Okh, the Count did not understand that song. He wiped his eyes and said:
“Come now, Raman! Come, lads, mount your horses! And you, Opanas, ride with them; I’ve had enough of your singing! That was a good song, only you sang of things that never happen in this world.”
But the Cossack’s heart was softened by his song and his eyes were dim.
“Okh, Count, Count,” says Opanas. “In my country the old men say that legends and songs contain the truth. But in legends the truth is like iron that has passed through the world from hand to hand for many years and has grown rusty. But the truth in songs is like gold that rust will never corrode. That’s what the old men say!”
But the Count waved his hand.
“It may be so in your country, but here it is not so. Go, go, Opanas; I am tired of listening to you.”
The Cossack stood still for a moment and then fell at the Count’s feet.
“Do as I beseech you, Count!” he cried. “Mount your horse and ride home to your Countess! My heart foretells disaster.”
At that the Count grew angry in earnest. He kicked the Cossack aside with his boot as if he had been a dog.
“Get out of my sight!” he shouted. “Now I see that you’re not a Cossack but an old woman! Leave me, or evil will befall you! What are you waiting for, hounds? Am I no longer your master? Here, I’ll show you something that your fathers never saw done by my father!”