Vígor. As before, we burn with love for our fatherland!
Vadím. Prove it not with words, but with your blood! From your speech reject that sacred word. Or can slaves have a fatherland?
Vígor. Your spirit justly is with grief embittered, but in vain you, bedimmed by anger, accuse us, who are innocent, of such an evil crime. No sooner did you before the army bid our land good-bye, than many lords, seeing a means for evildoing, they, the mighty, let into the city, for the country’s doom, arrogance, envy, hatred, riot. The home of peace was transformed into a hell; the holy truth henceforth passed away; liberty, flurried, tottered to its fall; civil strife with brazen brow erected a house of death upon the bodies of its citizens. The people seeing itself a prey of hungry ravens fought with madness for the election of a tyrant. The whole Vólkhov boiled with reeking blood. Pitiful Nóvgorod, you saw no salvation! The venerable Gostomýsl, with grey hair adorned, had lost all his sons under these our walls, and, weeping not for them but the calamity of the citizens, was alone given to us a consolation by the immortals. He invited Rúrik to our aid, and with his sword returned happiness to us. Just then, worn out from years and woes, Gostomýsl ended his days, beaming with joy for having brought back peace to his country; but departing to the gods and honouring Rúrik’s heroism, he enjoined the nation to leave to him the power which had put a stop to its groans and sorrows. Our people, touched by so great deserts, placed the saviour over itself as ruler.
Vadím. Ruler! Rúrik! What nation has he saved? Having come to our aid, what has he done for us? He has paid a debt! However his benefactions may have seemed to you to deserve repayment, were you compelled to pay with your liberty, and make your enslavement a gift to merit? O low souls that fall down before fate and are inveigled by the stream of chance,—oh, if you had known how to respect yourselves! Blessed would Rúrik be, if he had been able, though clad in porphyry, to become equal to our citizens. Renowned by his high title among all kings, he would have been sufficiently rewarded by this distinction. Tell me: did Gostomýsl, aware of his heroic deeds, enjoin fetters to you, to end your woes, or was his will the freedom of the citizens? Or did he turn you over to him, like those beasts whom anyone who lists may bridle?
ODD PEOPLE
ACT II., SCENE 2. MRS. INDOLENT, ÚLINKA, WEATHERVANE
Weathervane. Ma charmante Úlinka! Oh, how beautiful you are! Tous ces gens, how stupid, how dishonest, and they will not see in your eyes what I see.
Úlinka. And what do you see?
Weathervane. Friponne! As if you did not know yourself that it is not possible to hate you, that you are fairer than heaven! (Úlinka courtesies.) You courtesy! How elegant! What a consolation to have such a daughter! (To Mrs. Indolent.) Is it not so, Maman?
Mrs. Indolent. I must confess that her education is what her birth demands, and as she has all liberty in her movements, as behooves a daughter born of me, she is, sir, removed from all coarseness; and keeping herself aloof from everything, as our dignity demands, she knows neither how to sew nor weave, leaving such occupations to common people; she dances like a peacock, sings like a nightingale, and, knowing French like a Frenchwoman, she would like to forget her Russian; she retires at three o’clock, rises at twelve, and passes two hours at her toilet.