The Night before Christmas

The event that took place on that particular occasion once again proved that history goes in circles. The Good Book reads, "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." Nikolai Gogol once composed a story about fantastic events that occurred over two centuries ago, under Catherine II. Inconceivably, hundreds of years later, in an entirely different epoch, Vakula, the witch's son, together with Zaporizhzhian Cossacks, relived his old adventure.

This is what actually happened. Once again the Cossacks were preparing to visit the imperial capital to reaffirm their loyalty and sign new treaties. The envoys were hand-picked, for they would talk things over with the Empress. Before the visit the Cossacks put on their best clothes, new coats and mantles, along with colorful belts. They also took a quick refresher course in Russian to rid their speech of its "Little Russian" expressions as much as possible. They had to show they were no hayseeds. The more so that they were promised a top level reception at the royal palace. The Cossacks considered this a great but deserved honor; hadn't they fought the infidels to protect the empire and withstood their severe counterblows?

The trip was a long one as they rode in horse-drawn wagons. Vakula joined the caravan as it was approaching the capital. He flew astride a devil (or a jet liner, to use the modern terminology). The Cossacks entered the palace, bowed in all directions and remained standing in a compact group, not knowing where to look, because everything around them shone and that was practically all they could see. After a while they collected themselves and noticed that there were no one in the big hall except they and servants. Belatedly they realized that they had wasted their courtesies on retainers. Was that the top-level reception they had been promised? But then the Empress appeared with her entourage. The Cossacks prostrated themselves on the rich parquet floor and shouted, "Have mercy on us!" This was a blatant breach of protocol. The valets rushed over and tried to lift the Cossacks to their feet. In vain! They remained on the shining floor, shouting, "We shan't rise, Mother, we shan't! We shall die first!" The handsome blacksmith Vakula aggravated the situation. Without rising from the floor he managed to kiss the Empress' shoes and begged for a "common information space" (he wanted it as a present for his beloved concubine awaiting him at home; she was the extremely demanding type). Even the battle-hardened Prince Potemkin was embarrassed and pushed the blacksmith away with one of his shining boots. The Empress, however, showed no anger and even said, "I like this naivetО ." She then turned to a well-known writer who was also present and ordered him to compose a comedy using this episode for the court drama company, to which the man humbly remarked that this would require someone with La Fontaine's talent.

To spare the reader further tedious details, I will say only that the treaties the Cossacks brought from Little Russia made no dramatic change in their national history, perhaps because the negotiating process was complicated by their prone position.

Future historians will have a hard time telling apart such kindred events from the eighteenth and twentieth centuries. However, the task may be easier if they bear in mind that the former Cossacks wore sharovary, traditional loose trousers tight at the ankles, while their later epigones sported faultlessly pressed pants. One would be interested to know what our Cossack posterity will wear next time history comes full circle.