Excerpted from the book "On the High Uplands: Sagas, Songs, Tales, and Legends of the Carpathians" by Stanisław Vincenz.
Foka the Dancer
As soon as Foka returned from service in the army he gained fame as the foremost dancer in the Hucul district, as the youngster most sumptuous in his attire, and as a leader in volunteer groups and all other forms of labour. Stories of Foka's attire circulated for years through the mountain hamlets, the little towns, the gentry's houses and the Hungarian castles. He had such a passion for dressing up that even on the uplands, whither many a good farmer goes in old, worn-out clothing, he went about finely arrayed, his jerkin covered with glittering brass chains. And he was just the same when he was old. As he returned from the upland even his horses could be distinguished from all others, for they were bedecked with plumes of dwarf-pine.
In those times no one was frugal in expenditure on churches and festivals as they are now. In Foka's day there were two great church festivals at Zabie, the one on Corpus Christi and the other on the "Summer Madonna"; there were two in Kryworiwnia, one on the Sacred Robe of Jesus, the other on the "autumn Mother of God"; and there were two in Jasienowo. But on St. John the Baptist's Day many people crossed the Czornohora ridge to attend the church in Hungarian Jasinia, which today is almost forgotten. All the three "forefathers" Saturdays in the year,1 in spring, summer, and autumn, were solemnly celebrated: ancestors were recalled, the dead were honoured, and the people ate with relish and always drank Hungarian wine, for vodka alone makes a poor feast. At Easter-time even the priest blessed the wine or the vodka, sprinkling flask after flask with holy water, so that the contents should not work Christians harm and not lead to sin.
Foka was never missing from any festive occasion. While his father, Maksym, had cared more for the cattle and sheep, Foka was famous for hospitality. His house was open to all. Although it was not on the main road, every man dropped in or rode to it to learn what was happening, to see and "be in company". Foka, like the old-time mountain farmer, never let anyone depart until he had been fed, made welcome, and spent the night. And how the casual guests made merry and danced in the old Szumej house! They listened to singing, music, and stories of all kinds. Often some traveller from afar would drop in and tell the news. And occasionally some old man who left his home on the heights only once every few years would turn up, and then he would talk of the past, resurrecting it for his listeners. It was as though the heart of the Highland beat in the old house, as if the spirits of past farmers and dashing young brigands emerged from its corners and its yards. Foka was munificent in other ways too; not counting the cost, he provided for splendid and famous churches.
Wherever he went Foka had dancing companions. He met them everywhere, often even in Sziget, on the Hungarian side, whither he went for the markets, and in Hungarian Poleni, in Kosow and Wyznyca. When they came together they danced until the musicians' fingers were swollen, sometimes singing as they danced, sometimes firing their pistols for the pleasure of it. And so all night till morning, and then on till noonday, and a little more before evening, and then once more all night.
What did they dance? They depicted their ancestors' history and past adventures. They swung their axes at one another, erect and squatting, as though repulsing an enemy; they threw their axes from one to another, as though challenging to a fight. Then, after the battle, they united, embraced, and danced in harmony. Then they ran off together with raised axes, gazing into the distance, looking for the enemy, as though storming over the mountains, capturing towns, or fleeing from pursuit; or they trotted almost in the one spot, evenly, slowly, yet steadily moving round, always in a circle, as though representing the shepherd's tranquil life. Then once more the music burst out like a waterfall, like water roaring down from an opened floodgate. They broke into shouts, and in this violent rhythm they swayed a little, their feet planted firmly, as though balancing on a lumber-raft as it swept along the river. The dance changed continually, conveying all kinds of stories, of the past and the present.
The one pity was that Foka went on dancing till his companions dropped; he vanquished them all in the dance, almost wore them out. His fame spread all over the countryside.
But at last he met his match. In Sziget one day he danced with a lad younger than himself, a poor fellow from the Hungarian side, meanly attired. His name was Mysz (Mouse), but he was very strong. He stopped Foka's capers. Foka tried every trick he could think of; he changed the musicians, so that they were rested and fresh, and he danced till the floor cracked. It was all of no use. "Mouse" danced on indefatigably, and won great fame in Sziget. The dwellers on the farther side of the mountains went about boasting that one of them was equal to Foka in dancing. But the end came even for Mysz. One day young Matijko of Kryworiwnia, a son of Foka's friend Fedor, turned up in Sziget for the market. He was not a lad, he was a robust young beech-tree. He always spent his summers in the forest below Czarnohora. In the uplands he wrestled for wagers, or carried full tubs of cheese in his teeth. He always won his bet, but he never took the money. He never picked quarrels, but woe betide anyone who set upon him! He was a simple, sincere fellow, who never took offence. If he had, there would have been a fine contest: "Thinking of giving me a whack on the head? Well, let me try one on yours!" But one needed strong bones to stand up to such tests against Matijko, for he had a head as tough as steel. Many a time he had been beaten and struck on his head with the back of an axe, but it only grew harder and stronger. However, he had no mind for fighting. His thoughts were entirely absorbed in his animals. He was always thinking of the cows, sheep and goats he was grazing, and with which he spent all his life. He always spoke of them as if they were friends.
When Matijko came to Sziget, half in jest he tried himself out against Mysz in a dance. And then the people on the farther side discovered what the youngsters from Czornohora are like. He outdanced Mysz. He did not have the temerity to try his skill against Foka, but obviously he could have beaten him too.
Matijko was reluctant to make any song about his exploit, but Foka himself declared that while Mysz from beyond the mountains was as good a dancer as himself, the best dancer in all the mountains was Matijko of the Iwankowi-Zelenczuk family.
The youngest of them all, Matijko outlived them all, and survived till recently. He gave all his heart to his animals, the cattle he grazed had a good life, and he put all his youth and strength into his struggles with bears. Until late old age he never slept in a cottage during the summer. He recalled the former people and former cattle with warmth. We often drew his treasures, his knowledge of the old days, out of his memory, as if from a richly stored chamber.
As for Foka, the people long remembered his dances as though they were the last gleam of the sun, of past happiness, of former freedom.
Marijka Czornysz, one of the last of the dying generation, a woman eighty years old, often tells how fond Foka was of dancing when he was young. She tells her story animatedly, with a charming smile. "I was perhaps ten years old then, and I gaped at Foka, I could never watch him enough. I shall never forget what he looked like in his old-fashioned tall hat, like what the brigands once wore. The hat was surrounded with a broad brass band, and peacocks' feathers were stuck behind the band and waved high in the air. When he danced the chains and pistols jingled on his great belt, which was studded with nails. He was splendid and very kind. Wherever he went, wherever he appeared, the people were glad to see him and he was welcomed as a great gentleman, almost like an emperor. The farmer and the gentry and the high officials were all glad to see him, and they all laughed and made him heartily welcome. He was respected by all, and he was always roaming. Whatever he said, whatever song he sang when there was a call for volunteer labour, it was passed round and spread all over the mountains."
Foka went on dancing till he was quite old. He danced with the last of the Wasyluk family of Holowy, a farmer as dignified as Foka himself, but taciturn, serious, inaccessible to strangers. They danced together slowly, seriously, in silence. And Foka danced with Dmytro Szekieryk of Krasnojila, a talkative man, inexhaustible in his stories, cunning but honest. Then they talked, they told each other stories, they could not talk enough; they drank a little, danced merrily, and talked again, telling endless stories.