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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:48 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:48 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5089-h.zip b/5089-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffe96de --- /dev/null +++ b/5089-h.zip diff --git a/5089-h/5089-h.htm b/5089-h/5089-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..08c210b --- /dev/null +++ b/5089-h/5089-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3790 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Boris Godunov, by Alexander Pushkin + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Boris Godunov, by Alexander Pushkin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Boris Godunov + A Drama in Verse + +Author: Alexander Pushkin + +Translator: Alfred Hayes + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5089] +Last Updated: February 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORIS GODUNOV *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen D. Leary and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BORIS GODUNOV + </h1> + <h3> + A Drama in Verse + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Alexander Pushkin + </h2> + <h3> + Rendered into English verse by Alfred Hayes + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> DRAMATIS PERSONAE* </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PALACE OF THE KREMLIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE RED SQUARE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE VIRGIN'S FIELD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE PALACE OF THE KREMLIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> NIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> FENCE OF THE MONASTERY* </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> PALACE OF THE PATRIARCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> PALACE OF THE TSAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> MOSCOW. SHUISKY'S HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> PALACE OF THE TSAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> CRACOW. HOUSE OF VISHNEVETSKY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> CASTLE OF THE GOVERNOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> NIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> SYEVSK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> A FOREST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> MOSCOW. PALACE OF THE TSAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> A TENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> PUBLIC SQUARE IN MOSCOW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> THE KREMLIN. HOUSE OF BORIS </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE* + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BORIS GODUNOV, afterwards Tsar. + PRINCE SHUISKY, Russian noble. + PRINCE VOROTINSKY, Russian noble. + SHCHELKALOV, Russian Minister of State. + FATHER PIMEN, an old monk and chronicler. + GREGORY OTREPIEV, a young monk, afterwards the Pretender + to the throne of Russia. + THE PATRIARCH, Abbot of the Chudov Monastery. + MISSAIL, wandering friar. + VARLAAM, wandering friar. + ATHANASIUS MIKAILOVICH PUSHKIN, friend of Prince Shuisky. + FEODOR, young son of Boris Godunov. + SEMYON NIKITICH GODUNOV, secret agent of Boris Godunov. + GABRIEL PUSHKIN, nephew of A. M. Pushkin. + PRINCE KURBSKY, disgraced Russian noble. + KHRUSHCHOV, disgraced Russian noble. + KARELA, a Cossack. + PRINCE VISHNEVETSKY. + MNISHEK, Governor of Sambor. + BASMANOV, a Russian officer. + MARZHERET, officer of the Pretender. + ROZEN, officer of the Pretender. + DIMITRY, the Pretender, formerly Gregory Otrepiev. + MOSALSKY, a Boyar. + KSENIA, daughter of Boris Godunov. + NURSE of Ksenia. + MARINA, daughter of Mnishek. + ROUZYA, tire-woman of Ksenia. + HOSTESS of tavern. +</pre> + <p> + Boyars, The People, Inspectors, Officers, Attendants, Guests, a Boy in + attendance on Prince Shuisky, a Catholic Priest, a Polish Noble, a Poet, + an Idiot, a Beggar, Gentlemen, Peasants, Guards, Russian, Polish, and + German Soldiers, a Russian Prisoner of War, Boys, an old Woman, Ladies, + Serving-women. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *The list of Dramatis Personae which does not appear in the + original has been added for the convenience of the reader— + A.H. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + </h2> + <h3> + (FEBRUARY 20th, A.D. 1598) + </h3> + <p> + PRINCE SHUISKY and VOROTINSKY + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VOROTINSKY. To keep the city's peace, that is the task + Entrusted to us twain, but you forsooth + Have little need to watch; Moscow is empty; + The people to the Monastery have flocked + After the patriarch. What thinkest thou? + How will this trouble end? + + SHUISKY. How will it end? + That is not hard to tell. A little more + The multitude will groan and wail, Boris + Pucker awhile his forehead, like a toper + Eyeing a glass of wine, and in the end + Will humbly of his graciousness consent + To take the crown; and then—and then will rule us + Just as before. + + VOROTINSKY. A month has flown already + Since, cloistered with his sister, he forsook + The world's affairs. None hitherto hath shaken + His purpose, not the patriarch, not the boyars + His counselors; their tears, their prayers he heeds not; + Deaf is he to the wail of Moscow, deaf + To the Great Council's voice; vainly they urged + The sorrowful nun-queen to consecrate + Boris to sovereignty; firm was his sister, + Inexorable as he; methinks Boris + Inspired her with this spirit. What if our ruler + Be sick in very deed of cares of state + And hath no strength to mount the throne? What + Say'st thou? + + SHUISKY. I say that in that case the blood in vain + Flowed of the young tsarevich, that Dimitry + Might just as well be living. + + VOROTINSKY. Fearful crime! + Is it beyond all doubt Boris contrived + The young boy's murder? + + SHUISKY. Who besides? Who else + Bribed Chepchugov in vain? Who sent in secret + The brothers Bityagovsky with Kachalov? + Myself was sent to Uglich, there to probe + This matter on the spot; fresh traces there + I found; the whole town bore witness to the crime; + With one accord the burghers all affirmed it; + And with a single word, when I returned, + I could have proved the secret villain's guilt. + + VOROTINSKY. Why didst thou then not crush him? + + SHUISKY. At the time, + I do confess, his unexpected calmness, + His shamelessness, dismayed me. Honestly + He looked me in the eyes; he questioned me + Closely, and I repeated to his face + The foolish tale himself had whispered to me. + + VOROTINSKY. An ugly business, prince. + + SHUISKY. What could I do? + Declare all to Feodor? But the tsar + Saw all things with the eyes of Godunov. + Heard all things with the ears of Godunov; + Grant even that I might have fully proved it, + Boris would have denied it there and then, + And I should have been haled away to prison, + And in good time—like mine own uncle—strangled + Within the silence of some deaf-walled dungeon. + I boast not when I say that, given occasion, + No penalty affrights me. I am no coward, + But also am no fool, and do not choose + Of my free will to walk into a halter. + + VOROTINSKY. Monstrous misdeed! Listen; I warrant you + Remorse already gnaws the murderer; + Be sure the blood of that same innocent child + Will hinder him from mounting to the throne. + + SHUISKY. That will not baulk him; Boris is not so timid! + What honour for ourselves, ay, for all Russia! + A slave of yesterday, a Tartar, son + By marriage of Maliuta, of a hangman, + Himself in soul a hangman, he to wear + The crown and robe of Monomakh!— + + VOROTINSKY. You are right; + He is of lowly birth; we twain can boast + A nobler lineage. + + SHUISKY. Indeed we may! + + VOROTINSKY. Let us remember, Shuisky, Vorotinsky + Are, let me say, born princes. + + SHUISKY. Yea, born princes, + And of the blood of Rurik. + + VOROTINSKY. Listen, prince; + Then we, 'twould seem, should have the right to mount + Feodor's throne. + + SHUISKY. Rather than Godunov. + + VOROTINSKY. In very truth 'twould seem so. + + SHUISKY. And what then? + If still Boris pursue his crafty ways, + Let us contrive by skilful means to rouse + The people. Let them turn from Godunov; + Princes they have in plenty of their own; + Let them from out their number choose a tsar. + + VOROTINSKY. Of us, Varyags in blood, there are full many, + But 'tis no easy thing for us to vie + With Godunov; the people are not wont + To recognise in us an ancient branch + Of their old warlike masters; long already + Have we our appanages forfeited, + Long served but as lieutenants of the tsars, + And he hath known, by fear, and love, and glory, + How to bewitch the people. + + SHUISKY. (Looking through a window.) He has dared, + That's all—while we—Enough of this. Thou seest + Dispersedly the people are returning. + We'll go forthwith and learn what is resolved. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RED SQUARE + </h2> + <h3> + THE PEOPLE + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST PERSON. He is inexorable! He thrust from him + Prelates, boyars, and Patriarch; in vain + Prostrate they fall; the splendour of the throne + Affrights him. + + 2ND PERSON. O, my God, who is to rule us? + O, woe to us! + + 3RD PERSON. See! The Chief Minister + Is coming out to tell us what the Council + Has now resolved. + + THE PEOPLE. Silence! Silence! He speaks, + The Minister of State. Hush, hush! Give ear! + + SHCHELKALOV. (From the Red Balcony.) + The Council have resolved for the last time + To put to proof the power of supplication + Upon our ruler's mournful soul. At dawn, + After a solemn service in the Kremlin, + The blessed Patriarch will go, preceded + By sacred banners, with the holy ikons + Of Donsky and Vladimir; with him go + The Council, courtiers, delegates, boyars, + And all the orthodox folk of Moscow; all + Will go to pray once more the queen to pity + Fatherless Moscow, and to consecrate + Boris unto the crown. Now to your homes + Go ye in peace: pray; and to Heaven shall rise + The heart's petition of the orthodox. + + (The PEOPLE disperse.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VIRGIN'S FIELD + </h2> + <h3> + THE NEW NUNNERY. The People. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST PERSON. To plead with the tsaritsa in her cell + Now are they gone. Thither have gone Boris, + The Patriarch, and a host of boyars. + + 2ND PERSON. What news? + + 3RD PERSON. Still is he obdurate; yet there is hope. + + PEASANT WOMAN. (With a child.) + Drat you! Stop crying, or else the bogie-man + Will carry you off. Drat you, drat you! Stop crying! + + 1ST PERSON. Can't we slip through behind the fence? + + 2ND PERSON. Impossible! + No chance at all! Not only is the nunnery + Crowded; the precincts too are crammed with people. + Look what a sight! All Moscow has thronged here. + See! Fences, roofs, and every single storey + Of the Cathedral bell tower, the church-domes, + The very crosses are studded thick with people. + + 1ST PERSON. A goodly sight indeed! + + 2ND PERSON. What is that noise? + + 3RD PERSON. Listen! What noise is that?—The people groaned; + See there! They fall like waves, row upon row— + Again—again—Now, brother, 'tis our turn; + Be quick, down on your knees! + + THE PEOPLE. (On their knees, groaning and wailing.) + Have pity on us, + Our father! O, rule over us! O, be + Father to us, and tsar! + + 1ST PERSON. (Sotto voce.) Why are they wailing? + + 2ND PERSON. How can we know? The boyars know well enough. + It's not our business. + + PEASANT WOMAN. (With child.) + Now, what's this? Just when + It ought to cry, the child stops crying. I'll show you! + Here comes the bogie-man! Cry, cry, you spoilt one! + (Throws it on the ground; the child screams.) + That's right, that's right! + + 1ST PERSON. As everyone is crying, + We also, brother, will begin to cry. + + 2ND PERSON. Brother, I try my best, but can't. + + 1ST PERSON. Nor I. + Have you not got an onion? + + 2ND PERSON. No; I'll wet + My eyes with spittle. What's up there now? + + 1ST PERSON. Who knows + What's going on? + + THE PEOPLE. The crown for him! He is tsar! + He has yielded!—Boris!—Our tsar!—Long live Boris! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + </h2> + <h3> + BORIS, PATRIARCH, Boyars + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BORIS. Thou, father Patriarch, all ye boyars! + My soul lies bare before you; ye have seen + With what humility and fear I took + This mighty power upon me. Ah! How heavy + My weight of obligation! I succeed + The great Ivans; succeed the angel tsar!— + O Righteous Father, King Of kings, look down + From Heaven upon the tears of Thy true servants, + And send on him whom Thou hast loved, whom Thou + Exalted hast on earth so wondrously, + Thy holy blessing. May I rule my people + In glory, and like Thee be good and righteous! + To you, boyars, I look for help. Serve me + As ye served him, what time I shared your labours, + Ere I was chosen by the people's will. + + BOYARS. We will not from our plighted oath depart. + + BORIS. Now let us go to kneel before the tombs + Of Russia's great departed rulers. Then + Bid summon all our people to a feast, + All, from the noble to the poor blind beggar. + To all free entrance, all most welcome guests. + + (Exit, the Boyars following.) + + PRINCE VOROTINSKY. (Stopping Shuisky.) + You rightly guessed. + + SHUISKY. Guessed what? + + VOROTINSKY. Why, you remember— + The other day, here on this very spot. + + SHUISKY. No, I remember nothing. + + VOROTINSKY. When the people + Flocked to the Virgin's Field, thou said'st— + + SHUISKY. 'Tis not + The time for recollection. There are times + When I should counsel you not to remember, + But even to forget. And for the rest, + I sought but by feigned calumny to prove thee, + The truelier to discern thy secret thoughts. + But see! The people hail the tsar—my absence + May be remarked. I'll join them. + + VOROTINSKY. Wily courtier! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + Cell in the Monastery of Chudov (A.D. 1603) + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FATHER PIMEN, GREGORY (sleeping) + + PIMEN (Writing in front of a sacred lamp.) + One more, the final record, and my annals + Are ended, and fulfilled the duty laid + By God on me a sinner. Not in vain + Hath God appointed me for many years + A witness, teaching me the art of letters; + A day will come when some laborious monk + Will bring to light my zealous, nameless toil, + Kindle, as I, his lamp, and from the parchment + Shaking the dust of ages will transcribe + My true narrations, that posterity + The bygone fortunes of the orthodox + Of their own land may learn, will mention make + Of their great tsars, their labours, glory, goodness— + And humbly for their sins, their evil deeds, + Implore the Saviour's mercy.—In old age + I live anew; the past unrolls before me.— + Did it in years long vanished sweep along, + Full of events, and troubled like the deep? + Now it is hushed and tranquil. Few the faces + Which memory hath saved for me, and few + The words which have come down to me;—the rest + Have perished, never to return.—But day + Draws near, the lamp burns low, one record more, + The last. (He writes.) + + GREGORY. (Waking.) Ever the selfsame dream! Is 't possible? + For the third time! Accursed dream! And ever + Before the lamp sits the old man and writes— + And not all night, 'twould seem, from drowsiness, + Hath closed his eyes. I love the peaceful sight, + When, with his soul deep in the past immersed, + He keeps his chronicle. Oft have I longed + To guess what 'tis he writes of. Is 't perchance + The dark dominion of the Tartars? Is it + Ivan's grim punishments, the stormy Council + of Novgorod? Is it about the glory + Of our dear fatherland?—I ask in vain! + Not on his lofty brow, nor in his looks + May one peruse his secret thoughts; always + The same aspect; lowly at once, and lofty— + Like some state Minister grown grey in office, + Calmly alike he contemplates the just + And guilty, with indifference he hears + Evil and good, and knows not wrath nor pity. + + PIMEN. Wakest thou, brother? + + GREGORY. Honoured father, give me + Thy blessing. + + PIMEN. May God bless thee on this day, + Tomorrow, and for ever. + + GREGORY. All night long + Thou hast been writing and abstained from sleep, + While demon visions have disturbed my peace, + The fiend molested me. I dreamed I scaled + By winding stairs a turret, from whose height + Moscow appeared an anthill, where the people + Seethed in the squares below and pointed at me + With laughter. Shame and terror came upon me— + And falling headlong, I awoke. Three times + I dreamed the selfsame dream. Is it not strange? + + PIMEN. 'Tis the young blood at play; humble thyself + By prayer and fasting, and thy slumber's visions + Will all be filled with lightness. Hitherto + If I, unwillingly by drowsiness + Weakened, make not at night long orisons, + My old-man's sleep is neither calm nor sinless; + Now riotous feasts appear, now camps of war, + Scuffles of battle, fatuous diversions + Of youthful years. + + GREGORY. How joyfully didst thou + Live out thy youth! The fortress of Kazan + Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse + The army of Litva. Thou hast seen the court, + And splendour of Ivan. Ah! Happy thou! + Whilst I, from boyhood up, a wretched monk, + Wander from cell to cell! Why unto me + Was it not given to play the game of war, + To revel at the table of a tsar? + Then, like to thee, would I in my old age + Have gladly from the noisy world withdrawn, + To vow myself a dedicated monk, + And in the quiet cloister end my days. + + PIMEN. Complain not, brother, that the sinful world + Thou early didst forsake, that few temptations + The All-Highest sent to thee. Believe my words; + The glory of the world, its luxury, + Woman's seductive love, seen from afar, + Enslave our souls. Long have I lived, have taken + Delight in many things, but never knew + True bliss until that season when the Lord + Guided me to the cloister. Think, my son, + On the great tsars; who loftier than they? + God only. Who dares thwart them? None. What then? + Often the golden crown became to them + A burden; for a cowl they bartered it. + The tsar Ivan sought in monastic toil + Tranquility; his palace, filled erewhile + With haughty minions, grew to all appearance + A monastery; the very rakehells seemed + Obedient monks, the terrible tsar appeared + A pious abbot. Here, in this very cell + (At that time Cyril, the much suffering, + A righteous man, dwelt in it; even me + God then made comprehend the nothingness + Of worldly vanities), here I beheld, + Weary of angry thoughts and executions, + The tsar; among us, meditative, quiet + Here sat the Terrible; we motionless + Stood in his presence, while he talked with us + In tranquil tones. Thus spake he to the abbot + And all the brothers: "My fathers, soon will come + The longed-for day; here shall I stand before you, + Hungering for salvation; Nicodemus, + Thou Sergius, Cyril thou, will all accept + My spiritual vow; to you I soon shall come + Accurst in sin, here the clean habit take, + Prostrate, most holy father, at thy feet." + So spake the sovereign lord, and from his lips + Sweetly the accents flowed. He wept; and we + With tears prayed God to send His love and peace + Upon his suffering and stormy soul.— + What of his son Feodor? On the throne + He sighed to lead the life of calm devotion. + The royal chambers to a cell of prayer + He turned, wherein the heavy cares of state + Vexed not his holy soul. God grew to love + The tsar's humility; in his good days + Russia was blest with glory undisturbed, + And in the hour of his decease was wrought + A miracle unheard of; at his bedside, + Seen by the tsar alone, appeared a being + Exceeding bright, with whom Feodor 'gan + To commune, calling him great Patriarch;— + And all around him were possessed with fear, + Musing upon the vision sent from Heaven, + Since at that time the Patriarch was not present + In church before the tsar. And when he died + The palace was with holy fragrance filled. + And like the sun his countenance outshone. + Never again shall we see such a tsar.— + O, horrible, appalling woe! We have sinned, + We have angered God; we have chosen for our ruler + A tsar's assassin. + + GREGORY. Honoured father, long + Have I desired to ask thee of the death + Of young Dimitry, the tsarevich; thou, + 'Tis said, wast then at Uglich. + + PIMEN. Ay, my son, + I well remember. God it was who led me + To witness that ill deed, that bloody sin. + I at that time was sent to distant Uglich + Upon some mission. I arrived at night. + Next morning, at the hour of holy mass, + I heard upon a sudden a bell toll; + 'Twas the alarm bell. Then a cry, an uproar; + Men rushing to the court of the tsaritsa. + Thither I haste, and there had flocked already + All Uglich. There I see the young tsarevich + Lie slaughtered: the queen mother in a swoon + Bowed over him, his nurse in her despair + Wailing; and then the maddened people drag + The godless, treacherous nurse away. Appears + Suddenly in their midst, wild, pale with rage, + Judas Bityagovsky. "There, there's the villain!" + Shout on all sides the crowd, and in a trice + He was no more. Straightway the people rushed + On the three fleeing murderers; they seized + The hiding miscreants and led them up + To the child's corpse yet warm; when lo! A marvel— + The dead child all at once began to tremble! + "Confess!" the people thundered; and in terror + Beneath the axe the villains did confess— + And named Boris. + + GREGORY. How many summers lived + The murdered boy? + + PIMEN. Seven summers; he would now + (Since then have passed ten years—nay, more—twelve years) + He would have been of equal age to thee, + And would have reigned; but God deemed otherwise. + This is the lamentable tale wherewith + My chronicle doth end; since then I little + Have dipped in worldly business. Brother Gregory, + Thou hast illumed thy mind by earnest study; + To thee I hand my task. In hours exempt + From the soul's exercise, do thou record, + Not subtly reasoning, all things whereto + Thou shalt in life be witness; war and peace, + The sway of kings, the holy miracles + Of saints, all prophecies and heavenly signs;— + For me 'tis time to rest and quench my lamp.— + But hark! The matin bell. Bless, Lord, Thy servants! + Give me my crutch. + + (Exit.) + + GREGORY. Boris, Boris, before thee + All tremble; none dares even to remind thee + Of what befell the hapless child; meanwhile + Here in dark cell a hermit doth indite + Thy stern denunciation. Thou wilt not + Escape the judgment even of this world, + As thou wilt not escape the doom of God. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FENCE OF THE MONASTERY* + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the published + version of the play. + + GREGORY and a Wicked Monk + + GREGORY. O, what a weariness is our poor life, + What misery! Day comes, day goes, and ever + Is seen, is heard one thing alone; one sees + Only black cassocks, only hears the bell. + Yawning by day you wander, wander, nothing + To do; you doze; the whole night long till daylight + The poor monk lies awake; and when in sleep + You lose yourself, black dreams disturb the soul; + Glad that they sound the bell, that with a crutch + They rouse you. No, I will not suffer it! + I cannot! Through this fence I'll flee! The world + Is great; my path is on the highways never + Thou'lt hear of me again. + + MONK. Truly your life + Is but a sorry one, ye dissolute, + Wicked young monks! + + GREGORY. Would that the Khan again + Would come upon us, or Lithuania rise + Once more in insurrection. Good! I would then + Cross swords with them! Or what if the tsarevich + Should suddenly arise from out the grave, + Should cry, "Where are ye, children, faithful servants? + Help me against Boris, against my murderer! + Seize my foe, lead him to me!" + + MONK. Enough, my friend, + Of empty babble. We cannot raise the dead. + No, clearly it was fated otherwise + For the tsarevich—But hearken; if you wish + To do a thing, then do it. + + GREGORY. What to do? + + MONK. If I were young as thou, if these grey hairs + Had not already streaked my beard—Dost take me? + + GREGORY. Not I. + + MONK. Hearken; our folk are dull of brain, + Easy of faith, and glad to be amazed + By miracles and novelties. The boyars + Remember Godunov as erst he was, + Peer to themselves; and even now the race + Of the old Varyags is loved by all. Thy years + Match those of the tsarevich. If thou hast + Cunning and hardihood—Dost take me now? + + GREGORY. I take thee. + + MONK. Well, what say'st thou? + + GREGORY. 'Tis resolved. + I am Dimitry, I tsarevich! + + MONK. Give me + Thy hand, my bold young friend. Thou shalt be tsar! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PALACE OF THE PATRIARCH + </h2> + <h3> + PATRIARCH, ABBOT of the Chudov Monastery + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PATRIARCH. And he has run away, Father Abbot? + + ABBOT. He has run away, holy sovereign, now three days ago. + + PATRIARCH. Accursed rascal! What is his origin? + + ABBOT. Of the family of the Otrepievs, of the lower nobility + of Galicia; in his youth he took the tonsure, no one + knows where, lived at Suzdal, in the Ephimievsky + monastery, departed from there, wandered to various + convents, finally arrived at my Chudov fraternity; + but I, seeing that he was still young and inexperienced, + entrusted him at the outset to Father Pimen, an old man, + kind and humble. And he was very learned, read our + chronicle, composed canons for the holy brethren; but, + to be sure, instruction was not given to him from the + Lord God— + + PATRIARCH. Ah, those learned fellows! What a thing to + say, "I shall be tsar in Moscow." Ah, he is a vessel of + the devil! However, it is no use even to report to the + tsar about this; why disquiet our father sovereign? + It will be enough to give information about his flight to + the Secretary Smirnov or the Secretary Ephimiev. + What a heresy: "I shall be tsar in Moscow!"... + Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send him to + Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this—is it not + heresy, Father Abbot? + + ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PALACE OF THE TSAR + </h2> + <h3> + Two Attendants + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign? + + 2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber, + Where he is closeted with some magician. + + 1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves; + Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers. + Ever he seeks to dip into the future, + Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know + What 'tis he would foretell. + + 2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes. + Will it please you question him? + + 1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks! + + (Exeunt.) + + TSAR. (Enters.) I have attained the highest power. Six years + Already have I reigned in peace; but joy + Dwells not within my soul. Even so in youth + We greedily desire the joys of love, + But only quell the hunger of the heart + With momentary possession. We grow cold, + Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards + Promise me length of days, days of dominion + Immune from treachery—not power, not life + Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven + And woe. For me no happiness. I thought + To satisfy my people in contentment, + In glory, gain their love by generous gifts, + But I have put away that empty hope; + The power that lives is hateful to the mob,— + Only the dead they love. We are but fools + When our heart vibrates to the people's groans + And passionate wailing. Lately on our land + God sent a famine; perishing in torments + The people uttered moan. The granaries + I made them free of, scattered gold among them, + Found labour for them; furious for my pains + They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed their homes; + I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth + They blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob, + Such is its judgment! Seek its love, indeed! + I thought within my family to find + Solace; I thought to make my daughter happy + By wedlock. Like a tempest Death took off + Her bridegroom—and at once a stealthy rumour + Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief— + Me, me, the hapless father! Whoso dies, + I am the secret murderer of all; + I hastened Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned + My sister-queen, the lowly nun—all I! + Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace + Mid worldly cares, nothing save only conscience! + Healthy she triumphs over wickedness, + Over dark slander; but if in her be found + A single casual stain, then misery. + With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart; + My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer + Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me, + And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children + Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee, + But nowhere can find refuge—horrible! + Pitiful he whose conscience is unclean! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + </h2> + <h3> + MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend + honoured guests? + + VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you + no wine? + + HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at + once. (Exit.) + + MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very + Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach. + + GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not + Be content. + + VARLAAM. What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania! + Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fled + from the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was it + Lithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer? + All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's the + main thing! + + MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + + HOSTESS. (Enters.) + There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health. + + MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The + monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest + by, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join + in the song? Not even join in the song? + + GREGORY. I don't wish to. + + MISSAIL. Everyone to his liking— + + VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.* Father Missail! + We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where + the brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail, + when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness + is one thing—but pride quite another. If you want + to live as we do, you are welcome. No?—then take + yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no + companion for a priest. + + [*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot + be satisfactorily rendered into English.] + + GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,* + Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how + to make puns. + + [*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot + be satisfactorily rendered into English.] + + VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself? + + MISSAIL. Let him alone, Father Varlaam. + + VARLAAM. But what sort of a fasting man is he? Of his + own accord he attached himself as a companion to us; + no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes— + and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a + close acquaintance with the pillory. (Drinks and sings: + "A young monk took the tonsure," etc.) + + GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road? + + HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains. + + GREGORY. And is it far to the Luyov mountains? + + HOSTESS. Not far; you might get there by evening, but for + the tsar's frontier barriers, and the captains of the + guard. + + GREGORY. What say you? Barriers! What means this? + + HOSTESS. Someone has escaped from Moscow, and orders + have been given to detain and search everyone. + + GREGORY. (Aside.) Here's a pretty mess! + + VARLAAM. Hallo, comrade! You've been making up to + mine hostess. To be sure you don't want vodka, but + you want a young woman. All right, brother, all right! + Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and I + have only one thing which we care for—we drink to the + bottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock at + the bottom. + + MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + + GREGORY. (To Hostess.) Whom do they want? Who + escaped from Moscow? + + HOSTESS. God knows; a thief perhaps, a robber. But here + even good folk are worried now. And what will come of + it? Nothing. They will not catch the old devil; as if + there were no other road into Lithuania than the highway! + Just turn to the left from here, then by the pinewood + or by the footpath as far as the chapel on the + Chekansky brook, and then straight across the marsh to + Khlopin, and thence to Zakhariev, and then any child + will guide you to the Luyov mountains. The only good + of these inspectors is to worry passers-by and rob us poor + folk. (A noise is heard.) What's that? Ah, there + they are, curse them! They are going their rounds. + + GREGORY. Hostess! Is there another room in the cottage? + + HOSTESS. No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide. + But they are only pretending to go their rounds; but + give them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what— + May perdition take them, the accursed ones! May— + + (Enter OFFICERS.) + + OFFICERS. Good health to you, mine hostess! + + HOSTESS. You are kindly welcome, dear guests. + + AN OFFICER. (To another.) Ha, there's drinking going on + here; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.) + Who are you? + + VARLAAM. We—are two old clerics, humble monks; we are + going from village to village, and collecting Christian + alms for the monastery. + + OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) And thou? + + MISSAIL. Our comrade. + + GREGORY. A layman from the suburb; I have conducted the + old men as far as the frontier; from here I am going to + my own home. + + MISSAIL. So you have changed your mind? + + GREGORY. (Sotto voce.) Be silent. + + OFFICER. Hostess, bring some more wine, and we will + drink here a little and talk a little with these old men. + + 2ND OFFICER. (Sotto voce.) Yon lad, it appears, is poor; + there's nothing to be got out of him; on the other hand + the old men— + + 1ST OFFICER. Be silent; we shall come to them presently. + —Well, my fathers, how are you getting on? + + VARLAAM. Badly, my sons, badly! The Christians have + now turned stingy; they love their money; they hide + their money. They give little to God. The people of + the world have become great sinners. They have all + devoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; they + think of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul. + You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes in + three days begging will not bring you three half-pence. + What a sin! A week goes by; another week; you look + into your bag, and there is so little in it that you are + ashamed to show yourself at the monastery. What are + you to do? From very sorrow you drink away what is + left; a real calamity! Ah, it is bad! It seems our last + days have come— + + HOSTESS. (Weeps.) God pardon and save you! + (During the course of VARLAAM'S speech the 1st + OFFICER watches MISSAIL significantly.) + + 1ST OFFICER. Alexis! Have you the tsar's edict with you? + + 2ND OFFICER. I have it. + + 1ST OFFICER. Give it here. + + MISSAIL. Why do you look at me so fixedly? + + 1ST OFFICER. This is why; from Moscow there has fled a + certain wicked heretic—Grishka Otrepiev. Have you + heard this? + + MISSAIL. I have not heard it. + + OFFICER. Not heard it? Very good. And the tsar has + ordered to arrest and hang the fugitive heretic. Do you + know this? + + MISSAIL. I do not know it. + + OFFICER. (To VARLAAM.) Do you know how to read? + + VARLAAM. In my youth I knew how, but I have forgotten. + + OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) And thou? + + MISSAIL. God has not made me wise. + + OFFICER. So then here's the tsar's edict. + + MISSAIL. What do I want it for? + + OFFICER. It seems to me that this fugitive heretic, thief, + swindler, is—thou. + + MISSAIL. I? Good gracious! What are you talking about? + + OFFICER. Stay! Hold the doors. Then we shall soon get + at the truth. + + HOSTESS. O the cursed tormentors! Not to leave even the + old man in peace! + + OFFICER. Which of you here is a scholar? + + GREGORY. (Comes forward.) I am a scholar! + + OFFICER. Oh, indeed! And from whom did you learn? + + GREGORY. From our sacristan. + + OFFICER (Gives him the edict.) Read it aloud. + + GREGORY. (Reads.) "An unworthy monk of the Monastery + Of Chudov, Gregory, of the family of Otrepiev, has fallen + into heresy, taught by the devil, and has dared to vex + the holy brotherhood by all kinds of iniquities and acts + of lawlessness. And, according to information, it has + been shown that he, the accursed Grishka, has fled to the + Lithuanian frontier." + + OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) How can it be anyone but you? + + GREGORY. "And the tsar has commanded to arrest him—" + + OFFICER. And to hang! + + GREGORY. It does not say here "to hang." + + OFFICER. Thou liest. What is meant is not always put into + writing. Read: to arrest and to hang. + + GREGORY. "And to hang. And the age of the thief + Grishka" (looking at VARLAAM) "about fifty, and his + height medium; he has a bald head, grey beard, fat + belly." + + (All glance at VARLAAM.) + + 1ST OFFICER, My lads! Here is Grishka! Hold him! + Bind him! I never thought to catch him so quickly. + + VARLAAM. (Snatching the paper.) Hands off, my lads! + What sort of a Grishka am I? What! Fifty years old, + grey beard, fat belly! No, brother. You're too young + to play off tricks on me. I have not read for a long time + and I make it out badly, but I shall manage to make it + out, as it's a hanging matter. (Spells it out.) "And his + age twenty." Why, brother, where does it say fifty?— + Do you see—twenty? + + 2ND OFFICER. Yes, I remember, twenty; even so it was + told us. + + 1ST OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) Then, evidently, you like a + joke, brother. + + (During the reading GREGORY stands with downcast + head, and his hand in his breast.) + + VARLAAM. (Continues.) "And in stature he is small, chest + broad, one arm shorter than the other, blue eyes, red + hair, a wart on his cheek, another on his forehead." + Then is it not you, my friend? + + (GREGORY suddenly draws a dagger; all give way + before him; he dashes through the window.) + + OFFICERS. Hold him! Hold him! + + (All run out in disorder.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOSCOW. SHUISKY'S HOUSE + </h2> + <h3> + SHUISKY. A number of Guests. Supper + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SHUISKY. More wine! Now, my dear guests. + + (He rises; all rise after him.) + + The final draught! + Read the prayer, boy. + + Boy. Lord of the heavens, Who art + Eternally and everywhere, accept + The prayer of us Thy servants. For our monarch, + By Thee appointed, for our pious tsar, + Of all good Christians autocrat, we pray. + Preserve him in the palace, on the field + Of battle, on his nightly couch; grant to him + Victory o'er his foes; from sea to sea + May he be glorified; may all his house + Blossom with health, and may its precious branches + O'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves, + May he, as heretofore, be generous. + Gracious, long-suffering, and may the founts + Of his unfailing wisdom flow upon us; + Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens, + For this we pray. + + SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign! + Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned not + My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night. + + (Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.) + + PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed, + Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that we + should not succeed in getting any private talk. + + SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you stand + Gaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clear + the table, and then be off. + + (Exeunt Servants.) + + What is it, Athanasius + Mikailovitch? + + PUSHKIN. Such a wondrous thing! + A message was sent here to me today + From Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin. + + SHUISKY. Well? + + PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son + Of the Terrible—But stay— + + (Goes to the door and examines it.) + + The royal boy, + Who murdered was by order of Boris— + + SHUISKY. But these are no new tidings. + + PUSHKIN. Wait a little; + Dimitry lives. + + SHUISKY. So that's it! News indeed! + Dimitry living!—Really marvelous! + And is that all? + + PUSHKIN. Pray listen to the end; + Whoe'er he be, whether he be Dimitry + Rescued, or else some spirit in his shape, + Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender, + In any case Dimitry has appeared. + + SHUISKY. It cannot be. + + PUSHKIN. Pushkin himself beheld him + When first he reached the court, and through the ranks + Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight + Into the secret chamber of the king. + + SHUISKY. What kind of man? Whence comes he? + + PUSHKIN. No one knows. + 'Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky's servant; + That to a ghostly father on a bed + Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed + Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him, + From his sick bed upraised him, and straightway + Took him to Sigismund. + + SHUISKY. And what say men + Of this bold fellow? + + PUSHKIN. 'Tis said that he is wise, + Affable, cunning, popular with all men. + He has bewitched the fugitives from Moscow, + The Catholic priests see eye to eye with him. + The King caresses him, and, it is said, + Has promised help. + + SHUISKY. All this is such a medley + That my head whirls. Brother, beyond all doubt + This man is a pretender, but the danger + Is, I confess, not slight. This is grave news! + And if it reach the people, then there'll be + A mighty tempest. + + PUSHKIN. Such a storm that hardly + Will Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crown + Upon his clever head; and losing it + Will get but his deserts! He governs us + As did the tsar Ivan of evil memory. + What profits it that public executions + Have ceased, that we no longer sing in public + Hymns to Christ Jesus on the field of blood; + That we no more are burnt in public places, + Or that the tsar no longer with his sceptre + Rakes in the ashes? Is there any safety + In our poor life? Each day disgrace awaits us; + The dungeon or Siberia, cowl or fetters, + And then in some deaf nook a starving death, + Or else the halter. Where are the most renowned + Of all our houses, where the Sitsky princes, + Where are the Shestunovs, where the Romanovs, + Hope of our fatherland? Imprisoned, tortured, + In exile. Do but wait, and a like fate + Will soon be thine. Think of it! Here at home, + Just as in Lithuania, we're beset + By treacherous slaves—and tongues are ever ready + For base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State. + We hang upon the word of the first servant + Whom we may please to punish. Then he bethought him + To take from us our privilege of hiring + Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters + Of our own lands. Presume not to dismiss + An idler. Willy nilly, thou must feed him! + Presume not to outbid a man in hiring + A labourer, or you will find yourself + In the Court's clutches.—Was such an evil heard of + Even under tsar Ivan? And are the people + The better off? Ask them. Let the pretender + But promise them the old free right of transfer, + Then there'll be sport. + + SHUISKY. Thou'rt right; but be advised; + Of this, of all things, for a time we'll speak + No word. + + PUSHKIN. Assuredly, keep thine own counsel. + Thou art—a person of discretion; always + I am glad to commune with thee; and if aught + At any time disturbs me, I endure not + To keep it from thee; and, truth to tell, thy mead + And velvet ale today have so untied + My tongue...Farewell then, prince. + + SHUISKY. Brother, farewell. + Farewell, my brother, till we meet again. + + (He escorts PUSHKIN out.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PALACE OF THE TSAR + </h2> + <h3> + The TSAREVICH is drawing a map. The TSAREVNA. The NURSE of the Tsarevna + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + KSENIA. (Kisses a portrait.) My dear bridegroom, comely + son of a king, not to me wast thou given, not to thy + affianced bride, but to a dark sepulchre in a strange + land; never shall I take comfort, ever shall I weep for + thee. + + NURSE. Eh, tsarevna! A maiden weeps as the dew falls; + the sun will rise, will dry the dew. Thou wilt have + another bridegroom—and handsome and affable. My + charming child, thou wilt learn to love him, thou wilt + forget Ivan the king's son. + + KSENIA. Nay, nurse, I will be true to him even in death. + + (Boris enters.) + + TSAR. What, Ksenia? What, my sweet one? In thy girlhood + Already a woe-stricken widow, ever + Bewailing thy dead bridegroom! Fate forbade me + To be the author of thy bliss. Perchance + I angered Heaven; it was not mine to compass + Thy happiness. Innocent one, for what + Art thou a sufferer? And thou, my son, + With what art thou employed? What's this? + + FEODOR. A chart + Of all the land of Muscovy; our tsardom + From end to end. Here you see; there is Moscow, + There Novgorod, there Astrakhan. Here lies + The sea, here the dense forest tract of Perm, + And here Siberia. + + TSAR. And what is this + Which makes a winding pattern here? + + FEODOR. That is + The Volga. + + TSAR. Very good! Here's the sweet fruit + Of learning. One can view as from the clouds + Our whole dominion at a glance; its frontiers, + Its towns, its rivers. Learn, my son; 'tis science + Which gives to us an abstract of the events + Of our swift-flowing life. Some day, perchance + Soon, all the lands which thou so cunningly + Today hast drawn on paper, all will come + Under thy hand. Learn, therefore; and more smoothly, + More clearly wilt thou take, my son, upon thee + The cares of state. + + (SEMYON Godunov enters.) + + But there comes Godunov + Bringing reports to me. (To KSENIA.) Go to thy chamber + Dearest; farewell, my child; God comfort thee. + + (Exeunt KSENIA and NURSE.) + + What news hast thou for me, Semyon Nikitich? + + SEMYON G. Today at dawn the butler of Prince Shuisky + And Pushkin's servant brought me information. + + TSAR. Well? + + SEMYON G. In the first place Pushkin's man deposed + That yestermorn came to his house from Cracow + A courier, who within an hour was sent + Without a letter back. + + TSAR. Arrest the courier. + + SEMYON G. Some are already sent to overtake him. + + TSAR. And what of Shuisky? + + SEMYON G. Last night he entertained + His friends; the Buturlins, both Miloslavskys, + And Saltikov, with Pushkin and some others. + They parted late. Pushkin alone remained + Closeted with his host and talked with him + A long time more. + + TSAR. For Shuisky send forthwith. + + SEMYON G. Sire, he is here already. + + TSAR. Call him hither. + + (Exit SEMYON Godunov.) + + Dealings with Lithuania? What means this? + I like not the seditious race of Pushkins, + Nor must I trust in Shuisky, obsequious, + But bold and wily— + + (Enter SHUISKY.) + + Prince, I must speak with thee. + But thou thyself, it seems, hast business with me, + And I would listen first to thee. + + SHUISKY. Yea, sire; + It is my duty to convey to thee + Grave news. + + TSAR. I listen. + + SHUISKY. (Sotto voce, pointing to FEODOR.) + But, sire— + + TSAR. The tsarevich + May learn whate'er Prince Shuisky knoweth. Speak. + + SHUISKY. My liege, from Lithuania there have come + Tidings to us— + + TSAR. Are they not those same tidings + Which yestereve a courier bore to Pushkin? + + SHUISKY. Nothing is hidden from him!—Sire, I thought + Thou knew'st not yet this secret. + + TSAR. Let not that + Trouble thee, prince; I fain would scrutinise + Thy information; else we shall not learn + The actual truth. + + SHUISKY. I know this only, Sire; + In Cracow a pretender hath appeared; + The king and nobles back him. + + TSAR. What say they? + And who is this pretender? + + SHUISKY. I know not. + + TSAR. But wherein is he dangerous? + + SHUISKY. Verily + Thy state, my liege, is firm; by graciousness, + Zeal, bounty, thou hast won the filial love + Of all thy slaves; but thou thyself dost know + The mob is thoughtless, changeable, rebellious, + Credulous, lightly given to vain hope, + Obedient to each momentary impulse, + To truth deaf and indifferent; it feedeth + On fables; shameless boldness pleaseth it. + So, if this unknown vagabond should cross + The Lithuanian border, Dimitry's name + Raised from the grave will gain him a whole crowd + Of fools. + + TSAR. Dimitry's?—What?—That child's?—Dimitry's? + Withdraw, tsarevich. + + SHUISKY. He flushed; there'll be a storm! + + FEODOR. Suffer me, Sire— + + TSAR. Impossible, my son; + Go, go! + + (Exit FEODOR.) + + Dimitry's name! + + SHUISKY. Then he knew nothing. + + TSAR. Listen: take steps this very hour that Russia + Be fenced by barriers from Lithuania; + That not a single soul pass o'er the border, + That not a hare run o'er to us from Poland, + Nor crow fly here from Cracow. Away! + + SHUISKY. I go. + + TSAR. Stay!—Is it not a fact that this report + Is artfully concocted? Hast ever heard + That dead men have arisen from their graves + To question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed, + Chosen by the voice of all the people, crowned + By the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable? + Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat? + + SHUISKY. I, Sire? + + TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this child + Had been—this child had somehow lost its life, + 'Twas thou I sent to search the matter out. + Now by the Cross and God I do adjure thee, + Declare to me the truth upon thy conscience; + Didst recognise the slaughtered boy; was't not + A substitute? Reply. + + SHUISKY. I swear to thee— + + TSAR. Nay, Shuisky, swear not, but reply; was it + Indeed Dimitry? + + SHUISKY. He. + + TSAR. Consider, prince. + I promise clemency; I will not punish + With vain disgrace a lie that's past. But if + Thou now beguile me, then by my son's head + I swear—an evil fate shall overtake thee, + Requital such that Tsar Ivan Vasilievich + Shall shudder in his grave with horror of it. + + SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terror + Doth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presence + Dare I use cunning? Could I deceive myself + So blindly as not recognise Dimitry? + Three days in the cathedral did I visit + His corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich. + Around him thirteen bodies lay of those + Slain by the people, and on them corruption + Already had set in perceptibly. + But lo! The childish face of the tsarevich + Was bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep; + The deep gash had congealed not, nor the lines + Of his face even altered. No, my liege, + There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave. + + TSAR. Enough, withdraw. + + (Exit SHUISKY.) + + I choke!—let me get my breath! + I felt it; all my blood surged to my face, + And heavily fell back.—So that is why + For thirteen years together I have dreamed + Ever about the murdered child. Yes, yes— + 'Tis that!—now I perceive. But who is he, + My terrible antagonist? Who is it + Opposeth me? An empty name, a shadow. + Can it be a shade shall tear from me the purple, + A sound deprive my children of succession? + Fool that I was! Of what was I afraid? + Blow on this phantom—and it is no more. + So, I am fast resolved; I'll show no sign + Of fear, but nothing must be held in scorn. + Ah! Heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CRACOW. HOUSE OF VISHNEVETSKY + </h2> + <h3> + The PRETENDER and a CATHOLIC PRIEST + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRETENDER. Nay, father, there will be no trouble. I know + The spirit of my people; piety + Does not run wild in them, their tsar's example + To them is sacred. Furthermore, the people + Are always tolerant. I warrant you, + Before two years my people all, and all + The Eastern Church, will recognise the power + Of Peter's Vicar. + + PRIEST. May Saint Ignatius aid thee + When other times shall come. Meanwhile, tsarevich, + Hide in thy soul the seed of heavenly blessing; + Religious duty bids us oft dissemble + Before the blabbing world; the people judge + Thy words, thy deeds; God only sees thy motives. + + PRETENDER. Amen. Who's there? + + (Enter a Servant.) + + Say that we will receive them. + + (The doors are opened; a crowd of Russians and Poles enters.) + + Comrades! Tomorrow we depart from Cracow. + Mnishek, with thee for three days in Sambor + I'll stay. I know thy hospitable castle + Both shines in splendid stateliness, and glories + In its young mistress; There I hope to see + Charming Marina. And ye, my friends, ye, Russia + And Lithuania, ye who have upraised + Fraternal banners against a common foe, + Against mine enemy, yon crafty villain. + Ye sons of Slavs, speedily will I lead + Your dread battalions to the longed-for conflict. + But soft! Methinks among you I descry + New faces. + + GABRIEL P. They have come to beg for sword + And service with your Grace. + + PRETENDER. Welcome, my lads. + You are friends to me. But tell me, Pushkin, who + Is this fine fellow? + + PUSHKIN. Prince Kurbsky. + + PRETENDER. (To KURBSKY.) A famous name! + Art kinsman to the hero of Kazan? + + KURBSKY. His son. + + PRETENDER. Liveth he still? + + KURBSKY. Nay, he is dead. + + PRETENDER. A noble soul! A man of war and counsel. + But from the time when he appeared beneath + The ancient town Olgin with the Lithuanians, + Hardy avenger of his injuries, + Rumour hath held her tongue concerning him. + + KURBSKY. My father led the remnant of his life + On lands bestowed upon him by Batory; + There, in Volhynia, solitary and quiet, + Sought consolation for himself in studies; + But peaceful labour did not comfort him; + He ne'er forgot the home of his young days, + And to the end pined for it. + + PRETENDER. Hapless chieftain! + How brightly shone the dawn of his resounding + And stormy life! Glad am I, noble knight, + That now his blood is reconciled in thee + To his fatherland. The faults of fathers must not + Be called to mind. Peace to their grave. Approach; + Give me thy hand! Is it not strange?—the son + Of Kurbsky to the throne is leading—whom? + Whom but Ivan's own son?—All favours me; + People and fate alike.—Say, who art thou? + + A POLE. Sobansky, a free noble. + + PRETENDER. Praise and honour + Attend thee, child of liberty. Give him + A third of his full pay beforehand.—Who + Are these? On them I recognise the dress + Of my own country. These are ours. + + KRUSHCHOV. (Bows low.) Yea, Sire, + Our father; we are thralls of thine, devoted + And persecuted; we have fled from Moscow, + Disgraced, to thee our tsar, and for thy sake + Are ready to lay down our lives; our corpses + Shall be for thee steps to the royal throne. + + PRETENDER. Take heart, innocent sufferers. Only let me + Reach Moscow, and, once there, Boris shall settle + Some scores with me and you. What news of Moscow? + + KRUSHCHOV. As yet all there is quiet. But already + The folk have got to know that the tsarevich + Was saved; already everywhere is read + Thy proclamation. All are waiting for thee. + Not long ago Boris sent two boyars + To execution merely because in secret + They drank thy health. + + PRETENDER. O hapless, good boyars! + But blood for blood! And woe to Godunov! + What do they say of him? + + KRUSHCHOV. He has withdrawn + Into his gloomy palace. He is grim + And sombre. Executions loom ahead. + But sickness gnaws him. Hardly hath he strength + To drag himself along, and—it is thought— + His last hour is already not far off. + + PRETENDER. A speedy death I wish him, as becomes + A great-souled foe to wish. If not, then woe + To the miscreant!—And whom doth he intend + To name as his successor? + + KRUSHCHOV. He shows not + His purposes, but it would seem he destines + Feodor, his young son, to be our tsar. + + PRETENDER. His reckonings, maybe, will yet prove wrong. + Who art thou? + + KARELA. A Cossack; from the Don I am sent + To thee, from the free troops, from the brave hetmen + From upper and lower regions of the Cossacks, + To look upon thy bright and royal eyes, + And tender thee their homage. + + PRETENDER. Well I knew + The men of Don; I doubted not to see + The Cossack hetmen in my ranks. We thank + Our army of the Don. Today, we know, + The Cossacks are unjustly persecuted, + Oppressed; but if God grant us to ascend + The throne of our forefathers, then as of yore + We'll gratify the free and faithful Don. + + POET. (Approaches, bowing low, and taking Gregory by the + hem of his caftan.) + Great prince, illustrious offspring of a king! + + PRETENDER. What wouldst thou? + + POET. Condescendingly accept + This poor fruit of my earnest toil. + + PRETENDER. What see I? + Verses in Latin! Blest a hundredfold + The tie of sword and lyre; the selfsame laurel + Binds them in friendship. I was born beneath + A northern sky, but yet the Latin muse + To me is a familiar voice; I love + The blossoms of Parnassus, I believe + The prophecies of singers. Not in vain + The ecstasy boils in their flaming breast; + Action is hallowed, being glorified + Beforehand by the poets! Approach, my friend. + In memory of me accept this gift. + + (Gives him a ring.) + + When fate fulfils for me her covenant, + When I assume the crown of my forefathers, + I hope again to hear the measured tones + Of thy sweet voice, and thy inspired lay. + Musa gloriam Coronat, gloriaque musam. + And so, friends, till tomorrow, au revoir. + + ALL. Forward! Long live Dimitry! Forward, forward! + Long live Dimitry, the great prince of Moscow! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CASTLE OF THE GOVERNOR + </h2> + <h3> + MNISHEK IN SAMBOR + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dressing-Room of Marina + + MARINA, ROUZYA (dressing her), Serving-Women + + MARINA. + (Before a mirror.) Now then, is it ready? Cannot + you make haste? + + ROUZYA. I pray you first to make the difficult choice; + Will you the necklace wear of pearls, or else + The emerald half-moon? + + MARINA. My diamond crown. + + ROUZYA. Splendid! Do you remember that you wore it + When to the palace you were pleased to go? + They say that at the ball your gracious highness + Shone like the sun; men sighed, fair ladies whispered— + 'Twas then that for the first time young Khotkevich + Beheld you, he who after shot himself. + And whosoever looked on you, they say + That instant fell in love. + + MARINA. Can't you be quicker? + + ROUZYA. At once. Today your father counts upon you. + 'Twas not for naught the young tsarevich saw you; + He could not hide his rapture; wounded he is + Already; so it only needs to deal him + A resolute blow, and instantly, my lady, + He'll be in love with you. 'Tis now a month + Since, quitting Cracow, heedless of the war + And throne of Moscow, he has feasted here, + Your guest, enraging Poles alike and Russians. + Heavens! Shall I ever live to see the day?— + Say, you will not, when to his capital + Dimitry leads the queen of Moscow, say + You'll not forsake me? + + MARINA. Dost thou truly think + I shall be queen? + + ROUZYA. Who, if not you? Who here + Dares to compare in beauty with my mistress? + The race of Mnishek never yet has yielded + To any. In intellect you are beyond + All praise.—Happy the suitor whom your glance + Honours with its regard, who wins your heart— + Whoe'er he be, be he our king, the dauphin + Of France, or even this our poor tsarevich + God knows who, God knows whence! + + MARINA. The very son + Of the tsar, and so confessed by the whole world. + + ROUZYA. And yet last winter he was but a servant + In the house of Vishnevetsky. + + MARINA. He was hiding. + + ROUZYA. I do not question it: but still do you know + What people say about him? That perhaps + He is a deacon run away from Moscow, + In his own district a notorious rogue. + + MARINA. What nonsense! + + ROUZYA. O, I do not credit it! + I only say he ought to bless his fate + That you have so preferred him to the others. + + WAITING-WOMAN. (Runs in.) The guests have come already. + + MARINA. There you see; + You're ready to chatter silliness till daybreak. + Meanwhile I am not dressed— + + ROUZYA. Within a moment + 'Twill be quite ready. + + (The Waiting-women bustle.) + + MARINA. (Aside.) I must find out all. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS. + </h2> + <h3> + VISHNEVETSKY, MNISHEK + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MNISHEK. With none but my Marina doth he speak, + With no one else consorteth—and that business + Looks dreadfully like marriage. Now confess, + Didst ever think my daughter would be a queen? + + VISHNEVETSKY. 'Tis wonderful.—And, Mnishek, didst thou think + My servant would ascend the throne of Moscow? + + MNISHEK. And what a girl, look you, is my Marina. + I merely hinted to her: "Now, be careful! + Let not Dimitry slip"—and lo! Already + He is completely tangled in her toils. + + (The band plays a Polonaise. The PRETENDER and + MARINA advance as the first couple.) + + MARINA. (Sotto voce to Dimitry.) Tomorrow evening at eleven, beside + The fountain in the avenue of lime-trees. + + (They walk off. A second couple.) + + CAVALIER. What can Dimitry see in her? + + DAME. How say you? + She is a beauty. + + CAVALIER. Yes, a marble nymph; + Eyes, lips, devoid of life, without a smile. + + (A fresh couple.) + + DAME. He is not handsome, but his eyes are pleasing, + And one can see he is of royal birth. + + (A fresh couple.) + + DAME. When will the army march? + + CAVALIER. When the tsarevich + Orders it; we are ready; but 'tis clear + The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean + To keep us prisoners here. + + DAME. A pleasant durance. + + CAVALIER. Truly, if you... + + (They walk off; the rooms become empty.) + + MNISHEK. We old ones dance no longer; + The sound of music lures us not; we press not + Nor kiss the hands of charmers—ah! My friend, + I've not forgotten the old pranks! Things now + Are not what once they were, what once they were! + Youth, I'll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty + So lively; everything—confess, my friend— + Has somehow become dull. So let us leave them; + My comrade, let us go and find a flask + Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould; + Let's bid my butler open an old bottle, + And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete, + Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat; + And while we're so engaged, let's think things over. + Let us go, brother. + + VISHNEVETSKY. Yes, my friend, let's go. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come. + I was not born a coward; I have seen + Death near at hand, and face to face with death + My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon + Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued, + And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness + I have escaped captivity. But what + Is this which now constricts my breath? What means + This overpowering tremor, or this quivering + Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day + I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered + On all that I should say to her, how best + I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind, + Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour + Has come—and I remember naught, I cannot + Recall the speeches I have learned by rote; + Love puts imagination to confusion— + But something there gleamed suddenly—a rustling; + Hush—no, it was the moon's deceitful light, + It was the rustling of the breeze. + + MARINA. (Enters.) Tsarevich! + + PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still. + + MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou? + + PRETENDER. Bewitching voice! + + (Goes to her.) + + Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone + With me, beneath the roof of quiet night? + How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly + The glow of evening died away! How long + I have waited in the gloom of night! + + MARINA. The hours + Are flitting fast, and time is precious to me. + I did not grant a meeting here to thee + To listen to a lover's tender speeches. + No need of words. I well believe thou lovest; + But listen; with thy stormy, doubtful fate + I have resolved to join my own; but one thing, + Dimitry, I require; I claim that thou + Disclose to me thy secret hopes, thy plans, + Even thy fears, that hand in hand with thee + I may confront life boldly—not in blindness + Of childlike ignorance, not as the slave + And plaything of my husband's light desires, + Thy speechless concubine, but as thy spouse, + And worthy helpmate of the tsar of Moscow. + + PRETENDER. O, if it be only for one short hour, + Forget the cares and troubles of my fate! + Forget 'tis the tsarevich whom thou seest + Before thee. O, behold in me, Marina, + A lover, by thee chosen, happy only + In thy regard. O, listen to the prayers + Of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith + My heart is full. + + MARINA. Prince, this is not the time; + Thou loiterest, and meanwhile the devotion + Of thine adherents cooleth. Hour by hour + Danger becomes more dangerous, difficulties + More difficult; already dubious rumours + Are current, novelty already takes + The place of novelty; and Godunov + Adopts his measures. + + PRETENDER. What is Godunov? + Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness, + Swayed by Boris? Nay, nay. Indifferently + I now regard his throne, his kingly power. + Thy love—without it what to me is life, + And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia? + On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, thou— + Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown; + Thy love— + + MARINA. For shame! Forget not, prince, thy high + And sacred destiny; thy dignity + Should be to thee more dear than all the joys + Of life and its allurements. It thou canst not + With anything compare. Not to a boy, + Insanely boiling, captured by my beauty— + But to the heir of Moscow's throne give I + My hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich + Rescued by destiny. + + PRETENDER. Torture me not, + Charming Marina; say not that 'twas my rank + And not myself that thou didst choose. Marina! + Thou knowest not how sorely thou dost wound + My heart thereby. What if—O fearful doubt!— + Say, if blind destiny had not assigned me + A kingly birth; if I were not indeed + Son of Ivan, were not this boy, so long + Forgotten by the world—say, then wouldst thou + Have loved me? + + MARINA. Thou art Dimitry, and aught else + Thou canst not be; it is not possible + For me to love another. + + PRETENDER. Nay! Enough— + I have no wish to share with a dead body + A mistress who belongs to him; I have done + With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth. + Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago + Perished, was buried—and will not rise again; + And dost thou wish to know what man I am? + Well, I will tell thee. I am—a poor monk. + Grown weary of monastic servitude, + I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design, + Made ready for the world a miracle— + And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks, + To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle + Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you. + I called myself Dimitry, and deceived + The brainless Poles. What say'st thou, proud Marina? + Art thou content with my confession? Why + Dost thou keep silence? + + MARINA. O shame! O woe is me! + + (Silence.) + + PRETENDER. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me? + The happiness devised with so much labour + I have, perchance, destroyed for ever. Idiot, + What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed + Of love not princely; so pronounce on me + The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands. + Decide; I wait. + + (Falls on his knees.) + + MARINA. Rise, poor pretender! Think'st thou + To please with genuflex on my vain heart, + As if I were a weak, confiding girl? + You err, my friend; prone at my feet I've seen + Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this + Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk— + + PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues + May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy + Of Moscow's throne, even of thy priceless hand— + + MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch! + + PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride + I have deceived God and the kings—have lied + To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina, + To judge me; I am guiltless before thee. + No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me + Wast the one sacred being, before thee + I dared not to dissemble; love alone, + Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all. + + MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded + Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant + Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then + At least thou shouldst have merited success, + And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep, + And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield + Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank + And maiden modesty, unite my fate + With thine, when thou thyself impetuously + Dost thus with such simplicity reveal + Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me! + I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship + Disclosed thyself ere now before my father, + Or else before our king from joy, or else + Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal + Of a devoted servant. + + PRETENDER. I swear to thee + That thou alone wast able to extort + My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never, + Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup + Of folly, not in friendly confidence, + Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack, + Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets. + + MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe, + Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest? + Is it not by the name of God, as suits + The Jesuits' devout adopted son? + Or by thy honour as a high-born knight? + Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone + As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare. + + PRETENDER. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me + His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me + Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me, + And hath consigned Boris to be my victim. + I am tsarevich. Enough! 'Twere shame for me + To stoop before a haughty Polish dame. + Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war, + The wide cares of my destiny, will smother, + I hope, the pangs Of love. O, when the heat + Of shameful passion is o'erspent, how then + Shall I detest thee! Now I leave thee—ruin, + Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia; + Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier + In honourable fight, or as a miscreant + Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not + Be my companion, nor shalt share with me + My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret + The destiny thou hast refused. + + MARINA. But what + If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud + To all men? + + PRETENDER. Dost thou think I fear thee? Think'st thou + They will believe a Polish maiden more + Than Russia's own tsarevich? Know, proud lady, + That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble + Whether my words be true, whether I be + Dimitry or another. What care they? + But I provide a pretext for revolt + And war; and this is all they need; and thee, + Rebellious one, believe me, they will force + To hold thy peace. Farewell. + + MARINA. Tsarevich, stay! + At last I hear the speech not of a boy, + But of a man. It reconciles me to thee. + Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see + Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time! + Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops + Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take + Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then + Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me, + Until thy foot be planted on its steps, + Until by thee Boris be overthrown, + I am not one to listen to love-speeches. + + PRETENDER. No—easier far to strive with Godunov. + Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court, + Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they're beyond + My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out + Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent! + Serpent! 'Twas not for nothing that I trembled. + She well-nigh ruined me; but I'm resolved; + At daybreak I will put my troops in motion. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + </h2> + <h3> + (OCTOBER 16TH, 1604) + </h3> + <p> + PRINCE KURBSKY and PRETENDER, both on horseback. Troops approach the + Frontier + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.) + There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier! + Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine! + With scorn from off my clothing now I shake + The foreign dust, and greedily I drink + New air; it is my native air. O father, + Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave + Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy! + Again doth flash our old ancestral sword, + This glorious sword—the dread of dark Kazan! + This good sword—servant of the tsars of Moscow! + Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter, + Serving the master of its hopes. + + PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy + Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory + His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee! + The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile, + Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father, + Redeeming his transgression in the grave, + Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan + To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland + Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul + Should flame with joy. + + KURBSKY. And dost not thou likewise + Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she + Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people's hearts + Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits, + Thy Kremlin, thy dominion. + + PRETENDER. Russian blood, + O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar + Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you + Against your brothers; I am summoning + Lithuania against Russia; I am showing + To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow! + But let my sin fall not on me, but thee, + Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on! + + KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov. + + (They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR + </h2> + <h3> + The TSAR, the PATRIARCH and Boyars + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us + Leads rascal troops, a truant friar dares write + Threats to us! Then 'tis time to tame the madman! + Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov; + My zealous governors need help. Chernigov + Already by the rebel is besieged; + Rescue the city and citizens. + + BASMANOV. Three months + Shall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour's tongue + Shall cease to speak of the pretender; caged + In iron, like a wild beast from oversea, + We'll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God. + + (Exit with TRUBETSKOY.) + + TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered + Alliance to me. But we have no need + To lean on foreign aid; we have enough + Of our own warlike people to repel + Traitors and Poles. I have refused.—Shchelkalov! + In every district to the governors + Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send + The people as of old on service; likewise + Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist + The servants of the churchmen. In days of old, + When danger faced our country, hermits freely + Went into battle; it is not now our wish + To trouble them; no, let them pray for us; + Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolve + Of his boyars. And now a weighty question + We shall determine; ye know how everywhere + The insolent pretender hath spread abroad + His artful rumours; letters everywhere, + By him distributed, have sowed alarm + And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro + Pass in the market-places; minds are seething. + We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain + From executions, but by what means and how? + That we will now determine. Holy father, + Thou first declare thy thought. + + PATRIARCH. The Blessed One, + The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul, + Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience; + Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner, + Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion + Shall pass away; for pass away it will, + And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all. + Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters + No prudent judge, ventures today to offer + His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil, + This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear + Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly + He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich + As with a stolen vestment. It only needs + To tear it off—and he'll be put to shame + By his own nakedness. The means thereto + God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years + Since then have fled; 'twas in that very year + When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord + Anointed thee—there came to me one evening + A simple shepherd, a venerable old man, + Who told me a strange secret. "In my young days," + He said, "I lost my sight, and thenceforth knew not + Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain + I plied myself with herbs and secret spells; + In vain did I resort in adoration + To the great wonder-workers in the cloister; + Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water + From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not + Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last, + And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even + Slumber showed not to me things visible, + Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep + I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me: + `Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town, + To the Cathedral of Transfiguration; + There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious— + And I shall pardon thee.' `But who art thou?' + I asked the childish voice. `I am the tsarevich + Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken + Into His angel band, and I am now + A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.' + I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe + God will in very deed vouchsafe to me + Belated healing. I will go. I bent + My footsteps to the distant road. I reached + Uglich, repair unto the holy minster, + Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep + Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes + Were flowing out in tears. And when the people + Began to leave, to my grandson I said: + `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich + Dimitry.' The boy led me—and I scarce + Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer, + When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld + The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb." + That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told. + + (General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris + several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.) + + To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned + That many sufferers had found likewise + Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich. + This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send + The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral + Of the Archangel; clearly will the people + See then the godless villain's fraud; the might + Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust. + + (Silence.) + + PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways + Of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him. + Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working + He may upon the child's remains bestow; + But vulgar rumour must dispassionately + And diligently be tested; is it for us, + In stormy times of insurrection, + To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say + That insolently we made of sacred things + A worldly instrument? Even now the people + Sway senselessly this way and that, even now + There are enough already of loud rumours; + This is no time to vex the people's minds + With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange. + I myself see 'tis needful to demolish + The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk; + But for this end other and simpler means + Will serve. Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire, + I will myself appear in public places, + I will persuade, exhort away this madness, + And will expose the vagabond's vile fraud. + + TSAR. So be it! My lord Patriarch, I pray thee + Go with us to the palace, where today + I must converse with thee. + + (Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.) + + 1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale + Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured + A mighty sweat? + + 2ND BOYAR. I durst not, I confess, + Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir. + + 1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A + splendid fellow! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK + </h2> + <h3> + (DECEMBER 21st, 1604) + </h3> + <p> + A BATTLE + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SOLDIERS. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe! The Tsarevich! + The Poles! There they are! There they are! + + (Captains enter: MARZHERET and WALTHER ROZEN.) + + MARZHERET. Whither, whither? Allons! Go back! + + ONE OF THE FUGITIVES. You go back, if you like, cursed + infidel. + + MARZHERET. Quoi, quoi? + + ANOTHER. Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the + sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we—we are + orthodox. + + MARZHERET. Qu'est-ce a dire "orthodox"? Sacres gueux, + maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j'enrage; on + dirait que ca n'a pas de bras pour frapper, ca n'a que des + jambes pour fuir. + + ROZEN. Es ist Schande. + + MARZHERET. Ventre-saint gris! Je ne bouge plus d'un pas; + puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire. Qu'en dites-vous, + mein Herr? + + ROZEN. Sie haben Recht. + + MARZHERET. Tudieu, il y fait chaud! Ce diable de "Pretender," + comme ils l'appellent, est un bougre, qui a du + poil au col?—Qu'en pensez-vous, mein Herr? + + ROZEN. Ja. + + MARZHERET. He! Voyez donc, voyez donc! L'action s'engage + sur les derrieres de l'ennemi. Ce doit etre le brave + Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie. + + ROZEN. Ich glaube das. + + (Enter Germans.) + + MARZHERET. Ha, ha! Voici nos allemands. Messieurs! + Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu, + chargeons! + + ROZEN. Sehr gut. Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch! + + THE GERMANS. (They march.) Hilf Gott! + + (Fight. The Russians flee again.) + + POLES. Victory! Victory! Glory to the tsar Dimitry! + + DIMITRY. (On horseback.) Cease fighting. We have + conquered. Enough! Spare Russian blood. Cease + fighting. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW + </h2> + <h3> + THE PEOPLE + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Will the tsar soon come out of the + Cathedral? + + ANOTHER. The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on. + + THE FIRST. What! Have they already cursed him? + + THE SECOND. I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon + cried out:—Grishka Otrepiev is anathema! + + THE FIRST. Let him curse to his heart's content; the + tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev. + + THE SECOND. But they are now singing mass for the repose + of the soul of the tsarevich. + + THE FIRST. What? A mass for the dead sung for a living + Man? They'll suffer for it, the godless wretches! + + A THIRD. Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar? + + A FOURTH. No, it is the idiot. + + (An idiot enters, in an iron cap, hung round with + chains, surrounded by boys.) + + THE BOYS. Nick, Nick, iron nightcap! T-r-r-r-r— + + OLD WOMAN. Let him be, you young devils. Innocent one, + pray thou for me a sinner. + + IDIOT. Give, give, give a penny. + + OLD WOMAN. There is a penny for thee; remember me in + thy prayers. + + IDIOT. (Seats himself on the ground and sings:) + + The moon sails on, + The kitten cries, + Nick, arise, + Pray to God. + + (The boys surround him again.) + + ONE OF THEM. How do you do, Nick? Why don't you + take off your cap? + + (Raps him on the iron cap.) + + How it rings! + + IDIOT. But I have got a penny. + + BOYS. That's not true; now, show it. + + (They snatch the penny and run away.) + + IDIOT. (Weeps.) They have taken my penny, they are + hurting Nick. + + THE PEOPLE. The tsar, the tsar is coming! + + (The TSAR comes out from the Cathedral; a boyar in + front of him scatters alms among the poor. Boyars.) + + IDIOT. Boris, Boris! The boys are hurting Nick. + + TSAR. Give him alms! What is he crying for? + + IDIOT. The boys are hurting me...Give orders to slay + them, as thou slewest the little tsarevich. + + BOYARS. Go away, fool! Seize the fool! + + TSAR. Leave him alone. Pray thou for me, Nick. + + (Exit.) + + IDIOT. (To himself.) No, no! It is impossible to pray for + tsar Herod; the Mother of God forbids it. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SYEVSK + </h2> + <h3> + The PRETENDER, surrounded by his supporters + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRETENDER. Where is the prisoner? + + A POLE. Here. + + PRETENDER. Call him before me. + + (A Russian prisoner enters.) + + Who art thou? + + PRISONER. Rozhnov, a nobleman of Moscow. + + PRETENDER. Hast long been in the service? + + PRISONER. About a month. + + PRETENDER. Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn + The sword against me? + + PRISONER. What else could I do? + 'Twas not our fault. + + PRETENDER. Didst fight beneath the walls + Of Seversk? + + PRISONER. 'Twas two weeks after the battle + I came from Moscow. + + PRETENDER. What of Godunov? + + PRISONER. The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him + Much apprehension; Shuisky he hath sent + To take command. + + PRETENDER. But why hath he recalled + Basmanov unto Moscow? + + PRISONER. The tsar rewarded + His services with honour and with gold. + Basmanov in the council of the tsar + Now sits. + + PRETENDER. The army had more need of him. + Well, how go things in Moscow? + + PRISONER. All is quiet, + Thank God. + + PRETENDER. Say, do they look for me? + + PRISONER. God knows; + They dare not talk too much there now. Of some + The tongues have been cut off, of others even + The heads. It is a fearsome state of things— + Each day an execution. All the prisons + Are crammed. Wherever two or three forgather + In public places, instantly a spy + Worms himself in; the tsar himself examines + At leisure the denouncers. It is just + Sheer misery; so silence is the best. + + PRETENDER. An enviable life for the tsar's people! + Well, how about the army? + + PRISONER. What of them? + Clothed and full-fed they are content with all. + + PRETENDER. But is there much of it? + + PRISONER. God knows. + + PRETENDER. All told + Will there be thirty thousand? + + PRISONER. Yes; 'twill run + Even to fifty thousand. + + (The Pretender reflects; those around him glance at + one another.) + + PRETENDER. Well! Of me + What say they in your camp? + + PRISONER. Your graciousness + They speak of; say that thou, Sire, (be not wrath), + Art a thief, but a fine fellow. + + PRETENDER. (Laughing.) Even so + I'll prove myself to them in deed. My friends, + We will not wait for Shuisky; I wish you joy; + Tomorrow, battle. + + (Exit.) + + ALL. Long life to Dimitry! + + A POLE. Tomorrow, battle! They are fifty thousand, + And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad! + + ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge + Five hundred Muscovites. + + PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge! + But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart, + Thou'lt run away. + + POLE. If thou hadst had a sword, + Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon + Have vanquished thee. + + PRISONER. A Russian can make shift + Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool? + + (The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in + silence. All laugh.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A FOREST + </h2> + <h3> + PRETENDER and PUSHKIN + </h3> + <p> + (In the background lies a dying horse) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged + Today in the last battle, and when wounded, + How swiftly bore me. My poor horse! + + PUSHKIN. (To himself.) Well, here's + A great ado about a horse, when all + Our army's smashed to bits. + + PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps + He's but exhausted by the loss of blood, + And will recover. + + PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying. + + PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse.) + My poor horse!—what to do? Take off the bridle, + And loose the girth. Let him at least die free. + + (He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles + enter.) + + Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not + Kurbsky among you? I did note today + How to the thick of the fight he clove his path; + Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears + Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them + His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry + Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight? + + POLE. He fell + On the field of battle. + + PRETENDER. Honour to the brave, + And peace be on his soul! How few unscathed + Are left us from the fight! Accursed Cossacks, + Traitors and miscreants, you, you it is + Have ruined us! Not even for three minutes + To keep the foe at bay! I'll teach the villains! + Every tenth man I'll hang. Brigands! + + PUSHKIN. Whoe'er + Be guilty, all the same we were clean worsted, + Routed! + + PRETENDER. But yet we nearly conquered. Just + When I had dealt with their front rank, the Germans + Repulsed us utterly. But they're fine fellows! + By God! Fine fellows! I love them for it. From them + I'll form an honourable troop. + + PUSHKIN. And where + Shall we now spend the night? + + PRETENDER. Why, here, in the forest. + Why not this for our night quarters? At daybreak + We'll take the road, and dine in Rilsk. Good night. + + (He lies down, puts a saddle under his head, and falls + asleep.) + + PUSHKIN. A pleasant sleep, tsarevich! Smashed to bits, + Rescued by flight alone, he is as careless + As a simple child; 'tis clear that Providence + Protects him, and we, my friends, will not lose heart. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOSCOW. PALACE OF THE TSAR + </h2> + <h3> + BORIS. BASMANOV + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TSAR. He is vanquished, but what profit lies in that? + We are crowned with a vain conquest; he has mustered + Again his scattered forces, and anew + Threatens us from the ramparts of Putivl. + Meanwhile what are our heroes doing? They stand + At Krom, where from its rotten battlements + A band of Cossacks braves them. There is glory! + No, I am ill content with them; thyself + I shall despatch to take command of them; + I give authority not to birth, but brains. + Their pride of precedence, let it be wounded! + The time has come for me to hold in scorn + The murmur of distinguished nobodies, + And quash pernicious custom. + + BASMANOV. Ay, my lord + Blessed a hundredfold will be that day + When fire consumes the lists of noblemen + With their dissensions, their ancestral pride. + + TSAR. That day is not far off; let me but first + Subdue the insurrection of the people. + + BASMANOV. Why trouble about that? The people always + Are prone to secret treason; even so + The swift steed champs the bit; so doth a lad + Chafe at his father's ruling. But what then? + The rider quietly controls the steed, + The father sways the son. + + TSAR. Sometimes the horse + Doth throw the rider, nor is the son at all times + Quite 'neath the father's will; we can restrain + The people only by unsleeping sternness. + So thought Ivan, sagacious autocrat + And storm-subduer; so his fierce grandson thought. + No, no, kindness is lost upon the people; + Act well—it thanks you not at all; extort + And execute—'twill be no worse for you. + + (Enter a boyar.) + + What now? + + BOYAR. The foreign guests are come. + + TSAR. I go + To welcome them. Basmanov, wait, stay here; + I still have need to speak: a word with thee. + + (Exit.) + + BASMANOV. High sovereign spirit! God grant he may subdue + The accurst Otrepiev; and much, still much + Of good he'll do for Russia. A great thought + Within his mind has taken birth; it must not + Be suffered to grow cold. What a career + For me when the ancestral horn he breaks + Of the nobility. I have no rivals + In war. I shall stand closest to the throne— + And it may chance—But what is that strange sound? + + (Alarum. Boyars and court-attendants run in + disorder, meet each other and whisper.) + + ONE. Fetch a physician! + + ANOTHER. Quickly to the Patriarch! + + A THIRD. He calls for the tsarevich, the tsarevich! + + A FOURTH. A confessor! + + BASMANOV. What has happened? + + A FIFTH AND SIXTH. The tsar is ill, + The tsar is dying. + + BASMANOV. Good God! + + A FIFTH. Upon the throne + He sat, and suddenly he fell; blood gushed + From his mouth and ears. + + (The TSAR is carried in on a chair. All the Tsar's + household; all the boyars.) + + TSAR. Let all depart—alone + Leave the tsarevich with me. (All withdraw.) I am dying; + Let us embrace. Farewell, my son; this hour + Thou wilt begin to reign.—O God, my God! + This hour I shall appear before Thy presence— + And have no time to purge my soul with shrift. + But yet, my son, I feel thou art dearer to me + Than is my soul's salvation—be it so! + A subject was I born; it seemed ordained + That I should die a subject in obscurity. + Yet I attained to sovereignty; but how? + Ask not. Enough that thou art innocent. + In justice now thou'lt reign; and I alone + Am answerable for all to God. Dear son, + Cherish no false delusion, of thy free will + Blind not thyself. Stormy the days wherein + Thou dost assume the crown. He is dangerous, + This strange pretender; with a fearful name + He is armed. For many a year experienced + In rule, I could restrain revolt and treason; + They quaked with fear before me; treachery + Dared not to raise its voice; but thou, a boy, + An inexperienced ruler, how wilt thou + Govern amid the tempests, quench revolt, + Shackle sedition? But God is great! He gives + Wisdom to youth, to weakness strength.—Give ear; + Firstly, select a steadfast counsellor, + Of cool, ripe years, loved of the people, honoured + Mid the boyars for birth and fame—even Shuisky. + The army craves today a skilful leader; + Basmanov send, and firmly bear the murmurs + Of the boyars. Thou from thy early years + Didst sit with me in council, thou dost know + The formal course of government; change not + Procedure. Custom is the soul of states. + Of late I have been forced to reinstate + Bans, executions—these thou canst rescind; + And they will bless thee, as they blessed thy uncle + When he obtained the throne of the Terrible. + At the same time, little by little, tighten + Anew the reins of government; now slacken; + But let them not slip from thy hands. Be gracious, + Accessible to foreigners, accept + Their service trustfully. Preserve with strictness + The Church's discipline. Be taciturn; + The royal voice must never lose itself + Upon the air in emptiness, but like + A sacred bell must sound but to announce + Some great disaster or great festival. + Dear son, thou art approaching to those years + When woman's beauty agitates our blood. + Preserve, preserve the sacred purity + Of innocence and proud shamefacedness; + He, who through passion has been wont to wallow + In vicious pleasures in his youthful days, + Becomes in manhood bloodthirsty and surly; + His mind untimely darkens. Of thy household + Be always head; show honour to thy mother, + But rule thy house thyself; thou art a man + And tsar to boot. Be loving to thy sister— + Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector. + + FEODOR. (On his knees.) No, no; live on, my father, and reign long; + Without thee both the folk and we will perish. + + TSAR. All is at end for me—mine eyes grow dark, + I feel the coldness of the grave— + + (Enter the PATRIARCH and prelates; behind them all + the boyars lead the TSARITSA by the hand; the + TSAREVNA is sobbing.) + + Who's there? + Ah, 'tis the vestment—so! The holy tonsure— + The hour has struck. The tsar becomes a monk, + And the dark sepulchre will be my cell. + Wait yet a little, my lord Patriarch, + I still am tsar. Listen to me, boyars: + To this my son I now commit the tsardom; + Do homage to Feodor. Basmanov, thou, + And ye, my friends, on the grave's brink I pray you + To serve my son with zeal and rectitude! + As yet he is both young and uncorrupted. + Swear ye? + + BOYARS. We swear. + + TSAR. I am content. Forgive me + Both my temptations and my sins, my wilful + And secret injuries.—Now, holy father, + Approach thou; I am ready for the rite. + + (The rite of the tonsure begins. The women are + carried out swooning.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TENT + </h2> + <h3> + BASMANOV leads in PUSHKIN + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BASMANOV. Here enter, and speak freely. So to me + He sent thee. + + PUSHKIN. He doth offer thee his friendship + And the next place to his in the realm of Moscow. + + BASMANOV. But even thus highly by Feodor am I + Already raised; the army I command; + For me he scorned nobility of rank + And the wrath of the boyars. I have sworn to him + Allegiance. + + PUSHKIN. To the throne's lawful successor + Allegiance thou hast sworn; but what if one + More lawful still be living? + + BASMANOV. Listen, Pushkin: + Enough of that; tell me no idle tales! + I know the man. + + PUSHKIN. Russia and Lithuania + Have long acknowledged him to be Dimitry; + But, for the rest, I do not vouch for it. + Perchance he is indeed the real Dimitry; + Perchance but a pretender; only this + I know, that soon or late the son of Boris + Will yield Moscow to him. + + BASMANOV. So long as I + Stand by the youthful tsar, so long he will not + Forsake the throne. We have enough of troops, + Thank God! With victory I will inspire them. + And whom will you against me send, the Cossack + Karel or Mnishek? Are your numbers many? + In all, eight thousand. + + PUSHKIN. You mistake; they will not + Amount even to that. I say myself + Our army is mere trash, the Cossacks only + Rob villages, the Poles but brag and drink; + The Russians—what shall I say?—with you I'll not + Dissemble; but, Basmanov, dost thou know + Wherein our strength lies? Not in the army, no. + Nor Polish aid, but in opinion—yes, + In popular opinion. Dost remember + The triumph of Dimitry, dost remember + His peaceful conquests, when, without a blow + The docile towns surrendered, and the mob + Bound the recalcitrant leaders? Thou thyself + Saw'st it; was it of their free-will our troops + Fought with him? And when did they so? Boris + Was then supreme. But would they now?—Nay, nay, + It is too late to blow on the cold embers + Of this dispute; with all thy wits and firmness + Thou'lt not withstand him. Were't not better for thee + To furnish to our chief a wise example, + Proclaim Dimitry tsar, and by that act + Bind him your friend for ever? How thinkest thou? + + BASMANOV. Tomorrow thou shalt know. + + PUSHKIN. Resolve. + + BASMANOV. Farewell. + + PUSHKIN. Ponder it well, Basmanov. + + (Exit.) + + BASMANOV. He is right. + Everywhere treason ripens; what shall I do? + Wait, that the rebels may deliver me + In bonds to the Otrepiev? Had I not better + Forestall the stormy onset of the flood, + Myself to—ah! But to forswear mine oath! + Dishonour to deserve from age to age! + The trust of my young sovereign to requite + With horrible betrayal! 'Tis a light thing + For a disgraced exile to meditate + Sedition and conspiracy; but I? + Is it for me, the favourite of my lord?— + But death—but power—the people's miseries... + + (He ponders.) + + Here! Who is there? (Whistles.) A horse here! + Sound the muster! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PUBLIC SQUARE IN MOSCOW + </h2> + <h3> + PUSHKIN enters, surrounded by the people + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE PEOPLE. The tsarevich a boyar hath sent to us. + Let's hear what the boyar will tell us. Hither! + Hither! + + PUSHKIN. (On a platform.) Townsmen of Moscow! The tsarevich + Bids me convey his greetings to you. (He bows.) Ye know + How Divine Providence saved the tsarevich + From out the murderer's hands; he went to punish + His murderer, but God's judgment hath already + Struck down Boris. All Russia hath submitted + Unto Dimitry; with heartfelt repentance + Basmanov hath himself led forth his troops + To swear allegiance to him. In love, in peace + Dimitry comes to you. Would ye, to please + The house of Godunov, uplift a hand + Against the lawful tsar, against the grandson + Of Monomakh? + + THE PEOPLE. Not we. + + PUSHKIN. Townsmen of Moscow! + The world well knows how much ye have endured + Under the rule of the cruel stranger; ban, + Dishonour, executions, taxes, hardships, + Hunger—all these ye have experienced. + Dimitry is disposed to show you favour, + Courtiers, boyars, state-servants, soldiers, strangers, + Merchants—and every honest man. Will ye + Be stubborn without reason, and in pride + Flee from his kindness? But he himself is coming + To his ancestral throne with dreadful escort. + Provoke not ye the tsar to wrath, fear God, + And swear allegiance to the lawful ruler; + Humble yourselves; forthwith send to Dimitry + The Metropolitan, deacons, boyars, + And chosen men, that they may homage do + To their lord and father. + + (Exit. Clamour of the People.) + + THE PEOPLE. What is to be said? + The boyar spake truth. Long live Dimitry, our father! + + A PEASANT ON THE PLATFORM. People! To the Kremlin! + To the Royal palace! + The whelp of Boris go bind! + + THE PEOPLE. (Rushing in a crowd.) + Bind, drown him! Hail + Dimitry! Perish the race of Godunov! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE KREMLIN. HOUSE OF BORIS + </h2> + <h3> + A GUARD on the Staircase. FEODOR at a Window + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BEGGAR. Give alms, for Christ's sake. + + GUARD. Go away; it is forbidden to speak to the prisoners. + + FEODOR. Go, old man, I am poorer than thou; thou art at + liberty. + + (KSENIA, veiled, also comes to the window.) + + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Brother and sister—poor children, like + birds in a cage. + + SECOND PERSON. Are you going to pity them? Accursed + Family! + + FIRST PERSON. The father was a villain, but the children are + innocent. + + SECOND PERSON. The apple does not fall far from the + apple-tree. + + KSENIA. Dear brother! Dear brother! I think the boyars + are coming to us. + + FEODOR. That is Golitsin, Mosalsky. I do not know the + others. + + KSENIA. Ah! Dear brother, my heart sinks. + + (GOLITSIN, MOSALSKY, MOLCHANOV, and SHEREFEDINOV; + behind them three archers.) + + THE PEOPLE. Make way, make way; the boyars come. + (They enter the house.) + + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. What have they come for? + + SECOND. Most like to make Feodor Godunov take the oath. + + THIRD. Very like. Hark! What a noise in the house! + What an uproar! They are fighting! + + THE PEOPLE. Do you hear? A scream! That was a + woman's voice. We will go up. We will go up!—The + doors are fastened—the cries cease—the noise continues. + + (The doors are thrown open. MOSALSKY appears on + the staircase.) + + MOSALSKY. People! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor + have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead + bodies. + + (The People are silent with horror.) + + Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the tsar Dimitry + Ivanovich! + + (The People are speechless.) +</pre> + <p> + THE END + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Boris Godunov, by Alexander Pushkin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORIS GODUNOV *** + +***** This file should be named 5089-h.htm or 5089-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/8/5089/ + +Produced by Stephen D. Leary and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Boris Godunov + A Drama in Verse + +Author: Alexander Pushkin + +Translator: Alfred Hayes + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5089] +Last Updated: August 10, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORIS GODUNOV *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen D. Leary + + + + + + + + +BORIS GODUNOV + +A Drama in Verse + +By Alexander Pushkin + + +Rendered into English verse by Alfred Hayes + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE* + + BORIS GODUNOV, afterwards Tsar. + PRINCE SHUISKY, Russian noble. + PRINCE VOROTINSKY, Russian noble. + SHCHELKALOV, Russian Minister of State. + FATHER PIMEN, an old monk and chronicler. + GREGORY OTREPIEV, a young monk, afterwards the Pretender + to the throne of Russia. + THE PATRIARCH, Abbot of the Chudov Monastery. + MISSAIL, wandering friar. + VARLAAM, wandering friar. + ATHANASIUS MIKAILOVICH PUSHKIN, friend of Prince Shuisky. + FEODOR, young son of Boris Godunov. + SEMYON NIKITICH GODUNOV, secret agent of Boris Godunov. + GABRIEL PUSHKIN, nephew of A. M. Pushkin. + PRINCE KURBSKY, disgraced Russian noble. + KHRUSHCHOV, disgraced Russian noble. + KARELA, a Cossack. + PRINCE VISHNEVETSKY. + MNISHEK, Governor of Sambor. + BASMANOV, a Russian officer. + MARZHERET, officer of the Pretender. + ROZEN, officer of the Pretender. + DIMITRY, the Pretender, formerly Gregory Otrepiev. + MOSALSKY, a Boyar. + KSENIA, daughter of Boris Godunov. + NURSE of Ksenia. + MARINA, daughter of Mnishek. + ROUZYA, tire-woman of Ksenia. + HOSTESS of tavern. + +Boyars, The People, Inspectors, Officers, Attendants, Guests, +a Boy in attendance on Prince Shuisky, a Catholic Priest, a +Polish Noble, a Poet, an Idiot, a Beggar, Gentlemen, Peasants, +Guards, Russian, Polish, and German Soldiers, a Russian +Prisoner of War, Boys, an old Woman, Ladies, Serving-women. + + *The list of Dramatis Personae which does not appear in the + original has been added for the convenience of the reader-- + A.H. + + + + +PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + +(FEBRUARY 20th, A.D. 1598) + +PRINCE SHUISKY and VOROTINSKY + + VOROTINSKY. To keep the city's peace, that is the task + Entrusted to us twain, but you forsooth + Have little need to watch; Moscow is empty; + The people to the Monastery have flocked + After the patriarch. What thinkest thou? + How will this trouble end? + + SHUISKY. How will it end? + That is not hard to tell. A little more + The multitude will groan and wail, Boris + Pucker awhile his forehead, like a toper + Eyeing a glass of wine, and in the end + Will humbly of his graciousness consent + To take the crown; and then--and then will rule us + Just as before. + + VOROTINSKY. A month has flown already + Since, cloistered with his sister, he forsook + The world's affairs. None hitherto hath shaken + His purpose, not the patriarch, not the boyars + His counselors; their tears, their prayers he heeds not; + Deaf is he to the wail of Moscow, deaf + To the Great Council's voice; vainly they urged + The sorrowful nun-queen to consecrate + Boris to sovereignty; firm was his sister, + Inexorable as he; methinks Boris + Inspired her with this spirit. What if our ruler + Be sick in very deed of cares of state + And hath no strength to mount the throne? What + Say'st thou? + + SHUISKY. I say that in that case the blood in vain + Flowed of the young tsarevich, that Dimitry + Might just as well be living. + + VOROTINSKY. Fearful crime! + Is it beyond all doubt Boris contrived + The young boy's murder? + + SHUISKY. Who besides? Who else + Bribed Chepchugov in vain? Who sent in secret + The brothers Bityagovsky with Kachalov? + Myself was sent to Uglich, there to probe + This matter on the spot; fresh traces there + I found; the whole town bore witness to the crime; + With one accord the burghers all affirmed it; + And with a single word, when I returned, + I could have proved the secret villain's guilt. + + VOROTINSKY. Why didst thou then not crush him? + + SHUISKY. At the time, + I do confess, his unexpected calmness, + His shamelessness, dismayed me. Honestly + He looked me in the eyes; he questioned me + Closely, and I repeated to his face + The foolish tale himself had whispered to me. + + VOROTINSKY. An ugly business, prince. + + SHUISKY. What could I do? + Declare all to Feodor? But the tsar + Saw all things with the eyes of Godunov. + Heard all things with the ears of Godunov; + Grant even that I might have fully proved it, + Boris would have denied it there and then, + And I should have been haled away to prison, + And in good time--like mine own uncle--strangled + Within the silence of some deaf-walled dungeon. + I boast not when I say that, given occasion, + No penalty affrights me. I am no coward, + But also am no fool, and do not choose + Of my free will to walk into a halter. + + VOROTINSKY. Monstrous misdeed! Listen; I warrant you + Remorse already gnaws the murderer; + Be sure the blood of that same innocent child + Will hinder him from mounting to the throne. + + SHUISKY. That will not baulk him; Boris is not so timid! + What honour for ourselves, ay, for all Russia! + A slave of yesterday, a Tartar, son + By marriage of Maliuta, of a hangman, + Himself in soul a hangman, he to wear + The crown and robe of Monomakh!-- + + VOROTINSKY. You are right; + He is of lowly birth; we twain can boast + A nobler lineage. + + SHUISKY. Indeed we may! + + VOROTINSKY. Let us remember, Shuisky, Vorotinsky + Are, let me say, born princes. + + SHUISKY. Yea, born princes, + And of the blood of Rurik. + + VOROTINSKY. Listen, prince; + Then we, 'twould seem, should have the right to mount + Feodor's throne. + + SHUISKY. Rather than Godunov. + + VOROTINSKY. In very truth 'twould seem so. + + SHUISKY. And what then? + If still Boris pursue his crafty ways, + Let us contrive by skilful means to rouse + The people. Let them turn from Godunov; + Princes they have in plenty of their own; + Let them from out their number choose a tsar. + + VOROTINSKY. Of us, Varyags in blood, there are full many, + But 'tis no easy thing for us to vie + With Godunov; the people are not wont + To recognise in us an ancient branch + Of their old warlike masters; long already + Have we our appanages forfeited, + Long served but as lieutenants of the tsars, + And he hath known, by fear, and love, and glory, + How to bewitch the people. + + SHUISKY. (Looking through a window.) He has dared, + That's all--while we--Enough of this. Thou seest + Dispersedly the people are returning. + We'll go forthwith and learn what is resolved. + + + + +THE RED SQUARE + +THE PEOPLE + + 1ST PERSON. He is inexorable! He thrust from him + Prelates, boyars, and Patriarch; in vain + Prostrate they fall; the splendour of the throne + Affrights him. + + 2ND PERSON. O, my God, who is to rule us? + O, woe to us! + + 3RD PERSON. See! The Chief Minister + Is coming out to tell us what the Council + Has now resolved. + + THE PEOPLE. Silence! Silence! He speaks, + The Minister of State. Hush, hush! Give ear! + + SHCHELKALOV. (From the Red Balcony.) + The Council have resolved for the last time + To put to proof the power of supplication + Upon our ruler's mournful soul. At dawn, + After a solemn service in the Kremlin, + The blessed Patriarch will go, preceded + By sacred banners, with the holy ikons + Of Donsky and Vladimir; with him go + The Council, courtiers, delegates, boyars, + And all the orthodox folk of Moscow; all + Will go to pray once more the queen to pity + Fatherless Moscow, and to consecrate + Boris unto the crown. Now to your homes + Go ye in peace: pray; and to Heaven shall rise + The heart's petition of the orthodox. + + (The PEOPLE disperse.) + + + + +THE VIRGIN'S FIELD + +THE NEW NUNNERY. The People. + + 1ST PERSON. To plead with the tsaritsa in her cell + Now are they gone. Thither have gone Boris, + The Patriarch, and a host of boyars. + + 2ND PERSON. What news? + + 3RD PERSON. Still is he obdurate; yet there is hope. + + PEASANT WOMAN. (With a child.) + Drat you! Stop crying, or else the bogie-man + Will carry you off. Drat you, drat you! Stop crying! + + 1ST PERSON. Can't we slip through behind the fence? + + 2ND PERSON. Impossible! + No chance at all! Not only is the nunnery + Crowded; the precincts too are crammed with people. + Look what a sight! All Moscow has thronged here. + See! Fences, roofs, and every single storey + Of the Cathedral bell tower, the church-domes, + The very crosses are studded thick with people. + + 1ST PERSON. A goodly sight indeed! + + 2ND PERSON. What is that noise? + + 3RD PERSON. Listen! What noise is that?--The people groaned; + See there! They fall like waves, row upon row-- + Again--again--Now, brother, 'tis our turn; + Be quick, down on your knees! + + THE PEOPLE. (On their knees, groaning and wailing.) + Have pity on us, + Our father! O, rule over us! O, be + Father to us, and tsar! + + 1ST PERSON. (Sotto voce.) Why are they wailing? + + 2ND PERSON. How can we know? The boyars know well enough. + It's not our business. + + PEASANT WOMAN. (With child.) + Now, what's this? Just when + It ought to cry, the child stops crying. I'll show you! + Here comes the bogie-man! Cry, cry, you spoilt one! + (Throws it on the ground; the child screams.) + That's right, that's right! + + 1ST PERSON. As everyone is crying, + We also, brother, will begin to cry. + + 2ND PERSON. Brother, I try my best, but can't. + + 1ST PERSON. Nor I. + Have you not got an onion? + + 2ND PERSON. No; I'll wet + My eyes with spittle. What's up there now? + + 1ST PERSON. Who knows + What's going on? + + THE PEOPLE. The crown for him! He is tsar! + He has yielded!--Boris!--Our tsar!--Long live Boris! + + + + +THE PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + +BORIS, PATRIARCH, Boyars + + BORIS. Thou, father Patriarch, all ye boyars! + My soul lies bare before you; ye have seen + With what humility and fear I took + This mighty power upon me. Ah! How heavy + My weight of obligation! I succeed + The great Ivans; succeed the angel tsar!-- + O Righteous Father, King Of kings, look down + From Heaven upon the tears of Thy true servants, + And send on him whom Thou hast loved, whom Thou + Exalted hast on earth so wondrously, + Thy holy blessing. May I rule my people + In glory, and like Thee be good and righteous! + To you, boyars, I look for help. Serve me + As ye served him, what time I shared your labours, + Ere I was chosen by the people's will. + + BOYARS. We will not from our plighted oath depart. + + BORIS. Now let us go to kneel before the tombs + Of Russia's great departed rulers. Then + Bid summon all our people to a feast, + All, from the noble to the poor blind beggar. + To all free entrance, all most welcome guests. + + (Exit, the Boyars following.) + + PRINCE VOROTINSKY. (Stopping Shuisky.) + You rightly guessed. + + SHUISKY. Guessed what? + + VOROTINSKY. Why, you remember-- + The other day, here on this very spot. + + SHUISKY. No, I remember nothing. + + VOROTINSKY. When the people + Flocked to the Virgin's Field, thou said'st-- + + SHUISKY. 'Tis not + The time for recollection. There are times + When I should counsel you not to remember, + But even to forget. And for the rest, + I sought but by feigned calumny to prove thee, + The truelier to discern thy secret thoughts. + But see! The people hail the tsar--my absence + May be remarked. I'll join them. + + VOROTINSKY. Wily courtier! + + + + +NIGHT + +Cell in the Monastery of Chudov (A.D. 1603) + + FATHER PIMEN, GREGORY (sleeping) + + PIMEN (Writing in front of a sacred lamp.) + One more, the final record, and my annals + Are ended, and fulfilled the duty laid + By God on me a sinner. Not in vain + Hath God appointed me for many years + A witness, teaching me the art of letters; + A day will come when some laborious monk + Will bring to light my zealous, nameless toil, + Kindle, as I, his lamp, and from the parchment + Shaking the dust of ages will transcribe + My true narrations, that posterity + The bygone fortunes of the orthodox + Of their own land may learn, will mention make + Of their great tsars, their labours, glory, goodness-- + And humbly for their sins, their evil deeds, + Implore the Saviour's mercy.--In old age + I live anew; the past unrolls before me.-- + Did it in years long vanished sweep along, + Full of events, and troubled like the deep? + Now it is hushed and tranquil. Few the faces + Which memory hath saved for me, and few + The words which have come down to me;--the rest + Have perished, never to return.--But day + Draws near, the lamp burns low, one record more, + The last. (He writes.) + + GREGORY. (Waking.) Ever the selfsame dream! Is 't possible? + For the third time! Accursed dream! And ever + Before the lamp sits the old man and writes-- + And not all night, 'twould seem, from drowsiness, + Hath closed his eyes. I love the peaceful sight, + When, with his soul deep in the past immersed, + He keeps his chronicle. Oft have I longed + To guess what 'tis he writes of. Is 't perchance + The dark dominion of the Tartars? Is it + Ivan's grim punishments, the stormy Council + of Novgorod? Is it about the glory + Of our dear fatherland?--I ask in vain! + Not on his lofty brow, nor in his looks + May one peruse his secret thoughts; always + The same aspect; lowly at once, and lofty-- + Like some state Minister grown grey in office, + Calmly alike he contemplates the just + And guilty, with indifference he hears + Evil and good, and knows not wrath nor pity. + + PIMEN. Wakest thou, brother? + + GREGORY. Honoured father, give me + Thy blessing. + + PIMEN. May God bless thee on this day, + Tomorrow, and for ever. + + GREGORY. All night long + Thou hast been writing and abstained from sleep, + While demon visions have disturbed my peace, + The fiend molested me. I dreamed I scaled + By winding stairs a turret, from whose height + Moscow appeared an anthill, where the people + Seethed in the squares below and pointed at me + With laughter. Shame and terror came upon me-- + And falling headlong, I awoke. Three times + I dreamed the selfsame dream. Is it not strange? + + PIMEN. 'Tis the young blood at play; humble thyself + By prayer and fasting, and thy slumber's visions + Will all be filled with lightness. Hitherto + If I, unwillingly by drowsiness + Weakened, make not at night long orisons, + My old-man's sleep is neither calm nor sinless; + Now riotous feasts appear, now camps of war, + Scuffles of battle, fatuous diversions + Of youthful years. + + GREGORY. How joyfully didst thou + Live out thy youth! The fortress of Kazan + Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse + The army of Litva. Thou hast seen the court, + And splendour of Ivan. Ah! Happy thou! + Whilst I, from boyhood up, a wretched monk, + Wander from cell to cell! Why unto me + Was it not given to play the game of war, + To revel at the table of a tsar? + Then, like to thee, would I in my old age + Have gladly from the noisy world withdrawn, + To vow myself a dedicated monk, + And in the quiet cloister end my days. + + PIMEN. Complain not, brother, that the sinful world + Thou early didst forsake, that few temptations + The All-Highest sent to thee. Believe my words; + The glory of the world, its luxury, + Woman's seductive love, seen from afar, + Enslave our souls. Long have I lived, have taken + Delight in many things, but never knew + True bliss until that season when the Lord + Guided me to the cloister. Think, my son, + On the great tsars; who loftier than they? + God only. Who dares thwart them? None. What then? + Often the golden crown became to them + A burden; for a cowl they bartered it. + The tsar Ivan sought in monastic toil + Tranquility; his palace, filled erewhile + With haughty minions, grew to all appearance + A monastery; the very rakehells seemed + Obedient monks, the terrible tsar appeared + A pious abbot. Here, in this very cell + (At that time Cyril, the much suffering, + A righteous man, dwelt in it; even me + God then made comprehend the nothingness + Of worldly vanities), here I beheld, + Weary of angry thoughts and executions, + The tsar; among us, meditative, quiet + Here sat the Terrible; we motionless + Stood in his presence, while he talked with us + In tranquil tones. Thus spake he to the abbot + And all the brothers: "My fathers, soon will come + The longed-for day; here shall I stand before you, + Hungering for salvation; Nicodemus, + Thou Sergius, Cyril thou, will all accept + My spiritual vow; to you I soon shall come + Accurst in sin, here the clean habit take, + Prostrate, most holy father, at thy feet." + So spake the sovereign lord, and from his lips + Sweetly the accents flowed. He wept; and we + With tears prayed God to send His love and peace + Upon his suffering and stormy soul.-- + What of his son Feodor? On the throne + He sighed to lead the life of calm devotion. + The royal chambers to a cell of prayer + He turned, wherein the heavy cares of state + Vexed not his holy soul. God grew to love + The tsar's humility; in his good days + Russia was blest with glory undisturbed, + And in the hour of his decease was wrought + A miracle unheard of; at his bedside, + Seen by the tsar alone, appeared a being + Exceeding bright, with whom Feodor 'gan + To commune, calling him great Patriarch;-- + And all around him were possessed with fear, + Musing upon the vision sent from Heaven, + Since at that time the Patriarch was not present + In church before the tsar. And when he died + The palace was with holy fragrance filled. + And like the sun his countenance outshone. + Never again shall we see such a tsar.-- + O, horrible, appalling woe! We have sinned, + We have angered God; we have chosen for our ruler + A tsar's assassin. + + GREGORY. Honoured father, long + Have I desired to ask thee of the death + Of young Dimitry, the tsarevich; thou, + 'Tis said, wast then at Uglich. + + PIMEN. Ay, my son, + I well remember. God it was who led me + To witness that ill deed, that bloody sin. + I at that time was sent to distant Uglich + Upon some mission. I arrived at night. + Next morning, at the hour of holy mass, + I heard upon a sudden a bell toll; + 'Twas the alarm bell. Then a cry, an uproar; + Men rushing to the court of the tsaritsa. + Thither I haste, and there had flocked already + All Uglich. There I see the young tsarevich + Lie slaughtered: the queen mother in a swoon + Bowed over him, his nurse in her despair + Wailing; and then the maddened people drag + The godless, treacherous nurse away. Appears + Suddenly in their midst, wild, pale with rage, + Judas Bityagovsky. "There, there's the villain!" + Shout on all sides the crowd, and in a trice + He was no more. Straightway the people rushed + On the three fleeing murderers; they seized + The hiding miscreants and led them up + To the child's corpse yet warm; when lo! A marvel-- + The dead child all at once began to tremble! + "Confess!" the people thundered; and in terror + Beneath the axe the villains did confess-- + And named Boris. + + GREGORY. How many summers lived + The murdered boy? + + PIMEN. Seven summers; he would now + (Since then have passed ten years--nay, more--twelve years) + He would have been of equal age to thee, + And would have reigned; but God deemed otherwise. + This is the lamentable tale wherewith + My chronicle doth end; since then I little + Have dipped in worldly business. Brother Gregory, + Thou hast illumed thy mind by earnest study; + To thee I hand my task. In hours exempt + From the soul's exercise, do thou record, + Not subtly reasoning, all things whereto + Thou shalt in life be witness; war and peace, + The sway of kings, the holy miracles + Of saints, all prophecies and heavenly signs;-- + For me 'tis time to rest and quench my lamp.-- + But hark! The matin bell. Bless, Lord, Thy servants! + Give me my crutch. + + (Exit.) + + GREGORY. Boris, Boris, before thee + All tremble; none dares even to remind thee + Of what befell the hapless child; meanwhile + Here in dark cell a hermit doth indite + Thy stern denunciation. Thou wilt not + Escape the judgment even of this world, + As thou wilt not escape the doom of God. + + + + +FENCE OF THE MONASTERY* + + *This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the published + version of the play. + + GREGORY and a Wicked Monk + + GREGORY. O, what a weariness is our poor life, + What misery! Day comes, day goes, and ever + Is seen, is heard one thing alone; one sees + Only black cassocks, only hears the bell. + Yawning by day you wander, wander, nothing + To do; you doze; the whole night long till daylight + The poor monk lies awake; and when in sleep + You lose yourself, black dreams disturb the soul; + Glad that they sound the bell, that with a crutch + They rouse you. No, I will not suffer it! + I cannot! Through this fence I'll flee! The world + Is great; my path is on the highways never + Thou'lt hear of me again. + + MONK. Truly your life + Is but a sorry one, ye dissolute, + Wicked young monks! + + GREGORY. Would that the Khan again + Would come upon us, or Lithuania rise + Once more in insurrection. Good! I would then + Cross swords with them! Or what if the tsarevich + Should suddenly arise from out the grave, + Should cry, "Where are ye, children, faithful servants? + Help me against Boris, against my murderer! + Seize my foe, lead him to me!" + + MONK. Enough, my friend, + Of empty babble. We cannot raise the dead. + No, clearly it was fated otherwise + For the tsarevich--But hearken; if you wish + To do a thing, then do it. + + GREGORY. What to do? + + MONK. If I were young as thou, if these grey hairs + Had not already streaked my beard--Dost take me? + + GREGORY. Not I. + + MONK. Hearken; our folk are dull of brain, + Easy of faith, and glad to be amazed + By miracles and novelties. The boyars + Remember Godunov as erst he was, + Peer to themselves; and even now the race + Of the old Varyags is loved by all. Thy years + Match those of the tsarevich. If thou hast + Cunning and hardihood--Dost take me now? + + GREGORY. I take thee. + + MONK. Well, what say'st thou? + + GREGORY. 'Tis resolved. + I am Dimitry, I tsarevich! + + MONK. Give me + Thy hand, my bold young friend. Thou shalt be tsar! + + + + +PALACE OF THE PATRIARCH + +PATRIARCH, ABBOT of the Chudov Monastery + + PATRIARCH. And he has run away, Father Abbot? + + ABBOT. He has run away, holy sovereign, now three days ago. + + PATRIARCH. Accursed rascal! What is his origin? + + ABBOT. Of the family of the Otrepievs, of the lower nobility + of Galicia; in his youth he took the tonsure, no one + knows where, lived at Suzdal, in the Ephimievsky + monastery, departed from there, wandered to various + convents, finally arrived at my Chudov fraternity; + but I, seeing that he was still young and inexperienced, + entrusted him at the outset to Father Pimen, an old man, + kind and humble. And he was very learned, read our + chronicle, composed canons for the holy brethren; but, + to be sure, instruction was not given to him from the + Lord God-- + + PATRIARCH. Ah, those learned fellows! What a thing to + say, "I shall be tsar in Moscow." Ah, he is a vessel of + the devil! However, it is no use even to report to the + tsar about this; why disquiet our father sovereign? + It will be enough to give information about his flight to + the Secretary Smirnov or the Secretary Ephimiev. + What a heresy: "I shall be tsar in Moscow!"... + Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send him to + Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this--is it not + heresy, Father Abbot? + + ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy. + + + + +PALACE OF THE TSAR + +Two Attendants + + 1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign? + + 2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber, + Where he is closeted with some magician. + + 1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves; + Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers. + Ever he seeks to dip into the future, + Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know + What 'tis he would foretell. + + 2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes. + Will it please you question him? + + 1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks! + + (Exeunt.) + + TSAR. (Enters.) I have attained the highest power. Six years + Already have I reigned in peace; but joy + Dwells not within my soul. Even so in youth + We greedily desire the joys of love, + But only quell the hunger of the heart + With momentary possession. We grow cold, + Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards + Promise me length of days, days of dominion + Immune from treachery--not power, not life + Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven + And woe. For me no happiness. I thought + To satisfy my people in contentment, + In glory, gain their love by generous gifts, + But I have put away that empty hope; + The power that lives is hateful to the mob,-- + Only the dead they love. We are but fools + When our heart vibrates to the people's groans + And passionate wailing. Lately on our land + God sent a famine; perishing in torments + The people uttered moan. The granaries + I made them free of, scattered gold among them, + Found labour for them; furious for my pains + They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed their homes; + I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth + They blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob, + Such is its judgment! Seek its love, indeed! + I thought within my family to find + Solace; I thought to make my daughter happy + By wedlock. Like a tempest Death took off + Her bridegroom--and at once a stealthy rumour + Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief-- + Me, me, the hapless father! Whoso dies, + I am the secret murderer of all; + I hastened Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned + My sister-queen, the lowly nun--all I! + Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace + Mid worldly cares, nothing save only conscience! + Healthy she triumphs over wickedness, + Over dark slander; but if in her be found + A single casual stain, then misery. + With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart; + My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer + Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me, + And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children + Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee, + But nowhere can find refuge--horrible! + Pitiful he whose conscience is unclean! + + + + +TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + +MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS + + HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend + honoured guests? + + VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you + no wine? + + HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at + once. (Exit.) + + MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very + Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach. + + GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not + Be content. + + VARLAAM. What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania! + Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fled + from the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was it + Lithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer? + All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's the + main thing! + + MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + + HOSTESS. (Enters.) + There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health. + + MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The + monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest + by, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join + in the song? Not even join in the song? + + GREGORY. I don't wish to. + + MISSAIL. Everyone to his liking-- + + VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.* Father Missail! + We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where + the brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail, + when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness + is one thing--but pride quite another. If you want + to live as we do, you are welcome. No?--then take + yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no + companion for a priest. + + [*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot + be satisfactorily rendered into English.] + + GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,* + Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how + to make puns. + + [*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot + be satisfactorily rendered into English.] + + VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself? + + MISSAIL. Let him alone, Father Varlaam. + + VARLAAM. But what sort of a fasting man is he? Of his + own accord he attached himself as a companion to us; + no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes-- + and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a + close acquaintance with the pillory. (Drinks and sings: + "A young monk took the tonsure," etc.) + + GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road? + + HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains. + + GREGORY. And is it far to the Luyov mountains? + + HOSTESS. Not far; you might get there by evening, but for + the tsar's frontier barriers, and the captains of the + guard. + + GREGORY. What say you? Barriers! What means this? + + HOSTESS. Someone has escaped from Moscow, and orders + have been given to detain and search everyone. + + GREGORY. (Aside.) Here's a pretty mess! + + VARLAAM. Hallo, comrade! You've been making up to + mine hostess. To be sure you don't want vodka, but + you want a young woman. All right, brother, all right! + Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and I + have only one thing which we care for--we drink to the + bottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock at + the bottom. + + MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + + GREGORY. (To Hostess.) Whom do they want? Who + escaped from Moscow? + + HOSTESS. God knows; a thief perhaps, a robber. But here + even good folk are worried now. And what will come of + it? Nothing. They will not catch the old devil; as if + there were no other road into Lithuania than the highway! + Just turn to the left from here, then by the pinewood + or by the footpath as far as the chapel on the + Chekansky brook, and then straight across the marsh to + Khlopin, and thence to Zakhariev, and then any child + will guide you to the Luyov mountains. The only good + of these inspectors is to worry passers-by and rob us poor + folk. (A noise is heard.) What's that? Ah, there + they are, curse them! They are going their rounds. + + GREGORY. Hostess! Is there another room in the cottage? + + HOSTESS. No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide. + But they are only pretending to go their rounds; but + give them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what-- + May perdition take them, the accursed ones! May-- + + (Enter OFFICERS.) + + OFFICERS. Good health to you, mine hostess! + + HOSTESS. You are kindly welcome, dear guests. + + AN OFFICER. (To another.) Ha, there's drinking going on + here; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.) + Who are you? + + VARLAAM. We--are two old clerics, humble monks; we are + going from village to village, and collecting Christian + alms for the monastery. + + OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) And thou? + + MISSAIL. Our comrade. + + GREGORY. A layman from the suburb; I have conducted the + old men as far as the frontier; from here I am going to + my own home. + + MISSAIL. So you have changed your mind? + + GREGORY. (Sotto voce.) Be silent. + + OFFICER. Hostess, bring some more wine, and we will + drink here a little and talk a little with these old men. + + 2ND OFFICER. (Sotto voce.) Yon lad, it appears, is poor; + there's nothing to be got out of him; on the other hand + the old men-- + + 1ST OFFICER. Be silent; we shall come to them presently. + --Well, my fathers, how are you getting on? + + VARLAAM. Badly, my sons, badly! The Christians have + now turned stingy; they love their money; they hide + their money. They give little to God. The people of + the world have become great sinners. They have all + devoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; they + think of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul. + You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes in + three days begging will not bring you three half-pence. + What a sin! A week goes by; another week; you look + into your bag, and there is so little in it that you are + ashamed to show yourself at the monastery. What are + you to do? From very sorrow you drink away what is + left; a real calamity! Ah, it is bad! It seems our last + days have come-- + + HOSTESS. (Weeps.) God pardon and save you! + (During the course of VARLAAM'S speech the 1st + OFFICER watches MISSAIL significantly.) + + 1ST OFFICER. Alexis! Have you the tsar's edict with you? + + 2ND OFFICER. I have it. + + 1ST OFFICER. Give it here. + + MISSAIL. Why do you look at me so fixedly? + + 1ST OFFICER. This is why; from Moscow there has fled a + certain wicked heretic--Grishka Otrepiev. Have you + heard this? + + MISSAIL. I have not heard it. + + OFFICER. Not heard it? Very good. And the tsar has + ordered to arrest and hang the fugitive heretic. Do you + know this? + + MISSAIL. I do not know it. + + OFFICER. (To VARLAAM.) Do you know how to read? + + VARLAAM. In my youth I knew how, but I have forgotten. + + OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) And thou? + + MISSAIL. God has not made me wise. + + OFFICER. So then here's the tsar's edict. + + MISSAIL. What do I want it for? + + OFFICER. It seems to me that this fugitive heretic, thief, + swindler, is--thou. + + MISSAIL. I? Good gracious! What are you talking about? + + OFFICER. Stay! Hold the doors. Then we shall soon get + at the truth. + + HOSTESS. O the cursed tormentors! Not to leave even the + old man in peace! + + OFFICER. Which of you here is a scholar? + + GREGORY. (Comes forward.) I am a scholar! + + OFFICER. Oh, indeed! And from whom did you learn? + + GREGORY. From our sacristan. + + OFFICER (Gives him the edict.) Read it aloud. + + GREGORY. (Reads.) "An unworthy monk of the Monastery + Of Chudov, Gregory, of the family of Otrepiev, has fallen + into heresy, taught by the devil, and has dared to vex + the holy brotherhood by all kinds of iniquities and acts + of lawlessness. And, according to information, it has + been shown that he, the accursed Grishka, has fled to the + Lithuanian frontier." + + OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) How can it be anyone but you? + + GREGORY. "And the tsar has commanded to arrest him--" + + OFFICER. And to hang! + + GREGORY. It does not say here "to hang." + + OFFICER. Thou liest. What is meant is not always put into + writing. Read: to arrest and to hang. + + GREGORY. "And to hang. And the age of the thief + Grishka" (looking at VARLAAM) "about fifty, and his + height medium; he has a bald head, grey beard, fat + belly." + + (All glance at VARLAAM.) + + 1ST OFFICER, My lads! Here is Grishka! Hold him! + Bind him! I never thought to catch him so quickly. + + VARLAAM. (Snatching the paper.) Hands off, my lads! + What sort of a Grishka am I? What! Fifty years old, + grey beard, fat belly! No, brother. You're too young + to play off tricks on me. I have not read for a long time + and I make it out badly, but I shall manage to make it + out, as it's a hanging matter. (Spells it out.) "And his + age twenty." Why, brother, where does it say fifty?-- + Do you see--twenty? + + 2ND OFFICER. Yes, I remember, twenty; even so it was + told us. + + 1ST OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) Then, evidently, you like a + joke, brother. + + (During the reading GREGORY stands with downcast + head, and his hand in his breast.) + + VARLAAM. (Continues.) "And in stature he is small, chest + broad, one arm shorter than the other, blue eyes, red + hair, a wart on his cheek, another on his forehead." + Then is it not you, my friend? + + (GREGORY suddenly draws a dagger; all give way + before him; he dashes through the window.) + + OFFICERS. Hold him! Hold him! + + (All run out in disorder.) + + + + +MOSCOW. SHUISKY'S HOUSE + +SHUISKY. A number of Guests. Supper + + SHUISKY. More wine! Now, my dear guests. + + (He rises; all rise after him.) + + The final draught! + Read the prayer, boy. + + Boy. Lord of the heavens, Who art + Eternally and everywhere, accept + The prayer of us Thy servants. For our monarch, + By Thee appointed, for our pious tsar, + Of all good Christians autocrat, we pray. + Preserve him in the palace, on the field + Of battle, on his nightly couch; grant to him + Victory o'er his foes; from sea to sea + May he be glorified; may all his house + Blossom with health, and may its precious branches + O'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves, + May he, as heretofore, be generous. + Gracious, long-suffering, and may the founts + Of his unfailing wisdom flow upon us; + Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens, + For this we pray. + + SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign! + Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned not + My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night. + + (Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.) + + PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed, + Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that we + should not succeed in getting any private talk. + + SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you stand + Gaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clear + the table, and then be off. + + (Exeunt Servants.) + + What is it, Athanasius + Mikailovitch? + + PUSHKIN. Such a wondrous thing! + A message was sent here to me today + From Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin. + + SHUISKY. Well? + + PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son + Of the Terrible--But stay-- + + (Goes to the door and examines it.) + + The royal boy, + Who murdered was by order of Boris-- + + SHUISKY. But these are no new tidings. + + PUSHKIN. Wait a little; + Dimitry lives. + + SHUISKY. So that's it! News indeed! + Dimitry living!--Really marvelous! + And is that all? + + PUSHKIN. Pray listen to the end; + Whoe'er he be, whether he be Dimitry + Rescued, or else some spirit in his shape, + Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender, + In any case Dimitry has appeared. + + SHUISKY. It cannot be. + + PUSHKIN. Pushkin himself beheld him + When first he reached the court, and through the ranks + Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight + Into the secret chamber of the king. + + SHUISKY. What kind of man? Whence comes he? + + PUSHKIN. No one knows. + 'Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky's servant; + That to a ghostly father on a bed + Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed + Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him, + From his sick bed upraised him, and straightway + Took him to Sigismund. + + SHUISKY. And what say men + Of this bold fellow? + + PUSHKIN. 'Tis said that he is wise, + Affable, cunning, popular with all men. + He has bewitched the fugitives from Moscow, + The Catholic priests see eye to eye with him. + The King caresses him, and, it is said, + Has promised help. + + SHUISKY. All this is such a medley + That my head whirls. Brother, beyond all doubt + This man is a pretender, but the danger + Is, I confess, not slight. This is grave news! + And if it reach the people, then there'll be + A mighty tempest. + + PUSHKIN. Such a storm that hardly + Will Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crown + Upon his clever head; and losing it + Will get but his deserts! He governs us + As did the tsar Ivan of evil memory. + What profits it that public executions + Have ceased, that we no longer sing in public + Hymns to Christ Jesus on the field of blood; + That we no more are burnt in public places, + Or that the tsar no longer with his sceptre + Rakes in the ashes? Is there any safety + In our poor life? Each day disgrace awaits us; + The dungeon or Siberia, cowl or fetters, + And then in some deaf nook a starving death, + Or else the halter. Where are the most renowned + Of all our houses, where the Sitsky princes, + Where are the Shestunovs, where the Romanovs, + Hope of our fatherland? Imprisoned, tortured, + In exile. Do but wait, and a like fate + Will soon be thine. Think of it! Here at home, + Just as in Lithuania, we're beset + By treacherous slaves--and tongues are ever ready + For base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State. + We hang upon the word of the first servant + Whom we may please to punish. Then he bethought him + To take from us our privilege of hiring + Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters + Of our own lands. Presume not to dismiss + An idler. Willy nilly, thou must feed him! + Presume not to outbid a man in hiring + A labourer, or you will find yourself + In the Court's clutches.--Was such an evil heard of + Even under tsar Ivan? And are the people + The better off? Ask them. Let the pretender + But promise them the old free right of transfer, + Then there'll be sport. + + SHUISKY. Thou'rt right; but be advised; + Of this, of all things, for a time we'll speak + No word. + + PUSHKIN. Assuredly, keep thine own counsel. + Thou art--a person of discretion; always + I am glad to commune with thee; and if aught + At any time disturbs me, I endure not + To keep it from thee; and, truth to tell, thy mead + And velvet ale today have so untied + My tongue...Farewell then, prince. + + SHUISKY. Brother, farewell. + Farewell, my brother, till we meet again. + + (He escorts PUSHKIN out.) + + + + +PALACE OF THE TSAR + +The TSAREVICH is drawing a map. The TSAREVNA. The NURSE of the Tsarevna + + KSENIA. (Kisses a portrait.) My dear bridegroom, comely + son of a king, not to me wast thou given, not to thy + affianced bride, but to a dark sepulchre in a strange + land; never shall I take comfort, ever shall I weep for + thee. + + NURSE. Eh, tsarevna! A maiden weeps as the dew falls; + the sun will rise, will dry the dew. Thou wilt have + another bridegroom--and handsome and affable. My + charming child, thou wilt learn to love him, thou wilt + forget Ivan the king's son. + + KSENIA. Nay, nurse, I will be true to him even in death. + + (Boris enters.) + + TSAR. What, Ksenia? What, my sweet one? In thy girlhood + Already a woe-stricken widow, ever + Bewailing thy dead bridegroom! Fate forbade me + To be the author of thy bliss. Perchance + I angered Heaven; it was not mine to compass + Thy happiness. Innocent one, for what + Art thou a sufferer? And thou, my son, + With what art thou employed? What's this? + + FEODOR. A chart + Of all the land of Muscovy; our tsardom + From end to end. Here you see; there is Moscow, + There Novgorod, there Astrakhan. Here lies + The sea, here the dense forest tract of Perm, + And here Siberia. + + TSAR. And what is this + Which makes a winding pattern here? + + FEODOR. That is + The Volga. + + TSAR. Very good! Here's the sweet fruit + Of learning. One can view as from the clouds + Our whole dominion at a glance; its frontiers, + Its towns, its rivers. Learn, my son; 'tis science + Which gives to us an abstract of the events + Of our swift-flowing life. Some day, perchance + Soon, all the lands which thou so cunningly + Today hast drawn on paper, all will come + Under thy hand. Learn, therefore; and more smoothly, + More clearly wilt thou take, my son, upon thee + The cares of state. + + (SEMYON Godunov enters.) + + But there comes Godunov + Bringing reports to me. (To KSENIA.) Go to thy chamber + Dearest; farewell, my child; God comfort thee. + + (Exeunt KSENIA and NURSE.) + + What news hast thou for me, Semyon Nikitich? + + SEMYON G. Today at dawn the butler of Prince Shuisky + And Pushkin's servant brought me information. + + TSAR. Well? + + SEMYON G. In the first place Pushkin's man deposed + That yestermorn came to his house from Cracow + A courier, who within an hour was sent + Without a letter back. + + TSAR. Arrest the courier. + + SEMYON G. Some are already sent to overtake him. + + TSAR. And what of Shuisky? + + SEMYON G. Last night he entertained + His friends; the Buturlins, both Miloslavskys, + And Saltikov, with Pushkin and some others. + They parted late. Pushkin alone remained + Closeted with his host and talked with him + A long time more. + + TSAR. For Shuisky send forthwith. + + SEMYON G. Sire, he is here already. + + TSAR. Call him hither. + + (Exit SEMYON Godunov.) + + Dealings with Lithuania? What means this? + I like not the seditious race of Pushkins, + Nor must I trust in Shuisky, obsequious, + But bold and wily-- + + (Enter SHUISKY.) + + Prince, I must speak with thee. + But thou thyself, it seems, hast business with me, + And I would listen first to thee. + + SHUISKY. Yea, sire; + It is my duty to convey to thee + Grave news. + + TSAR. I listen. + + SHUISKY. (Sotto voce, pointing to FEODOR.) + But, sire-- + + TSAR. The tsarevich + May learn whate'er Prince Shuisky knoweth. Speak. + + SHUISKY. My liege, from Lithuania there have come + Tidings to us-- + + TSAR. Are they not those same tidings + Which yestereve a courier bore to Pushkin? + + SHUISKY. Nothing is hidden from him!--Sire, I thought + Thou knew'st not yet this secret. + + TSAR. Let not that + Trouble thee, prince; I fain would scrutinise + Thy information; else we shall not learn + The actual truth. + + SHUISKY. I know this only, Sire; + In Cracow a pretender hath appeared; + The king and nobles back him. + + TSAR. What say they? + And who is this pretender? + + SHUISKY. I know not. + + TSAR. But wherein is he dangerous? + + SHUISKY. Verily + Thy state, my liege, is firm; by graciousness, + Zeal, bounty, thou hast won the filial love + Of all thy slaves; but thou thyself dost know + The mob is thoughtless, changeable, rebellious, + Credulous, lightly given to vain hope, + Obedient to each momentary impulse, + To truth deaf and indifferent; it feedeth + On fables; shameless boldness pleaseth it. + So, if this unknown vagabond should cross + The Lithuanian border, Dimitry's name + Raised from the grave will gain him a whole crowd + Of fools. + + TSAR. Dimitry's?--What?--That child's?--Dimitry's? + Withdraw, tsarevich. + + SHUISKY. He flushed; there'll be a storm! + + FEODOR. Suffer me, Sire-- + + TSAR. Impossible, my son; + Go, go! + + (Exit FEODOR.) + + Dimitry's name! + + SHUISKY. Then he knew nothing. + + TSAR. Listen: take steps this very hour that Russia + Be fenced by barriers from Lithuania; + That not a single soul pass o'er the border, + That not a hare run o'er to us from Poland, + Nor crow fly here from Cracow. Away! + + SHUISKY. I go. + + TSAR. Stay!--Is it not a fact that this report + Is artfully concocted? Hast ever heard + That dead men have arisen from their graves + To question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed, + Chosen by the voice of all the people, crowned + By the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable? + Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat? + + SHUISKY. I, Sire? + + TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this child + Had been--this child had somehow lost its life, + 'Twas thou I sent to search the matter out. + Now by the Cross and God I do adjure thee, + Declare to me the truth upon thy conscience; + Didst recognise the slaughtered boy; was't not + A substitute? Reply. + + SHUISKY. I swear to thee-- + + TSAR. Nay, Shuisky, swear not, but reply; was it + Indeed Dimitry? + + SHUISKY. He. + + TSAR. Consider, prince. + I promise clemency; I will not punish + With vain disgrace a lie that's past. But if + Thou now beguile me, then by my son's head + I swear--an evil fate shall overtake thee, + Requital such that Tsar Ivan Vasilievich + Shall shudder in his grave with horror of it. + + SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terror + Doth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presence + Dare I use cunning? Could I deceive myself + So blindly as not recognise Dimitry? + Three days in the cathedral did I visit + His corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich. + Around him thirteen bodies lay of those + Slain by the people, and on them corruption + Already had set in perceptibly. + But lo! The childish face of the tsarevich + Was bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep; + The deep gash had congealed not, nor the lines + Of his face even altered. No, my liege, + There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave. + + TSAR. Enough, withdraw. + + (Exit SHUISKY.) + + I choke!--let me get my breath! + I felt it; all my blood surged to my face, + And heavily fell back.--So that is why + For thirteen years together I have dreamed + Ever about the murdered child. Yes, yes-- + 'Tis that!--now I perceive. But who is he, + My terrible antagonist? Who is it + Opposeth me? An empty name, a shadow. + Can it be a shade shall tear from me the purple, + A sound deprive my children of succession? + Fool that I was! Of what was I afraid? + Blow on this phantom--and it is no more. + So, I am fast resolved; I'll show no sign + Of fear, but nothing must be held in scorn. + Ah! Heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh! + + + + +CRACOW. HOUSE OF VISHNEVETSKY + +The PRETENDER and a CATHOLIC PRIEST + + PRETENDER. Nay, father, there will be no trouble. I know + The spirit of my people; piety + Does not run wild in them, their tsar's example + To them is sacred. Furthermore, the people + Are always tolerant. I warrant you, + Before two years my people all, and all + The Eastern Church, will recognise the power + Of Peter's Vicar. + + PRIEST. May Saint Ignatius aid thee + When other times shall come. Meanwhile, tsarevich, + Hide in thy soul the seed of heavenly blessing; + Religious duty bids us oft dissemble + Before the blabbing world; the people judge + Thy words, thy deeds; God only sees thy motives. + + PRETENDER. Amen. Who's there? + + (Enter a Servant.) + + Say that we will receive them. + + (The doors are opened; a crowd of Russians and Poles enters.) + + Comrades! Tomorrow we depart from Cracow. + Mnishek, with thee for three days in Sambor + I'll stay. I know thy hospitable castle + Both shines in splendid stateliness, and glories + In its young mistress; There I hope to see + Charming Marina. And ye, my friends, ye, Russia + And Lithuania, ye who have upraised + Fraternal banners against a common foe, + Against mine enemy, yon crafty villain. + Ye sons of Slavs, speedily will I lead + Your dread battalions to the longed-for conflict. + But soft! Methinks among you I descry + New faces. + + GABRIEL P. They have come to beg for sword + And service with your Grace. + + PRETENDER. Welcome, my lads. + You are friends to me. But tell me, Pushkin, who + Is this fine fellow? + + PUSHKIN. Prince Kurbsky. + + PRETENDER. (To KURBSKY.) A famous name! + Art kinsman to the hero of Kazan? + + KURBSKY. His son. + + PRETENDER. Liveth he still? + + KURBSKY. Nay, he is dead. + + PRETENDER. A noble soul! A man of war and counsel. + But from the time when he appeared beneath + The ancient town Olgin with the Lithuanians, + Hardy avenger of his injuries, + Rumour hath held her tongue concerning him. + + KURBSKY. My father led the remnant of his life + On lands bestowed upon him by Batory; + There, in Volhynia, solitary and quiet, + Sought consolation for himself in studies; + But peaceful labour did not comfort him; + He ne'er forgot the home of his young days, + And to the end pined for it. + + PRETENDER. Hapless chieftain! + How brightly shone the dawn of his resounding + And stormy life! Glad am I, noble knight, + That now his blood is reconciled in thee + To his fatherland. The faults of fathers must not + Be called to mind. Peace to their grave. Approach; + Give me thy hand! Is it not strange?--the son + Of Kurbsky to the throne is leading--whom? + Whom but Ivan's own son?--All favours me; + People and fate alike.--Say, who art thou? + + A POLE. Sobansky, a free noble. + + PRETENDER. Praise and honour + Attend thee, child of liberty. Give him + A third of his full pay beforehand.--Who + Are these? On them I recognise the dress + Of my own country. These are ours. + + KRUSHCHOV. (Bows low.) Yea, Sire, + Our father; we are thralls of thine, devoted + And persecuted; we have fled from Moscow, + Disgraced, to thee our tsar, and for thy sake + Are ready to lay down our lives; our corpses + Shall be for thee steps to the royal throne. + + PRETENDER. Take heart, innocent sufferers. Only let me + Reach Moscow, and, once there, Boris shall settle + Some scores with me and you. What news of Moscow? + + KRUSHCHOV. As yet all there is quiet. But already + The folk have got to know that the tsarevich + Was saved; already everywhere is read + Thy proclamation. All are waiting for thee. + Not long ago Boris sent two boyars + To execution merely because in secret + They drank thy health. + + PRETENDER. O hapless, good boyars! + But blood for blood! And woe to Godunov! + What do they say of him? + + KRUSHCHOV. He has withdrawn + Into his gloomy palace. He is grim + And sombre. Executions loom ahead. + But sickness gnaws him. Hardly hath he strength + To drag himself along, and--it is thought-- + His last hour is already not far off. + + PRETENDER. A speedy death I wish him, as becomes + A great-souled foe to wish. If not, then woe + To the miscreant!--And whom doth he intend + To name as his successor? + + KRUSHCHOV. He shows not + His purposes, but it would seem he destines + Feodor, his young son, to be our tsar. + + PRETENDER. His reckonings, maybe, will yet prove wrong. + Who art thou? + + KARELA. A Cossack; from the Don I am sent + To thee, from the free troops, from the brave hetmen + From upper and lower regions of the Cossacks, + To look upon thy bright and royal eyes, + And tender thee their homage. + + PRETENDER. Well I knew + The men of Don; I doubted not to see + The Cossack hetmen in my ranks. We thank + Our army of the Don. Today, we know, + The Cossacks are unjustly persecuted, + Oppressed; but if God grant us to ascend + The throne of our forefathers, then as of yore + We'll gratify the free and faithful Don. + + POET. (Approaches, bowing low, and taking Gregory by the + hem of his caftan.) + Great prince, illustrious offspring of a king! + + PRETENDER. What wouldst thou? + + POET. Condescendingly accept + This poor fruit of my earnest toil. + + PRETENDER. What see I? + Verses in Latin! Blest a hundredfold + The tie of sword and lyre; the selfsame laurel + Binds them in friendship. I was born beneath + A northern sky, but yet the Latin muse + To me is a familiar voice; I love + The blossoms of Parnassus, I believe + The prophecies of singers. Not in vain + The ecstasy boils in their flaming breast; + Action is hallowed, being glorified + Beforehand by the poets! Approach, my friend. + In memory of me accept this gift. + + (Gives him a ring.) + + When fate fulfils for me her covenant, + When I assume the crown of my forefathers, + I hope again to hear the measured tones + Of thy sweet voice, and thy inspired lay. + Musa gloriam Coronat, gloriaque musam. + And so, friends, till tomorrow, au revoir. + + ALL. Forward! Long live Dimitry! Forward, forward! + Long live Dimitry, the great prince of Moscow! + + + + +CASTLE OF THE GOVERNOR + +MNISHEK IN SAMBOR + + Dressing-Room of Marina + + MARINA, ROUZYA (dressing her), Serving-Women + + MARINA. + (Before a mirror.) Now then, is it ready? Cannot + you make haste? + + ROUZYA. I pray you first to make the difficult choice; + Will you the necklace wear of pearls, or else + The emerald half-moon? + + MARINA. My diamond crown. + + ROUZYA. Splendid! Do you remember that you wore it + When to the palace you were pleased to go? + They say that at the ball your gracious highness + Shone like the sun; men sighed, fair ladies whispered-- + 'Twas then that for the first time young Khotkevich + Beheld you, he who after shot himself. + And whosoever looked on you, they say + That instant fell in love. + + MARINA. Can't you be quicker? + + ROUZYA. At once. Today your father counts upon you. + 'Twas not for naught the young tsarevich saw you; + He could not hide his rapture; wounded he is + Already; so it only needs to deal him + A resolute blow, and instantly, my lady, + He'll be in love with you. 'Tis now a month + Since, quitting Cracow, heedless of the war + And throne of Moscow, he has feasted here, + Your guest, enraging Poles alike and Russians. + Heavens! Shall I ever live to see the day?-- + Say, you will not, when to his capital + Dimitry leads the queen of Moscow, say + You'll not forsake me? + + MARINA. Dost thou truly think + I shall be queen? + + ROUZYA. Who, if not you? Who here + Dares to compare in beauty with my mistress? + The race of Mnishek never yet has yielded + To any. In intellect you are beyond + All praise.--Happy the suitor whom your glance + Honours with its regard, who wins your heart-- + Whoe'er he be, be he our king, the dauphin + Of France, or even this our poor tsarevich + God knows who, God knows whence! + + MARINA. The very son + Of the tsar, and so confessed by the whole world. + + ROUZYA. And yet last winter he was but a servant + In the house of Vishnevetsky. + + MARINA. He was hiding. + + ROUZYA. I do not question it: but still do you know + What people say about him? That perhaps + He is a deacon run away from Moscow, + In his own district a notorious rogue. + + MARINA. What nonsense! + + ROUZYA. O, I do not credit it! + I only say he ought to bless his fate + That you have so preferred him to the others. + + WAITING-WOMAN. (Runs in.) The guests have come already. + + MARINA. There you see; + You're ready to chatter silliness till daybreak. + Meanwhile I am not dressed-- + + ROUZYA. Within a moment + 'Twill be quite ready. + + (The Waiting-women bustle.) + + MARINA. (Aside.) I must find out all. + + + + +A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS. + +VISHNEVETSKY, MNISHEK + + MNISHEK. With none but my Marina doth he speak, + With no one else consorteth--and that business + Looks dreadfully like marriage. Now confess, + Didst ever think my daughter would be a queen? + + VISHNEVETSKY. 'Tis wonderful.--And, Mnishek, didst thou think + My servant would ascend the throne of Moscow? + + MNISHEK. And what a girl, look you, is my Marina. + I merely hinted to her: "Now, be careful! + Let not Dimitry slip"--and lo! Already + He is completely tangled in her toils. + + (The band plays a Polonaise. The PRETENDER and + MARINA advance as the first couple.) + + MARINA. (Sotto voce to Dimitry.) Tomorrow evening at eleven, beside + The fountain in the avenue of lime-trees. + + (They walk off. A second couple.) + + CAVALIER. What can Dimitry see in her? + + DAME. How say you? + She is a beauty. + + CAVALIER. Yes, a marble nymph; + Eyes, lips, devoid of life, without a smile. + + (A fresh couple.) + + DAME. He is not handsome, but his eyes are pleasing, + And one can see he is of royal birth. + + (A fresh couple.) + + DAME. When will the army march? + + CAVALIER. When the tsarevich + Orders it; we are ready; but 'tis clear + The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean + To keep us prisoners here. + + DAME. A pleasant durance. + + CAVALIER. Truly, if you... + + (They walk off; the rooms become empty.) + + MNISHEK. We old ones dance no longer; + The sound of music lures us not; we press not + Nor kiss the hands of charmers--ah! My friend, + I've not forgotten the old pranks! Things now + Are not what once they were, what once they were! + Youth, I'll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty + So lively; everything--confess, my friend-- + Has somehow become dull. So let us leave them; + My comrade, let us go and find a flask + Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould; + Let's bid my butler open an old bottle, + And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete, + Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat; + And while we're so engaged, let's think things over. + Let us go, brother. + + VISHNEVETSKY. Yes, my friend, let's go. + + + + +NIGHT + +THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN + + PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come. + I was not born a coward; I have seen + Death near at hand, and face to face with death + My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon + Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued, + And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness + I have escaped captivity. But what + Is this which now constricts my breath? What means + This overpowering tremor, or this quivering + Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day + I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered + On all that I should say to her, how best + I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind, + Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour + Has come--and I remember naught, I cannot + Recall the speeches I have learned by rote; + Love puts imagination to confusion-- + But something there gleamed suddenly--a rustling; + Hush--no, it was the moon's deceitful light, + It was the rustling of the breeze. + + MARINA. (Enters.) Tsarevich! + + PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still. + + MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou? + + PRETENDER. Bewitching voice! + + (Goes to her.) + + Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone + With me, beneath the roof of quiet night? + How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly + The glow of evening died away! How long + I have waited in the gloom of night! + + MARINA. The hours + Are flitting fast, and time is precious to me. + I did not grant a meeting here to thee + To listen to a lover's tender speeches. + No need of words. I well believe thou lovest; + But listen; with thy stormy, doubtful fate + I have resolved to join my own; but one thing, + Dimitry, I require; I claim that thou + Disclose to me thy secret hopes, thy plans, + Even thy fears, that hand in hand with thee + I may confront life boldly--not in blindness + Of childlike ignorance, not as the slave + And plaything of my husband's light desires, + Thy speechless concubine, but as thy spouse, + And worthy helpmate of the tsar of Moscow. + + PRETENDER. O, if it be only for one short hour, + Forget the cares and troubles of my fate! + Forget 'tis the tsarevich whom thou seest + Before thee. O, behold in me, Marina, + A lover, by thee chosen, happy only + In thy regard. O, listen to the prayers + Of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith + My heart is full. + + MARINA. Prince, this is not the time; + Thou loiterest, and meanwhile the devotion + Of thine adherents cooleth. Hour by hour + Danger becomes more dangerous, difficulties + More difficult; already dubious rumours + Are current, novelty already takes + The place of novelty; and Godunov + Adopts his measures. + + PRETENDER. What is Godunov? + Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness, + Swayed by Boris? Nay, nay. Indifferently + I now regard his throne, his kingly power. + Thy love--without it what to me is life, + And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia? + On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, thou-- + Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown; + Thy love-- + + MARINA. For shame! Forget not, prince, thy high + And sacred destiny; thy dignity + Should be to thee more dear than all the joys + Of life and its allurements. It thou canst not + With anything compare. Not to a boy, + Insanely boiling, captured by my beauty-- + But to the heir of Moscow's throne give I + My hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich + Rescued by destiny. + + PRETENDER. Torture me not, + Charming Marina; say not that 'twas my rank + And not myself that thou didst choose. Marina! + Thou knowest not how sorely thou dost wound + My heart thereby. What if--O fearful doubt!-- + Say, if blind destiny had not assigned me + A kingly birth; if I were not indeed + Son of Ivan, were not this boy, so long + Forgotten by the world--say, then wouldst thou + Have loved me? + + MARINA. Thou art Dimitry, and aught else + Thou canst not be; it is not possible + For me to love another. + + PRETENDER. Nay! Enough-- + I have no wish to share with a dead body + A mistress who belongs to him; I have done + With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth. + Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago + Perished, was buried--and will not rise again; + And dost thou wish to know what man I am? + Well, I will tell thee. I am--a poor monk. + Grown weary of monastic servitude, + I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design, + Made ready for the world a miracle-- + And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks, + To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle + Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you. + I called myself Dimitry, and deceived + The brainless Poles. What say'st thou, proud Marina? + Art thou content with my confession? Why + Dost thou keep silence? + + MARINA. O shame! O woe is me! + + (Silence.) + + PRETENDER. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me? + The happiness devised with so much labour + I have, perchance, destroyed for ever. Idiot, + What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed + Of love not princely; so pronounce on me + The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands. + Decide; I wait. + + (Falls on his knees.) + + MARINA. Rise, poor pretender! Think'st thou + To please with genuflex on my vain heart, + As if I were a weak, confiding girl? + You err, my friend; prone at my feet I've seen + Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this + Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk-- + + PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues + May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy + Of Moscow's throne, even of thy priceless hand-- + + MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch! + + PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride + I have deceived God and the kings--have lied + To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina, + To judge me; I am guiltless before thee. + No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me + Wast the one sacred being, before thee + I dared not to dissemble; love alone, + Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all. + + MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded + Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant + Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then + At least thou shouldst have merited success, + And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep, + And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield + Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank + And maiden modesty, unite my fate + With thine, when thou thyself impetuously + Dost thus with such simplicity reveal + Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me! + I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship + Disclosed thyself ere now before my father, + Or else before our king from joy, or else + Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal + Of a devoted servant. + + PRETENDER. I swear to thee + That thou alone wast able to extort + My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never, + Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup + Of folly, not in friendly confidence, + Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack, + Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets. + + MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe, + Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest? + Is it not by the name of God, as suits + The Jesuits' devout adopted son? + Or by thy honour as a high-born knight? + Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone + As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare. + + PRETENDER. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me + His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me + Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me, + And hath consigned Boris to be my victim. + I am tsarevich. Enough! 'Twere shame for me + To stoop before a haughty Polish dame. + Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war, + The wide cares of my destiny, will smother, + I hope, the pangs Of love. O, when the heat + Of shameful passion is o'erspent, how then + Shall I detest thee! Now I leave thee--ruin, + Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia; + Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier + In honourable fight, or as a miscreant + Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not + Be my companion, nor shalt share with me + My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret + The destiny thou hast refused. + + MARINA. But what + If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud + To all men? + + PRETENDER. Dost thou think I fear thee? Think'st thou + They will believe a Polish maiden more + Than Russia's own tsarevich? Know, proud lady, + That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble + Whether my words be true, whether I be + Dimitry or another. What care they? + But I provide a pretext for revolt + And war; and this is all they need; and thee, + Rebellious one, believe me, they will force + To hold thy peace. Farewell. + + MARINA. Tsarevich, stay! + At last I hear the speech not of a boy, + But of a man. It reconciles me to thee. + Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see + Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time! + Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops + Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take + Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then + Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me, + Until thy foot be planted on its steps, + Until by thee Boris be overthrown, + I am not one to listen to love-speeches. + + PRETENDER. No--easier far to strive with Godunov. + Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court, + Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they're beyond + My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out + Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent! + Serpent! 'Twas not for nothing that I trembled. + She well-nigh ruined me; but I'm resolved; + At daybreak I will put my troops in motion. + + + + +THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + +(OCTOBER 16TH, 1604) + +PRINCE KURBSKY and PRETENDER, both on horseback. +Troops approach the Frontier + + KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.) + There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier! + Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine! + With scorn from off my clothing now I shake + The foreign dust, and greedily I drink + New air; it is my native air. O father, + Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave + Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy! + Again doth flash our old ancestral sword, + This glorious sword--the dread of dark Kazan! + This good sword--servant of the tsars of Moscow! + Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter, + Serving the master of its hopes. + + PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy + Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory + His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee! + The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile, + Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father, + Redeeming his transgression in the grave, + Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan + To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland + Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul + Should flame with joy. + + KURBSKY. And dost not thou likewise + Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she + Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people's hearts + Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits, + Thy Kremlin, thy dominion. + + PRETENDER. Russian blood, + O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar + Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you + Against your brothers; I am summoning + Lithuania against Russia; I am showing + To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow! + But let my sin fall not on me, but thee, + Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on! + + KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov. + + (They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.) + + + + +THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR + +The TSAR, the PATRIARCH and Boyars + + TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us + Leads rascal troops, a truant friar dares write + Threats to us! Then 'tis time to tame the madman! + Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov; + My zealous governors need help. Chernigov + Already by the rebel is besieged; + Rescue the city and citizens. + + BASMANOV. Three months + Shall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour's tongue + Shall cease to speak of the pretender; caged + In iron, like a wild beast from oversea, + We'll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God. + + (Exit with TRUBETSKOY.) + + TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered + Alliance to me. But we have no need + To lean on foreign aid; we have enough + Of our own warlike people to repel + Traitors and Poles. I have refused.--Shchelkalov! + In every district to the governors + Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send + The people as of old on service; likewise + Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist + The servants of the churchmen. In days of old, + When danger faced our country, hermits freely + Went into battle; it is not now our wish + To trouble them; no, let them pray for us; + Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolve + Of his boyars. And now a weighty question + We shall determine; ye know how everywhere + The insolent pretender hath spread abroad + His artful rumours; letters everywhere, + By him distributed, have sowed alarm + And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro + Pass in the market-places; minds are seething. + We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain + From executions, but by what means and how? + That we will now determine. Holy father, + Thou first declare thy thought. + + PATRIARCH. The Blessed One, + The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul, + Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience; + Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner, + Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion + Shall pass away; for pass away it will, + And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all. + Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters + No prudent judge, ventures today to offer + His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil, + This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear + Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly + He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich + As with a stolen vestment. It only needs + To tear it off--and he'll be put to shame + By his own nakedness. The means thereto + God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years + Since then have fled; 'twas in that very year + When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord + Anointed thee--there came to me one evening + A simple shepherd, a venerable old man, + Who told me a strange secret. "In my young days," + He said, "I lost my sight, and thenceforth knew not + Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain + I plied myself with herbs and secret spells; + In vain did I resort in adoration + To the great wonder-workers in the cloister; + Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water + From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not + Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last, + And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even + Slumber showed not to me things visible, + Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep + I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me: + `Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town, + To the Cathedral of Transfiguration; + There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious-- + And I shall pardon thee.' `But who art thou?' + I asked the childish voice. `I am the tsarevich + Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken + Into His angel band, and I am now + A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.' + I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe + God will in very deed vouchsafe to me + Belated healing. I will go. I bent + My footsteps to the distant road. I reached + Uglich, repair unto the holy minster, + Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep + Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes + Were flowing out in tears. And when the people + Began to leave, to my grandson I said: + `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich + Dimitry.' The boy led me--and I scarce + Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer, + When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld + The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb." + That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told. + + (General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris + several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.) + + To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned + That many sufferers had found likewise + Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich. + This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send + The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral + Of the Archangel; clearly will the people + See then the godless villain's fraud; the might + Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust. + + (Silence.) + + PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways + Of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him. + Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working + He may upon the child's remains bestow; + But vulgar rumour must dispassionately + And diligently be tested; is it for us, + In stormy times of insurrection, + To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say + That insolently we made of sacred things + A worldly instrument? Even now the people + Sway senselessly this way and that, even now + There are enough already of loud rumours; + This is no time to vex the people's minds + With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange. + I myself see 'tis needful to demolish + The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk; + But for this end other and simpler means + Will serve. Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire, + I will myself appear in public places, + I will persuade, exhort away this madness, + And will expose the vagabond's vile fraud. + + TSAR. So be it! My lord Patriarch, I pray thee + Go with us to the palace, where today + I must converse with thee. + + (Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.) + + 1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale + Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured + A mighty sweat? + + 2ND BOYAR. I durst not, I confess, + Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir. + + 1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A + splendid fellow! + + + + +A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK + +(DECEMBER 21st, 1604) + +A BATTLE + + SOLDIERS. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe! The Tsarevich! + The Poles! There they are! There they are! + + (Captains enter: MARZHERET and WALTHER ROZEN.) + + MARZHERET. Whither, whither? Allons! Go back! + + ONE OF THE FUGITIVES. You go back, if you like, cursed + infidel. + + MARZHERET. Quoi, quoi? + + ANOTHER. Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the + sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we--we are + orthodox. + + MARZHERET. Qu'est-ce a dire "orthodox"? Sacres gueux, + maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j'enrage; on + dirait que ca n'a pas de bras pour frapper, ca n'a que des + jambes pour fuir. + + ROZEN. Es ist Schande. + + MARZHERET. Ventre-saint gris! Je ne bouge plus d'un pas; + puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire. Qu'en dites-vous, + mein Herr? + + ROZEN. Sie haben Recht. + + MARZHERET. Tudieu, il y fait chaud! Ce diable de "Pretender," + comme ils l'appellent, est un bougre, qui a du + poil au col?--Qu'en pensez-vous, mein Herr? + + ROZEN. Ja. + + MARZHERET. He! Voyez donc, voyez donc! L'action s'engage + sur les derrieres de l'ennemi. Ce doit etre le brave + Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie. + + ROZEN. Ich glaube das. + + (Enter Germans.) + + MARZHERET. Ha, ha! Voici nos allemands. Messieurs! + Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu, + chargeons! + + ROZEN. Sehr gut. Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch! + + THE GERMANS. (They march.) Hilf Gott! + + (Fight. The Russians flee again.) + + POLES. Victory! Victory! Glory to the tsar Dimitry! + + DIMITRY. (On horseback.) Cease fighting. We have + conquered. Enough! Spare Russian blood. Cease + fighting. + + + + +OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW + +THE PEOPLE + + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Will the tsar soon come out of the + Cathedral? + + ANOTHER. The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on. + + THE FIRST. What! Have they already cursed him? + + THE SECOND. I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon + cried out:--Grishka Otrepiev is anathema! + + THE FIRST. Let him curse to his heart's content; the + tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev. + + THE SECOND. But they are now singing mass for the repose + of the soul of the tsarevich. + + THE FIRST. What? A mass for the dead sung for a living + Man? They'll suffer for it, the godless wretches! + + A THIRD. Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar? + + A FOURTH. No, it is the idiot. + + (An idiot enters, in an iron cap, hung round with + chains, surrounded by boys.) + + THE BOYS. Nick, Nick, iron nightcap! T-r-r-r-r-- + + OLD WOMAN. Let him be, you young devils. Innocent one, + pray thou for me a sinner. + + IDIOT. Give, give, give a penny. + + OLD WOMAN. There is a penny for thee; remember me in + thy prayers. + + IDIOT. (Seats himself on the ground and sings:) + + The moon sails on, + The kitten cries, + Nick, arise, + Pray to God. + + (The boys surround him again.) + + ONE OF THEM. How do you do, Nick? Why don't you + take off your cap? + + (Raps him on the iron cap.) + + How it rings! + + IDIOT. But I have got a penny. + + BOYS. That's not true; now, show it. + + (They snatch the penny and run away.) + + IDIOT. (Weeps.) They have taken my penny, they are + hurting Nick. + + THE PEOPLE. The tsar, the tsar is coming! + + (The TSAR comes out from the Cathedral; a boyar in + front of him scatters alms among the poor. Boyars.) + + IDIOT. Boris, Boris! The boys are hurting Nick. + + TSAR. Give him alms! What is he crying for? + + IDIOT. The boys are hurting me...Give orders to slay + them, as thou slewest the little tsarevich. + + BOYARS. Go away, fool! Seize the fool! + + TSAR. Leave him alone. Pray thou for me, Nick. + + (Exit.) + + IDIOT. (To himself.) No, no! It is impossible to pray for + tsar Herod; the Mother of God forbids it. + + + + +SYEVSK + +The PRETENDER, surrounded by his supporters + + PRETENDER. Where is the prisoner? + + A POLE. Here. + + PRETENDER. Call him before me. + + (A Russian prisoner enters.) + + Who art thou? + + PRISONER. Rozhnov, a nobleman of Moscow. + + PRETENDER. Hast long been in the service? + + PRISONER. About a month. + + PRETENDER. Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn + The sword against me? + + PRISONER. What else could I do? + 'Twas not our fault. + + PRETENDER. Didst fight beneath the walls + Of Seversk? + + PRISONER. 'Twas two weeks after the battle + I came from Moscow. + + PRETENDER. What of Godunov? + + PRISONER. The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him + Much apprehension; Shuisky he hath sent + To take command. + + PRETENDER. But why hath he recalled + Basmanov unto Moscow? + + PRISONER. The tsar rewarded + His services with honour and with gold. + Basmanov in the council of the tsar + Now sits. + + PRETENDER. The army had more need of him. + Well, how go things in Moscow? + + PRISONER. All is quiet, + Thank God. + + PRETENDER. Say, do they look for me? + + PRISONER. God knows; + They dare not talk too much there now. Of some + The tongues have been cut off, of others even + The heads. It is a fearsome state of things-- + Each day an execution. All the prisons + Are crammed. Wherever two or three forgather + In public places, instantly a spy + Worms himself in; the tsar himself examines + At leisure the denouncers. It is just + Sheer misery; so silence is the best. + + PRETENDER. An enviable life for the tsar's people! + Well, how about the army? + + PRISONER. What of them? + Clothed and full-fed they are content with all. + + PRETENDER. But is there much of it? + + PRISONER. God knows. + + PRETENDER. All told + Will there be thirty thousand? + + PRISONER. Yes; 'twill run + Even to fifty thousand. + + (The Pretender reflects; those around him glance at + one another.) + + PRETENDER. Well! Of me + What say they in your camp? + + PRISONER. Your graciousness + They speak of; say that thou, Sire, (be not wrath), + Art a thief, but a fine fellow. + + PRETENDER. (Laughing.) Even so + I'll prove myself to them in deed. My friends, + We will not wait for Shuisky; I wish you joy; + Tomorrow, battle. + + (Exit.) + + ALL. Long life to Dimitry! + + A POLE. Tomorrow, battle! They are fifty thousand, + And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad! + + ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge + Five hundred Muscovites. + + PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge! + But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart, + Thou'lt run away. + + POLE. If thou hadst had a sword, + Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon + Have vanquished thee. + + PRISONER. A Russian can make shift + Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool? + + (The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in + silence. All laugh.) + + + + +A FOREST + +PRETENDER and PUSHKIN + +(In the background lies a dying horse) + + PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged + Today in the last battle, and when wounded, + How swiftly bore me. My poor horse! + + PUSHKIN. (To himself.) Well, here's + A great ado about a horse, when all + Our army's smashed to bits. + + PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps + He's but exhausted by the loss of blood, + And will recover. + + PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying. + + PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse.) + My poor horse!--what to do? Take off the bridle, + And loose the girth. Let him at least die free. + + (He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles + enter.) + + Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not + Kurbsky among you? I did note today + How to the thick of the fight he clove his path; + Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears + Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them + His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry + Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight? + + POLE. He fell + On the field of battle. + + PRETENDER. Honour to the brave, + And peace be on his soul! How few unscathed + Are left us from the fight! Accursed Cossacks, + Traitors and miscreants, you, you it is + Have ruined us! Not even for three minutes + To keep the foe at bay! I'll teach the villains! + Every tenth man I'll hang. Brigands! + + PUSHKIN. Whoe'er + Be guilty, all the same we were clean worsted, + Routed! + + PRETENDER. But yet we nearly conquered. Just + When I had dealt with their front rank, the Germans + Repulsed us utterly. But they're fine fellows! + By God! Fine fellows! I love them for it. From them + I'll form an honourable troop. + + PUSHKIN. And where + Shall we now spend the night? + + PRETENDER. Why, here, in the forest. + Why not this for our night quarters? At daybreak + We'll take the road, and dine in Rilsk. Good night. + + (He lies down, puts a saddle under his head, and falls + asleep.) + + PUSHKIN. A pleasant sleep, tsarevich! Smashed to bits, + Rescued by flight alone, he is as careless + As a simple child; 'tis clear that Providence + Protects him, and we, my friends, will not lose heart. + + + + +MOSCOW. PALACE OF THE TSAR + +BORIS. BASMANOV + + TSAR. He is vanquished, but what profit lies in that? + We are crowned with a vain conquest; he has mustered + Again his scattered forces, and anew + Threatens us from the ramparts of Putivl. + Meanwhile what are our heroes doing? They stand + At Krom, where from its rotten battlements + A band of Cossacks braves them. There is glory! + No, I am ill content with them; thyself + I shall despatch to take command of them; + I give authority not to birth, but brains. + Their pride of precedence, let it be wounded! + The time has come for me to hold in scorn + The murmur of distinguished nobodies, + And quash pernicious custom. + + BASMANOV. Ay, my lord + Blessed a hundredfold will be that day + When fire consumes the lists of noblemen + With their dissensions, their ancestral pride. + + TSAR. That day is not far off; let me but first + Subdue the insurrection of the people. + + BASMANOV. Why trouble about that? The people always + Are prone to secret treason; even so + The swift steed champs the bit; so doth a lad + Chafe at his father's ruling. But what then? + The rider quietly controls the steed, + The father sways the son. + + TSAR. Sometimes the horse + Doth throw the rider, nor is the son at all times + Quite 'neath the father's will; we can restrain + The people only by unsleeping sternness. + So thought Ivan, sagacious autocrat + And storm-subduer; so his fierce grandson thought. + No, no, kindness is lost upon the people; + Act well--it thanks you not at all; extort + And execute--'twill be no worse for you. + + (Enter a boyar.) + + What now? + + BOYAR. The foreign guests are come. + + TSAR. I go + To welcome them. Basmanov, wait, stay here; + I still have need to speak: a word with thee. + + (Exit.) + + BASMANOV. High sovereign spirit! God grant he may subdue + The accurst Otrepiev; and much, still much + Of good he'll do for Russia. A great thought + Within his mind has taken birth; it must not + Be suffered to grow cold. What a career + For me when the ancestral horn he breaks + Of the nobility. I have no rivals + In war. I shall stand closest to the throne-- + And it may chance--But what is that strange sound? + + (Alarum. Boyars and court-attendants run in + disorder, meet each other and whisper.) + + ONE. Fetch a physician! + + ANOTHER. Quickly to the Patriarch! + + A THIRD. He calls for the tsarevich, the tsarevich! + + A FOURTH. A confessor! + + BASMANOV. What has happened? + + A FIFTH AND SIXTH. The tsar is ill, + The tsar is dying. + + BASMANOV. Good God! + + A FIFTH. Upon the throne + He sat, and suddenly he fell; blood gushed + From his mouth and ears. + + (The TSAR is carried in on a chair. All the Tsar's + household; all the boyars.) + + TSAR. Let all depart--alone + Leave the tsarevich with me. (All withdraw.) I am dying; + Let us embrace. Farewell, my son; this hour + Thou wilt begin to reign.--O God, my God! + This hour I shall appear before Thy presence-- + And have no time to purge my soul with shrift. + But yet, my son, I feel thou art dearer to me + Than is my soul's salvation--be it so! + A subject was I born; it seemed ordained + That I should die a subject in obscurity. + Yet I attained to sovereignty; but how? + Ask not. Enough that thou art innocent. + In justice now thou'lt reign; and I alone + Am answerable for all to God. Dear son, + Cherish no false delusion, of thy free will + Blind not thyself. Stormy the days wherein + Thou dost assume the crown. He is dangerous, + This strange pretender; with a fearful name + He is armed. For many a year experienced + In rule, I could restrain revolt and treason; + They quaked with fear before me; treachery + Dared not to raise its voice; but thou, a boy, + An inexperienced ruler, how wilt thou + Govern amid the tempests, quench revolt, + Shackle sedition? But God is great! He gives + Wisdom to youth, to weakness strength.--Give ear; + Firstly, select a steadfast counsellor, + Of cool, ripe years, loved of the people, honoured + Mid the boyars for birth and fame--even Shuisky. + The army craves today a skilful leader; + Basmanov send, and firmly bear the murmurs + Of the boyars. Thou from thy early years + Didst sit with me in council, thou dost know + The formal course of government; change not + Procedure. Custom is the soul of states. + Of late I have been forced to reinstate + Bans, executions--these thou canst rescind; + And they will bless thee, as they blessed thy uncle + When he obtained the throne of the Terrible. + At the same time, little by little, tighten + Anew the reins of government; now slacken; + But let them not slip from thy hands. Be gracious, + Accessible to foreigners, accept + Their service trustfully. Preserve with strictness + The Church's discipline. Be taciturn; + The royal voice must never lose itself + Upon the air in emptiness, but like + A sacred bell must sound but to announce + Some great disaster or great festival. + Dear son, thou art approaching to those years + When woman's beauty agitates our blood. + Preserve, preserve the sacred purity + Of innocence and proud shamefacedness; + He, who through passion has been wont to wallow + In vicious pleasures in his youthful days, + Becomes in manhood bloodthirsty and surly; + His mind untimely darkens. Of thy household + Be always head; show honour to thy mother, + But rule thy house thyself; thou art a man + And tsar to boot. Be loving to thy sister-- + Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector. + + FEODOR. (On his knees.) No, no; live on, my father, and reign long; + Without thee both the folk and we will perish. + + TSAR. All is at end for me--mine eyes grow dark, + I feel the coldness of the grave-- + + (Enter the PATRIARCH and prelates; behind them all + the boyars lead the TSARITSA by the hand; the + TSAREVNA is sobbing.) + + Who's there? + Ah, 'tis the vestment--so! The holy tonsure-- + The hour has struck. The tsar becomes a monk, + And the dark sepulchre will be my cell. + Wait yet a little, my lord Patriarch, + I still am tsar. Listen to me, boyars: + To this my son I now commit the tsardom; + Do homage to Feodor. Basmanov, thou, + And ye, my friends, on the grave's brink I pray you + To serve my son with zeal and rectitude! + As yet he is both young and uncorrupted. + Swear ye? + + BOYARS. We swear. + + TSAR. I am content. Forgive me + Both my temptations and my sins, my wilful + And secret injuries.--Now, holy father, + Approach thou; I am ready for the rite. + + (The rite of the tonsure begins. The women are + carried out swooning.) + + + + +A TENT + +BASMANOV leads in PUSHKIN + + BASMANOV. Here enter, and speak freely. So to me + He sent thee. + + PUSHKIN. He doth offer thee his friendship + And the next place to his in the realm of Moscow. + + BASMANOV. But even thus highly by Feodor am I + Already raised; the army I command; + For me he scorned nobility of rank + And the wrath of the boyars. I have sworn to him + Allegiance. + + PUSHKIN. To the throne's lawful successor + Allegiance thou hast sworn; but what if one + More lawful still be living? + + BASMANOV. Listen, Pushkin: + Enough of that; tell me no idle tales! + I know the man. + + PUSHKIN. Russia and Lithuania + Have long acknowledged him to be Dimitry; + But, for the rest, I do not vouch for it. + Perchance he is indeed the real Dimitry; + Perchance but a pretender; only this + I know, that soon or late the son of Boris + Will yield Moscow to him. + + BASMANOV. So long as I + Stand by the youthful tsar, so long he will not + Forsake the throne. We have enough of troops, + Thank God! With victory I will inspire them. + And whom will you against me send, the Cossack + Karel or Mnishek? Are your numbers many? + In all, eight thousand. + + PUSHKIN. You mistake; they will not + Amount even to that. I say myself + Our army is mere trash, the Cossacks only + Rob villages, the Poles but brag and drink; + The Russians--what shall I say?--with you I'll not + Dissemble; but, Basmanov, dost thou know + Wherein our strength lies? Not in the army, no. + Nor Polish aid, but in opinion--yes, + In popular opinion. Dost remember + The triumph of Dimitry, dost remember + His peaceful conquests, when, without a blow + The docile towns surrendered, and the mob + Bound the recalcitrant leaders? Thou thyself + Saw'st it; was it of their free-will our troops + Fought with him? And when did they so? Boris + Was then supreme. But would they now?--Nay, nay, + It is too late to blow on the cold embers + Of this dispute; with all thy wits and firmness + Thou'lt not withstand him. Were't not better for thee + To furnish to our chief a wise example, + Proclaim Dimitry tsar, and by that act + Bind him your friend for ever? How thinkest thou? + + BASMANOV. Tomorrow thou shalt know. + + PUSHKIN. Resolve. + + BASMANOV. Farewell. + + PUSHKIN. Ponder it well, Basmanov. + + (Exit.) + + BASMANOV. He is right. + Everywhere treason ripens; what shall I do? + Wait, that the rebels may deliver me + In bonds to the Otrepiev? Had I not better + Forestall the stormy onset of the flood, + Myself to--ah! But to forswear mine oath! + Dishonour to deserve from age to age! + The trust of my young sovereign to requite + With horrible betrayal! 'Tis a light thing + For a disgraced exile to meditate + Sedition and conspiracy; but I? + Is it for me, the favourite of my lord?-- + But death--but power--the people's miseries... + + (He ponders.) + + Here! Who is there? (Whistles.) A horse here! + Sound the muster! + + + + +PUBLIC SQUARE IN MOSCOW + +PUSHKIN enters, surrounded by the people + + THE PEOPLE. The tsarevich a boyar hath sent to us. + Let's hear what the boyar will tell us. Hither! + Hither! + + PUSHKIN. (On a platform.) Townsmen of Moscow! The tsarevich + Bids me convey his greetings to you. (He bows.) Ye know + How Divine Providence saved the tsarevich + From out the murderer's hands; he went to punish + His murderer, but God's judgment hath already + Struck down Boris. All Russia hath submitted + Unto Dimitry; with heartfelt repentance + Basmanov hath himself led forth his troops + To swear allegiance to him. In love, in peace + Dimitry comes to you. Would ye, to please + The house of Godunov, uplift a hand + Against the lawful tsar, against the grandson + Of Monomakh? + + THE PEOPLE. Not we. + + PUSHKIN. Townsmen of Moscow! + The world well knows how much ye have endured + Under the rule of the cruel stranger; ban, + Dishonour, executions, taxes, hardships, + Hunger--all these ye have experienced. + Dimitry is disposed to show you favour, + Courtiers, boyars, state-servants, soldiers, strangers, + Merchants--and every honest man. Will ye + Be stubborn without reason, and in pride + Flee from his kindness? But he himself is coming + To his ancestral throne with dreadful escort. + Provoke not ye the tsar to wrath, fear God, + And swear allegiance to the lawful ruler; + Humble yourselves; forthwith send to Dimitry + The Metropolitan, deacons, boyars, + And chosen men, that they may homage do + To their lord and father. + + (Exit. Clamour of the People.) + + THE PEOPLE. What is to be said? + The boyar spake truth. Long live Dimitry, our father! + + A PEASANT ON THE PLATFORM. People! To the Kremlin! + To the Royal palace! + The whelp of Boris go bind! + + THE PEOPLE. (Rushing in a crowd.) + Bind, drown him! Hail + Dimitry! Perish the race of Godunov! + + + + +THE KREMLIN. HOUSE OF BORIS + +A GUARD on the Staircase. FEODOR at a Window + + BEGGAR. Give alms, for Christ's sake. + + GUARD. Go away; it is forbidden to speak to the prisoners. + + FEODOR. Go, old man, I am poorer than thou; thou art at + liberty. + + (KSENIA, veiled, also comes to the window.) + + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Brother and sister--poor children, like + birds in a cage. + + SECOND PERSON. Are you going to pity them? Accursed + Family! + + FIRST PERSON. The father was a villain, but the children are + innocent. + + SECOND PERSON. The apple does not fall far from the + apple-tree. + + KSENIA. Dear brother! Dear brother! I think the boyars + are coming to us. + + FEODOR. That is Golitsin, Mosalsky. I do not know the + others. + + KSENIA. Ah! Dear brother, my heart sinks. + + (GOLITSIN, MOSALSKY, MOLCHANOV, and SHEREFEDINOV; + behind them three archers.) + + THE PEOPLE. Make way, make way; the boyars come. + (They enter the house.) + + ONE OF THE PEOPLE. What have they come for? + + SECOND. Most like to make Feodor Godunov take the oath. + + THIRD. Very like. Hark! What a noise in the house! + What an uproar! They are fighting! + + THE PEOPLE. Do you hear? A scream! That was a + woman's voice. We will go up. We will go up!--The + doors are fastened--the cries cease--the noise continues. + + (The doors are thrown open. MOSALSKY appears on + the staircase.) + + MOSALSKY. People! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor + have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead + bodies. + + (The People are silent with horror.) + + Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the tsar Dimitry + Ivanovich! + + (The People are speechless.) + + +THE END + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Boris Godunov, by Alexander Pushkin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORIS GODUNOV *** + +***** This file should be named 5089.txt or 5089.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/8/5089/ + +Produced by Stephen D. Leary + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Leary mesmerini@yahoo.com + + + + + + +BORIS GODUNOV + +A Drama in Verse + +By ALEXANDER PUSHKIN + +Rendered into English verse by Alfred Hayes + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE* + +BORIS GODUNOV, afterwards Tsar. +PRINCE SHUISKY, Russian noble. +PRINCE VOROTINSKY, Russian noble. +SHCHELKALOV, Russian Minister of State. +FATHER PIMEN, an old monk and chronicler. +GREGORY OTREPIEV, a young monk, afterwards the Pretender +to the throne of Russia. +THE PATRIARCH, Abbot of the Chudov Monastery. +MISSAIL, wandering friar. +VARLAAM, wandering friar. +ATHANASIUS MIKAILOVICH PUSHKIN, friend of Prince Shuisky. +FEODOR, young son of Boris Godunov. +SEMYON NIKITICH GODUNOV, secret agent of Boris Godunov. +GABRIEL PUSHKIN, nephew of A. M. Pushkin. +PRINCE KURBSKY, disgraced Russian noble. +KHRUSHCHOV, disgraced Russian noble. +KARELA, a Cossack. +PRINCE VISHNEVETSKY. +MNISHEK, Governor of Sambor. +BASMANOV, a Russian officer. +MARZHERET, officer of the Pretender. +ROZEN, officer of the Pretender. +DIMITRY, the Pretender, formerly Gregory Otrepiev. +MOSALSKY, a Boyar. +KSENIA, daughter of Boris Godunov. +NURSE of Ksenia. +MARINA, daughter of Mnishek. +ROUZYA, tire-woman of Ksenia. +HOSTESS of tavern. + +Boyars, The People, Inspectors, Officers, Attendants, Guests, +a Boy in attendance on Prince Shuisky, a Catholic Priest, a +Polish Noble, a Poet, an Idiot, a Beggar, Gentlemen, Peasants, +Guards, Russian, Polish, and German Soldiers, a Russian +Prisoner of War, Boys, an old Woman, Ladies, Serving-women. + +*The list of Dramatis Personae which does not appear in the +original has been added for the convenience of the reader--A.H. + + + + +PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + +(FEBRUARY 20th, A.D. 1598) + +PRINCE SHUISKY and VOROTINSKY + +VOROTINSKY. To keep the city's peace, that is the task +Entrusted to us twain, but you forsooth +Have little need to watch; Moscow is empty; +The people to the Monastery have flocked +After the patriarch. What thinkest thou? +How will this trouble end? + +SHUISKY. How will it end? +That is not hard to tell. A little more +The multitude will groan and wail, Boris +Pucker awhile his forehead, like a toper +Eyeing a glass of wine, and in the end +Will humbly of his graciousness consent +To take the crown; and then--and then will rule us +Just as before. + +VOROTINSKY. A month has flown already +Since, cloistered with his sister, he forsook +The world's affairs. None hitherto hath shaken +His purpose, not the patriarch, not the boyars +His counselors; their tears, their prayers he heeds not; +Deaf is he to the wail of Moscow, deaf +To the Great Council's voice; vainly they urged +The sorrowful nun-queen to consecrate +Boris to sovereignty; firm was his sister, +Inexorable as he; methinks Boris +Inspired her with this spirit. What if our ruler +Be sick in very deed of cares of state +And hath no strength to mount the throne? What +Say'st thou? + +SHUISKY. I say that in that case the blood in vain +Flowed of the young tsarevich, that Dimitry +Might just as well be living. + +VOROTINSKY. Fearful crime! +Is it beyond all doubt Boris contrived +The young boy's murder? + +SHUISKY. Who besides? Who else +Bribed Chepchugov in vain? Who sent in secret +The brothers Bityagovsky with Kachalov? +Myself was sent to Uglich, there to probe +This matter on the spot; fresh traces there +I found; the whole town bore witness to the crime; +With one accord the burghers all affirmed it; +And with a single word, when I returned, +I could have proved the secret villain's guilt. + +VOROTINSKY. Why didst thou then not crush him? + +SHUISKY. At the time, +I do confess, his unexpected calmness, +His shamelessness, dismayed me. Honestly +He looked me in the eyes; he questioned me +Closely, and I repeated to his face +The foolish tale himself had whispered to me. + +VOROTINSKY. An ugly business, prince. + +SHUISKY. What could I do? +Declare all to Feodor? But the tsar +Saw all things with the eyes of Godunov. +Heard all things with the ears of Godunov; +Grant even that I might have fully proved it, +Boris would have denied it there and then, +And I should have been haled away to prison, +And in good time--like mine own uncle--strangled +Within the silence of some deaf-walled dungeon. +I boast not when I say that, given occasion, +No penalty affrights me. I am no coward, +But also am no fool, and do not choose +Of my free will to walk into a halter. + +VOROTINSKY. Monstrous misdeed! Listen; I warrant you +Remorse already gnaws the murderer; +Be sure the blood of that same innocent child +Will hinder him from mounting to the throne. + +SHUISKY. That will not baulk him; Boris is not so timid! +What honour for ourselves, ay, for all Russia! +A slave of yesterday, a Tartar, son +By marriage of Maliuta, of a hangman, +Himself in soul a hangman, he to wear +The crown and robe of Monomakh!-- + +VOROTINSKY. You are right; +He is of lowly birth; we twain can boast +A nobler lineage. + +SHUISKY. Indeed we may! + +VOROTINSKY. Let us remember, Shuisky, Vorotinsky +Are, let me say, born princes. + +SHUISKY. Yea, born princes, +And of the blood of Rurik. + +VOROTINSKY. Listen, prince; +Then we, 'twould seem, should have the right to mount +Feodor's throne. + +SHUISKY. Rather than Godunov. + +VOROTINSKY. In very truth 'twould seem so. + +SHUISKY. And what then? +If still Boris pursue his crafty ways, +Let us contrive by skilful means to rouse +The people. Let them turn from Godunov; +Princes they have in plenty of their own; +Let them from out their number choose a tsar. + +VOROTINSKY. Of us, Varyags in blood, there are full many, +But 'tis no easy thing for us to vie +With Godunov; the people are not wont +To recognise in us an ancient branch +Of their old warlike masters; long already +Have we our appanages forfeited, +Long served but as lieutenants of the tsars, +And he hath known, by fear, and love, and glory, +How to bewitch the people. + +SHUISKY. (Looking through a window.) He has dared, +That's all--while we--Enough of this. Thou seest +Dispersedly the people are returning. +We'll go forthwith and learn what is resolved. + + + + +THE RED SQUARE + +THE PEOPLE + +1ST PERSON. He is inexorable! He thrust from him +Prelates, boyars, and Patriarch; in vain +Prostrate they fall; the splendour of the throne +Affrights him. + +2ND PERSON. O, my God, who is to rule us? +O, woe to us! + +3RD PERSON. See! The Chief Minister +Is coming out to tell us what the Council +Has now resolved. + +THE PEOPLE. Silence! Silence! He speaks, +The Minister of State. Hush, hush! Give ear! + +SHCHELKALOV. (From the Red Balcony.) +The Council have resolved for the last time +To put to proof the power of supplication +Upon our ruler's mournful soul. At dawn, +After a solemn service in the Kremlin, +The blessed Patriarch will go, preceded +By sacred banners, with the holy ikons +Of Donsky and Vladimir; with him go +The Council, courtiers, delegates, boyars, +And all the orthodox folk of Moscow; all +Will go to pray once more the queen to pity +Fatherless Moscow, and to consecrate +Boris unto the crown. Now to your homes +Go ye in peace: pray; and to Heaven shall rise +The heart's petition of the orthodox. + +(The PEOPLE disperse.) + + + + +THE VIRGIN'S FIELD + +THE NEW NUNNERY. The People. + +1ST PERSON. To plead with the tsaritsa in her cell +Now are they gone. Thither have gone Boris, +The Patriarch, and a host of boyars. + +2ND PERSON. What news? + +3RD PERSON. Still is he obdurate; yet there is hope. + +PEASANT WOMAN. (With a child.) +Drat you! Stop crying, or else the bogie-man +Will carry you off. Drat you, drat you! Stop crying! + +1ST PERSON. Can't we slip through behind the fence? + +2ND PERSON. Impossible! +No chance at all! Not only is the nunnery +Crowded; the precincts too are crammed with people. +Look what a sight! All Moscow has thronged here. +See! Fences, roofs, and every single storey +Of the Cathedral bell tower, the church-domes, +The very crosses are studded thick with people. + +1ST PERSON. A goodly sight indeed! + +2ND PERSON. What is that noise? + +3RD PERSON. Listen! What noise is that?--The people groaned; +See there! They fall like waves, row upon row-- +Again--again-- Now, brother, 'tis our turn; +Be quick, down on your knees! + +THE PEOPLE. (On their knees, groaning and wailing.) + Have pity on us, +Our father! O, rule over us! O, be +Father to us, and tsar! + +1ST PERSON. (Sotto voce.) Why are they wailing? + +2ND PERSON. How can we know? The boyars know well enough. +It's not our business. + +PEASANT WOMAN. (With child.) + Now, what's this? Just when +It ought to cry, the child stops crying. I'll show you! +Here comes the bogie-man! Cry, cry, you spoilt one! +(Throws it on the ground; the child screams.) +That's right, that's right! + +1ST PERSON. As everyone is crying, +We also, brother, will begin to cry. + +2ND PERSON. Brother, I try my best, but can't. + +1ST PERSON. Nor I. +Have you not got an onion? + +2ND PERSON. No; I'll wet +My eyes with spittle. What's up there now? + +1ST PERSON. Who knows +What's going on? + +THE PEOPLE. The crown for him! He is tsar! +He has yielded!--Boris!--Our tsar!--Long live Boris! + + + + +THE PALACE OF THE KREMLIN + +BORIS, PATRIARCH, Boyars + +BORIS. Thou, father Patriarch, all ye boyars! +My soul lies bare before you; ye have seen +With what humility and fear I took +This mighty power upon me. Ah! How heavy +My weight of obligation! I succeed +The great Ivans; succeed the angel tsar!-- +O Righteous Father, King Of kings, look down +From Heaven upon the tears of Thy true servants, +And send on him whom Thou hast loved, whom Thou +Exalted hast on earth so wondrously, +Thy holy blessing. May I rule my people +In glory, and like Thee be good and righteous! +To you, boyars, I look for help. Serve me +As ye served him, what time I shared your labours, +Ere I was chosen by the people's will. + +BOYARS. We will not from our plighted oath depart. + +BORIS. Now let us go to kneel before the tombs +Of Russia's great departed rulers. Then +Bid summon all our people to a feast, +All, from the noble to the poor blind beggar. +To all free entrance, all most welcome guests. + +(Exit, the Boyars following.) + +PRINCE VOROTINSKY. (Stopping Shuisky.) +You rightly guessed. + +SHUISKY. Guessed what? + +VOROTINSKY. Why, you remember-- +The other day, here on this very spot. + +SHUISKY. No, I remember nothing. + +VOROTINSKY. When the people +Flocked to the Virgin's Field, thou said'st-- + +SHUISKY. 'Tis not +The time for recollection. There are times +When I should counsel you not to remember, +But even to forget. And for the rest, +I sought but by feigned calumny to prove thee, +The truelier to discern thy secret thoughts. +But see! The people hail the tsar--my absence +May be remarked. I'll join them. + +VOROTINSKY. Wily courtier! + + + + +NIGHT + +Cell in the Monastery of Chudov (A.D. 1603) + +FATHER PIMEN, GREGORY (sleeping) + +PIMEN (Writing in front of a sacred lamp.) +One more, the final record, and my annals +Are ended, and fulfilled the duty laid +By God on me a sinner. Not in vain +Hath God appointed me for many years +A witness, teaching me the art of letters; +A day will come when some laborious monk +Will bring to light my zealous, nameless toil, +Kindle, as I, his lamp, and from the parchment +Shaking the dust of ages will transcribe +My true narrations, that posterity +The bygone fortunes of the orthodox +Of their own land may learn, will mention make +Of their great tsars, their labours, glory, goodness-- +And humbly for their sins, their evil deeds, +Implore the Saviour's mercy.--In old age +I live anew; the past unrolls before me.-- +Did it in years long vanished sweep along, +Full of events, and troubled like the deep? +Now it is hushed and tranquil. Few the faces +Which memory hath saved for me, and few +The words which have come down to me;--the rest +Have perished, never to return.--But day +Draws near, the lamp burns low, one record more, +The last. (He writes.) + +GREGORY. (Waking.) Ever the selfsame dream! Is 't possible? +For the third time! Accursed dream! And ever +Before the lamp sits the old man and writes-- +And not all night, 'twould seem, from drowsiness, +Hath closed his eyes. I love the peaceful sight, +When, with his soul deep in the past immersed, +He keeps his chronicle. Oft have I longed +To guess what 'tis he writes of. Is 't perchance +The dark dominion of the Tartars? Is it +Ivan's grim punishments, the stormy Council +of Novgorod? Is it about the glory +Of our dear fatherland?--I ask in vain! +Not on his lofty brow, nor in his looks +May one peruse his secret thoughts; always +The same aspect; lowly at once, and lofty-- +Like some state Minister grown grey in office, +Calmly alike he contemplates the just +And guilty, with indifference he hears +Evil and good, and knows not wrath nor pity. + +PIMEN. Wakest thou, brother? + +GREGORY. Honoured father, give me +Thy blessing. + +PIMEN. May God bless thee on this day, +Tomorrow, and for ever. + +GREGORY. All night long +Thou hast been writing and abstained from sleep, +While demon visions have disturbed my peace, +The fiend molested me. I dreamed I scaled +By winding stairs a turret, from whose height +Moscow appeared an anthill, where the people +Seethed in the squares below and pointed at me +With laughter. Shame and terror came upon me-- +And falling headlong, I awoke. Three times +I dreamed the selfsame dream. Is it not strange? + +PIMEN. 'Tis the young blood at play; humble thyself +By prayer and fasting, and thy slumber's visions +Will all be filled with lightness. Hitherto +If I, unwillingly by drowsiness +Weakened, make not at night long orisons, +My old-man's sleep is neither calm nor sinless; +Now riotous feasts appear, now camps of war, +Scuffles of battle, fatuous diversions +Of youthful years. + +GREGORY. How joyfully didst thou +Live out thy youth! The fortress of Kazan +Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse +The army of Litva. Thou hast seen the court, +And splendour of Ivan. Ah! Happy thou! +Whilst I, from boyhood up, a wretched monk, +Wander from cell to cell! Why unto me +Was it not given to play the game of war, +To revel at the table of a tsar? +Then, like to thee, would I in my old age +Have gladly from the noisy world withdrawn, +To vow myself a dedicated monk, +And in the quiet cloister end my days. + +PIMEN. Complain not, brother, that the sinful world +Thou early didst forsake, that few temptations +The All-Highest sent to thee. Believe my words; +The glory of the world, its luxury, +Woman's seductive love, seen from afar, +Enslave our souls. Long have I lived, have taken +Delight in many things, but never knew +True bliss until that season when the Lord +Guided me to the cloister. Think, my son, +On the great tsars; who loftier than they? +God only. Who dares thwart them? None. What then? +Often the golden crown became to them +A burden; for a cowl they bartered it. +The tsar Ivan sought in monastic toil +Tranquility; his palace, filled erewhile +With haughty minions, grew to all appearance +A monastery; the very rakehells seemed +Obedient monks, the terrible tsar appeared +A pious abbot. Here, in this very cell +(At that time Cyril, the much suffering, +A righteous man, dwelt in it; even me +God then made comprehend the nothingness +Of worldly vanities), here I beheld, +Weary of angry thoughts and executions, +The tsar; among us, meditative, quiet +Here sat the Terrible; we motionless +Stood in his presence, while he talked with us +In tranquil tones. Thus spake he to the abbot +And all the brothers: "My fathers, soon will come +The longed-for day; here shall I stand before you, +Hungering for salvation; Nicodemus, +Thou Sergius, Cyril thou, will all accept +My spiritual vow; to you I soon shall come +Accurst in sin, here the clean habit take, +Prostrate, most holy father, at thy feet." +So spake the sovereign lord, and from his lips +Sweetly the accents flowed. He wept; and we +With tears prayed God to send His love and peace +Upon his suffering and stormy soul.-- +What of his son Feodor? On the throne +He sighed to lead the life of calm devotion. +The royal chambers to a cell of prayer +He turned, wherein the heavy cares of state +Vexed not his holy soul. God grew to love +The tsar's humility; in his good days +Russia was blest with glory undisturbed, +And in the hour of his decease was wrought +A miracle unheard of; at his bedside, +Seen by the tsar alone, appeared a being +Exceeding bright, with whom Feodor 'gan +To commune, calling him great Patriarch;-- +And all around him were possessed with fear, +Musing upon the vision sent from Heaven, +Since at that time the Patriarch was not present +In church before the tsar. And when he died +The palace was with holy fragrance filled. +And like the sun his countenance outshone. +Never again shall we see such a tsar.-- +O, horrible, appalling woe! We have sinned, +We have angered God; we have chosen for our ruler +A tsar's assassin. + +GREGORY. Honoured father, long +Have I desired to ask thee of the death +Of young Dimitry, the tsarevich; thou, +'Tis said, wast then at Uglich. + +PIMEN. Ay, my son, +I well remember. God it was who led me +To witness that ill deed, that bloody sin. +I at that time was sent to distant Uglich +Upon some mission. I arrived at night. +Next morning, at the hour of holy mass, +I heard upon a sudden a bell toll; +'Twas the alarm bell. Then a cry, an uproar; +Men rushing to the court of the tsaritsa. +Thither I haste, and there had flocked already +All Uglich. There I see the young tsarevich +Lie slaughtered: the queen mother in a swoon +Bowed over him, his nurse in her despair +Wailing; and then the maddened people drag +The godless, treacherous nurse away. Appears +Suddenly in their midst, wild, pale with rage, +Judas Bityagovsky. "There, there's the villain!" +Shout on all sides the crowd, and in a trice +He was no more. Straightway the people rushed +On the three fleeing murderers; they seized +The hiding miscreants and led them up +To the child's corpse yet warm; when lo! A marvel-- +The dead child all at once began to tremble! +"Confess!" the people thundered; and in terror +Beneath the axe the villains did confess-- +And named Boris. + +GREGORY. How many summers lived +The murdered boy? + +PIMEN. Seven summers; he would now +(Since then have passed ten years--nay, more--twelve years) +He would have been of equal age to thee, +And would have reigned; but God deemed otherwise. +This is the lamentable tale wherewith +My chronicle doth end; since then I little +Have dipped in worldly business. Brother Gregory, +Thou hast illumed thy mind by earnest study; +To thee I hand my task. In hours exempt +From the soul's exercise, do thou record, +Not subtly reasoning, all things whereto +Thou shalt in life be witness; war and peace, +The sway of kings, the holy miracles +Of saints, all prophecies and heavenly signs;-- +For me 'tis time to rest and quench my lamp.-- +But hark! The matin bell. Bless, Lord, Thy servants! +Give me my crutch. + +(Exit.) + +GREGORY. Boris, Boris, before thee +All tremble; none dares even to remind thee +Of what befell the hapless child; meanwhile +Here in dark cell a hermit doth indite +Thy stern denunciation. Thou wilt not +Escape the judgment even of this world, +As thou wilt not escape the doom of God. + + + + +FENCE OF THE MONASTERY* + +*This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the published version of +the play. + +GREGORY and a Wicked Monk + +GREGORY. O, what a weariness is our poor life, +What misery! Day comes, day goes, and ever +Is seen, is heard one thing alone; one sees +Only black cassocks, only hears the bell. +Yawning by day you wander, wander, nothing +To do; you doze; the whole night long till daylight +The poor monk lies awake; and when in sleep +You lose yourself, black dreams disturb the soul; +Glad that they sound the bell, that with a crutch +They rouse you. No, I will not suffer it! +I cannot! Through this fence I'll flee! The world +Is great; my path is on the highways never +Thou'lt hear of me again. + +MONK. Truly your life +Is but a sorry one, ye dissolute, +Wicked young monks! + +GREGORY. Would that the Khan again +Would come upon us, or Lithuania rise +Once more in insurrection. Good! I would then +Cross swords with them! Or what if the tsarevich +Should suddenly arise from out the grave, +Should cry, "Where are ye, children, faithful servants? +Help me against Boris, against my murderer! +Seize my foe, lead him to me!" + +MONK. Enough, my friend, +Of empty babble. We cannot raise the dead. +No, clearly it was fated otherwise +For the tsarevich-- But hearken; if you wish +To do a thing, then do it. + +GREGORY. What to do? + +MONK. If I were young as thou, if these grey hairs +Had not already streaked my beard-- Dost take me? + +GREGORY. Not I. + +MONK. Hearken; our folk are dull of brain, +Easy of faith, and glad to be amazed +By miracles and novelties. The boyars +Remember Godunov as erst he was, +Peer to themselves; and even now the race +Of the old Varyags is loved by all. Thy years +Match those of the tsarevich. If thou hast +Cunning and hardihood-- Dost take me now? + +GREGORY. I take thee. + +MONK. Well, what say'st thou? + +GREGORY. 'Tis resolved. +I am Dimitry, I tsarevich! + +MONK. Give me +Thy hand, my bold young friend. Thou shalt be tsar! + + + + +PALACE OF THE PATRIARCH + +PATRIARCH, ABBOT of the Chudov Monastery + +PATRIARCH. And he has run away, Father Abbot? + +ABBOT. He has run away, holy sovereign, now three days ago. + +PATRIARCH. Accursed rascal! What is his origin? + +ABBOT. Of the family of the Otrepievs, of the lower nobility +of Galicia; in his youth he took the tonsure, no one +knows where, lived at Suzdal, in the Ephimievsky +monastery, departed from there, wandered to various +convents, finally arrived at my Chudov fraternity; +but I, seeing that he was still young and inexperienced, +entrusted him at the outset to Father Pimen, an old man, +kind and humble. And he was very learned, read our +chronicle, composed canons for the holy brethren; but, +to be sure, instruction was not given to him from the +Lord God-- + +PATRIARCH. Ah, those learned fellows! What a thing to +say, "I shall be tsar in Moscow." Ah, he is a vessel of +the devil! However, it is no use even to report to the +tsar about this; why disquiet our father sovereign? +It will be enough to give information about his flight to +the Secretary Smirnov or the Secretary Ephimiev. +What a heresy: "I shall be tsar in Moscow!"... +Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send him to +Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this--is it not +heresy, Father Abbot? + +ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy. + + + + +PALACE OF THE TSAR + +Two Attendants + +1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign? + +2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber, +Where he is closeted with some magician. + +1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves; +Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers. +Ever he seeks to dip into the future, +Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know +What 'tis he would foretell. + +2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes. +Will it please you question him? + +1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks! + +(Exeunt.) + +TSAR. (Enters.) I have attained the highest power. Six years +Already have I reigned in peace; but joy +Dwells not within my soul. Even so in youth +We greedily desire the joys of love, +But only quell the hunger of the heart +With momentary possession. We grow cold, +Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards +Promise me length of days, days of dominion +Immune from treachery--not power, not life +Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven +And woe. For me no happiness. I thought +To satisfy my people in contentment, +In glory, gain their love by generous gifts, +But I have put away that empty hope; +The power that lives is hateful to the mob,-- +Only the dead they love. We are but fools +When our heart vibrates to the people's groans +And passionate wailing. Lately on our land +God sent a famine; perishing in torments +The people uttered moan. The granaries +I made them free of, scattered gold among them, +Found labour for them; furious for my pains +They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed their homes; +I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth +They blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob, +Such is its judgment! Seek its love, indeed! +I thought within my family to find +Solace; I thought to make my daughter happy +By wedlock. Like a tempest Death took off +Her bridegroom--and at once a stealthy rumour +Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief-- +Me, me, the hapless father! Whoso dies, +I am the secret murderer of all; +I hastened Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned +My sister-queen, the lowly nun--all I! +Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace +Mid worldly cares, nothing save only conscience! +Healthy she triumphs over wickedness, +Over dark slander; but if in her be found +A single casual stain, then misery. +With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart; +My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer +Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me, +And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children +Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee, +But nowhere can find refuge--horrible! +Pitiful he whose conscience is unclean! + + + + +TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + +MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; +GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS + +HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend +honoured guests? + +VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you +no wine? + +HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at +once. (Exit.) + +MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very +Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach. + +GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not +Be content. + +VARLAAM. What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania! +Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fled +from the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was it +Lithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer? +All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's the +main thing! + +MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + +HOSTESS. (Enters.) +There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health. + +MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The +monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest +by, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join +in the song? Not even join in the song? + +GREGORY. I don't wish to. + +MISSAIL. Everyone to his liking-- + +VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.* Father Missail! +We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where +the brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail, +when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness +is one thing--but pride quite another. If you want +to live as we do, you are welcome. No?--then take +yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no +companion for a priest. + +[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot be +satisfactorily rendered into English.] + +GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,* +Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how +to make puns. + +[*The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot be +satisfactorily rendered into English.] + +VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself? + +MISSAIL. Let him alone, Father Varlaam. + +VARLAAM. But what sort of a fasting man is he? Of his +own accord he attached himself as a companion to us; +no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes-- +and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a +close acquaintance with the pillory. (Drinks and sings: +"A young monk took the tonsure," etc.) + +GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road? + +HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains. + +GREGORY. And is it far to the Luyov mountains? + +HOSTESS. Not far; you might get there by evening, but for +the tsar's frontier barriers, and the captains of the +guard. + +GREGORY. What say you? Barriers! What means this? + +HOSTESS. Someone has escaped from Moscow, and orders +have been given to detain and search everyone. + +GREGORY. (Aside.) Here's a pretty mess! + +VARLAAM. Hallo, comrade! You've been making up to +mine hostess. To be sure you don't want vodka, but +you want a young woman. All right, brother, all right! +Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and I +have only one thing which we care for--we drink to the +bottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock at +the bottom. + +MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam. + +GREGORY. (To Hostess.) Whom do they want? Who +escaped from Moscow? + +HOSTESS. God knows; a thief perhaps, a robber. But here +even good folk are worried now. And what will come of +it? Nothing. They will not catch the old devil; as if +there were no other road into Lithuania than the highway! +Just turn to the left from here, then by the pinewood +or by the footpath as far as the chapel on the +Chekansky brook, and then straight across the marsh to +Khlopin, and thence to Zakhariev, and then any child +will guide you to the Luyov mountains. The only good +of these inspectors is to worry passers-by and rob us poor +folk. (A noise is heard.) What's that? Ah, there +they are, curse them! They are going their rounds. + +GREGORY. Hostess! Is there another room in the cottage? + +HOSTESS. No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide. +But they are only pretending to go their rounds; but +give them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what-- +May perdition take them, the accursed ones! May-- + +(Enter OFFICERS.) + +OFFICERS. Good health to you, mine hostess! + +HOSTESS. You are kindly welcome, dear guests. + +AN OFFICER. (To another.) Ha, there's drinking going on +here; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.) +Who are you? + +VARLAAM. We--are two old clerics, humble monks; we are +going from village to village, and collecting Christian +alms for the monastery. + +OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) And thou? + +MISSAIL. Our comrade. + +GREGORY. A layman from the suburb; I have conducted the +old men as far as the frontier; from here I am going to +my own home. + +MISSAIL. So you have changed your mind? + +GREGORY. (Sotto voce.) Be silent. + +OFFICER. Hostess, bring some more wine, and we will +drink here a little and talk a little with these old men. + +2ND OFFICER. (Sotto voce.) Yon lad, it appears, is poor; +there's nothing to be got out of him; on the other hand +the old men-- + +1ST OFFICER. Be silent; we shall come to them presently. +--Well, my fathers, how are you getting on? + +VARLAAM. Badly, my sons, badly! The Christians have +now turned stingy; they love their money; they hide +their money. They give little to God. The people of +the world have become great sinners. They have all +devoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; they +think of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul. +You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes in +three days begging will not bring you three half-pence. +What a sin! A week goes by; another week; you look +into your bag, and there is so little in it that you are +ashamed to show yourself at the monastery. What are +you to do? From very sorrow you drink away what is +left; a real calamity! Ah, it is bad! It seems our last +days have come-- + +HOSTESS. (Weeps.) God pardon and save you! +(During the course of VARLAAM'S speech the 1st +OFFICER watches MISSAIL significantly.) + +1ST OFFICER. Alexis! Have you the tsar's edict with you? + +2ND OFFICER. I have it. + +1ST OFFICER. Give it here. + +MISSAIL. Why do you look at me so fixedly? + +1ST OFFICER. This is why; from Moscow there has fled a +certain wicked heretic--Grishka Otrepiev. Have you +heard this? + +MISSAIL. I have not heard it. + +OFFICER. Not heard it? Very good. And the tsar has +ordered to arrest and hang the fugitive heretic. Do you +know this? + +MISSAIL. I do not know it. + +OFFICER. (To VARLAAM.) Do you know how to read? + +VARLAAM. In my youth I knew how, but I have forgotten. + +OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) And thou? + +MISSAIL. God has not made me wise. + +OFFICER. So then here's the tsar's edict. + +MISSAIL. What do I want it for? + +OFFICER. It seems to me that this fugitive heretic, thief, +swindler, is--thou. + +MISSAIL. I? Good gracious! What are you talking about? + +OFFICER. Stay! Hold the doors. Then we shall soon get +at the truth. + +HOSTESS. O the cursed tormentors! Not to leave even the +old man in peace! + +OFFICER. Which of you here is a scholar? + +GREGORY. (Comes forward.) I am a scholar! + +OFFICER. Oh, indeed! And from whom did you learn? + +GREGORY. From our sacristan. + +OFFICER (Gives him the edict.) Read it aloud. + +GREGORY. (Reads.) "An unworthy monk of the Monastery +Of Chudov, Gregory, of the family of Otrepiev, has fallen +into heresy, taught by the devil, and has dared to vex +the holy brotherhood by all kinds of iniquities and acts +of lawlessness. And, according to information, it has +been shown that he, the accursed Grishka, has fled to the +Lithuanian frontier." + +OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) How can it be anyone but you? + +GREGORY. "And the tsar has commanded to arrest him--" + +OFFICER. And to hang! + +GREGORY. It does not say here "to hang." + +OFFICER. Thou liest. What is meant is not always put into +writing. Read: to arrest and to hang. + +GREGORY. "And to hang. And the age of the thief +Grishka" (looking at VARLAAM) "about fifty, and his +height medium; he has a bald head, grey beard, fat +belly." + +(All glance at VARLAAM.) + +1ST OFFICER, My lads! Here is Grishka! Hold him! +Bind him! I never thought to catch him so quickly. + +VARLAAM. (Snatching the paper.) Hands off, my lads! +What sort of a Grishka am I? What! Fifty years old, +grey beard, fat belly! No, brother. You're too young +to play off tricks on me. I have not read for a long time +and I make it out badly, but I shall manage to make it +out, as it's a hanging matter. (Spells it out.) "And his +age twenty." Why, brother, where does it say fifty?-- +Do you see--twenty? + +2ND OFFICER. Yes, I remember, twenty; even so it was +told us. + +1ST OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) Then, evidently, you like a +joke, brother. + +(During the reading GREGORY stands with downcast +head, and his hand in his breast.) + +VARLAAM. (Continues.) "And in stature he is small, chest +broad, one arm shorter than the other, blue eyes, red +hair, a wart on his cheek, another on his forehead." +Then is it not you, my friend? + +(GREGORY suddenly draws a dagger; all give way +before him; he dashes through the window.) + +OFFICERS. Hold him! Hold him! + +(All run out in disorder.) + + + + +MOSCOW. SHUISKY'S HOUSE + +SHUISKY. A number of Guests. Supper + +SHUISKY. More wine! Now, my dear guests. + +(He rises; all rise after him.) + + The final draught! +Read the prayer, boy. + +Boy. Lord of the heavens, Who art +Eternally and everywhere, accept +The prayer of us Thy servants. For our monarch, +By Thee appointed, for our pious tsar, +Of all good Christians autocrat, we pray. +Preserve him in the palace, on the field +Of battle, on his nightly couch; grant to him +Victory o'er his foes; from sea to sea +May he be glorified; may all his house +Blossom with health, and may its precious branches +O'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves, +May he, as heretofore, be generous. +Gracious, long-suffering, and may the founts +Of his unfailing wisdom flow upon us; +Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens, +For this we pray. + +SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign! +Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned not +My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night. + +(Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.) + +PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed, +Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that we +should not succeed in getting any private talk. + +SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you stand +Gaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clear +the table, and then be off. + +(Exeunt Servants.) + + What is it, Athanasius +Mikailovitch? + +PUSHKIN. Such a wondrous thing! +A message was sent here to me today +From Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin. + +SHUISKY. Well? + +PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son +Of the Terrible-- But stay-- + +(Goes to the door and examines it.) + + The royal boy, +Who murdered was by order of Boris-- + +SHUISKY. But these are no new tidings. + +PUSHKIN. Wait a little; +Dimitry lives. + +SHUISKY. So that's it! News indeed! +Dimitry living!--Really marvelous! +And is that all? + +PUSHKIN. Pray listen to the end; +Whoe'er he be, whether he be Dimitry +Rescued, or else some spirit in his shape, +Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender, +In any case Dimitry has appeared. + +SHUISKY. It cannot be. + +PUSHKIN. Pushkin himself beheld him +When first he reached the court, and through the ranks +Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight +Into the secret chamber of the king. + +SHUISKY. What kind of man? Whence comes he? + +PUSHKIN. No one knows. +'Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky's servant; +That to a ghostly father on a bed +Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed +Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him, +>From his sick bed upraised him, and straightway +Took him to Sigismund. + +SHUISKY. And what say men +Of this bold fellow? + +PUSHKIN. 'Tis said that he is wise, +Affable, cunning, popular with all men. +He has bewitched the fugitives from Moscow, +The Catholic priests see eye to eye with him. +The King caresses him, and, it is said, +Has promised help. + +SHUISKY. All this is such a medley +That my head whirls. Brother, beyond all doubt +This man is a pretender, but the danger +Is, I confess, not slight. This is grave news! +And if it reach the people, then there'll be +A mighty tempest. + +PUSHKIN. Such a storm that hardly +Will Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crown +Upon his clever head; and losing it +Will get but his deserts! He governs us +As did the tsar Ivan of evil memory. +What profits it that public executions +Have ceased, that we no longer sing in public +Hymns to Christ Jesus on the field of blood; +That we no more are burnt in public places, +Or that the tsar no longer with his sceptre +Rakes in the ashes? Is there any safety +In our poor life? Each day disgrace awaits us; +The dungeon or Siberia, cowl or fetters, +And then in some deaf nook a starving death, +Or else the halter. Where are the most renowned +Of all our houses, where the Sitsky princes, +Where are the Shestunovs, where the Romanovs, +Hope of our fatherland? Imprisoned, tortured, +In exile. Do but wait, and a like fate +Will soon be thine. Think of it! Here at home, +Just as in Lithuania, we're beset +By treacherous slaves--and tongues are ever ready +For base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State. +We hang upon the word of the first servant +Whom we may please to punish. Then he bethought him +To take from us our privilege of hiring +Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters +Of our own lands. Presume not to dismiss +An idler. Willy nilly, thou must feed him! +Presume not to outbid a man in hiring +A labourer, or you will find yourself +In the Court's clutches.--Was such an evil heard of +Even under tsar Ivan? And are the people +The better off? Ask them. Let the pretender +But promise them the old free right of transfer, +Then there'll be sport. + +SHUISKY. Thou'rt right; but be advised; +Of this, of all things, for a time we'll speak +No word. + +PUSHKIN. Assuredly, keep thine own counsel. +Thou art--a person of discretion; always +I am glad to commune with thee; and if aught +At any time disturbs me, I endure not +To keep it from thee; and, truth to tell, thy mead +And velvet ale today have so untied +My tongue...Farewell then, prince. + +SHUISKY. Brother, farewell. +Farewell, my brother, till we meet again. + +(He escorts PUSHKIN out.) + + + + +PALACE OF THE TSAR + +The TSAREVICH is drawing a map. The +TSAREVNA. The NURSE of the Tsarevna + +KSENIA. (Kisses a portrait.) My dear bridegroom, comely +son of a king, not to me wast thou given, not to thy +affianced bride, but to a dark sepulchre in a strange +land; never shall I take comfort, ever shall I weep for +thee. + +NURSE. Eh, tsarevna! A maiden weeps as the dew falls; +the sun will rise, will dry the dew. Thou wilt have +another bridegroom--and handsome and affable. My +charming child, thou wilt learn to love him, thou wilt +forget Ivan the king's son. + +KSENIA. Nay, nurse, I will be true to him even in death. + +(Boris enters.) + +TSAR. What, Ksenia? What, my sweet one? In thy girlhood +Already a woe-stricken widow, ever +Bewailing thy dead bridegroom! Fate forbade me +To be the author of thy bliss. Perchance +I angered Heaven; it was not mine to compass +Thy happiness. Innocent one, for what +Art thou a sufferer? And thou, my son, +With what art thou employed? What's this? + +FEODOR. A chart +Of all the land of Muscovy; our tsardom +From end to end. Here you see; there is Moscow, +There Novgorod, there Astrakhan. Here lies +The sea, here the dense forest tract of Perm, +And here Siberia. + +TSAR. And what is this +Which makes a winding pattern here? + +FEODOR. That is +The Volga. + +TSAR. Very good! Here's the sweet fruit +Of learning. One can view as from the clouds +Our whole dominion at a glance; its frontiers, +Its towns, its rivers. Learn, my son; 'tis science +Which gives to us an abstract of the events +Of our swift-flowing life. Some day, perchance +Soon, all the lands which thou so cunningly +Today hast drawn on paper, all will come +Under thy hand. Learn, therefore; and more smoothly, +More clearly wilt thou take, my son, upon thee +The cares of state. + +(SEMYON Godunov enters.) + + But there comes Godunov +Bringing reports to me. (To KSENIA.) Go to thy chamber +Dearest; farewe1l, my child; God comfort thee. + +(Exeunt KSENIA and NURSE.) + +What news hast thou for me, Semyon Nikitich? + +SEMYON G. Today at dawn the butler of Prince Shuisky +And Pushkin's servant brought me information. + +TSAR. Well? + +SEMYON G. In the first place Pushkin's man deposed +That yestermorn came to his house from Cracow +A courier, who within an hour was sent +Without a letter back. + +TSAR. Arrest the courier. + +SEMYON G. Some are already sent to overtake him. + +TSAR. And what of Shuisky? + +SEMYON G. Last night he entertained +His friends; the Buturlins, both Miloslavskys, +And Saltikov, with Pushkin and some others. +They parted late. Pushkin alone remained +Closeted with his host and talked with him +A long time more. + +TSAR. For Shuisky send forthwith. + +SEMYON G. Sire, he is here already. + +TSAR. Call him hither. + +(Exit SEMYON Godunov.) + +Dealings with Lithuania? What means this? +I like not the seditious race of Pushkins, +Nor must I trust in Shuisky, obsequious, +But bold and wily-- + +(Enter SHUISKY.) + + Prince, I must speak with thee. +But thou thyself, it seems, hast business with me, +And I would listen first to thee. + +SHUISKY. Yea, sire; +It is my duty to convey to thee +Grave news. + +TSAR. I listen. + +SHUISKY. (Sotto voce, pointing to FEODOR.) + But, sire-- + +TSAR. The tsarevich +May learn whate'er Prince Shuisky knoweth. Speak. + +SHUISKY. My liege, from Lithuania there have come +Tidings to us-- + +TSAR. Are they not those same tidings +Which yestereve a courier bore to Pushkin? + +SHUISKY. Nothing is hidden from him!--Sire, I thought +Thou knew'st not yet this secret. + +TSAR. Let not that +Trouble thee, prince; I fain would scrutinise +Thy information; else we shall not learn +The actual truth. + +SHUISKY. I know this only, Sire; +In Cracow a pretender hath appeared; +The king and nobles back him. + +TSAR. What say they? +And who is this pretender? + +SHUISKY. I know not. + +TSAR. But wherein is he dangerous? + +SHUISKY. Verily +Thy state, my liege, is firm; by graciousness, +Zeal, bounty, thou hast won the filial love +Of all thy slaves; but thou thyself dost know +The mob is thoughtless, changeable, rebellious, +Credulous, lightly given to vain hope, +Obedient to each momentary impulse, +To truth deaf and indifferent; it feedeth +On fables; shameless boldness pleaseth it. +So, if this unknown vagabond should cross +The Lithuanian border, Dimitry's name +Raised from the grave will gain him a whole crowd +Of fools. + +TSAR. Dimitry's?--What?--That child's?--Dimitry's? +Withdraw, tsarevich. + +SHUISKY. He flushed; there'll be a storm! + +FEODOR. Suffer me, Sire-- + +TSAR. Impossible, my son; +Go, go! + +(Exit FEODOR.) + + Dimitry's name! + +SHUISKY. Then he knew nothing. + +TSAR. Listen: take steps this very hour that Russia +Be fenced by barriers from Lithuania; +That not a single soul pass o'er the border, +That not a hare run o'er to us from Poland, +Nor crow fly here from Cracow. Away! + +SHUISKY. I go. + +TSAR. Stay!--Is it not a fact that this report +Is artfully concocted? Hast ever heard +That dead men have arisen from their graves +To question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed, +Chosen by the voice of all the people, crowned +By the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable? +Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat? + +SHUISKY. I, Sire? + +TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this child +Had been--this child had somehow lost its life, +'Twas thou I sent to search the matter out. +Now by the Cross and God I do adjure thee, +Declare to me the truth upon thy conscience; +Didst recognise the slaughtered boy; was't not +A substitute? Reply. + +SHUISKY. I swear to thee-- + +TSAR. Nay, Shuisky, swear not, but reply; was it +Indeed Dimitry? + +SHUISKY. He. + +TSAR. Consider, prince. +I promise clemency; I will not punish +With vain disgrace a lie that's past. But if +Thou now beguile me, then by my son's head +I swear--an evil fate shall overtake thee, +Requital such that Tsar Ivan Vasilievich +Shall shudder in his grave with horror of it. + +SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terror +Doth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presence +Dare I use cunning? Could I deceive myself +So blindly as not recognise Dimitry? +Three days in the cathedral did I visit +His corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich. +Around him thirteen bodies lay of those +Slain by the people, and on them corruption +Already had set in perceptibly. +But lo! The childish face of the tsarevich +Was bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep; +The deep gash had congealed not, nor the lines +Of his face even altered. No, my liege, +There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave. + +TSAR. Enough, withdraw. + +(Exit SHUISKY.) + + I choke!--let me get my breath! +I felt it; all my blood surged to my face, +And heavily fell back.--So that is why +For thirteen years together I have dreamed +Ever about the murdered child. Yes, yes-- +'Tis that!--now I perceive. But who is he, +My terrible antagonist? Who is it +Opposeth me? An empty name, a shadow. +Can it be a shade shall tear from me the purple, +A sound deprive my children of succession? +Fool that I was! Of what was I afraid? +Blow on this phantom--and it is no more. +So, I am fast resolved; I'll show no sign +Of fear, but nothing must be held in scorn. +Ah! Heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh! + + + + +CRACOW. HOUSE OF VISHNEVETSKY + +The PRETENDER and a CATHOLIC PRIEST + +PRETENDER. Nay, father, there will be no trouble. I know +The spirit of my people; piety +Does not run wild in them, their tsar's example +To them is sacred. Furthermore, the people +Are always tolerant. I warrant you, +Before two years my people all, and all +The Eastern Church, will recognise the power +Of Peter's Vicar. + +PRIEST. May Saint Ignatius aid thee +When other times shall come. Meanwhile, tsarevich, +Hide in thy soul the seed of heavenly blessing; +Religious duty bids us oft dissemble +Before the blabbing world; the people judge +Thy words, thy deeds; God only sees thy motives. + +PRETENDER. Amen. Who's there? + +(Enter a Servant.) + + Say that we will receive them. + +(The doors are opened; a crowd of Russians and Poles enters.) + +Comrades! Tomorrow we depart from Cracow. +Mnishek, with thee for three days in Sambor +I'll stay. I know thy hospitable castle +Both shines in splendid stateliness, and glories +In its young mistress; There I hope to see +Charming Marina. And ye, my friends, ye, Russia +And Lithuania, ye who have upraised +Fraternal banners against a common foe, +Against mine enemy, yon crafty villain. +Ye sons of Slavs, speedily will I lead +Your dread battalions to the longed-for conflict. +But soft! Methinks among you I descry +New faces. + +GABRIEL P. They have come to beg for sword +And service with your Grace. + +PRETENDER. Welcome, my lads. +You are friends to me. But tell me, Pushkin, who +Is this fine fellow? + +PUSHKIN. Prince Kurbsky. + +PRETENDER. (To KURBSKY.) A famous name! +Art kinsman to the hero of Kazan? + +KURBSKY. His son. + +PRETENDER. Liveth he still? + +KURBSKY. Nay, he is dead. + +PRETENDER. A noble soul! A man of war and counsel. +But from the time when he appeared beneath +The ancient town Olgin with the Lithuanians, +Hardy avenger of his injuries, +Rumour hath held her tongue concerning him. + +KURBSKY. My father led the remnant of his life +On lands bestowed upon him by Batory; +There, in Volhynia, solitary and quiet, +Sought consolation for himself in studies; +But peaceful labour did not comfort him; +He ne'er forgot the home of his young days, +And to the end pined for it. + +PRETENDER. Hapless chieftain! +How brightly shone the dawn of his resounding +And stormy life! Glad am I, noble knight, +That now his blood is reconciled in thee +To his fatherland. The faults of fathers must not +Be called to mind. Peace to their grave. Approach; +Give me thy hand! Is it not strange?--the son +Of Kurbsky to the throne is leading--whom? +Whom but Ivan's own son?--All favours me; +People and fate alike.--Say, who art thou? + +A POLE. Sobansky, a free noble. + +PRETENDER. Praise and honour +Attend thee, child of liberty. Give him +A third of his full pay beforehand.--Who +Are these? On them I recognise the dress +Of my own country. These are ours. + +KRUSHCHOV. (Bows low.) Yea, Sire, +Our father; we are thralls of thine, devoted +And persecuted; we have fled from Moscow, +Disgraced, to thee our tsar, and for thy sake +Are ready to lay down our lives; our corpses +Shall be for thee steps to the royal throne. + +PRETENDER. Take heart, innocent sufferers. Only let me +Reach Moscow, and, once there, Boris shall settle +Some scores with me and you. What news of Moscow? + +KRUSHCHOV. As yet all there is quiet. But already +The folk have got to know that the tsarevich +Was saved; already everywhere is read +Thy proclamation. All are waiting for thee. +Not long ago Boris sent two boyars +To execution merely because in secret +They drank thy health. + +PRETENDER. O hapless, good boyars! +But blood for blood! And woe to Godunov! +What do they say of him? + +KRUSHCHOV. He has withdrawn +Into his gloomy palace. He is grim +And sombre. Executions loom ahead. +But sickness gnaws him. Hardly hath he strength +To drag himself along, and--it is thought-- +His last hour is already not far off. + +PRETENDER. A speedy death I wish him, as becomes +A great-souled foe to wish. If not, then woe +To the miscreant!--And whom doth he intend +To name as his successor? + +KRUSHCHOV. He shows not +His purposes, but it would seem he destines +Feodor, his young son, to be our tsar. + +PRETENDER. His reckonings, maybe, will yet prove wrong. +Who art thou? + +KARELA. A Cossack; from the Don I am sent +To thee, from the free troops, from the brave hetmen +From upper and lower regions of the Cossacks, +To look upon thy bright and royal eyes, +And tender thee their homage. + +PRETENDER. Well I knew +The men of Don; I doubted not to see +The Cossack hetmen in my ranks. We thank +Our army of the Don. Today, we know, +The Cossacks are unjustly persecuted, +Oppressed; but if God grant us to ascend +The throne of our forefathers, then as of yore +We'll gratify the free and faithful Don. + +POET. (Approaches. bowing low, and taking Gregory by the +hem of his caftan.) +Great prince, illustrious offspring of a king! + +PRETENDER. What wouldst thou? + +POET. Condescendingly accept +This poor fruit of my earnest toil. + +PRETENDER. What see I? +Verses in Latin! Blest a hundredfold +The tie of sword and lyre; the selfsame laurel +Binds them in friendship. I was born beneath +A northern sky, but yet the Latin muse +To me is a familiar voice; I love +The blossoms of Parnassus, I believe +The prophecies of singers. Not in vain +The ecstasy boils in their flaming breast; +Action is hallowed, being glorified +Beforehand by the poets! Approach, my friend. +In memory of me accept this gift. + +(Gives him a ring.) + +When fate fulfils for me her covenant, +When I assume the crown of my forefathers, +I hope again to hear the measured tones +Of thy sweet voice, and thy inspired lay. +Musa gloriam Coronat, gloriaque musam. +And so, friends, till tomorrow, au revoir. + +ALL. Forward! Long live Dimitry! Forward, forward! +Long live Dimitry, the great prince of Moscow! + + + + +CASTLE OF THE GOVERNOR + +MNISHEK IN SAMBOR + +Dressing-Room of Marina + +MARINA, ROUZYA (dressing her), Serving-Women + +MARINA. +(Before a mirror.) Now then, is it ready? Cannot +you make haste? + +ROUZYA. I pray you first to make the difficult choice; +Will you the necklace wear of pearls, or else +The emerald half-moon? + +MARINA. My diamond crown. + +ROUZYA. Splendid! Do you remember that you wore it +When to the palace you were pleased to go? +They say that at the ball your gracious highness +Shone like the sun; men sighed, fair ladies whispered-- +'Twas then that for the first time young Khotkevich +Beheld you, he who after shot himself. +And whosoever looked on you, they say +That instant fell in love. + +MARINA. Can't you be quicker? + +ROUZYA. At once. Today your father counts upon you. +'Twas not for naught the young tsarevich saw you; +He could not hide his rapture; wounded he is +Already; so it only needs to deal him +A resolute blow, and instantly, my lady, +He'll be in love with you. 'Tis now a month +Since, quitting Cracow, heedless of the war +And throne of Moscow, he has feasted here, +Your guest, enraging Poles alike and Russians. +Heavens! Shall I ever live to see the day?-- +Say, you will not, when to his capital +Dimitry leads the queen of Moscow, say +You'll not forsake me? + +MARINA. Dost thou truly think +I shall be queen? + +ROUZYA. Who, if not you? Who here +Dares to compare in beauty with my mistress? +The race of Mnishek never yet has yielded +To any. In intellect you are beyond +All praise.--Happy the suitor whom your glance +Honours with its regard, who wins your heart-- +Whoe'er he be, be he our king, the dauphin +Of France, or even this our poor tsarevich +God knows who, God knows whence! + +MARINA. The very son +Of the tsar, and so confessed by the whole world. + +ROUZYA. And yet last winter he was but a servant +In the house of Vishnevetsky. + +MARINA. He was hiding. + +ROUZYA. I do not question it: but still do you know +What people say about him? That perhaps +He is a deacon run away from Moscow, +In his own district a notorious rogue. + +MARINA. What nonsense! + +ROUZYA. O, I do not credit it! +I only say he ought to bless his fate +That you have so preferred him to the others. + +WAITING-WOMAN. (Runs in.) The guests have come already. + +MARINA. There you see; +You're ready to chatter silliness till daybreak. +Meanwhile I am not dressed-- + +ROUZYA. Within a moment +'Twill be quite ready. + +(The Waiting-women bustle.) + +MARINA. (Aside.) I must find out all. + + + + +A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS. + +VISHNEVETSKY, MNISHEK + +MNISHEK. With none but my Marina doth he speak, +With no one else consorteth--and that business +Looks dreadfully like marriage. Now confess, +Didst ever think my daughter would be a queen? + +VISHNEVETSKY. 'Tis wonderful.--And, Mnishek, didst thou think +My servant would ascend the throne of Moscow? + +MNISHEK. And what a girl, look you, is my Marina. +I merely hinted to her: "Now, be careful! +Let not Dimitry slip"--and lo! Already +He is completely tangled in her toils. + +(The band plays a Polonaise. The PRETENDER and +MARINA advance as the first couple.) + +MARINA. (Sotto voce to Dimitry.) Tomorrow evening at eleven, beside +The fountain in the avenue of lime-trees. + +(They walk off. A second couple.) + +CAVALIER. What can Dimitry see in her? + +DAME. How say you? +She is a beauty. + +CAVALIER. Yes, a marble nymph; +Eyes, lips, devoid of life, without a smile. + +(A fresh couple.) + +DAME. He is not handsome, but his eyes are pleasing, +And one can see he is of royal birth. + +(A fresh couple.) + +DAME. When will the army march? + +CAVALIER. When the tsarevich +Orders it; we are ready; but 'tis clear +The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean +To keep us prisoners here. + +DAME. A pleasant durance. + +CAVALIER. Truly, if you... + +(They walk off; the rooms become empty.) + +MNISHEK. We old ones dance no longer; +The sound of music lures us not; we press not +Nor kiss the hands of charmers--ah! My friend, +I've not forgotten the old pranks! Things now +Are not what once they were, what once they were! +Youth, I'll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty +So lively; everything--confess, my friend-- +Has somehow become dull. So let us leave them; +My comrade, let us go and find a flask +Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould; +Let's bid my butler open an old bottle, +And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete, +Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat; +And while we're so engaged, let's think things over. +Let us go, brother. + +VISHNEVETSKY. Yes, my friend, let's go. + + + + +NIGHT + +THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN + +PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come. +I was not born a coward; I have seen +Death near at hand, and face to face with death +My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon +Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued, +And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness +I have escaped captivity. But what +Is this which now constricts my breath? What means +This overpowering tremor, or this quivering +Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day +I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered +On all that I should say to her, how best +I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind, +Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour +Has come--and I remember naught, I cannot +Recall the speeches I have learned by rote; +Love puts imagination to confusion-- +But something there gleamed suddenly--a rustling; +Hush--no, it was the moon's deceitful light, +It was the rustling of the breeze. + +MARINA. (Enters.) Tsarevich! + +PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still. + +MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou? + +PRETENDER. Bewitching voice! + +(Goes to her.) + +Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone +With me, beneath the roof of quiet night? +How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly +The glow of evening died away! How long +I have waited in the gloom of night! + +MARINA. The hours +Are flitting fast, and time is precious to me. +I did not grant a meeting here to thee +To listen to a lover's tender speeches. +No need of words. I well believe thou lovest; +But listen; with thy stormy, doubtful fate +I have resolved to join my own; but one thing, +Dimitry, I require; I claim that thou +Disclose to me thy secret hopes, thy plans, +Even thy fears, that hand in hand with thee +I may confront life boldly--not in blindness +Of childlike ignorance, not as the slave +And plaything of my husband's light desires, +Thy speechless concubine, but as thy spouse, +And worthy helpmate of the tsar of Moscow. + +PRETENDER. O, if it be only for one short hour, +Forget the cares and troubles of my fate! +Forget 'tis the tsarevich whom thou seest +Before thee. O, behold in me, Marina, +A lover, by thee chosen, happy only +In thy regard. O, listen to the prayers +Of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith +My heart is full. + +MARINA. Prince, this is not the time; +Thou loiterest, and meanwhile the devotion +Of thine adherents cooleth. Hour by hour +Danger becomes more dangerous, difficulties +More difficult; already dubious rumours +Are current, novelty already takes +The place of novelty; and Godunov +Adopts his measures. + +PRETENDER. What is Godunov? +Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness, +Swayed by Boris? Nay, nay. Indifferently +I now regard his throne, his kingly power. +Thy love--without it what to me is life, +And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia? +On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, thou-- +Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown; +Thy love-- + +MARINA. For shame! Forget not, prince, thy high +And sacred destiny; thy dignity +Should be to thee more dear than all the joys +Of life and its allurements. It thou canst not +With anything compare. Not to a boy, +Insanely boiling, captured by my beauty-- +But to the heir of Moscow's throne give I +My hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich +Rescued by destiny. + +PRETENDER. Torture me not, +Charming Marina; say not that 'twas my rank +And not myself that thou didst choose. Marina! +Thou knowest not how sorely thou dost wound +My heart thereby. What if--O fearful doubt!-- +Say, if blind destiny had not assigned me +A kingly birth; if I were not indeed +Son of Ivan, were not this boy, so long +Forgotten by the world--say, then wouldst thou +Have loved me? + +MARINA. Thou art Dimitry, and aught else +Thou canst not be; it is not possible +For me to love another. + +PRETENDER. Nay! Enough-- +I have no wish to share with a dead body +A mistress who belongs to him; I have done +With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth. +Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago +Perished, was buried--and will not rise again; +And dost thou wish to know what man I am? +Well, I will tell thee. I am--a poor monk. +Grown weary of monastic servitude, +I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design, +Made ready for the world a miracle-- +And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks, +To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle +Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you. +I called myself Dimitry, and deceived +The brainless Poles. What say'st thou, proud Marina? +Art thou content with my confession? Why +Dost thou keep silence? + +MARINA. O shame! O woe is me! + +(Silence.) + +PRETENDER. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me? +The happiness devised with so much labour +I have, perchance, destroyed for ever. Idiot, +What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed +Of love not princely; so pronounce on me +The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands. +Decide; I wait. + +(Falls on his knees.) + +MARINA. Rise, poor pretender! Think'st thou +To please with genuflex on my vain heart, +As if I were a weak, confiding girl? +You err, my friend; prone at my feet I've seen +Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this +Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk-- + +PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues +May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy +Of Moscow's throne, even of thy priceless hand-- + +MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch! + +PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride +I have deceived God and the kings--have lied +To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina, +To judge me; I am guiltless before thee. +No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me +Wast the one sacred being, before thee +I dared not to dissemble; love alone, +Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all. + +MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded +Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant +Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then +At least thou shouldst have merited success, +And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep, +And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield +Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank +And maiden modesty, unite my fate +With thine, when thou thyself impetuously +Dost thus with such simplicity reveal +Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me! +I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship +Disclosed thyself ere now before my father, +Or else before our king from joy, or else +Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal +Of a devoted servant. + +PRETENDER. I swear to thee +That thou alone wast able to extort +My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never, +Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup +Of folly, not in friendly confidence, +Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack, +Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets. + +MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe, +Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest? +Is it not by the name of God, as suits +The Jesuits' devout adopted son? +Or by thy honour as a high-born knight? +Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone +As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare. + +PRETENDER. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me +His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me +Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me, +And hath consigned Boris to be my victim. +I am tsarevich. Enough! 'Twere shame for me +To stoop before a haughty Polish dame. +Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war, +The wide cares of my destiny, will smother, +I hope, the pangs Of love. O, when the heat +Of shameful passion is o'erspent, how then +Shall I detest thee! Now I leave thee--ruin, +Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia; +Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier +In honourable fight, or as a miscreant +Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not +Be my companion, nor shalt share with me +My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret +The destiny thou hast refused. + +MARINA. But what +If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud +To all men? + +PRETENDER. Dost thou think I fear thee? Think'st thou +They will believe a Polish maiden more +Than Russia's own tsarevich? Know, proud lady, +That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble +Whether my words be true, whether I be +Dimitry or another. What care they? +But I provide a pretext for revolt +And war; and this is all they need; and thee, +Rebellious one, believe me, they will force +To hold thy peace. Farewell. + +MARINA. Tsarevich, stay! +At last I hear the speech not of a boy, +But of a man. It reconciles me to thee. +Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see +Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time! +Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops +Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take +Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then +Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me, +Until thy foot be planted on its steps, +Until by thee Boris be overthrown, +I am not one to listen to love-speeches. + +PRETENDER. No--easier far to strive with Godunov. +Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court, +Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they're beyond +My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out +Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent! +Serpent! 'Twas not for nothing that I trembled. +She well-nigh ruined me; but I'm resolved; +At daybreak I will put my troops in motion. + + + + +THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER + +(OCTOBER 16TH, 1604) + +PRINCE KURBSKY and PRETENDER, both +on horseback. Troops approach the Frontier + +KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.) +There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier! +Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine! +With scorn from off my clothing now I shake +The foreign dust, and greedily I drink +New air; it is my native air. O father, +Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave +Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy! +Again doth flash our old ancestral sword, +This glorious sword--the dread of dark Kazan! +This good sword--servant of the tsars of Moscow! +Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter, +Serving the master of its hopes. + +PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy +Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory +His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee! +The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile, +Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father, +Redeeming his transgression in the grave, +Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan +To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland +Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul +Should flame with joy. + +KURBSKY. And dost not thou likewise +Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she +Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people's hearts +Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits, +Thy Kremlin, thy dominion. + +PRETENDER. Russian blood, +O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar +Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you +Against your brothers; I am summoning +Lithuania against Russia; I am showing +To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow! +But let my sin fall not on me, but thee, +Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on! + +KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov. + +(They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.) + + + + +THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR + +The TSAR, the PATRIARCH and Boyars + +TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us +Leads rascal troops, a truant friar dares write +Threats to us! Then 'tis time to tame the madman! +Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov; +My zealous governors need help. Chernigov +Already by the rebel is besieged; +Rescue the city and citizens. + +BASMANOV. Three months +Shall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour's tongue +Shall cease to speak of the pretender; caged +In iron, like a wild beast from oversea, +We'll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God. + +(Exit with TRUBETSKOY.) + +TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered +Alliance to me. But we have no need +To lean on foreign aid; we have enough +Of our own warlike people to repel +Traitors and Poles. I have refused.--Shchelkalov! +In every district to the governors +Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send +The people as of old on service; likewise +Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist +The servants of the churchmen. In days of old, +When danger faced our country, hermits freely +Went into battle; it is not now our wish +To trouble them; no, let them pray for us; +Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolve +Of his boyars. And now a weighty question +We shall determine; ye know how everywhere +The insolent pretender hath spread abroad +His artful rumours; letters everywhere, +By him distributed, have sowed alarm +And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro +Pass in the market-places; minds are seething. +We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain +From executions, but by what means and how? +That we will now determine. Holy father, +Thou first declare thy thought. + +PATRIARCH. The Blessed One, +The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul, +Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience; +Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner, +Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion +Shall pass away; for pass away it will, +And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all. +Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters +No prudent judge, ventures today to offer +His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil, +This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear +Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly +He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich +As with a stolen vestment. It only needs +To tear it off--and he'll be put to shame +By his own nakedness. The means thereto +God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years +Since then have fled; 'twas in that very year +When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord +Anointed thee--there came to me one evening +A simple shepherd, a venerable old man, +Who told me a strange secret. "In my young days," +He said, "I lost my sight, and thenceforth knew not +Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain +I plied myself with herbs and secret spells; +In vain did I resort in adoration +To the great wonder-workers in the cloister; +Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water +From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not +Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last, +And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even +Slumber showed not to me things visible, +Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep +I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me: +`Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town, +To the Cathedral of Transfiguration; +There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious-- +And I shall pardon thee.' `But who art thou?' +I asked the childish voice. `I am the tsarevich +Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken +Into His angel band, and I am now +A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.' +I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe +God will in very deed vouchsafe to me +Belated healing. I will go. I bent +My footsteps to the distant road. I reached +Uglich, repair unto the holy minster, +Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep +Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes +Were flowing out in tears. And when the people +Began to leave, to my grandson I said: +`Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich +Dimitry .' The boy led me--and I scarce +Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer, +When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld +The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb." +That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told. + +(General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris +several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.) + +To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned +That many sufferers had found likewise +Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich. +This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send +The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral +Of the Archangel; clearly will the people +See then the godless villain's fraud; the might +Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust. + +(Silence.) + +PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways +Of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him. +Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working +He may upon the child's remains bestow; +But vulgar rumour must dispassionately +And diligently be tested; is it for us, +In stormy times of insurrection, +To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say +That insolently we made of sacred things +A worldly instrument? Even now the people +Sway senselessly this way and that, even now +There are enough already of loud rumours; +This is no time to vex the people's minds +With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange. +I myself see 'tis needful to demolish +The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk; +But for this end other and simpler means +Will serve. Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire, +I will myself appear in public places, +I will persuade, exhort away this madness, +And will expose the vagabond's vile fraud. + +TSAR. So be it! My lord Patriarch, I pray thee +Go with us to the palace, where today +I must converse with thee. + +(Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.) + +1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale +Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured +A mighty sweat? + +2ND BOYAR. I durst not, I confess, +Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir. + +1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A +splendid fellow! + + + + +A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK + +(DECEMBER 21st, 1604) + +A BATTLE + +SOLDIERS. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe! The Tsarevich! +The Poles! There they are! There they are! + +(Captains enter: MARZHERET and WALTHER ROZEN.) + +MARZHERET. Whither, whither? Allons! Go back! + +ONE OF THE FUGITIVES. You go back, if you like, cursed +infidel. + +MARZHERET. Quoi, quoi? + +ANOTHER. Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the +sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we--we are +orthodox. + +MARZHERET. Qu'est-ce a dire "orthodox"? Sacres gueux, +maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j'enrage; on +dirait que ca n'a pas de bras pour frapper, ca n'a que des +jambes pour fuir. + +ROZEN. Es ist Schande. + +MARZHERET. Ventre-saint gris! Je ne bouge plus d'un pas; +puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire. Qu'en dites-vous, +mein Herr? + +ROZEN. Sie haben Recht. + +MARZHERET. Tudieu, il y fait chaud! Ce diable de "Pretender," +comme ils l'appellent, est un bougre, qui a du +poil au col?--Qu'en pensez-vous, mein Herr? + +ROZEN. Ja. + +MARZHERET. He! Voyez donc, voyez donc! L'action s'engage +sur les derrieres de l'ennemi. Ce doit etre le brave +Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie. + +ROZEN. Ich glaube das. + +(Enter Germans.) + +MARZHERET. Ha, ha! Voici nos allemands. Messieurs! +Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu, +chargeons! + +ROZEN. Sehr gut. Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch! + +THE GERMANS. (They march.) Hilf Gott! + +(Fight. The Russians flee again.) + +POLES. Victory! Victory! Glory to the tsar Dimitry! + +DIMITRY. (On horseback.) Cease fighting. We have +conquered. Enough! Spare Russian blood. Cease +fighting. + + + + +OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW + +THE PEOPLE + +ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Will the tsar soon come out of the +Cathedral? + +ANOTHER. The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on. + +THE FIRST. What! Have they already cursed him? + +THE SECOND. I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon +cried out:--Grishka Otrepiev is anathema! + +THE FIRST. Let him curse to his heart's content; the +tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev. + +THE SECOND. But they are now singing mass for the repose +of the soul of the tsarevich. + +THE FIRST. What? A mass for the dead sung for a living +Man? They'll suffer for it, the godless wretches! + +A THIRD. Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar? + +A FOURTH. No, it is the idiot. + +(An idiot enters, in an iron cap, hung round with +chains, surrounded by boys.) + +THE BOYS. Nick, Nick, iron nightcap! T-r-r-r-r-- + +OLD WOMAN. Let him be, you young devils. Innocent one, +pray thou for me a sinner. + +IDIOT. Give, give, give a penny. + +OLD WOMAN. There is a penny for thee; remember me in +thy prayers. + +IDIOT. (Seats himself on the ground and sings:) + + The moon sails on, + The kitten cries, + Nick, arise, + Pray to God. + +(The boys surround him again.) + +ONE OF THEM. How do you do, Nick? Why don't you +take off your cap? + +(Raps him on the iron cap.) + +How it rings! + +IDIOT. But I have got a penny. + +BOYS. That's not true; now, show it. + +(They snatch the penny and run away.) + +IDIOT. (Weeps.) They have taken my penny, they are +hurting Nick. + +THE PEOPLE. The tsar, the tsar is coming! + +(The TSAR comes out from the Cathedral; a boyar in +front of him scatters alms among the poor. Boyars.) + +IDIOT. Boris, Boris! The boys are hurting Nick. + +TSAR. Give him alms! What is he crying for? + +IDIOT. The boys are hurting me...Give orders to slay +them, as thou slewest the little tsarevich. + +BOYARS. Go away, fool! Seize the fool! + +TSAR. Leave him alone. Pray thou for me, Nick. + +(Exit.) + +IDIOT. (To himself.) No, no! It is impossible to pray for +tsar Herod; the Mother of God forbids it. + + + + +SYEVSK + +The PRETENDER, surrounded by his supporters + +PRETENDER. Where is the prisoner? + +A POLE. Here. + +PRETENDER. Call him before me. + +(A Russian prisoner enters.) + +Who art thou? + +PRISONER. Rozhnov, a nobleman of Moscow. + +PRETENDER. Hast long been in the service? + +PRISONER. About a month. + +PRETENDER. Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn +The sword against me? + +PRISONER. What else could I do? +'Twas not our fault. + +PRETENDER. Didst fight beneath the walls +Of Seversk? + +PRISONER. 'Twas two weeks after the battle +I came from Moscow. + +PRETENDER. What of Godunov? + +PRISONER. The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him +Much apprehension; Shuisky he hath sent +To take command. + +PRETENDER. But why hath he recalled +Basmanov unto Moscow? + +PRISONER. The tsar rewarded +His services with honour and with gold. +Basmanov in the council of the tsar +Now sits. + +PRETENDER. The army had more need of him. +Well, how go things in Moscow? + +PRISONER. All is quiet, +Thank God. + +PRETENDER. Say, do they look for me? + +PRISONER. God knows; +They dare not talk too much there now. Of some +The tongues have been cut off, of others even +The heads. It is a fearsome state of things-- +Each day an execution. All the prisons +Are crammed. Wherever two or three forgather +In public places, instantly a spy +Worms himself in; the tsar himself examines +At leisure the denouncers. It is just +Sheer misery; so silence is the best. + +PRETENDER. An enviable life for the tsar's people! +Well, how about the army? + +PRISONER. What of them? +Clothed and full-fed they are content with all. + +PRETENDER. But is there much of it? + +PRISONER. God knows. + +PRETENDER. All told +Will there be thirty thousand? + +PRISONER. Yes; 'twill run +Even to fifty thousand. + +(The Pretender reflects; those around him glance at +one another.) + +PRETENDER. Well! Of me +What say they in your camp? + +PRISONER. Your graciousness +They speak of; say that thou, Sire, (be not wrath), +Art a thief, but a fine fellow. + +PRETENDER. (Laughing.) Even so +I'll prove myself to them in deed. My friends, +We will not wait for Shuisky; I wish you joy; +Tomorrow, battle. + +(Exit.) + +ALL. Long life to Dimitry! + +A POLE. Tomorrow, battle! They are fifty thousand, +And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad! + +ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge +Five hundred Muscovites. + +PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge! +But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart, +Thou'lt run away. + +POLE. If thou hadst had a sword, +Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'ld soon +Have vanquished thee. + +PRISONER. A Russian can make shift +Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool? + +(The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in +silence. All laugh.) + + + + +A FOREST + +PRETENDER and PUSHKIN + +(In the background lies a dying horse) + +PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged +Today in the last battle, and when wounded, +How swiftly bore me. My poor horse! + +PUSHKIN. (To himself.) Well, here's +A great ado about a horse, when all +Our army's smashed to bits. + +PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps +He's but exhausted by the loss of blood, +And will recover. + +PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying. + +PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse.) +My poor horse!--what to do? Take off the bridle, +And loose the girth. Let him at least die free. + +(He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles +enter.) + +Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not +Kurbsky among you? I did note today +How to the thick of the fight he clove his path; +Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears +Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them +His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry +Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight? + +POLE. He fell +On the field of battle. + +PRETENDER. Honour to the brave, +And peace be on his soul! How few unscathed +Are left us from the fight! Accursed Cossacks, +Traitors and miscreants, you, you it is +Have ruined us! Not even for three minutes +To keep the foe at bay! I'll teach the villains! +Every tenth man I'll hang. Brigands! + +PUSHKIN. Whoe'er +Be guilty, all the same we were clean worsted, +Routed! + +PRETENDER. But yet we nearly conquered. Just +When I had dealt with their front rank, the Germans +Repulsed us utterly. But they're fine fellows! +By God! Fine fellows! I love them for it. From them +I'll form an honourable troop. + +PUSHKIN. And where +Shall we now spend the night? + +PRETENDER. Why, here, in the forest. +Why not this for our night quarters? At daybreak +We'll take the road, and dine in Rilsk. Good night. + +(He lies down, puts a saddle under his head, and falls +asleep.) + +PUSHKIN. A pleasant sleep, tsarevich! Smashed to bits, +Rescued by flight alone, he is as careless +As a simple child; 'tis clear that Providence +Protects him, and we, my friends, will not lose heart. + + + + +MOSCOW. PALACE OF THE TSAR + +BORIS. BASMANOV + +TSAR. He is vanquished, but what profit lies in that? +We are crowned with a vain conquest; he has mustered +Again his scattered forces, and anew +Threatens us from the ramparts of Putivl. +Meanwhile what are our heroes doing? They stand +At Krom, where from its rotten battlements +A band of Cossacks braves them. There is glory! +No, I am ill content with them; thyself +I shall despatch to take command of them; +I give authority not to birth, but brains. +Their pride of precedence, let it be wounded! +The time has come for me to hold in scorn +The murmur of distinguished nobodies, +And quash pernicious custom. + +BASMANOV. Ay, my lord +Blessed a hundredfold will be that day +When fire consumes the lists of noblemen +With their dissensions, their ancestral pride. + +TSAR. That day is not far off; let me but first +Subdue the insurrection of the people. + +BASMANOV. Why trouble about that? The people always +Are prone to secret treason; even so +The swift steed champs the bit; so doth a lad +Chafe at his father's ruling. But what then? +The rider quietly controls the steed, +The father sways the son. + +TSAR. Sometimes the horse +Doth throw the rider, nor is the son at all times +Quite 'neath the father's will; we can restrain +The people only by unsleeping sternness. +So thought Ivan, sagacious autocrat +And storm-subduer; so his fierce grandson thought. +No, no, kindness is lost upon the people; +Act well--it thanks you not at all; extort +And execute--'twill be no worse for you. + +(Enter a boyar.) + +What now? + +BOYAR. The foreign guests are come. + +TSAR. I go +To welcome them. Basmanov, wait, stay here; +I still have need to speak: a word with thee. + +(Exit.) + +BASMANOV. High sovereign spirit! God grant he may subdue +The accurst Otrepiev; and much, still much +Of good he'll do for Russia. A great thought +Within his mind has taken birth; it must not +Be suffered to grow cold. What a career +For me when the ancestral horn he breaks +Of the nobility. I have no rivals +In war. I shall stand closest to the throne-- +And it may chance-- But what is that strange sound? + +(Alarum. Boyars and court-attendants run in +disorder, meet each other and whisper.) + +ONE. Fetch a physician! + +ANOTHER. Quickly to the Patriarch! + +A THIRD. He calls for the tsarevich, the tsarevich! + +A FOURTH. A confessor! + +BASMANOV. What has happened? + +A FIFTH AND SIXTH. The tsar is ill, +The tsar is dying. + +BASMANOV. Good God! + +A FIFTH. Upon the throne +He sat, and suddenly he fell; blood gushed +From his mouth and ears. + +(The TSAR is carried in on a chair. All the Tsar's +household; all the boyars.) + +TSAR. Let all depart--alone +Leave the tsarevich with me. (All withdraw.) I am dying; +Let us embrace. Farewell, my son; this hour +Thou wilt begin to reign.--O God, my God! +This hour I shall appear before Thy presence-- +And have no time to purge my soul with shrift. +But yet, my son, I feel thou art dearer to me +Than is my soul's salvation--be it so! +A subject was I born; it seemed ordained +That I should die a subject in obscurity. +Yet I attained to sovereignty; but how? +Ask not. Enough that thou art innocent. +In justice now thou'lt reign; and I alone +Am answerable for all to God. Dear son, +Cherish no false delusion, of thy free will +Blind not thyself. Stormy the days wherein +Thou dost assume the crown. He is dangerous, +This strange pretender; with a fearful name +He is armed. For many a year experienced +In rule, I could restrain revolt and treason; +They quaked with fear before me; treachery +Dared not to raise its voice; but thou, a boy, +An inexperienced ruler, how wilt thou +Govern amid the tempests, quench revolt, +Shackle sedition? But God is great! He gives +Wisdom to youth, to weakness strength.--Give ear; +Firstly, select a steadfast counsellor, +Of cool, ripe years, loved of the people, honoured +Mid the boyars for birth and fame--even Shuisky. +The army craves today a skilful leader; +Basmanov send, and firmly bear the murmurs +Of the boyars. Thou from thy early years +Didst sit with me in council, thou dost know +The formal course of government; change not +Procedure. Custom is the soul of states. +Of late I have been forced to reinstate +Bans, executions--these thou canst rescind; +And they will bless thee, as they blessed thy uncle +When he obtained the throne of the Terrible. +At the same time, little by little, tighten +Anew the reins of government; now slacken; +But let them not slip from thy hands. Be gracious, +Accessible to foreigners, accept +Their service trustfully. Preserve with strictness +The Church's discipline. Be taciturn; +The royal voice must never lose itself +Upon the air in emptiness, but like +A sacred bell must sound but to announce +Some great disaster or great festival. +Dear son, thou art approaching to those years +When woman's beauty agitates our blood. +Preserve, preserve the sacred purity +Of innocence and proud shamefacedness; +He, who through passion has been wont to wallow +In vicious pleasures in his youthful days, +Becomes in manhood bloodthirsty and surly; +His mind untimely darkens. Of thy household +Be always head; show honour to thy mother, +But rule thy house thyself; thou art a man +And tsar to boot. Be loving to thy sister-- +Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector. + +FEODOR. (On his knees.) No, no; live on, my father, and reign long; +Without thee both the folk and we will perish. + +TSAR. All is at end for me--mine eyes grow dark, +I feel the coldness of the grave-- + +(Enter the PATRIARCH and prelates; behind them all +the boyars lead the TSARITSA by the hand; the +TSAREVNA is sobbing.) + + Who's there? +Ah, 'tis the vestment--so! The holy tonsure-- +The hour has struck. The tsar becomes a monk, +And the dark sepulchre will be my cell. +Wait yet a little, my lord Patriarch, +I still am tsar. Listen to me, boyars: +To this my son I now commit the tsardom; +Do homage to Feodor. Basmanov, thou, +And ye, my friends, on the grave's brink I pray you +To serve my son with zeal and rectitude! +As yet he is both young and uncorrupted. +Swear ye? + +BOYARS. We swear. + +TSAR. I am content. Forgive me +Both my temptations and my sins, my wilful +And secret injuries.--Now, holy father, +Approach thou; I am ready for the rite. + +(The rite of the tonsure begins. The women are +carried out swooning.) + + + + +A TENT + +BASMANOV leads in PUSHKIN + +BASMANOV. Here enter, and speak freely. So to me +He sent thee. + +PUSHKIN. He doth offer thee his friendship +And the next place to his in the realm of Moscow. + +BASMANOV. But even thus highly by Feodor am I +Already raised; the army I command; +For me he scorned nobility of rank +And the wrath of the boyars. I have sworn to him +Allegiance. + +PUSHKIN. To the throne's lawful successor +Allegiance thou hast sworn; but what if one +More lawful still be living? + +BASMANOV. Listen, Pushkin: +Enough of that; tell me no idle tales! +I know the man. + +PUSHKIN. Russia and Lithuania +Have long acknowledged him to be Dimitry; +But, for the rest, I do not vouch for it. +Perchance he is indeed the real Dimitry; +Perchance but a pretender; only this +I know, that soon or late the son of Boris +Will yield Moscow to him. + +BASMANOV. So long as I +Stand by the youthful tsar, so long he will not +Forsake the throne. We have enough of troops, +Thank God! With victory I will inspire them. +And whom will you against me send, the Cossack +Karel or Mnishek? Are your numbers many? +In all, eight thousand. + +PUSHKIN. You mistake; they will not +Amount even to that. I say myself +Our army is mere trash, the Cossacks only +Rob villages, the Poles but brag and drink; +The Russians--what shall I say?--with you I'll not +Dissemble; but, Basmanov, dost thou know +Wherein our strength lies? Not in the army, no. +Nor Polish aid, but in opinion--yes, +In popular opinion. Dost remember +The triumph of Dimitry, dost remember +His peaceful conquests, when, without a blow +The docile towns surrendered, and the mob +Bound the recalcitrant leaders? Thou thyself +Saw'st it; was it of their free-will our troops +Fought with him? And when did they so? Boris +Was then supreme. But would they now?--Nay, nay, +It is too late to blow on the cold embers +Of this dispute; with all thy wits and firmness +Thou'lt not withstand him. Were't not better for thee +To furnish to our chief a wise example, +Proclaim Dimitry tsar, and by that act +Bind him your friend for ever? How thinkest thou? + +BASMANOV. Tomorrow thou shalt know. + +PUSHKIN. Resolve. + +BASMANOV. Farewell. + +PUSHKIN. Ponder it well, Basmanov. + +(Exit.) + +BASMANOV. He is right. +Everywhere treason ripens; what shall I do? +Wait, that the rebels may deliver me +In bonds to the Otrepiev? Had I not better +Forestall the stormy onset of the flood, +Myself to--ah! But to forswear mine oath! +Dishonour to deserve from age to age! +The trust of my young sovereign to requite +With horrible betrayal! 'Tis a light thing +For a disgraced exile to meditate +Sedition and conspiracy; but I? +Is it for me, the favourite of my lord?-- +But death--but power--the people's miseries... + +(He ponders.) + +Here! Who is there? (Whistles.) A horse here! +Sound the muster! + + + + +PUBLIC SQUARE IN MOSCOW + +PUSHKIN enters, surrounded by the people + +THE PEOPLE. The tsarevich a boyar hath sent to us. +Let's hear what the boyar will tell us. Hither! +Hither! + +PUSHKIN. (On a platform.) Townsmen of Moscow! The tsarevich +Bids me convey his greetings to you. (He bows.) Ye know +How Divine Providence saved the tsarevich +From out the murderer's hands; he went to punish +His murderer, but God's judgment hath already +Struck down Boris. All Russia hath submitted +Unto Dimitry; with heartfelt repentance +Basmanov hath himself led forth his troops +To swear allegiance to him. In love, in peace +Dimitry comes to you. Would ye, to please +The house of Godunov, uplift a hand +Against the lawful tsar, against the grandson +Of Monomakh? + +THE PEOPLE. Not we. + +PUSHKIN. Townsmen of Moscow! +The world well knows how much ye have endured +Under the rule of the cruel stranger; ban, +Dishonour, executions, taxes, hardships, +Hunger--all these ye have experienced. +Dimitry is disposed to show you favour, +Courtiers, boyars, state-servants, soldiers, strangers, +Merchants--and every honest man. Will ye +Be stubborn without reason, and in pride +Flee from his kindness? But he himself is coming +To his ancestral throne with dreadful escort. +Provoke not ye the tsar to wrath, fear God, +And swear allegiance to the lawful ruler; +Humble yourselves; forthwith send to Dimitry +The Metropolitan, deacons, boyars, +And chosen men, that they may homage do +To their lord and father. + +(Exit. Clamour of the People.) + +THE PEOPLE. What is to be said? +The boyar spake truth. Long live Dimitry, our father! + +A PEASANT ON THE PLATFORM. People! To the Kremlin! +To the Royal palace! +The whelp of Boris go bind! + +THE PEOPLE. (Rushing in a crowd.) + Bind, drown him! Hail +Dimitry! Perish the race of Godunov! + + + + +THE KREMLIN. HOUSE OF BORIS + +A GUARD on the Staircase. FEODOR at a Window + +BEGGAR. Give alms, for Christ's sake. + +GUARD. Go away; it is forbidden to speak to the prisoners. + +FEODOR. Go, old man, I am poorer than thou; thou art at +liberty. + +(KSENIA, veiled, also comes to the window.) + +ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Brother and sister--poor children, like +birds in a cage. + +SECOND PERSON. Are you going to pity them? Accursed +Family! + +FIRST PERSON. The father was a villain, but the children are +innocent. + +SECOND PERSON. The apple does not fall far from the +apple-tree. + +KSENIA. Dear brother! Dear brother! I think the boyars +are coming to us. + +FEODOR. That is Golitsin, Mosalsky. I do not know the +others. + +KSENIA. Ah! Dear brother. my heart sinks. + +(GOLITSIN, MOSALSKY, MOLCHANOV, and SHEREFEDINOV; +behind them three archers.) + +THE PEOPLE. Make way, make way; the boyars come. +(They enter the house.) + +ONE OF THE PEOPLE. What have they come for? + +SECOND. Most like to make Feodor Godunov take the oath. + +THIRD. Very like. Hark! What a noise in the house! +What an uproar! They are fighting! + +THE PEOPLE. Do you hear? A scream! That was a +woman's voice. We will go up. We will go up!--The +doors are fastened--the cries cease--the noise continues. + +(The doors are thrown open. MOSALSKY appears on +the staircase.) + +MOSALSKY. People! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor +have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead +bodies. + +(The People are silent with horror.) + +Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the tsar Dimitry +Ivanovich! + +(The People are speechless.) + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Boris Godunov, by Alexander Pushkin + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORIS GODUNOV *** + +This file should be named brsgd10.txt or brsgd10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, brsgd11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, brsgd10a.txt + +This etext was produced by Stephen D. Leary mesmerini@yahoo.com + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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