What have they, our judges, accomplished; how have they adorned life?
We do not know it.
While our work is clearly evident! Gentlemen of the merchant class! Seeing in you the foremost men in life, most industrious and loving your labours, seeing in you the men who can accomplish and have accomplished everything, I now heartily, with respect and love for you, lift my brimming goblet, to the glorious, strong-souled, industrious Russian merchant class.

Long may you live! May you succeed for the glory of Mother Russia! Hurrah!" The shrill, jarring shout of Mayakin called forth a deafening, triumphant roar from the merchants.

All these big, fleshy bodies, aroused by wine and by the old man's words, stirred and uttered from their chests such a unanimous, massive shout that everything around them seemed to tremble and to quake.
"Yakov! you are the trumpet of the Lord!" cried Zubov, holding out his goblet toward Mayakin.
Overturning the chairs, jostling the tables, thus causing the dishes and the bottles to rattle and fall, the merchants, agitated, delighted, some with tears in their eyes, rushed toward Mayakin with goblets in their hands.
"Ah! Do you understand what has been said here ?" asked Kononov, grasping Robustov by the shoulder and shaking him.

"Understand it! That was a great speech!" "Yakov Tarasovich! Come, let me embrace you!" "Let's toss, Mayakin! "Strike up the band." "Sound a flourish! A march.

'The Persian March."' "We don't want any music! The devil take it!" "Here is the music! Eh, Yakov Tarasovich! What a mind!" "I was small among my brethren, but I was favoured with understanding." "You lie, Trofim!" "Yakov! you'll die soon.