The poor old woman, deprived of her last hopes, went mournfully to the house. While tearfully she was preparing everything for breakfast, Boolba issued his orders: he bustled about in the stable and himself chose the best equipment for his sons. The collegians were suddenly metamorphosed: instead of their dirty boots and shabby dresses, they appeared in red boots with silver heels; their trousers, of a tremendous width with thousands of folds, were tightly girded with a gilded belt; long leather thongs, with tassels and different requisites for the pipe, hung from their belts. Their cossackins,[7] of a fiery red cloth, were girded by brilliantly-coloured sashes, in which were stuck pistols of Turkish embossed workmanship, and sabres were dangling about their heels. Their faces, not yet sunburnt, seemed to have grown still more handsome and still fairer. Their young dark mustachios gave still more brilliancy to the healthy, robust bloom of their youth; their black sheepskin caps, with the crowns of cloth of gold, became them excellently. Poor mother! when she saw them she could not utter a word, and tears rushed into her eyes.
"Now, sons, all is ready, don't waste time," said Boolba at last. "Now, we must all, like Christians, sit down before the journey."[8]
Every one sat down, including even the servants, who had respectfully stood at the door.
"Now, mother, bless thy children!" said Boolba. "Pray God that they may be brave in war, that they may ever preserve their knightly honour, that they may ever hold fast the faith of Christ. Otherwise, 'twere better they should die, better nothing remained of them in the world. Go to your mother, children; the prayer of a mother preserves one by sea and land."
The tender mother embraced them, took two small holy images, and sobbing, hung them round their necks:—
"May the Holy Virgin—preserve you—don't forget your mother, my sons—send me word about you." She could say no more!
"Let us be gone now, children!" said Boolba. Saddled horses stood near the door of the house. Boolba sprang on his own, named "Devil," who furiously bounded aside as he felt on his back the weight of his rider, who was very stout and heavy. When the mother saw that her sons had also mounted, she rushed to the younger, whose features wore a somewhat more tender expression; she caught his stirrup, clung to his saddle, and, a picture of utter despair, would not let him loose. Two strong Cossacks gently dragged her away and carried her into the room. But when she saw them cross the gateway, in spite of her age she flew through the yard with the swiftness of a wild goat, and, with incredible strength, stopped the horse and embraced one of her sons, with a mad, rapturous feverishness. Once more was she brought home.
Mournfully rode the young Cossacks, restraining their tears lest their father should be angry; but he, too, was agitated, although he endeavoured not to show it. The day was gray; the verdure was of a bright green; the birds seemed to sing discordantly. After having ridden for some time, they turned to look back: the farm seemed to have sunk into the earth; they could only see the two chimneys of their modest mansion and the tops of the surrounding trees—those trees, whose branches they used to climb like squirrels; but before them lay expanded the wide plain—that same plain, which might bring back to their minds the whole history of their lives, from the years when they rolled in its dew-covered grass, down to the years when they were reclining in it, awaiting some dark-browed girl, who timidly ran across it with her pretty little feet. Already—nothing is to be seen, but the pulley over the well, with the wheel tied to its top. Already the plain, across which they rode but just now, has covered all behind and looks like a hill. Farewell, childhood! Farewell, youthful sports! all of you, farewell!