"And are they not to remain at home more than a week?" mournfully asked the old mother, with tears in her eyes. "Poor souls, they will have no time even to rest a little, no time to get acquainted with their father's roof; and I shall not have time to have a good look at them!"
"Have done, old woman! no howling! A Cossack is not made to spend his life with women. Hadst thou the power, thou wouldst put both of them under thy petticoat, and sit upon them as a hen does upon her eggs. Go, go, and have everything in the house put upon the table. We do not want pastry, honey-cakes, poppyseed cakes, and all those sweet nonsenses. Bring us a whole roasted sheep, give us a buck, let us have some mead[1] that is twenty years old, and above all things, plenty of brandy; and let it not be the brandy with raisins and various spices, but plain, clean, corn brandy, that hisses and simmers."
Boolba conducted his sons into the parlour, from which hastily rushed two pretty maid servants, with red necklaces, who were putting the rooms in order. They might have been scared by the arrival of the young masters, who never let any woman pass by quietly; or, perhaps, they did it only in accordance with the custom of all women, which is to shriek aloud, and run away with the utmost speed at the sight of a man; and then afterwards stand and gaze at him, covering their faces with their sleeves, as if vastly ashamed. The great room was arranged according to the taste of those times, of which there are nowhere such vivid pictures to be found as in songs and popular legends;—these, too, are no longer, as of yore, sung in Ukraine by blind, long-bearded old men, who used to sing them in the hearing of assembled crowds, and with the accompaniment of the soft music of the bandora[2]
The furniture was also in the taste of those warlike, sturdy times, when the Union[3] began to provoke struggles and battles in Ukraine. The walls were all neatly plastered with coloured clay. Upon them hung sabres, scourges, nets for catching birds and for fishing, guns, a powder-horn of exquisite workmanship, a golden snaffle-bit, and horse-shackles with silver plates. The windows were small, with dim, round panes, such as are now found only in old churches, and through which one could only see by lifting the moveable glass. The windows and doors were surrounded with stripes of red paint. In the corners there stood, upon shelves, an array of jugs, bottles, and flagons of green and blue glass, chased silver cups, and gilded dram-cups of Venetian, Turkish, and Circassian workmanship. They had come into Boolba's hands by various means, he being the third or fourth possessor of them, an occurrence very usual in those warlike days. Wooden benches ran all round the room; an immense table stood in the front corner, under the holy images; a large stove, which had many projecting and receding corners, was covered with variegated, varnished tiles. All this was familiar to our two youths, who had every year come home for the vacations. They had always until now come home on foot, because they had no horses, for collegians are not permitted to ride on horseback. The long tufts on the crown of their heads were the only mark of manhood allowed them, and even these, every Cossack wearing arms had the right to pull. It was not till the conclusion of their studies that Boolba had sent them a pair of young horses, which he had selected for them out of his herd.
Boolba, to celebrate the arrival of his sons, had sent invitations to all the centurions and all the officers of his regiment; and as soon as he saw two of them coming with his old comrade the essaool[4] Dmitro Tovkach, he introduced his sons to them, saying, "Look at them, are they not pretty lads? I shall send them soon to the Ssiecha!" The guests congratulated both Boolba and the two youths, saying that that was a capital thing, and that there was no better school for young men than the Zaporoghian Ssiecha.
"Well, gentlemen brothers, sit down to table, every one where he pleases. Now, sons, before anything else, let's take some brandy!" so spoke Boolba. "God's blessing be upon us! May God give you health, my sons; to thee, Ostap, and to thee, Andrew! May he ever grant you success in war! that you may get the better of all misbelievers, Tartars, and Turks, or Poles—if Poles attempt anything against our faith. Well, give me your cup; is the brandy good? And what is the Latin for brandy? Well, son, the Romans were only so many fools; they did not even know so much as that there's brandy in the world. How do you call the fellow that wrote Latin verses? I am no great scholar, so I do not know his name; but let me see, wasn't it Horace?"
"Just see my father!" thought the elder son, Ostap, to himself; "he knows all about it, and yet feigns ignorance, the old dog!"
"I think the Abbot didn't so much as let you smell brandy,"[5] continued Tarass Boolba. "Now, own, sons, they famously thrashed your back, and whatever else a Cossack possesses, with fresh birch rods? or, perhaps, as you grew cleverer, you were flogged with scourges? and I should think not only on Saturdays, but on Wednesdays and Thursdays[6] too, you got your allowance."
"What is the use of talking about what is past?" answered Ostap; "what is past can never come back."
"Let any one try it now," said Andrew; "let any one touch us now! If a Tartar were to come within our reach, now, we would soon let him know what sort of a thing a Cossack's sabre is."