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 pleas
ed 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.
Boris Godunov A Drama in Verse Page 3
