Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Impressions of Russian Literature - I
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
land for miles distant remains uncultivated. When the
guards on the towers give the alarm, he, the refined
foreigner, lays hold of his weapons. The coast is inhabited
by Greeks and Getians mixed together, the latter being
the more numerous, and even those who speak Greek
have the Getian accent. Getian and Sarmatian horsemen
ride through the streets in crowds, clothed in skins,
with long and loose trousers, with long beards and hair
which hangs down over their faces, with knives loose in
their sheaths, their bows in their hands, and their quivers
full of poisoned arrows rattling on their backs. The
hostile Getians also use only arrrows which they have
dipped in poison; they live by robbery alone, come
driving on their horses with the fury of a storm, very
little dismayed by the slight walls of the town, and
many a time their death-bearing shots fly in over the
walls, so that the houses of the town were as if larded
with arrows. Grant that there is a little poetic exaggeration
in his description of his continual danger, there is
wretchedness enough left. And in this condition Augustus
and his successor let the most original poet of Rome
pine away, year in and year out, always cherishing
delusive hopes of a milder place of banishment,
separated from everything he loved and had a taste for, and
for a fault which was not a fault; for having got on the
scent of a court secret, which he did not dare to mention,
and which is unknown to us. It is no wonder that he,
with his gentle and timid character, begs for mercy
from the powerful father of the land, with continual
humble adulation. But when we read these prayers
for liberation we feel an involuntary admiration
rising up for the Russian authors who, exiled in our
day in similar circumstances, live and die without a
prayer or a complaint, much less a word of flattery
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
