``TURN round, my boy! How ridiculous you look! What sort of a priest's cassock have you got on? Does everybody at the academy dress like that?''
With such words did old Bulba greet his two sons, who had been absent for their education at the Royal Seminary of Kief, and had now returned home to their father.
His sons had but just dismounted from their horses. They were a couple of stout lads who still looked bashful, as became youths recently released from the seminary. Their firm healthy faces were covered with the first down of manhood, down which had, as yet, never known a razor. They were greatly discomfited by such a reception from their father, and stood motionless with eyes fixed upon the ground.
``Stand still, stand still! let me have a good look at you,'' he continued, turning them round. ``How long your gaberdines are! What gaberdines! There never were such gaberdines in the world before. Just run, one of you! I want to see whether you will not get entangled in the skirts, and fall down.''
``Don't laugh, don't laugh, father!'' said the eldest lad at length.
``How touchy we are! Why shouldn't I laugh?''
``Because, although you are my father, if you laugh, by heavens, I will strike you!''
``What kind of a son are you? what, strike your father!'' exclaimed Taras Bulba, retreating several paces in amazement.
``Yes, even my father. I don't stop to consider persons when an insult is in question.''
``So you want to fight me? with your fist, eh?''
``Any way.''
``Well, let it be fisticuffs,'' said Taras Bulba, turning up his sleeves. ``I'll see what sort of a man you are with your fists.''
And father and son, in lieu of a pleasant greeting after long separation, began to deal each other heavy blows on ribs, back, and chest, now retreating and looking at each other, now attacking afresh.
``Look, good people! the old man has gone mad! he has lost his senses completely!'' screamed their pale, ugly, kindly mother, who was standing on the threshold, and had not yet succeeded in embracing her darling children. ``The children have come home, we have not seen them for over a year; and now he has taken some strange freak -- he's pommelling them.''
``Yes, he fights well,'' said Bulba, pausing; ``well by heavens!'' he continued, rather as if excusing himself, ``although he has never tried his hand at it before, he will make a good Cossack! Now, welcome, son! embrace me,'' and father and son began to kiss each other. ``Good lad! see that you hit every one as you pommelled me; don't let any one escape. Nevertheless your clothes are ridiculous all the same. What rope is this hanging here? -- And you, you lout, why are you standing there with your hands hanging beside you?'' he added, turning to the youngest. ``Why don't you fight me? you son of a dog!''
``What an idea!'' said the mother, who had managed in the meantime to embrace her youngest. ``Who ever heard of children fighting their own father? That's enough for the present; the child is young, he has had a long journey, he is tired.'' The child was over twenty and about six feet high. ``He ought to rest, and eat something; and you set him to fighting!''
``You are a gabbler!'' said Bulba. ``Don't listen to your mother, my lad; she is a woman, and knows
``And are they only to remain at home a week?'' said the worn old mother sadly and with tears in her eyes. ``The poor boys will have no chance of looking around, no chance of getting acquainted with the home where they were born; there will be no chance for me to get a look at them.''
``Enough, you've howled quite enough, old woman! A Cossack is not born to run around after women. You would like to hide them both under your petticoat, and sit upon them as a hen sits on eggs. Go, go, and let us have everything there is on the table in a trice. We don't want any dumplings, honey-cakes, poppy-cakes, or any other such messes: give us a whole sheep, a goat, mead forty years old, and as much corn-brandy as possible, not with raisins and all sorts of stuff, but plain scorching corn-brandy, which foams and hisses like mad.''
Bulba led his sons into the principal room of the hut; and two pretty servant girls wearing coin necklaces, who were arranging the apartment, ran out quickly. They were either frightened at the arrival of the young men, who did not care to be familiar with any one; or else they merely wanted to keep up their feminine custom of screaming and rushing away headlong at the sight of a man, and then screening their blushes for some time with their sleeves. The hut was furnished according to the fashion of that period -- a fashion
Bulba, on the occasion of his sons' arrival, ordered all the sotniks or captains of hundreds, and all the officers of the band who were of any consequence, to be summoned; and when two of them arrived with his old comrade, the Osaul or sub-chief, Dmitro Tovkatch, he immediately presented the lads, saying, ``See what fine young fellows they are! I shall send them to the
``Come, brothers, seat yourselves, each where he likes best, at the table; come, my sons. First of all, let's take some corn-brandy,'' said Bulba. ``God bless you! Welcome, lads; you, Ostap, and you, Andríi. God grant that you may always be successful in war, that you may beat the Mussulmans and the Turks and the Tatars, and that when the Poles undertake any expedition against our faith, you may beat the Poles. Come clink your glasses. How now? Is the brandy good? What's corn-brandy in Latin? The Latins were stupid: they did not know there was such a thing in the world as corn-brandy. What was the name of the man who wrote Latin verses? I don't know much about reading and writing, so I don't quite know. Wasn't it Horace?''
``What a dad!'' thought the elder son Ostap. ``The old dog knows everything, but he always pretends the contrary.''
``I don't believe the archimandrite allowed you so much as a smell of corn-brandy,'' continued Taras. ``Confess, my boys, they thrashed you well with fresh birch-twigs on your backs and all over your Cossack bodies; and perhaps, when you grew too sharp, they beat you with whips. And not on Saturday only, I fancy, but on Wednesday and Thursday.''
``What is past, father, need not be recalled; it is done with.''
``Let them try it now,'' said Andríi. ``Let anybody just touch me, let any Tatar risk it now, and he'll soon learn what a Cossack's sword is like!''
``Good, my son, by heavens, good! And when it comes to that, I'll go with you; by heavens, I'll go too! What should I wait here for? To become a buckwheat
The poor old woman, well used to such freaks on the part of her husband, looked sadly on from her seat on the wall-bench. She did not dare say a word; but when she heard the decision which was so terrible for her, she could not refrain from tears. As she looked at her children, from whom so speedy a separation was threatened, it is impossible to describe the full force of her speechless grief, which seemed to quiver in her eyes and on her lips convulsively pressed together.
Bulba was terribly headstrong. He was one of those characters which could only exist in that fierce fifteenth century, and in that half-nomadic corner of Europe when the whole of Southern Russia, deserted by its princes, was laid waste and burned to the quick by pitiless troops of Mongolian robbers, when men deprived of house and home grew brave there; when, amid conflagrations, threatening neighbours, and eternal terrors, they settled down, and growing accustomed to looking these things straight in the face, trained themselves not to know that there was such a thing as fear in the world; when the old, peaceable Slav spirit was fired with warlike flame, and the Cossack state was instituted -- a free, wild outbreak of Russian nature -- and when all the river-banks, fords, and like suitable places were peopled by Cossacks, whose number no man knew. Their bold comrades had a right to reply to the Sultan when he asked how many they were,
``Who knows? We are scattered all over the steppes: wherever there is a hillock, there is a Cossack.''
It was, in fact, a most remarkable exhibition of Russian strength, forced by dire necessity from the bosom of the people. In place of the original provinces with their petty towns, in place of the warring and bartering petty princes ruling in their cities, there arose great colonies, kuréns,4 and districts, bound together by one common danger and hatred against the heathen robbers. The story is well known how their incessant warfare and restless existence saved Europe from the merciless hordes which threatened to overwhelm her. The Polish kings, who now found themselves sovereigns, in place of the provincial princes, over these extensive tracts of territory, fully understood, despite the weakness and remoteness of their own rule, the value of the Cossacks, and the advantages of the warlike, untrammelled life led by them. They encouraged them and flattered this disposition of mind. Under their distant rule, the hetmans or chiefs, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, redistributed the territory into military districts. It was not a standing army, no one saw it; but in case of war and general uprising, it required a week, and no more, for every man to appear on horseback, fully armed, receiving only one ducat from the king; and in two weeks such a force had assembled as no recruiting officers would ever have been able to collect. When the expedition was ended, the army dispersed among the fields and meadows and the fords of the Dnieper; each man fished, wrought at his trade, brewed his beer, and was once more a free Cossack. Their foreign contemporaries rightly marvelled at their wonderful qualities. There was no handicraft which the Cossack was not expert at: he could distil brandy, build a waggon, make powder, and do blacksmith's and gunsmith's work, in addition to committing wild excesses, drinking and carousing as only a Russian can -- all this he was equal to. Besides
Taras was one of the band of old-fashioned leaders he was born for warlike emotions, and was distinguished for his uprightness of character. At that epoch the influence of Poland had already begun to make itself felt upon the Russian nobility. Many had adopted Polish customs, and began to display luxury in splendid staffs of servants, hawks, huntsmen, dinners, and palaces. This was not to Taras's taste. He liked the simple life of the Cossacks, and quarrelled with those of his comrades who were inclined to the Warsaw party calling them serfs of the Polish nobles. Ever on the alert, he regarded himself as the legal protector of the orthodox faith. He entered despotically into any village where there was a general complaint of oppression by the revenue farmers and of the addition of fresh
Now he rejoiced beforehand at the thought of how he would present himself with his two sons at the Setch, and say, ``See what fine young fellows I have brought you!'' how he would introduce them to all his old comrades, steeled in warfare; how he would observe their first exploits in the sciences of war and of drinking, which was also regarded as one of the principal warlike qualities. At first he had intended to send them forth alone; but at the sight of their freshness, stature, and manly personal beauty his martial spirit flamed up and he resolved to go with them himself the very next day, although there was no necessity for this except his obstinate self-will. He began at once to hurry about and give orders; selected horses and trappings for his sons, looked through the stables and storehouses, and chose servants to accompany them on the morrow. He delegated his power to Osaul Tovkatch, and gave with it a strict command to appear with his whole force at the Setch the very instant he should receive a message from him. Although he was jolly, and the effects of his drinking bout still lingered in his brain, he forgot nothing. He even gave orders that the horses should be watered, their cribs filled, and that they should be fed with the finest corn; and then he retired, fatigued with all his labours.
``Now, children, we must sleep, but to-morrow we shall do what God wills. Don't prepare us a bed: we need no bed; we will sleep in the courtyard.''
Night had but just stole over the heavens, but Bulba
The mother alone did not sleep. She bent over the pillow of her beloved sons, as they lay side by side; she smoothed with a comb their carelessly tangled locks and moistened them with her tears. She gazed at them with her whole soul, with every sense; she was wholly merged in the gaze, and yet she could not gaze enough. She had fed them at her own breast, she had tended them and brought them up; and now to see them only for an instant!'' My sons, my darling sons! what will become of you? what fate awaits you?'' she said, and tears stood in the wrinkles which disfigured her once beautiful face. In truth, she was to be pitied, as was every woman of that period. She had lived only for a moment of love, only during the first ardour of passion only during the first flush of youth; and then her grim betrayer had deserted her for the sword, for his comrades and his carouses. She saw her husband two or three days in a year, and then, for several years, heard nothing of him. And when she did see him, when they did live together, what a life was hers! She endured insult, even blows; she felt caresses bestowed only in pity; she was a misplaced object in that community of unmarried warriors, upon which wandering Zaporozhe cast a colouring of its own. Her pleasureless youth flitted by; her ripe cheeks and bosom withered away unkissed and became covered with premature wrinkles. Love, feeling, everything that is tender and passionate in a woman, was converted in her into maternal love. She hovered around her children with anxiety, passion tears, like the gull of the steppes. They were taking her sons, her darling sons, from her taking them from her,
The moon from the summit of the heavens had long since lit up the whole courtyard filled with sleepers, the thick clump of willows, and the tall steppe-grass, which hid the palisade surrounding the court. She still sat at her sons' pillow, never removing her eyes from them for a moment, nor thinking of sleep. Already the horses, divining the approach of dawn, had ceased eating and lain down upon the grass; the topmost leaves of the willows began to rustle softly, and little by little the rippling rustle descended to their bases. She sat there until daylight, unwearied, and wishing in her heart that the night might prolong itself indefinitely. From the steppes came the ringing neigh of the horses, and red streaks shone brightly in the sky. Bulba suddenly awoke, and sprang to his feet. He remembered quite well what he had ordered the night before. ``Now, my men, you've slept enough! 'tis time, 'tis time! Water the horses! And where is the old woman?'' He generally called his wife so. ``Be quick, old woman, get us something to eat; the way is long.''
The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, slipped sadly into the hut.
Whilst she, with tears, prepared what was needed for breakfast, Bulba gave his orders, went to the stable, and selected his best trappings for his children with his own hand.
The scholars were suddenly transformed. Red morocco boots with silver heels took the place of their dirty old ones; trousers wide as the Black Sea, with
When their poor mother saw them, she could not utter a word, and tears stood in her eyes.
``Now, my lads, all is ready; no delay!'' said Bulba at last. ``But we must first all sit down together, in accordance with Christian custom before a journey.''
All sat down, not excepting the servants, who had been standing respectfully at the door.
``Now, mother, bless your children,'' said Bulba. ``Pray God that they may fight bravely always defend their warlike honour, always defend the faith of Christ; and, if not, that they may die, so that their breath may not be longer in the world.''
``Come to your mother, children, a mother's prayer protects on land and sea.''
The mother, weak as mothers are, embraced them, drew out two small holy pictures, and hung them sobbing, around their necks. ``May God's mother -- keep you! Children, do not forget your mother -- send some little word of yourselves -- -- '' She could say no more.
``Now, children, let us go,'' said Bulba.
At the door stood the horses, ready saddled. Bulba sprang upon his ``Devil,'' which bounded wildly, on feeling on his back a load of over thirty stone, for Taras was extremely stout and heavy.
When the mother saw that her sons were also mounted, she rushed towards the younger, whose features expressed somewhat more gentleness than
The young Cossacks rode on sadly, repressing their tears out of fear of their father, who, on his side, was somewhat moved, although he strove not to show it. The morning was grey, the green sward bright, the birds twittered rather discordantly. They glanced back as they rode. Their paternal farm seemed to have sunk into the earth. All that was visible above the surface were the two chimneys of their modest hut and the tops of the trees up whose trunks they had been used to climb like squirrels. Before them still stretched the field by which they could recall the whole story of their lives, from the years when they rolled in its dewy grass down to the years when they awaited in it the dark-browed Cossack maiden, running timidly across it on quick young feet. There is the pole above the well, with the waggon wheel fastened to its top, rising solitary against the sky, already the level which they have traversed appears a hill in the distance, and now all has disappeared. Farewell, childhood, games, all, all, farewell!