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"Come to your mother, children; a mother's prayer protects on land and sea." The mother, weak as mothers are, embraced them, drew out two small holy pictures, and hung them, sobbing, around their necks. "May God's mother keep you! Children, do not forget your mother send some little word of yourselves " She could say no more. "Now, children, let us go," said Bulba.
It was odd that the man who said this was that very Taras Bulba who condemned all learning, and counselled his children, as we have seen, not to trouble themselves at all about it. From that moment, Ostap began to pore over his tiresome books with exemplary diligence, and quickly stood on a level with the best. The style of education in that age differed widely from the manner of life.
In its particular class of fiction, "Taras Bulba" has no equal except the Polish trilogy of Sienkiewicz; and Gogol produces the same effect in a small fraction of the space required by the other. This is of course Romanticism rampant, which is one reason why it has not been highly appreciated by the French critics.
"To go," rang heavily through the Zaporozhian kurens. But such words did not suit Taras Bulba at all; and he brought his frowning, iron-grey brows still lower down over his eyes, brows like bushes growing on dark mountain heights, whose crowns are suddenly covered with sharp northern frost. "No, Koschevoi, your counsel is not good," said he. "You cannot say that.
"He is at home," said the Jewess, and hastened out at once with a measure of corn for the horse, and a stoup of beer for the rider. "Where is your Jew?" "He is in the other room at prayer," replied the Jewess, bowing and wishing Bulba good health as he raised the cup to his lips. "Remain here, feed and water my horse, whilst I go speak with him alone. I have business with him."
The master of the house, the red-haired Jew with freckles, pulled out a mattress covered with some kind of rug, and spread it on a bench for Bulba. Yankel lay upon the floor on a similar mattress. The red-haired Jew drank a small cup of brandy, took off his caftan, and betook himself looking, in his shoes and stockings, very like a lean chicken with his wife, to something resembling a cupboard.
This Solomon's beard consisted only of about fifteen hairs, and they were on the left side. Solomon's face bore so many scars of battle, received for his daring, that he had doubtless lost count of them long before, and had grown accustomed to consider them as birthmarks. Mardokhai departed, accompanied by his comrades, who were filled with admiration at his wisdom. Bulba remained alone.
This was to many of them a trifle, only a little more stinging than good vodka with pepper: others at length grew tired of such constant blisters, and ran away to Zaporozhe if they could find the road and were not caught on the way. Ostap Bulba, although he began to study logic, and even theology, with much zeal, did not escape the merciless rod.
That's enough for the present; the child is young, he has had a long journey, he is tired." The child was over twenty, and about six feet high. "He ought to rest, and eat something; and you set him to fighting!" "You are a gabbler!" said Bulba. "Don't listen to your mother, my lad; she is a woman, and knows nothing. What sort of petting do you need?
"Farewell, our mother!" they said almost in one breath. "May God preserve thee from all misfortune!" As he passed through the suburb, Taras Bulba saw that his Jew, Yankel, had already erected a sort of booth with an awning, and was selling flint, screwdrivers, powder, and all sorts of military stores needed on the road, even to rolls and bread.
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