The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 353

ARCHBISHOP.

The kiss of peace I bring you in the name Of Father, Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Proceeding from the Father!

OLGA.

Sir, we kiss In humblest reverence thy paternal hand!

Command thy daughters!

ARCHBISHOP.

My mission is addressed to Sister Marfa.

OLGA.

See, here she stands, and waits to know thy will.

[All the NUNS withdraw.

ARCHBISHOP.

It is the mighty prince who sends me here; Upon his distant throne he thinks of thee; For as the sun, with his great eye of flame, Sheds light and plenty all abroad the world, So sweeps the sovereign's eye on every side; Even to the farthest limits of his realm His care is wakeful and his glance is keen.

MARFA.

How far his arm can strike I know too well.

ARCHBISHOP.

He knows the lofty spirit fills thy soul, And therefore feels indignantly the wrong A bold-faced villain dares to offer thee.

Learn, then, in Poland, an audacious churl, A renegade, who broke his monkish vows, Laid down his habit, and renounced his G.o.d, Doth use the name and t.i.tle of thy son, Whom death s.n.a.t.c.hed from thee in his infancy.

The shameless varlet boasts him of thy blood, And doth affect to be Czar Ivan's son; A Waywode breaks the peace; from Poland leads This spurious monarch, whom himself created, Across our frontiers, with an armed power: So he beguiles the Russians' faithful hearts, And lures them on to treason and revolt.

The Czar, With pure, paternal feeling, sends me to thee.

Thou hold'st the manes of thy son in honor; Nor wilt permit a bold adventurer To steal his name and t.i.tle from the tomb, And with audacious hand usurp his rights.

Thou wilt proclaim aloud to all the world That thou dost own him for no son of thine.

Thou wilt not nurse a b.a.s.t.a.r.d's alien blood Upon thy heart, that beats so n.o.bly; never!

Thou wilt--and this the Czar expects from thee-- Give the vile counterfeit the lie, with all The righteous indignation it deserves.

MARFA (who has during the last speech subdued the most violent emotion).

What do I hear, archbishop? Can it be?

Oh, tell me, by what signs and marks of proof This bold-faced trickster doth uphold himself As Ivan's son, whom we bewailed as dead?

ARCHBISHOP.

By some faint, shadowy likeness to the Czar, By doc.u.ments which chance threw in his way, And by a precious trinket, which he shows, He cheats the credulous and wondering mob.

MARFA.

What is the trinket? Oh, pray, tell me what?

ARCHBISHOP.

A golden cross, gemmed with nine emeralds, Which Ivan Westislowsky, so he says, Hung round his neck at the baptismal font.

MARFA.

What do you say? He shows this trinket, this?

[With forced composure.

And how does he allege he came by it?

ARCHBISHOP.

A faithful servant and Diak, he says, Preserved him from the a.s.sa.s.sins and the flames, And bore him to Smolenskow privily.

MARFA.

But where was he brought up? Where, gives he forth, Was he concealed and fostered until now?

ARCHBISHOP.

In Tschudow's monastery he was reared, Unknowing who he was; from thence he fled To Lithuania and Poland, where He served the Prince of Sendomir, until An accident revealed his origin.

MARFA.

With such a tale as this can he find friends To peril life and fortune in his cause?

ARCHBISHOP.

Oh, madam, false, false-hearted is the Pole, And enviously he eyes our country's wealth.

He welcomes every pretext that may serve To light the flames of war within our bounds!

MARFA.

And were there credulous spirits, even in Moscow, Could by this juggle be so lightly stirred?

ARCHBISHOP.

Oh, fickle, princess, is the people's heart!

They dote on alteration, and expect To reap advantage from a change of rulers.

The bold a.s.surance of the falsehood charms; The marvellous finds favor and belief.

Therefore the Czar is anxious thou shouldst quell This mad delusion, as thou only canst.

A word from thee annihilates the traitor That falsely claims the t.i.tle of thy son.

It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride, And, with a n.o.ble anger paints thy cheek.

MARFA.

And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now, Who dares usurp the t.i.tle of my son?

ARCHBISHOP.

E'en now he's moving on to Tscherinsko; His camp at Kioff has broke up, 'tis rumored; And with a force of mounted Polish troops And Don Cossacks, he comes to push his claims.

MARFA.

Oh, G.o.d Almighty, thanks, thanks, thanks, that thou Hast sent me rescue and revenge at last!

ARCHBISHOP.

How, Marfa, how am I to construe this?

MARFA.

Ob, heavenly powers, conduct him safely here!

Hover, oh all ye angels, round his banners!

ARCHBISHOP.

Can it be so? The traitor, canst thou trust----

MARFA.

He is my son. Yes! by these signs alone I recognize him. By thy Czar's alarm I recognize him. Yes! He lives! He comes!

Down, tyrant, from thy throne, and shake with fear!