)
A FOREST
PRETENDER and PUSHKIN
(In the background lies a dying horse)
PRETENDER.
A FOREST
PRETENDER and PUSHKIN
(In the background lies a dying horse)
PRETENDER.
Pushkin - Boris Gudonov
Tomorrow, battle!
They are fifty thousand,
And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad!
ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge
Five hundred Muscovites.
PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge!
But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart,
Thou'lt run away.
POLE. If thou hadst had a sword,
Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon
Have vanquished thee.
PRISONER. A Russian can make shift
Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool?
(The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in
silence. All laugh.
)
A FOREST
PRETENDER and PUSHKIN
(In the background lies a dying horse)
PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged
Today in the last battle, and when wounded,
How swiftly bore me. My poor horse!
PUSHKIN. (To himself. ) Well, here's
A great ado about a horse, when all
Our army's smashed to bits.
PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps
He's but exhausted by the loss of blood,
And will recover.
PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying.
PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse. )
My poor horse! --what to do?
And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad!
ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge
Five hundred Muscovites.
PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge!
But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart,
Thou'lt run away.
POLE. If thou hadst had a sword,
Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon
Have vanquished thee.
PRISONER. A Russian can make shift
Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool?
(The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in
silence. All laugh.
)
A FOREST
PRETENDER and PUSHKIN
(In the background lies a dying horse)
PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged
Today in the last battle, and when wounded,
How swiftly bore me. My poor horse!
PUSHKIN. (To himself. ) Well, here's
A great ado about a horse, when all
Our army's smashed to bits.
PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps
He's but exhausted by the loss of blood,
And will recover.
PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying.
PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse. )
My poor horse! --what to do?
