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 bastard's alien blood
Upon thy heart, that beats so nobly; 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 documents 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 assassins 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 assurance 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 title of thy son.
It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see
The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride,
And, with a noble anger paints thy cheek.
MARFA.
And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now,
Who dares usurp the title 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, God 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!
