"Our Fathers," he says, "By your mercy we live now As though in the bosom Of Christ. Let the peasant 210 But try to exist Without grace from the Barin!" (He sips at the goblet.) "The whole world would perish If not for the Barin's Deep wisdom and learning. If not for the peasant's Most humble submission. By birth, and God's holy Decree you are bidden 220 To govern the stupid And ignorant peasant; By God's holy will Is the peasant commanded To honour and cherish And work for his lord!" And here the old servant, Ipat, who is standing Behind the Pomyeshchick And waving his branches, 230 Begins to sob loudly, The tears streaming down O'er his withered old face: "Let us pray that the Barin For many long years May be spared to his servants!" The simpleton blubbers, The loving old servant, And raising his hand, Weak and trembling, he crosses 240 Himself without ceasing. The black-moustached footguards Look sourly upon him With secret displeasure. But how can they help it? So off come their hats And they cross themselves also. And then the old Prince And the wrinkled old dry-nurse Both sign themselves thrice, 250 And the Elder does likewise. He winks to the woman, His sharp little gossip, And straightway the women, Who nearer and nearer Have drawn to the table, Begin most devoutly To cross themselves too. And one begins sobbing In just such a manner 260 As had the old servant. ("That's right, now, start whining, Old Widow Terentevna, Sill-y old noodle!" Says Vlasuchka, crossly.) The red sun peeps slyly At them from a cloud, And the slow, dreamy music Is heard from the river.... The ancient Pomyeshchick 270 Is moved, and the right eye Is blinded with tears, Till the golden-haired lady Removes them and dries it; She kisses the other eye Heartily too. "You see!" then remarks The old man to his children, The two stalwart sons And the pretty young ladies; 280 "I wish that those villains, Those Petersburg liars Who say we are tyrants, Could only be here now To see and hear this!" But then something happened Which checked of a sudden The speech of the Barin: A peasant who couldn't Control his amusement 290 Gave vent to his laughter. The Barin starts wildly, He clutches the table, He fixes his face In the sinner's direction; The right eye is fierce, Like a lynx he is watching To dart on his prey, And the left eye is whirling. "Go, find him!" he hisses, 300 "Go, fetch him! the scoundrel!"