Taras Bulba, and Other TalesGogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
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Taras Bulba, and Other Tales
Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
Russia -- Fiction; Short stories
The executioner tore off his old rags; they fastened his hands and feet
in stocks prepared expressly, and--We will not pain the reader with a
picture of the hellish tortures which would make his hair rise upright
on his head. They were the outcome of that coarse, wild age, when men
still led a life of warfare which hardened their souls until no sense of
humanity was left in them. In vain did some, not many, in that age make
a stand against such terrible measures. In vain did the king and many
nobles, enlightened in mind and spirit, demonstrate that such severity
of punishment could but fan the flame of vengeance in the Cossack
nation. But the power of the king, and the opinion of the wise, was as
nothing before the savage will of the magnates of the kingdom, who, by
their thoughtlessness and unconquerable lack of all far-sighted policy,
their childish self-love and miserable pride, converted the Diet into
the mockery of a government. Ostap endured the torture like a giant. Not
a cry, not a groan, was heard. Even when they began to break the bones
in his hands and feet, when, amid the death-like stillness of the crowd,
the horrible cracking was audible to the most distant spectators;
when even his tormentors turned aside their eyes, nothing like a groan
escaped his lips, nor did his face quiver. Taras stood in the crowd
with bowed head; and, raising his eyes proudly at that moment, he said,
approvingly, “Well done, boy! well done!”
But when they took him to the last deadly tortures, it seemed as though
his strength were failing. He cast his eyes around.
O God! all strangers, all unknown faces! If only some of his relatives
had been present at his death! He would not have cared to hear the sobs
and anguish of his poor, weak mother, nor the unreasoning cries of a
wife, tearing her hair and beating her white breast; but he would have
liked to see a strong man who might refresh him with a word of wisdom,
and cheer his end. And his strength failed him, and he cried in the
weakness of his soul, “Father! where are you? do you hear?”
“I hear!” rang through the universal silence, and those thousands of
people shuddered in concert. A detachment of cavalry hastened to search
through the throng of people. Yankel turned pale as death, and when the
horsemen had got within a short distance of him, turned round in terror
to look for Taras; but Taras was no longer beside him; every trace of
him was lost.
CHAPTER XII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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