The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

by Alexander Pushkin

  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?

  You err, my friend; prone at my feet I’ve seen

  Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this

  Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk —

  PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues

  May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy

  Of Moscow’s throne, even of thy priceless hand —

  MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch!

  PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride

  I have deceived God and the kings — have lied

  To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina,

  To judge me; I am guiltless before thee.

  No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me

  Wast the one sacred being, before thee

  I dared not to dissemble; love alone,

  Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all.

  MARINA. What’s that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded

  Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant

  Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then

  At least thou shouldst have merited success,

  And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep,

  And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield

  Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank

  And maiden modesty, unite my fate

  With thine, when thou thyself impetuously

  Dost thus with such simplicity reveal

  Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me!

  I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship

  Disclosed thyself ere now before my father,

  Or else before our king from joy, or else

  Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal

  Of a devoted servant.

  PRETENDER. I swear to thee

  That thou alone wast able to extort

  My heart’s confession; I swear to thee that never,

  Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup

  Of folly, not in friendly confidence,

  Not ‘neath the knife nor tortures of the rack,

  Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets.

  MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe,

  Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest?

  Is it not by the name of God, as suits

  The Jesuits’ devout adopted son?

  Or by thy honour as a high-born knight?

  Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone

  As a king’s son? Is it not so? Declare.

  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;

  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

&nbs
p; 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?

  But I provide a pretext for revolt

  And war; and this is all they need; and thee,

  Rebellious one, believe me, they will force

  To hold thy peace. Farewell.

  MARINA. Tsarevich, stay!

  At last I hear the speech not of a boy,

  But of a man. It reconciles me to thee.

  Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see

  Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time!

  Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops

  Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take

  Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then

  Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me,

  Until thy foot be planted on its steps,

  Until by thee Boris be overthrown,

  I am not one to listen to love-speeches.

  PRETENDER. No — easier far to strive with Godunov.

  Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court,

  Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they’re beyond

  My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out

  Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent!

  Serpent! ‘Twas not for nothing that I trembled.

  She well-nigh ruined me; but I’m resolved;

  At daybreak I will put my troops in motion.

  THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER

  OCTOBER 16TH, 1604

  PRINCE KURBSKY and PRETENDER, both on horseback. Troops approach the Frontier

  KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.)

  There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier!

  Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine!

  With scorn from off my clothing now I shake

  The foreign dust, and greedily I drink

  New air; it is my native air. O father,

  Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave

  Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy!

  Again doth flash our old ancestral sword,

  This glorious sword — the dread of dark Kazan!

  This good sword — servant of the tsars of Moscow!

  Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter,

  Serving the master of its hopes.

  PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy

  Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory

  His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee!

  The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile,

  Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father,

  Redeeming his transgression in the grave,

  Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan