“Without losing a minute, he began to give orders to his esaul, whom he called Tovkatch, because he was really like some kind of a cold-blooded machine: during battle he would pass indifferently along the enemy’s ranks, sweeping them down with his sabre as though he was mixing dough, like a boxer clearing his way. The orders were to the effect that he should stay on the farm till orders came for him to set out to the war. After this, he went around the village, giving orders to some of his people to accompany him, to water the horses, to feed them with wheat, and to saddle his own horse, which he used to call Tchort, or the Devil. ‘Nu, children, now we must go to sleep, and to-morrow we shall do what God may instruct us to do. Don’t give us any bedding! We don’t need any bedding: we shall sleep in the dvor!’
“The night had just embraced the heaven; but Bulba always retired early. He made himself comfortable on the carpet, covered himself up with a sheep-skin tulup, because the night air was rather fresh, and because Bulba was fond of covering himself warmly when at home. He was soon snoring, and his example was followed by the whole court. Every thing that was lying in its various corners was snoring and singing. Before anybody else the watchman fell asleep, because he drank more than anybody else, in honor of the arrival of the young lords.
“The poor mother only was not sleeping. She leaned towards the heads of her dear sons, who were lying side by side; with a comb she straightened their young, carelessly disordered locks, and moistened them with her tears. She gazed at them with her whole soul, with all her feelings; she metamorphosed herself into one gaze, and she could not satisfy herself in looking at them. She had nursed them with her own breast; she had brought them up, caressed them,—and now only for one moment does she see them before her. ‘My sons, my precious sons! what will become of you? what fate awaits you there? If only for one week more, I might look upon you both,’ said she; and her tears stood in the wrinkles, which had changed her once beautiful face. And indeed she was pitiful, like any other woman of that bold age. She saw her husband two or three days a year, and then for several years there would be no tidings of him. And if she did see him, when they lived together, what kind of a life was hers? She suffered insults, even blows. Only out of mercy at times she felt his caresses. She was like a strange creature in this assemblage of wifeless knights, upon whom the dissolute Zaparog life threw its stern shadow. The joyless days of her youth flashed before her, and her cheeks were covered with premature wrinkles. All her love, all her feelings, all that is tender and passionate in a woman, all turned with her into one motherly feeling. She, with heat, with passion, with tears, like the gull of the steppe [step-tchaïka], looked upon her children. Her sons, her dear sons, are taken away from her: they are taken away, never to be seen again. Who knows? Maybe at the first battle the Tatarin will chop off their heads, and she would not even know where their bodies lie: the ravening birds may pick them up; and for every little piece of their flesh, for every drop of blood, she would have given up her all! As she wept, she looked straight into their eyes, which all compelling sleep began to close, and she thought to herself, ‘Maybe Bulba, after having a good sleep, will postpone the journey for a couple of days. Maybe he decided to go so soon because he drank too much.’ The moon from the height of the heaven was already shining over the whole dvor, filled with sleeping people, with the thick mass of willows and tall steppe grass, in which the fence around the yard was drowned. She was still sitting at the heads of her dear sons, without for a moment taking off her eyes from them, and not thinking of sleep.
“The horses, anticipating the dawn of day, lay down on the grass, and ceased eating. The upper leaves of the willows began to rustle, and little by little the rustling stream descended down over them to the very bottom. She sat till the very morning: she was not at all tired, and she inwardly wished that the night might last as long as possible. From the steppe was heard the loud neighing of a young colt.
“Ruddy stripes brightly gleamed in the heaven. Bulba suddenly awoke and jumped up. He remembered very well every thing that he had ordered the day before. ‘Nu, fellows, you’ve slept long enough: it is time. Water the horses. And where is the old woman? [Thus he generally called his wife]. Be lively, old woman, have something for us to eat, because there is a long journey before us.’
“The poor old woman, who was deprived of her last hope, gloomily dragged herself to the hut. While with tears in her eyes she was preparing every thing for breakfast, Bulba gave his orders, busied himself in the stable, and he himself selected for his sons his best adornments. The seminarists were suddenly transformed: instead of their old soiled boots, they wore red leather ones with silver rings on the heels; pantaloons as wide as the Black Sea, with a thousand folds and pleats, were fastened tight around the waist with a golden belt; to the belt were attached long straps, with tassels and other little ornaments for the pipe. The kazakin (a little Russian garment), of gay color, of cloth as bright as fire, was tightened with an embroidered belt. Silver-mounted Turkish pistols were stuck behind the belt; the sabre clattered under their feet. Their faces, which were a little burned by the sun, it seemed, became handsomer and whiter; their young black mustaches brought out now in somewhat more striking contrast their whiteness and the healthy, robust color of youth. They looked well under their sheepskin hats with golden tips.
“The poor mother! As soon as she looked up at them, she could not utter a word, and the tears were checked in her eyes.
“‘Nu, little sons, every thing is ready! There is no need of wasting time,’ cried Bulba at last. ‘Now, according to the Christian style, all of us must sit down before setting out.’
“All of them sat down, not excepting even the serfs, who were standing respectfully at the door. ‘Now, mother, bless your children,’ said Bulba. ‘Pray to God that they may fight with courage, that they may always keep the honor of knights, that they may always stand up for the Christian faith; else rather may they sink, so that their spirits perish from the world.—Go over, children, to your mother. A mother’s prayer saves in fire and water.’ The mother, weak as a mother, embraced them, took out two small holy images, put them on their necks, all the time weeping bitterly. ‘May the Mother of God—preserve you.—Don’t forget, little sons, your mother.—Send me some little word about you.’ Further she could not speak.
“‘Nu, let us start, children,’ said Bulba.