![]() Taras Bulba ![]() ![]() ![]() With such words did old Bulba greet his two sons, who had been absent for
their education at the Royal Seminary of Kyiv, and had now returned home to
their father. "Stand still, stand still! let me have a good look at you," he continued,
turning them around. "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 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 man! he has lost his senses
completely!" screamed their pale, 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 Kozak! 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
there?--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 nothing. What sort of petting do you need? A clear
field and a good horse, that's the kind of petting for you! And do you see
this sword? that's your mother! All the rest people stuff your heads with is
rubbish; the academy, books, primers, philosophy, and all that, I spit upon
it all!" Here Bulba added a word which is not used in print. "But I'll tell
you what is best: I'll take you to Zaporozhe; the Kozak country beyond the waterfalls of
the Dnieper,this very week. That's where
there's science for you! There's your school; there alone will you gain
sense."
"And are they only to remain 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 Kozak 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 anyone; 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 concerning which hints linger only in the songs and lyrics, no
longer sung, alas! in the Ukraine as of yore by blind old men, to the soft
tinkling of the native bandura, to the people thronging round them--according
to the taste of that warlike and troublous time, of leagues and battles
prevailing in the Ukraine after the union. Everything was cleanly smeared
with coloured clay. On the walls hung sabres, hunting-whips, nets for birds,
fishing-nets, guns, elaborately carved powder-horns, gilded bits for horses,
and tether-ropes with silver plates. The small window had round dull panes,
through which it was impossible to see except by opening the one moveable
one. Around the windows and doors red bands were painted. On shelves in one
corner stood jugs, bottles, and flasks of green and blue glass, carved
silver cups, and gilded drinking vessels of various makes--Venetian,
Turkish, Tscherkessian, which had reached Bulba's cabin by various roads, at
third and fourth hand, a thing common enough in those bold days. There were
birch-wood benches all around the room, a huge table under the holy pictures
in one corner, and a huge stove covered with particoloured patterns in
relief, with spaces between it and the wall. All this was quite familiar to
the two young men, who were wont to come home every year during the
dog-days, since they had no horses, and it was not customary to allow
students to ride afield on horseback. The only distinctive things permitted
them were long locks of hair on the temples, which every Kozak who bore
weapons was entitled to pull. It was only at the end of their course of
study that Bulba had sent them a couple of young stallions from his stud.
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 Sich, to the permanent camp of the Zaporozhian Kozaks shortly."
The guests congratulated Bulba and the young men, "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 Muslims 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 Kozak 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 know," said Andríi. "Let anybody just touch me, let any
Tatar risk it now, and he'll soon learn what a Kozak'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-reaper and housekeeper, to look after the sheep and swine, and
loaf around with my wife? Away with such nonsense! I am a Kozak; I'll have
none of it! What's left but war? I'll go with you to Zaporozhe to carouse;
I'll go, by heavens!" And old Bulba, growing warm by degrees and finally
quite angry, rose from the table, and, assuming a dignified attitude,
stamped his foot. "We will go tomorrow! Wherefore delay? What enemy can we
besiege here? What is this hut to us? What do we want with all these things?
What are pots and pans to us?" So saying, he began to knock over the pots
and flasks, and to throw them about. 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 Ukraine, 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 Kozak state was instituted--a free, wild outbreak of Ukrainian
nature--and when all the river-banks, fords, and like suitable places were
peopled by Kozaks, 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 Kozak."
It was, in fact, a most remarkable exhibition of Ukrainain 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; the Kozak villages and barracks,
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 Kozaks, 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
Kozaks 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 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 Ukrainian 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
Kozaks, 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 taxes on
necessaries. He and his Kozaks executed justice, and made it a rule that
in three cases it was absolutely necessary to resort to the sword. Namely,
when the commissioners did not respect the superior officers and stood
before them covered; when any one made light of the faith and did not
observe the customs of his ancestors; and, finally, when the enemy were
Muslims or Turks, against whom he considered it permissible, in every
case, to draw the sword for the glory of Christianity.
Now he rejoiced beforehand at the thought of how he would present himself
with his two sons at the Sich, 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
Sich 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 tomorrow 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 always went to bed
early. He lay down on a rug and covered himself with a sheepskin pelisse,
for the night air was quite sharp and he liked to lie warm when he was at
home. He was soon snoring, and the whole household speedily followed his
example. All snored and groaned as they lay in different corners. The
watchman went to sleep the first of all, he had drunk so much in honour of
the young masters' home-coming.
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 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 countless folds and plaits, were kept up by golden girdles from
which hung long slender thongs, with tassles and other tinkling things, for
pipes. Their jackets of scarlet cloth were girt by flowered sashes into
which were thrust engraved Turkish pistols; their swords clanked at their
heels. Their faces, already a little sunburnt, seemed to have grown
handsomer and whiter; their slight black moustaches now cast a more distinct
shadow on this pallor and set off their healthy youthful complexions. They
looked very handsome in their black sheepskin caps, with cloth-of-gold
crowns. 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
--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 those of
his brother. She grasped his stirrup, clung to his saddle, and with despair
in her eyes, refused to loose her hold. Two stout Kozaks seized her
carefully, and bore her back into the hut. But before the cavalcade had
passed out of the courtyard, she rushed with the speed of a wild goat,
disproportionate to her years, to the gate, stopped a horse with
irresistible strength, and embraced one of her sons with mad, unconscious
violence. Then they led her away again. The young Kozaks 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 Kozak maiden, running
timidly across it on quick young feet. There is the pole above the well,
with the wagon 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!
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