Читать книгу Taras Bulba. A Tale of the Cossacks - Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol - Страница 5

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I

"Hey there, son, turn round. How ridiculous you look! What's that priest's cassock you're wearing? Do all the fellows in the Academy go around in that style?"

With such words did old Bulba greet his two sons who had been studying in the Kiev preparatory school, and had just returned home to their father.

His boys had only just dismounted from their horses. They were a pair of stalwart lads, who still wore a sheepishly distrustful look, like students just out of school. Their strong, healthy faces were covered with the first down, which, as yet, had never been touched by the razor. They were very much upset by such a reception on the part of their father, and stood stock-still, with their eyes fixed upon the earth.

"Stand still! Stand still! Let me have a good look at you," he continued, turning them round. ​"How long your svlikas^[1] are. What svitkas! There never were such svitkas in the world before. Just run, one of you! I'll see whether he won't get wound up in the skirts, and tumble on the ground!"

"Don't laugh, Dad!" said the elder of them, at last.

"See how touchy they are I Why shouldn't I laugh?"

"Because you shan't, although you are my dad; but if you do laugh, by God, I'll thrash you!"

"A nice sort of son you are! What! Your dad?" said Taras Bulba, retreating several paces in amazement.

"Yes, even my father. I don't stop to consider who deals the insult, and I spare no one."

"So you want to fight me? With your fists?"

"Any way."

"Well, come on with your fists," said Taras Bulba, stripping up his sleeves. "I'll see what sort of a fellow you are at a fight."

And father and son, in place of a friendly greeting after long separation, began to plant heavy blows on each other's ribs, back and chest, now retreating and taking each other's measure with sidelong glances, now attacking afresh.

​"Look, good people! The old man has gone mad! he has lost his wits completely!" screamed their thin, pale old mother, who was standing on the threshold and had not yet managed to embrace her darling boys. "The children have come home, we have not seen them for over a year; and now the Lord only knows what he has taken into his head—he's pummelling them!"

"Yes, he's a glorious fighter," said Bulba, pausing; "by God! that was a good one!" he continued, somewhat as though he were excusing himself; "yes, although he has never tried his hand at it before. He'll make a good kazák! Now, welcome, my lad, let's greet each other;" and father and son began to exchange kisses. "Good, little son! see that you thrash every one else as you have thrashed me; don't you knuckle under to any one. All the same, your outfit is ridiculous—What's this rope hanging here?—And you, you clumsy lout, why are you standing there with your arms dangling?" said he, turning to the younger lad. "How about you, you son of a dog—why don't you also give me a licking?"

"There's another of his crazy ideas!" said the mother, who had managed, in the meantime, to embrace the younger boy. "Who ever heard of such a thing as a man's own children beating him? That will do for the present: the child is young, he ​has had a long journey, he is tired." (The child was over twenty, and about seven feet tall.) "He ought to rest and eat something; and he sets him to fighting!"

"Oho, I see that you've been raised a pet!" said Bulba. "Don't listen to your mother, my son; she's a woman, she doesn't know anything. What do you want with petting? Your petting is a clear field and a good horse,—that's what it is! And do you see this sword? that's your mother! All the rest of the things with which they stuff your head is rubbish; the academy, books, primers, philosophy, and all that, the devil only knows what, I spit upon it all!" And here Bulba added a word which is not used in print. "But here, now, this is the best of all: I'll take you to Zaporozhe^[2] next week. There's where you'll find the sort of science that's the real thing. That's the school for you: only there will you acquire sense."

"And are they to stay at home only one week?" said the thin, old mother piteously, with tears in her eyes. "The poor boys will have no chance to go about, no chance to get acquainted with the home where they were born; I shall not have a chance to feast my eyes upon them to the full."

"Stop that, stop your howling, old woman! A ​kazák is not born to run around with women. You'd like to hide them both under your petticoat, and sit upon them as if they were hen's eggs. Go, get along with you, and let us have everything there is on the table in a trice. We don't want any pastry puffs, honey-cakes, poppy-cakes, or any other messes: bring us a whole sheep, give us a goat, mead forty years old, and as much corn-brandy as possible, not with raisins and all sorts of frills, but plain, sparkling brandy, which foams and hisses like mad."

Bulba led his sons into the best room of the cottage; and two handsome women servants, in coin necklaces, who were putting the rooms in order, ran out quickly. Evidently, they were frightened by the arrival of the young men, who did not care to be familiar with any one; or else they merely wanted to maintain their feminine custom of screaming and rushing off headlong at the sight of a man, and then screening their lively shame for a long time with their sleeves. The room was furnished in accordance with the fashion of that period,—concerning which vivid hints still linger in the songs and epic lyrics, that are no longer sung in the Ukraina, by bearded old blind men, to the gentle thrumming of the bandura, in the presence of the people thronging about them,—in the taste of that warlike and troublous time, ​when skirmishes and battles began to occur in the Ukraina over the Union.^[3] Everything was neat, plastered with coloured clay. On the walls hung sabres, kazák whips, nets for birds, fishing-nets and guns, cleverly carved powder-horns, gilded bits for horses, and hobble-chains with silver disks. The windows were small, with round, dull panes, such as are to be found nowadays only in ancient churches, through which it was impossible to see without raising the one movable pane. Around the windows and doors ran incised bands painted red. On shelves in the corners stood jugs, bottles and flasks of green and blue glass, carved silver cups, and gilded goblets of various makes,—Venetian, Turkish, Cherkessian,—which had arrived in Bulba's cottage by various roads, at third and fourth hand, something which was quite of common occurrence in those doughty days. There were birch benches all round the walls, a huge table under the holy pictures in the corner of honour, and a capacious oven all covered with parti-coloured tiles, with projections, recesses and an annex at the rear. All this was extremely familiar to our two young men, who had come home every year during the holidays—and had come because they had no horses, as yet, and ​because it was not customary to permit the students to ride on horseback. All they had was long scalp-locks, which every kazák who bore arms was entitled to pull. It was only at the end of their course that Bulba sent them, from his stud, a couple of young stallions.

Bulba, to celebrate the arrival of his sons, ordered all the Sótniks^[4] and all the officers of the troop who were of any consequence, to be summoned; and when two of them arrived with the Yesaúl^[5] Dmitro Tovkach, his old comrade, he immediately presented his boys, saying: "Just look at them; aren't they gallant lads! I shall send them to the Syech^[6] shortly." The guests congratulated Bulba and both the young men, and told them they were engaged in good business, and that there was no better knowledge for a young man than a knowledge of the Zaporozhian Syech.

"Now, my friends, seat yourselves, each where it pleases him best, at table. Now, my lads, first of all let's have a drink of brandy!" Thus spake Bulba. "God's blessing be on us! Welcome, dear sons; you, Ostap, and you, Andríi. God grant that you may always be successful in war! That you may beat the Mussulmans, and beat the ​Turks, and beat the Tatars; and when the Poles undertake any expedition against our Faith, then may you give the Poles a drubbing also. Now, hold out your glasses,—well, and is the brandy good? What's brandy in Latin? Somehow, my lad, the Latins were stupid: they didn't know there was such a thing in the world as corn-brandy. What the deuce was the name of the man who used to write Latin rhymes? I'm not very strong on reading and writing, so I don't quite remember. Was it Horace?"

"Did any one ever see such a dad!" thought the elder son, Ostap. "The old dog knows everything, but he's always shamming."

"I don't believe the Archimandrite^[7] allowed you so much as a smell of brandy," Taras went on. "Come, confess, my lads, they beat you with fresh birch-switches on your backs and everything else that a kazák owns; and perhaps when you grew conceited with what you knew, they flogged you with whips. And not on Saturday only, I fancy, but of a Wednesday and a Thursday, as well."

"There's no good in recalling the past. Dad," replied Ostap; "that's all over and done with."

" Just let 'em try it now!" said Andríi. "Just ​let anybody meddle with me now; just let any Tatar gang come along now and they'll learn what a kazák's sword is like."

"Good, my son, by God, good! And when it comes to that, I'll go with you; by God, I will! Why the devil should I tarry here? To become a sower of buckwheat and a housekeeper, to tend sheep and swine, and fondle my wife? Devil take them! I'm a kazák; I'll have none of them! I'll go with you to Zaporozhe to carouse, by God, I will!" And Bulba gradually grew warmer and warmer, and at last rose from the table, and in a thorough rage, striking a majestic pose, he stamped his foot. "We'll go to-morrow! Why tarry? What enemy can we besiege here? What's this cottage to us? What do we want of all this? What are pots to us?" So saying, he began to smash the pots and flasks, and hurl them about.

The poor old woman, well used to such behaviour on the part of her husband, looked sadly on from her seat on the wall-bench. She did not dare to say anything; but when she heard the decision which was so terrible for her, she could not refrain from tears. She looked at her children, from whom so speedy a separation was threatened, and it is impossible to describe the ​full force of the speechless grief that seemed to quiver in her eyes and on her lips, which were convulsively pressed together.

Bulba was terribly headstrong. His was one of those characters which could arise only in that troublous sixteenth century, in that half-nomadic corner of Europe, when the whole of Southern, primeval Russia, deserted by its Princes, was laid waste, burned to ashes by savage hordes of Mongolian bandits; when a man, deprived of house and home became recklessly brave here; when, amid conflagrations, in sight of threatening neighbours, and eternal danger, he settled down and grew used to looking them squarely in the face, having unlearned the knowledge that there was such a thing as fear in the world; when the ancient, peaceable Slav spirit was seized with a warlike flame, and there was instituted Kazakdom,—a free, wild manifestation of Russian nature,—and when all the river-country, the lands down stream, the slopes of the river banks and convenient sites were populated by kazáks whose number no man knew, and whose bold comrades had a right to reply to the Sultan's inquiry as to how many there were of them, "Who knows? We are scattered all over the steppe: wherever there is a hillock, there, also is a Kazák." It was, in fact, a most remarkable manifestation of Russian ​strength; dire necessity wrested it from the bosom of the people. In place of the original principalities were small towns filled with huntsmen and dog-keepers, in place of the warring and bartering petty Princes in cities, there arose great colonies, hamlets, and districts bound together by a common danger, and by hatred toward the heathen robbers. Every one already knows from history how their incessant fighting and roving life saved Europe from the savage invasions which threatened to overwhelm her. The Polish Kings, finding themselves, in place of the Appanage Princes, sovereigns—though distant and feeble,—over those vast territories, understood, nevertheless, the significance of the kazáks, and the advantages of this warlike, lawless life. They encouraged them and flattered this propensity. Under their distant rule, the Hetmans, chosen from among the kazáks themselves, transformed the districts and hamlets into regiments and uniform provinces. It was not an army in the regulation sense, no one would have noticed its existence; but in case of a war or a general uprising, it required a week and no more, for every man to make his appearance on horseback, fully armed, receiving only one ducat in payment from the King; and in two weeks, such an army was assembled as no recruiting officers would ever have been able to collect. When ​the campaign was ended, the warrior went back to the fields and meadows, and the lower reaches of the Dnyeper, fished, traded, brewed his beer, and was a free kazák once more. His foreign contemporaries rightly marvelled at his wonderful qualities. There was no trade which the kazák did not know; he could distil brandy, build a peasant cart, make powder, do blacksmithing and locksmithing—and, in addition, amuse himself madly, drinking and carousing as only a Russian can,—all this he was equal to. Besides the registered kazáks, who considered themselves bound to present themselves in time of war, it was possible to collect at any time, in case of dire need, a whole army of volunteers. All that was required was that the Captains should traverse all the market-places and squares of the villages and hamlets, and shout at the top of their voices, as they stood erect in their carts: "Hey, ye beer-sellers and beer-brewers! Have done with brewing and with lolling on your ovens, and feeding the flies with your fat bodies! Go, win glory and knightly honour! Ye ploughmen, ye sowers of buckwheat, cease to follow the plough and to soil your yellow buskins in the earth, and court women, and waste your knightly strength! 'Tis time to win kazák glory!" and these words acted like sparks falling on dry wood. The husbandman broke his plough. ​the beer-sellers threw away their casks, the brewers destroyed their barrels; the mechanic and the merchant sent trade and shop to the devil, smashed the pots in their houses, and, every man jack of them, mounted his horse. In short, the Russian character here acquired a broad, mighty scope, a powerful exterior.

Taras was one of the band of old, original Colonels; he was born for warlike emotions, and was noted for the rough uprightness of his character. At that period the influence of Poland was beginning to make itself felt among the Russian nobility. Many had already adopted Polish customs, had introduced luxury, splendid staffs of servants, hawks, huntsmen, dinners and palaces. This was not to the taste of Taras. He liked the simple life of the kazáks, and quarrelled with those of his comrades who inclined to the Warsaw party, calling them the serfs of the Polish nobles. Ever turbulent, he regarded himself as a legal defender of the Faith. He would enter arbitrarily into villages where the sole complaint was with regard to the oppression of the revenue farmers, and the imposition of fresh taxes on each hearth. He and his kazáks would execute justice on them; and he laid down the rule for himself, that in three cases it was always proper to have recourse to the sword: namely, when ​warrant-officers did not show due respect for their superior officers, and stood with their caps on in the latter's presence; or when any one made light of the Orthodox Faith^[8] and did not observe the customs of his ancestors; and, finally, when the enemy were Mussulmans or Turks, against whom he considered it permissible, in every case, to unsheath the sword for the glory of Christianity.

Now he rejoiced in anticipation at the thought of how he would present himself with his two sons in the Syech, and say: "See what fine young fellows I have brought you!" how he would introduce them to all his old comrades, steeled in war; how he would watch their first exploits in the art of war, and in carousing, which was regarded as one of the chief qualities of a knight. At first he had intended to send them forth alone; but at the sight of their freshness, stature and robust personal beauty, his martial spirit flamed up within him, 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 bustle about and give orders; he selected horses and trappings for his young sons, inspected the stables and storehouses, and chose servants to ​accompany them on the morrow. He delegated his power to Captain Tovkach, and gave, along with it, a strict command to appear with his entire troop the very instant he should receive a message from him at the Syech. Although he was half-seas over, and the effects of his drinking-bout still lingered in his brain, he forget nothing; he even gave orders that the horses should be watered, their cribs filled, and that they should be fed with the largest and best wheat; and then he came into the house, fatigued with all his labours.

"Well, boys! We must sleep now, but tomorrow we shall do as God appoints. Don't prepare a bed for us! We need no bed; we'll sleep out doors."

Night had only just clasped the heavens in her embrace, but Taras always went to bed early. He threw himself down on a rug, and covered himself with a sheepskin coat; for the night air was quite sharp, and Bulba liked to be warmly covered when he was at home. He was soon snoring and the whole household speedily followed his example. All snored and grunted as they lay in different corners. The watchman went to sleep the first of all, because he had drunk more than any one else, in honour of his young masters' homecoming.

The poor mother alone slept not. She bent over the pillow of her darling boys as they lay side ​by side; with a comb she smoothed their carelessly tangled young curls, and moistened them with her tears. She gazed at them with her whole being, with her every sense; she merged herself wholly in that gaze, and still she could not gaze enough. She had nourished them at her own breast, she had reared them and petted them; and now to see them only for an instant! "My sons! my darling sons, what will become of you? what awaits you?" she said, and tears stood in the furrows which disfigured her once beautiful face. In truth, she was to be pitied, as was every woman in that valorous epoch. She had lived only for a moment in love, only during the first fever 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 had seen her husband for two or three days in the course of a year, and then for a period of several years there had been no news of him. And when she had seen him, when they had lived together, what sort of a life had been hers? She had endured insults, even beatings; she had seen caresses bestowed merely out of pity; she had been a strange object amid that mob of heartless cavaliers, upon which the dissolute life of the Zaporozhe had cast a grim colouring of its own. Her pleasureless youth had flitted swiftly by; and her beautiful rosy cheeks and her bosom ​had withered away unkissed, and become covered with premature wrinkles. All her love, all her feeling, everything that is tender and passionate in a woman had, in her case, been converted into the one sentiment of maternal love. With ardour, with passion, with tears, she hovered over her boys, like a gull of the steppe. Her sons, her darling sons, were being taken from her,—taken from her in such a way that she might never see them again! Who knows? Perchance a Tatár would cut off their heads in the very first skirmish, and she would never know where their deserted bodies lay, torn by the beasts of prey; and yet for each drop of their blood she would gladly give her whole self. Sobbing, she gazed into their eyes, even when all-powerful sleep began to close them, and said to herself: "Perhaps when Bulba wakes he will put off their departure for a brief day or two; perhaps he took it into his head to go so soon because he had been drinking hard."

The moon, from the height of heaven, had long since illuminated the whole courtyard filled with sleepers, the dense clump of willows, and the tall steppe grass which hid the wattled hedge. She still sat by the heads of her beloved sons, never removing her eyes from them for a moment, or even 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 very bases. She sat there, unwearied, until daylight, and wished in her heart that the night might last as long as possible. From the steppe came the ringing neigh of a stallion; red tongues darted brightly athwart the sky.

Bulba suddenly awoke and sprang to his feet. He remembered perfectly well all that he had ordered the night before. "Now, my lads, time's up! you've slept enough! Water the horses! And where's the old woman?" (This was what he generally called his wife.) "Hurry up, old woman, get us something to eat; we've a long trip ahead of us."

The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, slipped sadly into the cottage. While with tears she prepared what was needed for breakfast, Bulba issued his orders, went to the stable, and himself selected his best trappings for his boys.

The collegians were suddenly transformed. Red morocco boots with silver heels replaced their dirty old foot-gear; trousers wide as the Black Sea, with thousands of folds and plaits, were supported by golden girdles; from the girdles hung long, slender thongs, with tassels and other jingling things for pipes. The kazák coat, of brilliant ​scarlet cloth, was confined by a flowered belt; embossed Turkish pistols were thrust into the belt; their swords clanged at their heels. Their faces, already slightly sunburned, seemed to have grown handsomer and whiter; their little black moustaches now set off more distinctly both their pallor and their strong, healthy, youthful complexions. Very handsome were they, beneath their black sheepskin caps, with golden crowns.

When their poor mother saw them she could not utter a word, and tears stood in her eyes.

"All ready there, now, sons! No time to waste!" said Bulba, at last. "Now we must all sit down together, In accordance with our Christian custom before a journey."

All seated themselves, not excepting the servants, who had been standing respectfully at the door.

"Now, Mother, bless your children," said Bulba. "Pray God that they may always fight bravely, always uphold knightly honour, always defend the faith of Christ; and if not, that they may perish, and their breath be no longer in the world.—Come to your mother, my boys; a mother's prayer saves on land and sea."

The mother, weak as all mothers are, embraced them, drew out two small holy images, and sobbing, hung one round each neck—"May God's ​Mother… keep you! My dear little sons, forget not your mother… send some little word of yourselves…" she could say no more.

"Now boys, let's go!" said Bulba.

By the porch stood the horses, ready saddled. Bulba sprang upon his "Devil" which jumped madly rearward, feeling upon his back a load of twenty puds,^[9] for Taras was extremely stout and heavy.

When the mother saw that her sons also were mounted on their horses, she flung herself toward 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, would not loose him from her hands. Two husky kazáks seized her carefully, and carried her into the cottage. But when they had already ridden through the gate, with all the agility of a wild goat, utterly out of keeping with her years, she rushed through the gate, with irresistible strength stopped a horse, and embraced one of her sons with a sort of senseless vehemence. Then they led her away once more.

The young kazáks rode on sadly, repressing their tears out of fear of their father who, on his ​side, was somewhat agitated, although he strove not to show it. The day was grey; the greenery shone brightly; the birds twittered rather discordantly. They glanced back as they rode away. Their farm seemed to have sunk into the earth. All that was visible above the surface was the two chimneys of their modest cottage, and the crests of the trees up which they had been wont to climb like squirrels; before them still stretched the meadow by which they could recall the whole history of their lives, from the years when they had rolled in its dewey grass, up to the years when they had awaited in it a black-bowed kazák maiden, who ran timidly across it with her quick, young feet. And now only one pole above the well, with the cart-wheel fastened on top, rises solitary against the sky; already the plain across which they have been riding appears a hill in the distance, and has concealed everything. Farewell childhood, and games, and everything—farewell!

1 ↑ A half-long upper garment of cloth, used by the South Russians. I. F. H.

2 ↑ The Kazák country beyond (za) the Rapids (porózhe) of the Dnyeper. I. F. H.

3 ↑ The projected union between Poland and Lithuania, to include also Little Russia: (effected in 1569, at Liublin). I. F. H.

4 ↑ Lieutenant in the rest of the army. I. F. H.

5 ↑ Captain of Kazáks. I. F. H.

6 ↑ The headquarters of the Zaporozhian Kazáks. I. F. H.

7 ↑ Abbot. Education was in the hands of the monasteries of that day in Kiev. I. F. H.

8 ↑ Orthodox means, specifically, in Russia, a member of the Greco-Russian Church, or anything connected with that Church —the Catholic Church of the East. I. F. H.

9 ↑ A pud is about forty pounds. I. F. H.