Will it please you
question
him?
Pushkin - Boris Gudonov
.
Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send him to
Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this--is it not
heresy, Father Abbot?
ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy.
PALACE OF THE TSAR
Two Attendants
1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign?
2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber,
Where he is closeted with some magician.
1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves;
Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers.
Ever he seeks to dip into the future,
Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know
What 'tis he would foretell.
2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes.
Will it please you question him?
1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks!
(Exeunt. )
TSAR. (Enters. ) I have attained the highest power. Six years
Already have I reigned in peace; but joy
Dwells not within my soul. Even so in youth
We greedily desire the joys of love,
But only quell the hunger of the heart
With momentary possession. We grow cold,
Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards
Promise me length of days, days of dominion
Immune from treachery--not power, not life
Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven
And woe. For me no happiness. I thought
To satisfy my people in contentment,
In glory, gain their love by generous gifts,
But I have put away that empty hope;
The power that lives is hateful to the mob,--
Only the dead they love. We are but fools
When our heart vibrates to the people's groans
And passionate wailing. Lately on our land
God sent a famine; perishing in torments
The people uttered moan. The granaries
I made them free of, scattered gold among them,
Found labour for them; furious for my pains
They cursed me!
Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send him to
Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this--is it not
heresy, Father Abbot?
ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy.
PALACE OF THE TSAR
Two Attendants
1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign?
2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber,
Where he is closeted with some magician.
1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves;
Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers.
Ever he seeks to dip into the future,
Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know
What 'tis he would foretell.
2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes.
Will it please you question him?
1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks!
(Exeunt. )
TSAR. (Enters. ) I have attained the highest power. Six years
Already have I reigned in peace; but joy
Dwells not within my soul. Even so in youth
We greedily desire the joys of love,
But only quell the hunger of the heart
With momentary possession. We grow cold,
Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards
Promise me length of days, days of dominion
Immune from treachery--not power, not life
Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven
And woe. For me no happiness. I thought
To satisfy my people in contentment,
In glory, gain their love by generous gifts,
But I have put away that empty hope;
The power that lives is hateful to the mob,--
Only the dead they love. We are but fools
When our heart vibrates to the people's groans
And passionate wailing. Lately on our land
God sent a famine; perishing in torments
The people uttered moan. The granaries
I made them free of, scattered gold among them,
Found labour for them; furious for my pains
They cursed me!
