Is it not
strange?
Pushkin - Boris Gudonov
KURBSKY. Nay, he is dead.
PRETENDER. A noble soul! A man of war and counsel.
But from the time when he appeared beneath
The ancient town Olgin with the Lithuanians,
Hardy avenger of his injuries,
Rumour hath held her tongue concerning him.
KURBSKY. My father led the remnant of his life
On lands bestowed upon him by Batory;
There, in Volhynia, solitary and quiet,
Sought consolation for himself in studies;
But peaceful labour did not comfort him;
He ne'er forgot the home of his young days,
And to the end pined for it.
PRETENDER. Hapless chieftain!
How brightly shone the dawn of his resounding
And stormy life! Glad am I, noble knight,
That now his blood is reconciled in thee
To his fatherland. The faults of fathers must not
Be called to mind. Peace to their grave. Approach;
Give me thy hand!
Is it not strange? --the son
Of Kurbsky to the throne is leading--whom?
Whom but Ivan's own son? --All favours me;
People and fate alike. --Say, who art thou?
A POLE. Sobansky, a free noble.
PRETENDER. Praise and honour
Attend thee, child of liberty. Give him
A third of his full pay beforehand. --Who
Are these? On them I recognise the dress
Of my own country. These are ours.
KRUSHCHOV. (Bows low. ) Yea, Sire,
Our father; we are thralls of thine, devoted
And persecuted; we have fled from Moscow,
Disgraced, to thee our tsar, and for thy sake
Are ready to lay down our lives; our corpses
Shall be for thee steps to the royal throne.
