Aleksandr Sergeevich Pushkin

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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.) ”

“ 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 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.) ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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? ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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. ”