Выбрать главу

With all its feelings glowing in my breast?

Who from my bosom rent my darling son,

And chartered ruffian hands to take his life?

Oh, words can never tell what I have suffered,

When, with a yearning that would not be still,

I watched throughout the long, long starry nights,

And noted with my tears the hours elapse!

The day of succor comes, and of revenge;

I see the mighty glorying in his might.

ARCHBISHOP.

You think the Czar will dread you-you mistake.

MARFA.

He's in my power-one little word from me,

One only, sets the seal upon his fate!

It was for this thy master sent thee here!

The eyes of Russia and of Poland now

Are closely bent upon me. If I own

The Czarowitsch as Ivan's son and mine,

Then all will do him homage; his the throne.

If I disown him, then he is undone;

For who will credit that his rightful mother,

A mother wronged, so foully wronged as I,

Could from her heart repulse its darling child,

To league with the despoilers of her house?

I need but speak one word and all the world

Deserts him as a traitor. Is't not so?

This word you wish from me. That mighty service,

Confess, I can perform for Godunow!

ARCHBISHOP.

Thou wouldst perform it for thy country, and

Avert the dread calamities of war,

Shouldst thou do homage to the truth. Thyself,

Ay, thou hast ne'er a doubt thy son is dead;

And couldst thou testify against thy conscience?

MARFA.

These sixteen years I've mourned his death; but yet

I ne'er have seen his ashes. I believed

His death, there trusting to the general voice

And my sad heart-I now believe he lives,

Trusting the general voice and my strong hope.

'Twere impious, with audacious doubts, to seek

To set a bound to the Almighty's will;

And even were he not my heart's dear son,

Yet should he be the son of my revenge.

In my child's room I take him to my breast,

Whom heaven has sent me to avenge my wrongs.

ARCHBISHOP.

Unhappy one, dost thou defy the strong?

From his far-reaching arm thou art not safe

Even in the convent's distant solitude.

MARFA.

Kill me he may, and stifle in the grave,

Or dungeon's gloom, my woman's voice, that it

Shall not reverberate throughout the world.

This he may do; but force me to speak aught

Against my will, that can he not; though backed

By all thy craft-no, he has missed his aim!

ARCHBISHOP.

Is this thy final purpose. Ponder well!

Hast thou no gentler message for the Czar?

MARFA.

Tell him to hope for heaven, if so he dare,

And for his people's love, if so he can.

ARCHBISHOP.

Enough! thou art bent on thy destruction.

Thou lean'st upon a reed, will break beneath thee;

One common ruin will o'erwhelm ye both.

[Exit.

MARFA.

It is my son, I cannot doubt 'tis he.

Even the wild hordes of the uncultured wastes

Take arms upon his side; the haughty Pole,

The palatine, doth stake his noble daughter

On the pure gold of his most righteous cause,

And I alone reject him-I, his mother?

I, only I, shook not beneath the storm

Of joy that lifts all hearts with dizzying whirl,

And scatters turmoil widely o'er the earth.

He is my son-I must, will trust in him,

And grasp with living confidence the hand

Which heaven hath sent for my deliverance.

'Tis he, he comes with his embattled hosts,

To set me free, and to avenge my shame!

Hark to his drums, his martial trumpets' clang!

Ye nations come-come from the east and south.

Forth from your steppes, your immemorial woods

Of every tongue, of every raiment come!

Bridle the steed, the reindeer, and the camel!

Sweep hither, countless as the ocean waves,

And throng around the banners of your king!

Oh, wherefore am I mewed and fettered here,

A prisoned soul with longings infinite!

Thou deathless sun, that circlest earth's huge ball,

Be thou the messenger of my desires!

Thou all-pervading, chainless breeze that sweep'st

With lightning speed to earth's remotest bound,

Oh, bear to him the yearnings of my heart.

My prayers are all I have to give; but these

I pour all glowing from my inmost soul,

And send them up to heaven on wings of flame,

Like armed hosts, I send them forth to hail him.

SCENE II.

A height crowned with trees. A wide and smiling landscape

occupies the background, which is traversed by a beautiful

river, and enlivened by the budding green of spring. At

various points the towers of several towns are visible.

Drums and martial music without. Enter ODOWALSKY, and other

officers, and immediately afterwards DEMETRIUS.

ODOWALSKY.

Go, lead the army downward by the wood,

Whilst we look round us here upon the height.

[Exeunt some of the officers.

Enter DEMETRIUS.

DEMETRIUS (starting back).

Ha! what a prospect!

ODOWALSKY.

Sire, thou see'st thy kingdom

Spread out before thee. That is Russian land.

RAZIN.

Why, e'en this pillar here bears Moscow's arms;

Here terminates the empire of the Poles.

DEMETRIUS.

Is that the Dnieper, rolls its quiet stream

Along these meadows?

ODOWALSKY.

That, sire, is the Desna;

See, yonder rise the towers of Tschernizow!

RAZIN.

Yon gleam you see upon the far horizon

Is from the roofs of Sewerisch Novogrod.

DEMETRIUS.

What a rich prospect! What fair meadow lands!

ODOWALSKY.

The spring has decked them with her trim array;

A teeming harvest clothes the fruitful soil.

DEMETRIUS.

The view is lost in limitless expanse.

RAZIN.

Yet is this but a small beginning, sire,

Of Russia's mighty empire. For it spreads

Towards the east to confines unexplored,

And on the north has ne'er a boundary,

Save the productive energy of earth.

Behold, our Czar is quite absorbed in thought.

DEMETRIUS.

On these fair meads dwell peace, unbroken peace,

And with war's terrible array I come

To scatter havoc, like a listed foe!

ODOWALSKY.

Hereafter 'twill be time to think of that.

DEMETRIUS.

Thou feelest as a Pole, I am Moscow's son.

It is the land to which I owe my life;

Forgive me, thou dear soil, land of my home,

Thou sacred boundary-pillar, which I clasp,

Whereon my sire his broad-spread eagle graved,

That I, thy son, with foreign foemen's arms,

Invade the tranquil temple of thy peace.

'Tis to reclaim my heritage I come,

And the proud name that has been stolen from me.

Here the Varegers, my forefathers, ruled,

In lengthened line, for thirty generations;

I am the last of all their lineage, snatched