The Works of Frederick Schiller - LightNovelsOnl.com
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You lead the Czarowitsch.
Keep your eye on him; stir not from his side, Render me 'count of every step he makes.
ODOWALSKY.
Rely on me, he'll never cast us off.
MARINA.
No man is grateful. Once his throne is sure, He'll not be slow to cast our bonds aside.
The Russian hates the Pole--must hate him ever; No bond of amity can link their hearts.
Enter OPALINSKY, BIELSKY, and several Polish n.o.blemen.
OPALINSKY.
Fair patron, get us gold, and we march with you, This lengthened Diet has consumed our all.
Let us have gold, we'll make thee Russia's queen.
MARINA.
The Bishop of Kaminieck and Culm Lends money on the p.a.w.n of land and serfs.
Sell, barter, pledge the hamlets of your boors, Turn all to silver, horses, means of war!
War is the best of chapmen. He trans.m.u.tes Iron into gold. Whate'er you now may lose You'll find in Moscow twenty-fold again.
BIELSKY.
Two hundred more wait in the tavern yonder; If you will show yourself, and drain a cup With them, they're yours, all yours--I know them well.
MARINA.
Expect me! You shall introduce me to them.
OPALINSKY.
'Tis plain that you were born to be a queen.
MARINA.
I was, and therefore I must be a queen.
BIELSKY.
Ay, mount the snow-white steed, thine armor on, And so, a second Vanda, lead thy troops, Inspired by thee, to certain victory.
MARINA.
My spirit leads you. War is not for women.
The rendezvous is in Kioff. Thither my father Will lead a levy of three thousand horse.
My sister's husband gives two thousand more, And the Don sends a Cossack host in aid.
Do you all swear you will be true to me?
ALL.
All, all--we swear! (draw their swords.) Vivat Marina, Russiae Regina!
[MARINA tears her veil in pieces, and divides it among them.
Exeunt omnes but MARINA.
Enter MEISCHEK.
MARINA.
Wherefore so sad, when fortune smiles on us, When every step thrives to our utmost wish, And all around are arming in our cause?
MEISCHEK.
'Tis even because of this, my child! All, all Is staked upon the cast. Thy father's means Are in these warlike preparations swamped.
I have much cause to ponder seriously; Fortune is false, uncertain the result.
Mad, venturous girl, what hast thou brought me to?
What a weak father have I been, that I Did not withstand thy importunities!
I am the richest Waywode of the empire, The next in honor to the king. Had we But been content to be so, and enjoyed Our stately fortunes with a tranquil soul!
Thy hopes soared higher--not for thee sufficed The moderate station which thy sisters won.
Thou wouldst attain the loftiest mark that can By mortals be achieved, and wear a crown.
I, thy fond, foolish father, longed to heap On thee, my darling one, all glorious gains, So by thy prayers I let myself be fooled, And peril my sure fortunes on a chance.
MARINA.
How? My dear father, dost thou rue thy goodness?
Who with the meaner prize can live content, When o'er his head the n.o.blest courts his grasp?
MEISCHEK.
Thy sisters wear no crowns, yet they are happy.
MARINA.
What happiness is that to leave the home Of the Waywode, my father, for the house Of some count palatine, a grateful bride?
What do I gain of new from such a change?
And can I joy in looking to the morrow When it brings naught but what was stale to-day?
Oh, tasteless round of petty, worn pursuits!
Oh, wearisome monotony of life!
Are they a guerdon for high hopes, high aims?
Or love or greatness I must have: all else Are unto me alike indifferent.
Smooth off the trouble from thy brow, dear father!
Let's trust the stream that bears us on its breast, Think not upon the sacrifice thou makest, Think on the prize, the goal that's to be won-- When thou shalt see thy daughter robed in state, In regal state, aloft on Moscow's throne, And thy son's sons the rulers of the world!
MEISCHEK.
I think of naught, see naught, but thee, my child, Girt with the splendors of the imperial crown.
Thou'rt bent to have it; I cannot gainsay thee.
MARINA.
Yet one request, my dearest, best of fathers, I pray you grant me!
MEISCHEK.
Name thy wish, my child.
MARINA.
Shall I remain shut up at Sambor with The fires of boundless longing in my breast?
Beyond the Dnieper will my die be cast, While boundless s.p.a.ce divides me from the spot; Can I endure it? Oh, the impatient spirit Will lie upon the rack of expectation And measure out this monstrous length of s.p.a.ce With groans and anxious throbbings of the heart.
MEISCHEK.
What dost thou wish? What is it thou wouldst have?
MARINA.
Let me abide the issue in Kioff!
