19. The Happy Year

For more than a year it seemed as if Ukraine was going to gain her independence. The whole country had arisen like one man. The invaders had disappeared, surprised by a movement so sudden, so general and spontaneous. Each Ukrainian had retaken, reconquered his field, his cottage, his farm or his house. Better still, each one had once more been able to gather in his harvest. Step by step, from the lake to the river, from the steppe to the forest, the enemy had been forced to retreat.

The Ataman of Tchigurine, after having heroically defended and saved the city, and given proofs of great bravery, had died, died like a hero, died happy, in full triumph. A man, unknown till then, Tchetchevik the Lion, it was thus they very soon named him with a common voice, fought by the side of the Ataman in the hand-to-hand conflict in which he was killed. The intrepid Lion rescued the body of his chief, covered with noble wounds, from the enemy, and took his place at the head of the movement in that part of the country.

At Gadiatch, the other Ataman, acknowledged as supreme chief, had gained his former courage. There was often seen by his side, sometimes before him, a beautiful woman on horseback, who did not command, but always appeared in the worst of the battle, and whose presence alone had the power to arouse every one’s enthusiasm, to reanimate every one’s courage.

She was followed everywhere by a courageous little page, who was her flag-bearer, and who, mounted on a black horse, waved his flag with a valiant hand in the midst of the balls, careless of danger. The soldiers adored this little warrior, who was as beautiful as an angel. Was he in truth an angel, or only a child, or, as some pretended to say, a simple little village girl, animated with a divine fire, a superhuman courage, and whom nothing could make afraid? He was all this at once. It was all true, for this page was Maroussia.

She was a child Jeanne d’Arc, in a country where the name of Jeanne d’Arc had never been spoken except by accident.

Obliged to be everywhere at once, Tchetchevik had left her with Méphodiévna. They were inseparable; whoever saw one saw the other. All the women were engaged in the war, it was truly a holy war. The Russians themselves could not refuse their admiration of this magnificent effort.

Ah, the noble struggle! The children’s children of that time have never forgotten it. This last uprising of the whole of Ukraine was glorious, especially after defeat. Happy the nations, small or great, who have a right to sin of their Gloria Victis!

The winter, that year, was of exceptional severity, the crows and wolves were frozen to death in the forests. Pity them, if you like, but do not pity the peasants. Winter is their friend. Summer reigns for them then around the stove. Besides, under the protection of the accumulated snow, the cottages guard themselves. The enemy is no more to be feared, he has taken up his winter quarters in the cities.

The men can at last dress their glorious wounds without hiding them as a disgrace. It is no longer necessary for them to go down in the cellar to rub up and repair their weapons; they can make their ammunition at their leisure, stretch out their arms, and rest, relax their muscles, stiffened by too long-continued efforts. From village to village, they can see each other again, visit each other, and count their losses. They mourn for the cherished dead, celebrate their brave actions, and especially try to count their forces in reserve for the future.

Plans and preparations occupy the chiefs. Where is Tchetchevik? Ask rather where he is not? But where he appears the most frequently, if only for an instant, to illumine everything as by a flash of lightning, is in an inaccessible retreat, selected and reserved by him for his two principal aides de camp. Is it necessary for me to name Méphodiévna and Maroussia? They are not those who have the least need of seeing him. For warriors like them this forced inaction of winter, this time lost, seemed very long. If there are eternal moments, they are the moments unemployed.

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