Taras Bulba. A Tale of the Cossacks. Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol
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