Chapter V (2)

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