what a magnificent figure!" he said, reining in his horse. The Zaporozhetz had stretched himself out in the road like a lion; his scalp-lock, thrown proudly behind him, extended over half an arshin of ground;[1] his trousers, of costly scarlet cloth, were spotted with tar, to show his utter disdain for them. Having admired him to his heart's content, Bulba passed on through the narrow street, which was crowded with mechanics pursuing their trades, and with men of all nationalities, who thronged this suburb of the Syech, which resembled a fair, and fed and clothed Syech that knew only how to revel and to discharge guns.
At last they left the suburb behind them, and perceived some scattered kuréns[2] covered with turf, or with felt, in Tatár fashion. Some were furnished with cannon. Nowhere were any fences visible, or any of those low-roofed houses with sloping porch-roofs supported on short wooden pillars, such as there were in the suburb. A small rampart and abatis totally unguarded, showed a terrible degree of recklessness. Stalwart Zaporozhtzi lying, pipe in mouth, in the very road, glanced at them with great indifference, but did not stir from their places. Taras threaded
