The sea is clear, the highways free once more.
Art thou not curious to learn his news?
Though to the world we are as good as dead,
Yet of its changes willingly we hear,
And, safe upon the shore, with wonder mark
The roar and ferment of the trampling waves.
[NUNS come down the stage with a FISHER BOY.
XENIA-HELENA.
Speak, speak, and tell us all the news you bring.
ALEXIA.
Relate what's passing in the world beyond.
FISHER BOY.
Good, pious ladies, give me time to speak!
XENIA.
Is't war-or peace?
ALEXIA.
Who's now upon the throne?
FISHER BOY.
A ship is to Archangel just come in
From the north pole, where everything is ice.
OLGA.
How came a vessel into that wild sea?
FISHER BOY.
It is an English merchantman, and it
Has found a new way out to get to us.
ALEXIA.
What will not man adventure for his gain?
XENIA.
And so the world is nowhere to be barred!
FISHER BOY.
But that's the very smallest of the news.
'Tis something very different moves the world.
ALEXIA.
Oh, speak and tell us!
OLGA.
Say, what has occurred?
FISHER BOY.
We live to hear strange marvels nowadays:
The dead rise up, and come to life again.
OLGA.
Explain yourself.
FISHER BOY.
Prince Dmitri, Ivan's son,
Whom we have mourned for dead these sixteen years,
Is now alive, and has appeared in Poland.
OLGA.
The prince alive?
MARFA (starting).
My son!
OLGA.
Compose thyself!
Calm down thy heart till we have learned the whole.
ALEXIA.
How can this possibly be so, when he
Was killed, and perished in the flames at Uglitsch?
FISHER BOY.
He managed somehow to escape the fire,
And found protection in a monastery.
There he grew up in secrecy, until
His time was come to publish who he was.
OLGA (to MARFA).
You tremble, princess! You grow pale!
MARFA.
I know
That it must be delusion, yet so little
Is my heart steeled 'gainst fear and hope e'en now,
That in my breast it flutters like a bird.
OLGA.
Why should it be delusion? Mark his words!
How could this rumor spread without good cause?
FISHER BOY.
Without good cause? The Lithuanians
And Poles are all in arms upon his side.
The Czar himself quakes in his capital.
[MARFA is compelled by her emotion to lean upon OLGA and ALEXIA.
XENIA.
Speak on, speak, tell us everything you know.
ALEXIA.
And tell us, too, of whom you stole the news.
FISHER BOY.
I stole the news? A letter has gone forth
To every town and province from the Czar.
This letter the Posadmik of our town
Read to us all, in open market-place.
It bore, that busy schemers were abroad,
And that we should not lend their tales belief.
But this made us believe them; for, had they
Been false, the Czar would have despised the lie.
MARFA.
Is this the calm I thought I had achieved?
And clings my heart so close to temporal things,
That a mere word can shake my inward soul?
For sixteen years have I bewailed my son,
And yet at once believe that still he lives.
OLGA.
Sixteen long years thou'st mourned for him as dead,
And yet his ashes thou hast never seen!
Naught countervails the truth of the report.
Nay, does not Providence watch o'er the fate
Of kings and monarchies? Then welcome hope!
More things befall than thou canst comprehend.
Who can set limits to the Almighty's power?
MARFA.
Shall I turn back to look again on life,
To which long since I spoke a sad farewell?
It was not with the dead my hopes abode.
Oh, say no more of this. Let not my heart
Hang on this phantom hope! Let me not lose
My darling son a second time. Alas!
My peace of mind is gone,-my dream of peace
I cannot trust these tidings,-yet, alas,
I can no longer dash them from my soul!
Woe's me, I never lost my son till now.
Oh, now I can no longer tell if I
Shall seek him 'mongst the living or the dead,
Tossed on the rock of never-ending doubt.
OLGA [A bell sounds,-the sister PORTERESS enters.
Why has the bell been sounded, sister, say?
PORTERESS.
The lord archbishop waits without; he brings
A message from the Czar, and craves an audience.
OLGA.
Does the archbishop stand within our gates?
What strange occurrence can have brought him here?
XENIA.
Come all, and give him greeting as befits.
[They advance towards the gate as the ARCHBISHOP enters;
they all kneel before him, and he makes the sign of the
Greek cross over them.
ARCHBISHOP.
The kiss of peace I bring you in the name
Of Father, Son, and of the Holy Ghost,
Proceeding from the Father!
OLGA.
Sir, we kiss
In humblest reverence thy paternal hand!
Command thy daughters!
ARCHBISHOP.
My mission is addressed to Sister Marfa.
OLGA.
See, here she stands, and waits to know thy will.
[All the NUNS withdraw.
ARCHBISHOP.
It is the mighty prince who sends me here;
Upon his distant throne he thinks of thee;
For as the sun, with his great eye of flame,
Sheds light and plenty all abroad the world,
So sweeps the sovereign's eye on every side;
Even to the farthest limits of his realm
His care is wakeful and his glance is keen.
MARFA.
How far his arm can strike I know too well.
ARCHBISHOP.
He knows the lofty spirit fills thy soul,
And therefore feels indignantly the wrong
A bold-faced villain dares to offer thee.
Learn, then, in Poland, an audacious churl,
A renegade, who broke his monkish vows,
Laid down his habit, and renounced his God,
Doth use the name and title of thy son,
Whom death snatched from thee in his infancy.
The shameless varlet boasts him of thy blood,
And doth affect to be Czar Ivan's son;
A Waywode breaks the peace; from Poland leads
This spurious monarch, whom himself created,
Across our frontiers, with an armed power:
So he beguiles the Russians' faithful hearts,
And lures them on to treason and revolt.
The Czar,
With pure, paternal feeling, sends me to thee.
Thou hold'st the manes of thy son in honor;
Nor wilt permit a bold adventurer
To steal his name a
nd title from the tomb,
And with audacious hand usurp his rights.
Thou wilt proclaim aloud to all the world
That thou dost own him for no son of thine.
Thou wilt not nurse a bastard's alien blood
Upon thy heart, that beats so nobly; never!
Thou wilt-and this the Czar expects from thee-
Give the vile counterfeit the lie, with all
The righteous indignation it deserves.
MARFA (who has during the last speech subdued the most violent emotion).
What do I hear, archbishop? Can it be?
Oh, tell me, by what signs and marks of proof
This bold-faced trickster doth uphold himself
As Ivan's son, whom we bewailed as dead?
ARCHBISHOP.
By some faint, shadowy likeness to the Czar,
By documents which chance threw in his way,
And by a precious trinket, which he shows,
He cheats the credulous and wondering mob.
MARFA.
What is the trinket? Oh, pray, tell me what?
ARCHBISHOP.
A golden cross, gemmed with nine emeralds,
Which Ivan Westislowsky, so he says,
Hung round his neck at the baptismal font.
MARFA.
What do you say? He shows this trinket, this?
[With forced composure.
And how does he allege he came by it?
ARCHBISHOP.
A faithful servant and Diak, he says,
Preserved him from the assassins and the flames,
And bore him to Smolenskow privily.
MARFA.
But where was he brought up? Where, gives he forth,
Was he concealed and fostered until now?
ARCHBISHOP.
In Tschudow's monastery he was reared,
Unknowing who he was; from thence he fled
To Lithuania and Poland, where
He served the Prince of Sendomir, until
An accident revealed his origin.
MARFA.
With such a tale as this can he find friends
To peril life and fortune in his cause?
ARCHBISHOP.
Oh, madam, false, false-hearted is the Pole,
And enviously he eyes our country's wealth.
He welcomes every pretext that may serve
To light the flames of war within our bounds!
MARFA.
And were there credulous spirits, even in Moscow,
Could by this juggle be so lightly stirred?
ARCHBISHOP.
Oh, fickle, princess, is the people's heart!
They dote on alteration, and expect
To reap advantage from a change of rulers.
The bold assurance of the falsehood charms;
The marvellous finds favor and belief.
Therefore the Czar is anxious thou shouldst quell
This mad delusion, as thou only canst.
A word from thee annihilates the traitor
That falsely claims the title of thy son.
It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see
The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride,
And, with a noble anger paints thy cheek.
MARFA.
And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now,
Who dares usurp the title of my son?
ARCHBISHOP.
E'en now he's moving on to Tscherinsko;
His camp at Kioff has broke up, 'tis rumored;
And with a force of mounted Polish troops
And Don Cossacks, he comes to push his claims.
MARFA.
Oh, God Almighty, thanks, thanks, thanks, that thou
Hast sent me rescue and revenge at last!
ARCHBISHOP.
How, Marfa, how am I to construe this?
MARFA.
Ob, heavenly powers, conduct him safely here!
Hover, oh all ye angels, round his banners!
ARCHBISHOP.
Can it be so? The traitor, canst thou trust--
MARFA.
He is my son. Yes! by these signs alone
I recognize him. By thy Czar's alarm
I recognize him. Yes! He lives! He comes!
Down, tyrant, from thy throne, and shake with fear!
There still doth live a shoot from Rurik's stem;
The genuine Czar-the rightful heir draws nigh,
He comes to claim a reckoning for his own.
ARCHBISHOP.
Dost thou bethink thee what thou say'st? 'Tis madness!
MARFA.
At length-at length has dawned the day of vengeance,
Of restoration. Innocence is dragged
To light by heaven from the grave's midnight gloom.
The haughty Godunow, my deadly foe,
Must crouch and sue for mercy at my feet;
Oh, now my burning wishes are fulfilled!
ARCHBISHOP.
Can hate and rancorous malice blind you so?
MARFA.
Can terror blind your monarch so, that he
Should hope deliverance from me-from me-
Whom he hath done immeasurable wrong?
I shall, forsooth, deny the son whom heaven
Restores me by a miracle from the grave,
And to please him, the butcher of my house,
Who piled upon me woes unspeakable?
Yes, thrust from me the succor God has sent
In the sad evening of my heavy anguish?
No, thou escap'st me not. No, thou shalt hear me,
I have thee fast, I will not let thee free.
Oh, I can ease my bosom's load at last!
At last launch forth against mine enemy
The long-pent anger of my inmost soul!
Who was it, who,
That shut me up within this living tomb,
In all the strength and freshness of my youth,
With all its feelings glowing in my breast?
Who from my bosom rent my darling son,
And chartered ruffian hands to take his life?
Oh, words can never tell what I have suffered,
When, with a yearning that would not be still,
I watched throughout the long, long starry nights,
And noted with my tears the hours elapse!
The day of succor comes, and of revenge;
I see the mighty glorying in his might.
ARCHBISHOP.
You think the Czar will dread you-you mistake.
MARFA.
He's in my power-one little word from me,
One only, sets the seal upon his fate!
It was for this thy master sent thee here!
The eyes of Russia and of Poland now
Are closely bent upon me. If I own
The Czarowitsch as Ivan's son and mine,
Then all will do him homage; his the throne.
If I disown him, then he is undone;
For who will credit that his rightful mother,
A mother wronged, so foully wronged as I,
Could from her heart repulse its darling child,
To league with the despoilers of her house?
I need but speak one word and all the world
Deserts him as a traitor. Is't not so?
This word you wish from me. That mighty service,
Confess, I can perform for Godunow!
ARCHBISHOP.
Thou wouldst perform it for thy country, and
Avert the dread calamities of war,
Shouldst thou do homage to the truth. Thyself,
Ay, thou hast ne'er a doubt thy son is dead;
And couldst thou testify against thy conscience?
MARFA.
These sixteen years I've mourned his death; but yet
I ne'er have seen his ashes. I believed
His death, there trusting to the general voice
And my sad heart-I now believe he lives,
Trusting the general voice and my strong hope.
'Twere impious, with audacious doubts, to seek
To set a bound to the Almighty's will;
And even were he not my heart's dear son,
Yet should he be the son of my revenge.
In my child's room I take him to my breast,
Whom heaven has sent me to avenge my wrongs.
ARCHBISHOP.
Unhappy one, dost thou defy the strong?
From his far-reaching arm thou art not safe
Even in the convent's distant solitude.
MARFA.
Kill me he may, and stifle in the grave,
Or dungeon's gloom, my woman's voice, that it
Shall not reverberate throughout the world.
This he may do; but force me to speak aught
Against my will, that can he not; though backed
Demetrius (play) Page 4
