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Here the Varegers, my forefathers, ruled, In lengthened line, for thirty generations; I am the last of all their lineage, snatched From murder by God's special providence. A Russian village. An open square before a church. The tocsin is heard. GLEB, ILIA, and TIMOSKA rush in, armed with hatchets. Why are they running? Who has tolled the bell. TIMOSKA. Neighbors, come forth!
MARINA. Kioff belonged not to our native land; There the Varegers ruled in days of yore. I have the ancient chronicles by heart; 'Twas from the Russian empire wrenched by force. I will restore it to its former crown. MEISCHEK. Hush, hush! The Waywode must not hear such talk. They're breaking up. A Greek convent in a bleak district near the sea Belozero.
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