Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But he is a Mayakin! And I can feel it at once! I feel it and say: 'Today thou forgivest Thy servant, Oh Lord!" The old man was trembling with the fever of his exultation, and fairly hopped as he stood before Foma. "Calm yourself, father!" said Taras, slowly rising from his chair and walking up to his father. "Why confuse the young man? Come, let us sit down."
He sat there long with drooping head, repeating continually, "My Ostap, my Ostap!" Before him spread the gleaming Black Sea; in the distant reeds the sea-gull screamed. His grey moustache turned to silver, and the tears fell one by one upon it. At last Taras could endure it no longer. "Whatever happens, I must go and find out what he is doing. Is he alive, or in the grave?
In the Setch, a large wooden barrack. Taras was one of the band of old-fashioned leaders; he was born for warlike emotions, and was distinguished for his uprightness of character. At that epoch the influence of Poland had already begun to make itself felt upon the Russian nobility.
However, they soon noticed that there was no underlying plot when they heard Nekhludoff talking quite simply with Taras, and they grew quiet and told one of the lads to sit down on his bag and give his seat to Nekhludoff.
Before him arose his godfather's face, on which the wrinkles quivered with agitation, and illuminated by the merry glitter of his green eyes, seemed to beam with phosphoric light. "Even a rotten trunk of a tree stands out in the dark!" reflected Foma, savagely. Then he recalled the calm and serious face of Taras and beside it the figure of Lubov bowing herself hastily toward him.
And in reply, Taras Bulba learned that Borodavka had been hung at Tolopan, that Koloper had been flayed alive at Kizikirmen, that Pidsuitok's head had been salted and sent in a cask to Constantinople. Old Bulba hung his head and said thoughtfully, "They were good Cossacks." Taras Bulba and his sons had been in the Setch about a week.
And among all these Cossacks, among all these bands, one was the choicest; and that was the band led by Taras Bulba. All contributed to give him an influence over the others: his advanced years, his experience and skill in directing an army, and his bitter hatred of the foe. His unsparing fierceness and cruelty seemed exaggerated even to the Cossacks.
You had better go and prepare something for us tea and so forth. We'll entertain the prodigal son. You must have forgotten, my little old man, what sort of a man your father is?" Taras Mayakin scrutinized his parent with a meditative look of his large eyes and he smiled, speechless, clad in black, wherefore the gray hair on his head and in his beard told more strikingly. "Well, be seated.
Divide yourselves, therefore, into three divisions, and take up your posts before the three gates; five kurens before the principal gate, and three kurens before each of the others. Let the Dadikivsky and Korsunsky kurens go into ambush and Taras and his men into ambush too.
Why shouldn't I laugh?" "Because, although you are my father, if you laugh, by heavens, I will strike you!" "What kind of son are you? what, strike your father!" exclaimed Taras Bulba, retreating several paces in amazement. "Yes, even my father. I don't stop to consider persons when an insult is in question." "So you want to fight me? with your fist, eh?" "Any way."
Word Of The Day