The knowing young woman!
She lies at the feet
Of the Barin, and trembles,
She squeals like a silly
Young girl when you pinch her,
She kisses his feet.
"Well … go. God be with you!"
The Barin says kindly,
"I need not be angry 420
At idiot laughter,
I'll laugh at him too!"
"How good you are, Father,"
The black-eyed young lady
Says sweetly, and strokes
The white head of the Barin.
The black-moustached footguards
At this put their word in:
"A fool cannot follow
The words of his masters, 430
Especially those
Like the words of our father,
So noble and clever."
And Klím—shameless rascal!—
Is wiping his eyes
On the end of his coat-tails,
Is sniffing and whining;
"Our Fathers! Our Fathers!
The sons of our Father!
They know how to punish, 440
But better they know
How to pardon and pity!"
The old man is cheerful
Again, and is asking
For light frothing wine,
And the corks begin popping
And shoot in the air
To fall down on the women,
Who fly from them, shrieking.
The Barin is laughing, 450
The ladies then laugh,
And at them laugh their husbands,
And next the old servant,
Ipát, begins laughing,
The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse,
And then the whole party
Laugh loudly together;
The feast will be merry!
His daughters-in-law
At the old Prince's order 460
Are pouring out vodka
To give to the peasants,
Hand cakes to the youths,
To the girls some sweet syrup;
The women drink also
A small glass of vodka.
The old Prince is drinking
And toasting the peasants;
And slyly he pinches
The beautiful ladies. 470
"That's right! That will do him
More good than his physic,"
Says Vlásuchka, watching.
"He drinks by the glassful,
Since long he's lost measure
In revel, or wrath…."
The music comes floating
To them from the Volga,
The girls now already
Are dancing and singing, 480
The old Prince is watching them,
Snapping his fingers.
He wants to be nearer
The girls, and he rises.
His legs will not bear him,
His two sons support him;
And standing between them
He chuckles and whistles,
And stamps with his feet
To the time of the music; 490
The left eye begins
On its own account working,
It turns like a wheel.
"But why aren't you dancing?"
He says to his sons,
And the two pretty ladies.
"Dance! Dance!" They can't help themselves,
There they are dancing!
He laughs at them gaily,
He wishes to show them 500
How things went in his time;
He's shaking and swaying
Like one on the deck
Of a ship in rough weather.
"Sing, Luiba!" he orders.
The golden-haired lady
Does not want to sing,
But the old man will have it.
The lady is singing
A song low and tender, 510
It sounds like the breeze
On a soft summer evening
In velvety grasses
Astray, like spring raindrops
That kiss the young leaves,
And it soothes the Pomyéshchick.
The feeble old man:
He is falling asleep now….
And gently they carry him
Down to the water, 520
And into the boat,
And he lies there, still sleeping.
Above him stands, holding
A big green umbrella,
The faithful old servant,
His other hand guarding
The sleeping Pomyéshchick
From gnats and mosquitoes.
The oarsmen are silent,
The faint-sounding music 530
Can hardly be heard
As the boat moving gently
Glides on through the water….
The peasants stand watching:
The bright yellow hair
Of the beautiful lady
Streams out in the breeze
Like a long golden banner….