Rozhnov, a
nobleman
of Moscow.
Pushkin - Boris Gudonov
"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.
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.
