Dimítri. O Prince of Byelózersk, what do you propose? Fearing strife, to acknowledge the Tartar’s power by paying a shameful tribute?
Byelózerski. To spare the priceless Christian blood. If we conquer Mamáy, look out, the hordes will once more unite for our common woe; beware, this temporarily successful exploit will again rouse their ambitious spirit, and they will perceive at last how injurious for their ambition their strife is, which separates their khans. The murders, fire, slaughter of wives and children which the Tartars have perpetrated against us, in their opinion, give the hordes a right over us. They deem Russia to be their patrimony. Seeing our bravery, they will stop their disorders, and will soon, united, bring misery on the Russians. Rather give them a chance to weaken in their destructive discord; let us gather strength in the peaceful quiet and, warding off the chances of war, choose peace instead of useless victory.
Dimítri. Oh, better death in battle than dishonourable peace! Thus our ancestors thought, thus we, too, will think. Those times are past when timid minds saw in the Tartars a tool of Heaven, which it is senseless and improper to oppose. In our days honour and the very voice of faith arm us against the tormentors. That voice, that prophetic voice of faith, proclaims to us that an immortal crown awaits the fallen in battle, that through the grave they pass to eternal joy. O Sérgi, pastor of souls, whom the groans of fellow-citizens have so often disturbed in your hermit prayers, and whose tears have so abundantly flowed lamenting the fate of the innocent, O you who with sacred hand blessed us for the impending battle! In your hermit cell, where you pass your humble days, listen to my words: inspired by you, they will inflame the Russian hearts to seek here liberty or the heavenly crown! ’Tis better to cease living, or not to be born at all, than to submit to the yoke of a foreign tribe, than with the name of payers of tribute to flatter their greed. Can we with such slavery avert our misfortunes? He who pays a tribute is weak; he who evinces a weak spirit invites arrogant lust to insult. But I am ready to receive the Khan’s messenger and to bring him before the assembly of the princes, not to listen to the shameless propositions of Tartar arrogance, but to announce to him the resolve for war, that he may read valour in our brows, and, shuddering, bear terror into Mamáy’s camp.
Smolénski. The whole assembly announces assent to your advice.
Dimítri. The messenger awaits the decision near the tent. You, Brénski, bring in the Tartars that have come to us!
Prince Iván Mikháylovich Dolgorúki. (1764-1823.)
Iván Mikháylovich Dolgorúki was the grandson of Prince Iván Aleksyéevich, the favourite of Peter II. (see p. 233). In 1791 he left the army with the rank of brigadier. He was then made Vice-Governor of Pénza, where he sought relief from the humdrum life of a provincial town in reading and in writing poetry. One of the first of his poems to attract attention was the envoi To my Lackey; he became universally known through his My Penza Fireplace. In 1802 he was appointed Governor of Vladímir. Not long after his return to Moscow he was forced to retire before the advancing Frenchmen. During his retreat he wrote his Lament of Moscow. His best poem is probably his Legacy. While not a poet of the first order, Dolgorúki displayed great originality and much depth of feeling. This is what he himself said of his poems: “In my poems I wished to preserve all the shades of my feelings, to see in them, as in a picture, the whole history of my heart, its agitation, the change in my manner of thinking, the progress of my thoughts in the different ages of my life, and the gradual development of my small talents. Every verse reminds me of some occurrence, or thought, or mood that influenced me at such and such a moment.... That is the key to the originality which many are so kind as to ascribe to my productions.” The Legacy was translated by Sir John Bowring.
THE LEGACY
When time’s vicissitudes are ended,
Be this, be this my place of rest;