No More Learning

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?