He was quick to enter villages whenever the people complained of oppression by the landlords and the raising of chimney taxes. He and his Cossacks carried out reprisals. Taras lived by the rule that he was always ready to unsheathe his saber in three circumstances: when commissars did not show full respect to Cossack elders, such as not removing their hats in their presence; when anyone made light of the Russian Orthodox faith and ancestral laws; and, needless to say, when faced by heathens or Turks, against whom he felt it was proper to reach for his saber at all times in the name of Christendom.

Now Taras Bulba anticipated with pleasure how he would appear at the Sech with his two sons and say, “Look what splendid fellows I am bringing you!” and how he would present them to all his old, battle-hardened comrades. He saw himself watching the boys’ first feats in the military arts and in carousing, which he also considered as one of the foremost knightly virtues. He had originally intended to send his sons to the Sech alone, but their youth and vigor, their strength and physical beauty ignited his warrior’s spirit and he decided to go with them himself the very next day, though the only thing arguing for such an action was his obstinate will. He was already rushing about, giving orders, choosing horses and harnesses for his sons, visiting the stables and barns, picking servants who would ride out with them the following day. He left Captain Tovkach in charge, along with the stern order that Tovkach was to appear with the full regiment the instant he sent word from the Sech. Taras Bulba forgot nothing, even though he was still elated and the hops were bubbling through his head. He even ordered that the horses be given water and that the best and hardiest wheat be poured into their mangers. And he returned home tired from all his running around.

“Well, my boys! It’s time to get some rest now, and tomorrow we shall tackle whatever God sees fit to send us! No, don’t bother fixing our beds! We won’t be needing beds—we shall sleep out in the yard!”

Night had barely embraced the sky, but Bulba always went to sleep at an early hour. He lay down on a carpet and covered himself with a sheepskin coat, because the night air was quite chilly and because he liked to sleep as warmly as possible when he was at home. Soon he was snoring, and the whole yard followed suit. All those who were curled up in various corners began snoring and whistling. The first to fall asleep was the watchman, because he had drunk more than anyone else in honor of the young masters’ return.

Only the poor mother could not think of sleep. She bent over the pillows of her darling sons, who lay side by side, and combed their young, tousled locks, dampening them with tears. She gazed at them with all her being, with all her feelings. She gazed at them with all her heart and could not look her fill. Her breasts had fed them, she had raised them, cherished them, and now she was to see them but for a moment. “My sons, my darling sons! What will become of you? What fate awaits you?” she whispered, her tears stopping in the wrinkles that had transformed her once-beautiful face. She was in fact a sad figure, like all women of that distant century. She had only lived love for an instant, in the first flames of passion, the first flames of youth—and already her stern seducer turned away from her in favor of his sword, his comrades, and their carousing. One year she would see her husband for two or three days, and then many years would pass in which she neither heard nor saw anything of him. And even when she saw him, when they lived together, what kind of life was that? She had to bear his insults and beatings. The only caresses she knew were dealt her as alms; she was like a strange being among this medley of womanless knights upon whom dissipated Zaporozhe had cast its grim shadow. Her bleak youth had flashed past; her beautiful fresh cheeks and breasts, prematurely covered with wrinkles, had withered unkissed. All her love and feeling, all that is tender and passionate in woman, turned into maternal love. With fire, passion, and tears she hovered over her children like a gull. Her sons, her beloved sons, were now being taken away from her, taken away, and she would never see them again! Who knew, perhaps a Tatar would slice off their heads the first time they rode into battle, and she would never know where their bodies were thrown, their flesh pecked at by roadside birds of prey. She was ready to sacrifice all she had for each drop of their blood. Sobbing, she gazed into their eyes, which all-powerful sleep was beginning to close, and thought, “Perhaps when Bulba wakes up he might put off their leaving for a day or two.