Chapter 10 Taras Bulba - Section 1

"Turn around, son! How ridiculous you look! Are you wearing monk's cassocks? Do everyone in the seminary wear this kind of clothes?" Old Bulba received his two friends with these words. sons, who had studied at the seminary in Kyiv, and now returned to their father's house. The brothers had just dismounted.They were two strong young men, and they looked a little shy, just like seminary students who have just left school.Their strong, muscular faces are covered with unshaven fluff.Confused by this reception from their father, they stood motionless, with their eyes fixed on the ground.

"Stop, stop! Let me take a good look at you," he continued, poking them. "The gowns you wear are so long! This is also called a gown! I have traveled all over the world, but I can't find a gown like this. Try whichever one of you takes a few steps! I'll see if he will get caught in the front and make a thud fell to the ground. "Laugh, don't laugh, Dad!" said the older brother at last. "Look at you, you're so cool! Why can't I laugh?" "I just can't. Although you are my father, as long as you dare to laugh and tell you the truth, I will beat you up!"

"Oh, there is such a son! Why, you want to beat me?..." Taras Bulba said, stepping back a few steps, startled. "No, not even my father. I'll be rude to anyone who insults me." "How are you going to fight me? With fists?" "Anything will do." "Well, use your fists!" said Taras Bulba, rolling up his sleeves. "I want to see what kind of person you are when you move your fist!" So the father and son, after a long parting, did not talk happily, but started fisting each other, hitting each other hard on the ribs, waist, and chest, stepping back for a while, staring at each other, and then revisiting each other. attack.

"Look, good people: the old man has lost his mind! He's quite mad!" cried their pale, thin, kind mother, standing on the threshold, before she could embrace her beloved children. "It's been a long time since the children came home. I haven't seen them for more than a year, but somehow he's going to fight with his son!" "He's not bad at it!" said Bulba, stopping. "Really, not bad at all!" He straightened his clothes a little, and went on. "You don't have to fight anyone to know what he's capable of. He'll make a good Cossack! Welcome, son! Let's hug. So father and son kiss, "Well, son!You have to hit everyone like you hit me just now.Don't let anyone go!But, anyway, you are always ridiculous in your attire!Why is it tied with a rope?And you, lazy thing, why are you standing there with your hands hanging down? "He turned to the younger one and said,) Why didn't you hit me, you bastard?"

"You can figure it out!" said the mother, hugging the little brother at the same time. "Who ever heard of a son beating me.? You have had enough trouble: the child is still young, and he is tired after walking so much... (This child is in his twenties and is about a foot tall. ) he needs some sleep and something to eat now, but you told him to fight!" "Well, I see, you're a wet boy," said Bulba. "Son, don't listen to your mother! She's an old woman, and she doesn't care for anything. What caresses do you need? Your caresses are open fields and a fine horse: this is your caress! See this saber? This It's your mother! That stuff that other people put in your heads is rubbish: seminary, all those books, literacy books, philosophy, who knows what all that stuff is, I despise it all!  … . . . " At this point, Bulba inserted such a word limit into his own words that it was not even convenient to put it into words. "It would be best if I send you to Zaporos this week. The learning there is the real learning: there is your school; only there will you acquire knowledge."

Then they can only stay at home for a week: the thin old mother said sadly with tears in her eyes, "The poor children don't even have time to play, and they don't even have time to know the hometown where they were born. I don't have time to look at them!" "Enough, enough, old woman! Cossacks are not made to deal with old women. You want to hide them both under your skirts like old hens hatching eggs." Sit on them and go, go, and put everything on the table for me as fast as you can. We don't need steamed buns, honey gingerbread, poppy-filled pastries, and other sweets; bring us a whole Ram, give us a ewe, forty-year-old mead! More white, not the fancy white wine, with raisins and all sorts, but pure, bold Foamy white wine, let it boil like crazy, dripping and ringing."

Bulba led the two sons into the main room, from which two beautiful maids with coin collars who were tidying up the room hurried out.Apparently, they were taken aback by the sudden arrival of a young master who disliked forgiveness, or else they wanted to follow their female custom: when they see a man, they yell, run away in a panic, and then cover their eyes with their sleeves for a long time. Hold back the flushed face.The main room was furnished in accordance with the fashion of that era, which left some vivid traces only in songs and narrative ballads. In Ukraine, there are no longer blind old men with long beards and drooping chests, playing in the silence of polychords. These songs and ballads were sung to the watching crowd, accompanied by quiet accompaniment; the main house was furnished in the fashion of that difficult war-torn era when Ukraine's religious annexation began to harass and kill.Everything was clean and covered with colored clay.On the walls hung sabers, riding whips, bird-nets, fishing nets, and rifles, a finely carved powder-horn, a pair of golden horseshoes, and tripping ropes inlaid with silver boats.The windows in the main room are small, with round opaque glass inlaid. This kind of window can only be found in old churches nowadays. Unless the movable glass is lifted, nothing can be seen.There are red wooden frames around the windows and doors.On shelves in the corners were many altars, jugs, green and blue carafes, carved silver cups, gilded goblets made in various places: Venetian, Turkish, Circassian, by various paths. It was not until they arrived at Bulba's main house through the hands of three or four people that this situation was very common in war-torn times.There were stools made of white oak bark on the veranda of the room; a large table stood in a blue-sided corner, under the icon; All this was very familiar to the two young men who trek home every year during the holidays, because they had no horses yet, and besides, it was customary not to allow students to ride horses.They have only a long lock of forehead hair, which any Cossack carrying a guy can grab and beat them up.This time because they graduated, Bulba chose two young stallions from the horse herd to give them to ride.

①A hair style of the old Ukrainians, with the top of the head shaved and a tuft of hair on the forehead. Bulba, taking advantage of the return of his sons, sent for all the lieutenants and all the regimental commanders who had remained there; , he presents his two sons to them at once, and says: "Look, what a fellow! ① A Cossack autonomous organization that existed in Ukraine from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries. go. "The guests congratulated Bulba and the two youngsters and told them that they were doing the right thing and that there is no better school for youngsters than Setchi in Chaporos.

"Come, brethren, sit down at the table, everybody, wherever you like. Come, sons! First of all we'll drink white wine!" said Bulba. "God bless! You are welcome, sons: you, Ostap, and you, Andrei! God bless you to fight and win forever! Defeat the Mohammedans, defeat the Turks, defeat the Tartars; Poland If anyone dares to oppose our beliefs, beat the Poles too! Come on, bring the glass; how is it? Is the liquor good? What's the name of the liquor in Latin? Son, the Latins are fools, they Don't even know if there's liquor. What's the name of the guy who wrote Latin poetry? I haven't read much, so I don't know; his name's Horace, isn't it?"

"Look, what a clever father!" thought Ostap, the elder son, "the old dog knows everything, and yet he pretends to be confused." "I don't think the headmaster will let you smell the baijiu," Taras continued. "Tell the truth, sons, have they whipped you Cossacks on the back and all over the body with oak and young cherry branches? Perhaps, because you have grown too clever, they beat you with whips Shattered? Maybe, not only Saturday, but Wednesday and Thursday too?" "There is no need to think about the past, Father," replied Ostap calmly, "the past is over."

"Now let him try again!" said Andrei. "Who dares to touch me now! Now if any Tatar dares to show his face, I will show them the power of the Cossack saber!" "Well, son! Seriously, that's great: If something like that happened, I'd go with you too! Seriously, I'd go too! What the hell am I waiting for? Tell me to be a A buckwheat cutter, a housekeeper, tell me to look after sheep and pigs, and spend time with my wife? Fuck her: I'm a Cossack, I don't want to! What's the trouble if there's no war? I still want to go to Chaporosh with you guys. To be honest, I’m going!" So old Bulba slowly became more and more excited, more and more excited, and finally lost his temper completely, and walked away from the table. He stood up, shook his head, and stomped his feet. "Let's go tomorrow. So why delay? Can we wait for any enemies here? What is this little house to us? What use are we to have all this? What use are these pots?" In a word, he began to smash the crocks and carafes, throwing them on the ground. The poor old woman, accustomed to such behavior by her husband, sat on the bench and watched sadly.She didn't dare to talk about her ten-year life; however, she couldn't help crying when she heard that after she made such a terrible decision, she looked at the two children who were about to part with her. And the full power of the silent sorrow in the closed lips is beyond the power of any man to describe. Bulba is very stubborn.This is a character that arose only in the semi-nomadic regions of Europe during the hard fifteenth century, when all savage southern Russia was abandoned by its own princes and laid waste by the insatiable raids of the Mongol raiders. , and burned; when the cottages were in ruins, the people here grew brave; when faced with fierce neighbors and constant danger, people moved to and from the rubble, accustomed to seeing danger, and no longer knew that there was any fear in the world at that time the ancient and peaceful Slavic spirit was baptized by fire, and formed the Cossack temperament and the bold and unrestrained habits of the Russian nature: at that time, all the river banks, ferries, slopes and places exempted from military service were populated by Cossacks. No one knew the number, and their brave companions had the right to answer the Turkish emperor who wanted to know the number: "Who knows! They are scattered all over the field, and where there are Bayaks, there are Cossacks" (meaning Where there are hills, there are Cossacks).This is indeed Russia.An abnormal phenomenon of power: it is the scythe of disaster that squeezes this phenomenon out of the bosom of the people.No more old fiefdoms, little towns full of dog-keepers and hunters, no towns of petty princes who hated each other and traded with each other, but instead had towns united by common distress and hatred of pagan marauders. The fierce villages, camps and outlines of theIt is known from history how their frequent battles and restless life kept Europe from being invaded and threatened to be overthrown.The Polish kings, having replaced the feudal princes as rulers, if remote and feeble, of this vast land, knew well the value of the Cossacks and the virtues of such a warlike and well-guarded life.They encourage them, accommodate this state of mind.Under their remote rule, generals, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, adapted outlines and quarters into regiments and regular military districts.It's not a standing army assembled, no one sees anything like it; but when there's a war and a general upheaval, no more than eight days, every man gets a piece of gold from the king. , they all put on their whole bodies, mounted their horses, and within two weeks assembled an army that no conscription agency could raise.As soon as the expedition was over, the warrior withdrew to the steppes and fields, went to the fords of the Dnieper, fished, traded, brewed beer, and was a free Cossack again.The foreign contemporaries marveled at their extraordinary abilities, and there was good reason for that.There is no trade that a Cossack does not know: distilling wine, making carts, making gunpowder, working as a blacksmith and fitter, plus wandering like a Russian, drinking and drinking like a Russian, all this he is capable of. happy.In addition to the registered Cossacks, who consider calling in war an obligation, large groups of volunteers can be raised at any time when the need is urgent, as long as the adjutant walks through the markets and squares in all villages and towns , stood on the truck, and shouted loudly: "Hey, you, beer brewers, mead brewers! Don't lie on the back stove after brewing beer, and use your fat body to feed flies! Come on!" Go and win the glory and the honor of knighthood! You plowmen, buckwheat cutters, shepherds, and whores! Stop following the plow, trample your yellow boots in the dirt, don't Cling again to your wife, and drain the energy of the knight! It's time for the glory of the Cossacks!" And these words fell like sparks on dry wood.The plowman breaks his plow, the mead and beer-maker throws away his casks and smashes his lute-casks, the artisan and merchant send their crafts and shops to the devil;All the wealth of the family is placed on horseback.In short, the Russian character gets a deep, expansive play and a powerful look here. Taras was one of those chief old regimental captains: he was made for the horrors of war, and his rough, blunt temper was remarkable.At that time, Polish influence had already begun to work on the Russian nobility.Many have imitated the manner of the Poles, displaying extravagance, swarms of servants, hawks, hunters, feasts, and mansions.This did not suit Taras.He liked the simple life of the Cossacks, and quarreled many times with his comrades who favored the Warsaw side, calling them slaves of the Polish lords.A never-ending man, he considered himself the legitimate guardian of Orthodoxy.As long as someone in any village complains about the land renter① ① This kind of people lives by exploitation, buying land ownership with money, and then renting it out to farmers for cultivation, and earning profits from it. Oppression and new housing donations, he walked into that village majestically.He and his Cossacks punished those guys, and stipulated three chapters, stipulating that the knife must be drawn in the following three situations, that is: if the commissioner① ① Refers to Polish tax collectors. Does not respect the elders, does not take off his hat before the elders; if mocks Orthodoxy, does not obey the rules of the ancestors; finally, if the enemies are Mohammedans and Turks, he thinks that in any case, it is for the glory of Christianity to take up arms against these Everyone is allowed. He now entertained himself in advance with the imagination of how he would come to the Setchi with his two sons, and say to them, "Look, what a fine fellow I have brought you!" Old companions forged in battle; how could one look at their first achievements in military studies and drinking, which he considered one of the chief virtues of knighthood.At first he thought of sending only the two of them.However, as soon as he saw their vigor, tall stature, and strong physical beauty, his military temperament also burned, and he decided to go with them the next day, although tenacious will was not a factor. , it was unnecessary for him to do so.He set to work, giving orders, choosing horses and bridles for his young sons, inspecting the stables and storerooms, and selecting the servants who should go with them tomorrow.He entrusted his duties to Adjutant Tovkach, and gave him a strict order to set out with the whole army as soon as he got any news from the Sech.Although he was a little sober and the alcohol was still reverberating in his mind, he hadn't forgotten anything.He even ordered people to water the horses and give them extra grains of high-quality wheat in the hay sacks, and he came back to the room only after he was tired. Well, boy, it's time for bed, and tomorrow we're going to do what God told us to do.Don't make our beds!We don't need beds.We're going to sleep in the yard. " Night had just begun to cover the sky, but Bulba always lay down early to sleep.He lay on his back on a blanket and covered himself with a sheepskin robe, because the night air was cool and Bulba liked to be warm when he was at home.He soon began to snore, and then the whole yard fell asleep with him; all the people lying in different corners snored and hummed; the watchman fell asleep first, because he welcomed the young master. When they came back, they drank more than everyone else. Only one poor mother did not sleep.She approached the pillows of her two beloved sons who lay side by side; she combed their youthful, tangled, silky manes and wet them with tears; People glance at it, but they still never get tired of it.She fed them at her breast, she nurtured and caressed them.However, the time to see them staying in front of him is only for a moment. "My sons, my dear sons! What will become of you? What fate awaits you?" she said, tears lingering in the wrinkles that had transformed her beautiful face.She is really pitiful, just like every woman in that era of daring to kill.She lived but a moment in her love life, and only in the first ecstasies of lust, in the first frenzy of youth, but her stern seducer was at once for the saber, for the companion, for the drink, Abandoned her.She sees her husband two or three days a year, and then hears nothing from him for years.Just when she saw him, when they lived together, what kind of life did she live?She was insulted, even beaten; she was tenderly bestowed on mere pity, and she was a singular figure in this company of single knights tinged with harshness by the dissolute Zaporosh.Youth flashed before her eyes without a jolt, and her beautiful, fresh cheeks and breasts, unkissed, withered and covered with premature wrinkles.All love, all feeling, all tenderness and passion that is feminine, became in her a maternal feeling.With enthusiasm, love, and tears, she soars above her children like a gull on the prairie.Her children, her dear children, were to be taken from her, so that she would never see them again!Who knows, perhaps, in the first battle, a Tartar will cut off their heads, and she will not know where their abandoned corpses lie, which will be eaten by birds of prey on the road, for Every piece of flesh and every drop of blood of that corpse, she is willing to give her everything.Weeping bitterly, she gazed at their eyes, which were closed shut by the heavy sleep, and thought: "Perhaps Bulba will delay his journey for a day or two when he wakes up; perhaps, he decided to leave so soon, It's because of drinking too much." The moon, from high in the sky, had long since illuminated the whole yard, crowded with sleeping people, thick willow bushes, and long weeds that buried the fence that surrounded the yard.She still sat beside her dear sons' pillows, never taking her eyes off them for a minute, and not wanting to sleep.The horses realized that it was dawn, and they were already lying on the grass, and they stopped chewing the feed. The leaves of the willows began to rustle, and slowly, the sound of rattling up and down reached the lowest point.She sat until dawn without feeling tired at all, longing for the night to last as long as possible.From the meadow came the loud neighing of a foal; innumerable bands of red light shone brightly in the sky. Bulba suddenly woke up and got up quickly.He clearly remembered everything he had ordered yesterday. "Well, boys, enough sleep! It's time, it's time! Water the horses! Where's the old woman?" he usually called his wife. "Hurry up, old woman, give us something to eat, because it's a long way to go!" The poor old woman, having lost her last hope, walked desolately into the little room.While she was weeping and preparing all that was necessary for breakfast, Bulba gave orders and busied himself in the stables, choosing the best harness for the children with his own hands.The demeanor of the two seminarians suddenly changed drastically: instead of the dirty boots of old, they wore red morocco leather boots with silver spurs; Bloomers of innumerable folds and doubts, were fastened with a golden trouser belt; from the trouser belt hung some long little leather belts for pipes, with tassels and other small things such as bell catches.The crimson jacket was of fine wool, like a ball of fire, and was tied with a patterned belt, in which were carved Turkish pistols; sabers touched their feet. Up, clattering.Their faces, not quite tanned, looked even more handsome and innocent; the new halo seemed to set off their fairness and the healthy and strong features of youth; The black sheepskin hat looks very beautiful.Poor mother, when she saw them, she could not speak a word, and the tears rolled in her eyes. "Well, sons, everything is ready! Don't delay!" said Bulba at last. "According to the Christian rules, everyone must sit down before going on the road." Everyone sat down, even the servants who stood respectfully at the door. "Mum, now bless the children:" said Bulba. "Pray to God that they may fight bravely and keep their knighthood forever and the faith of Christ forever, or else let them die and let their souls not live on this earth! Come to your mother, children: Mother His prayers will bring you peace in water and land." Like all mothers in the world, the weak mother embraced them, took out two little ikons, and wept bitterly, and tied them around their necks. "May the Holy Mother... bless you... sons, don't forget your mother... send a message as soon as you get there:..." She couldn't go on any longer. "Well, let's go, boys!" said Bulba. Beside the steps stood several saddled horses.Bulba jumped onto his "devil," and the horse, feeling the weight of twenty poods on its back, backed away frantically, for Bulba was a monstrously fat man. ① One pood is equal to 6.38 kilograms. When the mother saw her sons on horseback, she threw herself on her younger brother, who had a more gentle expression on his face. Showing a desperate look, he grabbed him desperately and didn't let go.Two sturdy Cossacks carefully grabbed her and led her into the house.But when they rode out of the gate, with the agility of a wild goat beyond her age, she ran out of the gate, stopped the horse with an unbelievable force, and with a kind of crazy lost A frenzy of feeling embraced one of them; she was carried away again. The two young Cossacks rode distraughtly, terrified of their father, barely holding back their tears, but his father, too, was feeling a little flustered, though he tried not to show it.It was a gray and cloudy day: the green grass shone brightly; the birds were singing out of tune.They rode for a while, and looked back; their village seemed to be buried in the ground; all that stood above the ground were the two chimneys of their huts, and the tops of the trees they climbed like squirrels; Only the distant pasture stretched before them, and from this pasture they could recall the history of their entire life, from the days of wrestling and wrestling on the dew-wet grass, to waiting for a black-browed Cossack girl in another Until the age of timidly walking with vigorous and swift steps.Then, there was only a surveying rod on a well with a wheel attached to the top, standing lonely in the air; then, the plain they walked on was already like a mountain in the distance, hiding everything. Farewell to childhood, games, everything, everything!