Boris Godunov

TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER

MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS   HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend   honoured guests?   VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you   no wine?   HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at   once. (Exit.)   MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very   Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach.   GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not   Be content.   VARLAAM. What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania!   Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fled   from the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was it   Lithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer?   All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's the   main thing!   MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam.   HOSTESS. (Enters.)   There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health.   MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (The   monks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passest   by, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you join   in the song? Not even join in the song?   GREGORY. I don't wish to.   MISSAIL. Everyone to his liking—   VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.3 Father Missail!   We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Where   the brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail,   when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsiness   is one thing—but pride quite another. If you want   to live as we do, you are welcome. No?—then take   yourself off, away with you; a mountebank is no   companion for a priest.   GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,4   Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know how   to make puns.   VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself?   MISSAIL. Let him alone, Father Varlaam.   VARLAAM. But what sort of a fasting man is he? Of his   own accord he attached himself as a companion to us;   no one knows who he is, no one knows whence he comes—   and yet he gives himself grand airs; perhaps he has a   close acquaintance with the pillory. (Drinks and sings:   "A young monk took the tonsure," etc.)   GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road?   HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains.   GREGORY. And is it far to the Luyov mountains?   HOSTESS. Not far; you might get there by evening, but for   the tsar's frontier barriers, and the captains of the   guard.   GREGORY. What say you? Barriers! What means this?   HOSTESS. Someone has escaped from Moscow, and orders   have been given to detain and search everyone.   GREGORY. (Aside.) Here's a pretty mess!   VARLAAM. Hallo, comrade! You've been making up to   mine hostess. To be sure you don't want vodka, but   you want a young woman. All right, brother, all right!   Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and I   have only one thing which we care for—we drink to the   bottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock at   the bottom.   MISSAIL. Well said, Father Varlaam.   GREGORY. (To Hostess.) Whom do they want? Who   escaped from Moscow?   HOSTESS. God knows; a thief perhaps, a robber. But here   even good folk are worried now. And what will come of   it? Nothing. They will not catch the old devil; as if   there were no other road into Lithuania than the highway!   Just turn to the left from here, then by the pinewood   or by the footpath as far as the chapel on the   Chekansky brook, and then straight across the marsh to   Khlopin, and thence to Zakhariev, and then any child   will guide you to the Luyov mountains. The only good   of these inspectors is to worry passers-by and rob us poor   folk. (A noise is heard.) What's that? Ah, there   they are, curse them! They are going their rounds.   GREGORY. Hostess! Is there another room in the cottage?   HOSTESS. No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide.   But they are only pretending to go their rounds; but   give them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what—   May perdition take them, the accursed ones! May—

   (Enter OFFICERS.)

   OFFICERS. Good health to you, mine hostess!   HOSTESS. You are kindly welcome, dear guests.   AN OFFICER. (To another.) Ha, there's drinking going on   here; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.)   Who are you?   VARLAAM. We—are two old clerics, humble monks; we are   going from village to village, and collecting Christian   alms for the monastery.   OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) And thou?   MISSAIL. Our comrade.   GREGORY. A layman from the suburb; I have conducted the   old men as far as the frontier; from here I am going to   my own home.   MISSAIL. So you have changed your mind?   GREGORY. (Sotto voce.) Be silent.   OFFICER. Hostess, bring some more wine, and we will   drink here a little and talk a little with these old men.   2ND OFFICER. (Sotto voce.) Yon lad, it appears, is poor;   there's nothing to be got out of him; on the other hand   the old men—   1ST OFFICER. Be silent; we shall come to them presently.   —Well, my fathers, how are you getting on?   VARLAAM. Badly, my sons, badly! The Christians have   now turned stingy; they love their money; they hide   their money. They give little to God. The people of   the world have become great sinners. They have all   devoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; they   think of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul.   You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes in   three days begging will not bring you three half-pence.   What a sin! A week goes by; another week; you look   into your bag, and there is so little in it that you are   ashamed to show yourself at the monastery. What are   you to do? From very sorrow you drink away what is   left; a real calamity! Ah, it is bad! It seems our last   days have come—   HOSTESS. (Weeps.) God pardon and save you!

   (During the course of VARLAAM'S speech the 1st OFFICER watches MISSAIL significantly.)

   1ST OFFICER. Alexis! Have you the tsar's edict with you?   2ND OFFICER. I have it.   1ST OFFICER. Give it here.   MISSAIL. Why do you look at me so fixedly?   1ST OFFICER. This is why; from Moscow there has fled a   certain wicked heretic—Grishka Otrepiev. Have you   heard this?   MISSAIL. I have not heard it.   OFFICER. Not heard it? Very good. And the tsar has   ordered to arrest and hang the fugitive heretic. Do you   know this?   MISSAIL. I do not know it.   OFFICER. (To VARLAAM.) Do you know how to read?   VARLAAM. In my youth I knew how, but I have forgotten.   OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) And thou?   MISSAIL. God has not made me wise.   OFFICER. So then here's the tsar's edict.   MISSAIL. What do I want it for?   OFFICER. It seems to me that this fugitive heretic, thief,   swindler, is—thou.   MISSAIL. I? Good gracious! What are you talking about?   OFFICER. Stay! Hold the doors. Then we shall soon get   at the truth.   HOSTESS. O the cursed tormentors! Not to leave even the   old man in peace!   OFFICER. Which of you here is a scholar?   GREGORY. (Comes forward.) I am a scholar!   OFFICER. Oh, indeed! And from whom did you learn?   GREGORY. From our sacristan.   OFFICER (Gives him the edict.) Read it aloud.   GREGORY. (Reads.) "An unworthy monk of the Monastery   Of Chudov, Gregory, of the family of Otrepiev, has fallen   into heresy, taught by the devil, and has dared to vex   the holy brotherhood by all kinds of iniquities and acts   of lawlessness. And, according to information, it has   been shown that he, the accursed Grishka, has fled to the   Lithuanian frontier."   OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) How can it be anyone but you?   GREGORY. "And the tsar has commanded to arrest him—"   OFFICER. And to hang!   GREGORY. It does not say here "to hang."   OFFICER. Thou liest. What is meant is not always put into   writing. Read: to arrest and to hang.   GREGORY. "And to hang. And the age of the thief   Grishka" (looking at VARLAAM) "about fifty, and his   height medium; he has a bald head, grey beard, fat   belly."

   (All glance at VARLAAM.)

   1ST OFFICER, My lads! Here is Grishka! Hold him!   Bind him! I never thought to catch him so quickly.   VARLAAM. (Snatching the paper.) Hands off, my lads!   What sort of a Grishka am I? What! Fifty years old,   grey beard, fat belly! No, brother. You're too young   to play off tricks on me. I have not read for a long time   and I make it out badly, but I shall manage to make it   out, as it's a hanging matter. (Spells it out.) "And his   age twenty." Why, brother, where does it say fifty?—   Do you see—twenty?   2ND OFFICER. Yes, I remember, twenty; even so it was   told us.   1ST OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) Then, evidently, you like a   joke, brother.

   (During the reading GREGORY stands with downcast head, and his hand in his breast.)

   VARLAAM. (Continues.) "And in stature he is small, chest   broad, one arm shorter than the other, blue eyes, red   hair, a wart on his cheek, another on his forehead."   Then is it not you, my friend?

   (GREGORY suddenly draws a dagger; all give way before him; he dashes through the window.)

   OFFICERS. Hold him! Hold him!

   (All run out in disorder.)

MOSCOW. SHUISKY'S HOUSE

SHUISKY. A number of Guests. Supper   SHUISKY. More wine! Now, my dear guests.

   (He rises; all rise after him.)

                         The final draught!   Read the prayer, boy.   Boy.                Lord of the heavens, Who art   Eternally and everywhere, accept   The prayer of us Thy servants. For our monarch,   By Thee appointed, for our pious tsar,   Of all good Christians autocrat, we pray.   Preserve him in the palace, on the field   Of battle, on his nightly couch; grant to him   Victory o'er his foes; from sea to sea   May he be glorified; may all his house   Blossom with health, and may its precious branches   O'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves,   May he, as heretofore, be generous.   Gracious, long-suffering, and may the founts   Of his unfailing wisdom flow upon us;   Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens,   For this we pray.   SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign!   Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned not   My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night.

   (Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.)

   PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed,   Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that we   should not succeed in getting any private talk.   SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you stand   Gaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clear   the table, and then be off.

   (Exeunt Servants.)

                             What is it, Athanasius   Mikailovitch?   PUSHKIN.    Such a wondrous thing!   A message was sent here to me today   From Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin.   SHUISKY. Well?   PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son   Of the Terrible—But stay—

   (Goes to the door and examines it.)

                             The royal boy,   Who murdered was by order of Boris—   SHUISKY. But these are no new tidings.   PUSHKIN.                        Wait a little;   Dimitry lives.   SHUISKY.     So that's it! News indeed!   Dimitry living!—Really marvelous!   And is that all?   PUSHKIN.       Pray listen to the end;   Whoe'er he be, whether he be Dimitry   Rescued, or else some spirit in his shape,   Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender,   In any case Dimitry has appeared.   SHUISKY. It cannot be.   PUSHKIN.             Pushkin himself beheld him   When first he reached the court, and through the ranks   Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight   Into the secret chamber of the king.   SHUISKY. What kind of man? Whence comes he?   PUSHKIN.                             No one knows.   'Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky's servant;   That to a ghostly father on a bed   Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed   Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him,   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; farewell, 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.)