to break them down. If only they had come 15 or 20 years ago-the entire Ukraine was as quiet as a bee in the wintertime. Ah, yes! If only the cursed Poles hadn’t stirred the Cossack hornets’ nest, it would still be quiet today. Oh, life was hard under the Poles. But our own folks are losing their heads now, too. Ah, merciful God!” “That’s Vasyl Nevolnyk,” the priest said. “The same as ever.” “Who is banging the gates as if they were his own?” asked Vasyl Nevolnyk through the window. “Don’t ask so many questions,” answered the priest. “You can see we are no Tatars. Let us in.” “Oh, merciful God,” shrieked Nevolnyk. “That’s colonel Shram from Pavoloch. I don’t know if I should open the gates first or run and tell the master.” “Open the gates first, then you can run anywhere,” replied Shram. “True, true, my dear friend,” the old watchman called out. He began to climb down, talking to himself all the time. “A mountain cannot meet a mountain, but a man can meet a man. I never thought my old eyes would see Shram again.” The gates swung open. Colonel Shram and his son bent down and entered. Vasyl Nevolnyk was beside himself with joy. He embraced Shram’s knees. And then he spoke to the son. “Merciful God. So this is your Petro. A real eagle among the Cossacks.” Petro bent down from the saddle and kissed Vasyl Nevolnyk. “An eagle among the Cossacks,” repeated Nevolnyk. “If only I’d had two boatloads of eagles like that when I was in Turkish captivity! Oh, merciful God! I shall never forget those cursed prison days.” Indeed, old Vasyl Nevolnyk was so feeble that he looked as if he had just been released from captivity. He was small, stooping, with sunken eyes and lips which never smiled. He wore a blue coat and old baggy cloth trousers which looked as if he had borrowed them. Petro jumped down and took the reins of his father’s horse. “Vasyl, take us to the master,” said old Shram. “Where is he? Indoors or in the apiary? He used to be fond of bees, so he may be there.” “Yes, sir,” replied Nevolnyk. “Cherevan has done well for himself; may he live a long time. He is hardly out of the apiary these days.” “Well, I suppose he hasn’t forgotten his fellow men? Or perhaps he has turned into an anchorite?” “No, he hasn’t forgotten his fellow men,” said Nevolnyk. “He couldn’t live here without other people. He’s got guests with him now. You will see who is the guest of honor in Khmaryshche now.” The old man opened the gate to the apiary and led the way for Shram under a low tree. Who was this Shram, both priest and colonel? He was the son of a priest from Pavoloch whose name was Chepurny. He attended the church brotherhood school in Kyiv and became a priest himself. However, when the Cossacks rose under Hetman Ostrianytsia, Shram joined the Cossack host. He, too, was a fiery man and could not sit quietly in his parish while blood was flowing in the war between the Polish overlords and the Ukrainians, between the Catholics and the Greek Orthodox Christians. Poland was then in an upheaval, with any official doing whatever he liked with the unarmed people in the city and the Electronic Library of Ukrainian Literature Panteleimon Kulish. The Black Council 3 countryside who could not defend themselves. Polish soldiers used to requisition food and drink in cities and villages, rape and kill defenseless women, make people pull plows across the ice in the middle of winter and let the Jews whip them and sneer at them as they plowed the ice. And the Catholic gentry, with some Ukrainian renegades, tried to force a church union with Rome and called the Orthodox faith a peasant religion. Their churches they rented to the Jews. No one could protest against this humiliation, since the King of Poland himself was in the hands of the senators, landlords and bishops. The Cossack elders took the side of the Polish commander-in-chief and his chieftains and received money from the Poles for recruiting Cossacks. Registered Cossacks were hard up; they were dependent on the Polish starostas and had to work in the houses of the elders. Only 6,000 were left in the registry and even those favored the Poles until the time of Khmelnytsky when, to a man, they rose to free Ukraine. The ordinary folks and their priests took their grievances to the Zaporozhian Cossacks who lived in the distant steppes beyond the Dnieper rapids and who elected their own officers and had nothing to do with the Poles. It was from among the Zaporozhian Cossacks that the Hetmans Taras Triasylo, Pavluk and Ostrianytsia rose with fire and sword against the enemies of their native land. Under their banners the Ukrainians rose for a time against the Poles who were firmly entrenched in Ukraine and took the upper hand again. But soon a big fire began to blaze in Ukraine, started by Khmelnytsky in Zaporozhe against the Poles. The Polish authorities did all they could to put it out. They barricaded the roads in the steppes so as not to let people flee to Zaporozhe. But it was all in vain. A plowman would leave his horses in the field; a brewer, his barrels of beer; the shoemakers, tailors and blacksmiths, their work; fathers would leave small children; sons, their infirm parents; and everybody made their way secretly at night through the steppes to Khmelnytsky on Zaporozhe. That was when the Cossack glory was born in Ukraine. Much could be written about Shram’s whereabouts at the time between Ostrianytsia and Khmelnytsky. During the winter he lived with the Cossacks in the steppes and took a captive Turkish girl as his bride. He preached the word of God to the Zaporozhians; took part in their military expeditions on land and sea. Several times he faced death and grew so battle-hardened that when Khmelnytsky rose against the Poles, Shram rendered him great assistance. In these battles he received so many scars on his body that the Cossacks started calling him Shram (Scar) and forgot his real name. Under this new name he was registered as a Cossack. In those days when the Cossacks had either to win or lose everything, they were not all known by their real names. The Khmelnytsky decade passed quickly. Shram’s sons grew up and helped their father in military expeditions. Two of them fell at Smolensk and Petro was the only one left. After Khmelnytsky’s time the old Shram used his sabre several times. Later, feeling that his strength was ebbing, he resigned as a colonel, became a priest and began to serve God. He sent his son to a military camp and he himself became a devout supporter of the church.