Boris Godunov

   THE BOYS. Nick, Nick, iron nightcap! T-r-r-r-r—   OLD WOMAN. Let him be, you young devils. Innocent one,   pray thou for me a sinner.   IDIOT. Give, give, give a penny.   OLD WOMAN. There is a penny for thee; remember me in   thy prayers.   IDIOT. (Seats himself on the ground and sings:)                  The moon sails on,                   The kitten cries,                   Nick, arise,                  Pray to God.

   (The boys surround him again.)

   ONE OF THEM. How do you do, Nick? Why don't you   take off your cap?

   (Raps him on the iron cap.)

   How it rings!   IDIOT. But I have got a penny.   BOYS. That's not true; now, show it.

   (They snatch the penny and run away.)

   IDIOT. (Weeps.) They have taken my penny, they are   hurting Nick.   THE PEOPLE. The tsar, the tsar is coming!

   (The TSAR comes out from the Cathedral; a boyar in front of him scatters alms among the poor. Boyars.)

   IDIOT. Boris, Boris! The boys are hurting Nick.   TSAR. Give him alms! What is he crying for?   IDIOT. The boys are hurting me…Give orders to slay   them, as thou slewest the little tsarevich.   BOYARS. Go away, fool! Seize the fool!   TSAR. Leave him alone. Pray thou for me, Nick.

   (Exit.)

   IDIOT. (To himself.) No, no! It is impossible to pray for   tsar Herod; the Mother of God forbids it.

SYEVSK

The PRETENDER, surrounded by his supporters   PRETENDER. Where is the prisoner?   A POLE.                         Here.   PRETENDER. Call him before me.

   (A Russian prisoner enters.)

   Who art thou?   PRISONER.   Rozhnov, a nobleman of Moscow.   PRETENDER. Hast long been in the service?   PRISONER.                               About a month.   PRETENDER. Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn   The sword against me?   PRISONER.           What else could I do?   'Twas not our fault.   PRETENDER.         Didst fight beneath the walls   Of Seversk?   PRISONER. 'Twas two weeks after the battle   I came from Moscow.   PRETENDER.        What of Godunov?   PRISONER. The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him   Much apprehension; Shuisky he hath sent   To take command.   PRETENDER.     But why hath he recalled   Basmanov unto Moscow?   PRISONER.           The tsar rewarded   His services with honour and with gold.   Basmanov in the council of the tsar   Now sits.   PRETENDER. The army had more need of him.   Well, how go things in Moscow?   PRISONER.                    All is quiet,   Thank God.   PRETENDER. Say, do they look for me?   PRISONER.                          God knows;   They dare not talk too much there now. Of some   The tongues have been cut off, of others even   The heads. It is a fearsome state of things—   Each day an execution. All the prisons   Are crammed. Wherever two or three forgather   In public places, instantly a spy   Worms himself in; the tsar himself examines   At leisure the denouncers. It is just   Sheer misery; so silence is the best.   PRETENDER. An enviable life for the tsar's people!   Well, how about the army?   PRISONER.               What of them?   Clothed and full-fed they are content with all.   PRETENDER. But is there much of it?   PRISONER.                         God knows.   PRETENDER.                          All told   Will there be thirty thousand?   PRISONER.                    Yes; 'twill run   Even to fifty thousand.

   (The Pretender reflects; those around him glance at one another.)

   PRETENDER.            Well! Of me   What say they in your camp?   PRISONER.                 Your graciousness   They speak of; say that thou, Sire, (be not wrath),   Art a thief, but a fine fellow.   PRETENDER. (Laughing.)        Even so   I'll prove myself to them in deed. My friends,   We will not wait for Shuisky; I wish you joy;   Tomorrow, battle.

   (Exit.)

   ALL.            Long life to Dimitry!   A POLE. Tomorrow, battle! They are fifty thousand,   And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad!   ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge   Five hundred Muscovites.   PRISONER.              Yes, thou mayst challenge!   But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart,   Thou'lt run away.   POLE.           If thou hadst had a sword,   Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon   Have vanquished thee.   PRISONER.           A Russian can make shift   Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool?

   (The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in silence. All laugh.)

A FOREST

PRETENDER and PUSHKIN

(In the background lies a dying horse)

   PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged   Today in the last battle, and when wounded,   How swiftly bore me. My poor horse!   PUSHKIN. (To himself.)            Well, here's   A great ado about a horse, when all   Our army's smashed to bits.   PRETENDER.                Listen! Perhaps   He's but exhausted by the loss of blood,   And will recover.   PUSHKIN.        Nay, nay; he is dying.   PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse.)   My poor horse!—what to do? Take off the bridle,   And loose the girth. Let him at least die free.

   (He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles enter.)

   Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not   Kurbsky among you? I did note today   How to the thick of the fight he clove his path;   Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears   Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them   His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry   Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight?   POLE.                                     He fell   On the field of battle.   PRETENDER.            Honour to the brave,   And peace be on his soul! How few unscathed   Are left us from the fight! Accursed Cossacks,   Traitors and miscreants, you, you it is   Have ruined us! Not even for three minutes   To keep the foe at bay! I'll teach the villains!   Every tenth man I'll hang. Brigands!   PUSHKIN.                           Whoe'er   Be guilty, all the same we were clean worsted,   Routed!   PRETENDER. But yet we nearly conquered. Just   When I had dealt with their front rank, the Germans   Repulsed us utterly. But they're fine fellows!   By God! Fine fellows! I love them for it. From them   I'll form an honourable troop.   PUSHKIN.                     And where   Shall we now spend the night?   PRETENDER.                  Why, here, in the forest.   Why not this for our night quarters? At daybreak   We'll take the road, and dine in Rilsk. Good night.

   (He lies down, puts a saddle under his head, and falls asleep.)

   PUSHKIN. A pleasant sleep, tsarevich! Smashed to bits,   Rescued by flight alone, he is as careless   As a simple child; 'tis clear that Providence   Protects him, and we, my friends, will not lose heart.

MOSCOW. PALACE OF THE TSAR

BORIS. BASMANOV   TSAR. He is vanquished, but what profit lies in that?   We are crowned with a vain conquest; he has mustered   Again his scattered forces, and anew   Threatens us from the ramparts of Putivl.   Meanwhile what are our heroes doing? They stand   At Krom, where from its rotten battlements   A band of Cossacks braves them. There is glory!   No, I am ill content with them; thyself   I shall despatch to take command of them;   I give authority not to birth, but brains.   Their pride of precedence, let it be wounded!   The time has come for me to hold in scorn   The murmur of distinguished nobodies,   And quash pernicious custom.   BASMANOV.                  Ay, my lord   Blessed a hundredfold will be that day   When fire consumes the lists of noblemen   With their dissensions, their ancestral pride.   TSAR. That day is not far off; let me but first   Subdue the insurrection of the people.   BASMANOV. Why trouble about that? The people always   Are prone to secret treason; even so   The swift steed champs the bit; so doth a lad   Chafe at his father's ruling. But what then?   The rider quietly controls the steed,   The father sways the son.   TSAR.                   Sometimes the horse   Doth throw the rider, nor is the son at all times   Quite 'neath the father's will; we can restrain   The people only by unsleeping sternness.   So thought Ivan, sagacious autocrat   And storm-subduer; so his fierce grandson thought.   No, no, kindness is lost upon the people;   Act well—it thanks you not at all; extort   And execute—'twill be no worse for you.

   (Enter a boyar.)

   What now?   BOYAR.  The foreign guests are come.   TSAR.                              I go   To welcome them. Basmanov, wait, stay here;   I still have need to speak: a word with thee.

   (Exit.)

   BASMANOV. High sovereign spirit! God grant he may subdue   The accurst Otrepiev; and much, still much   Of good he'll do for Russia. A great thought   Within his mind has taken birth; it must not   Be suffered to grow cold. What a career   For me when the ancestral horn he breaks   Of the nobility. I have no rivals   In war. I shall stand closest to the throne—   And it may chance—But what is that strange sound?

   (Alarum. Boyars and court-attendants run in disorder, meet each other and whisper.)

   ONE. Fetch a physician!   ANOTHER.              Quickly to the Patriarch!   A THIRD. He calls for the tsarevich, the tsarevich!   A FOURTH. A confessor!   BASMANOV.            What has happened?   A FIFTH AND SIXTH.                    The tsar is ill,   The tsar is dying.   BASMANOV.        Good God!   A FIFTH.                 Upon the throne   He sat, and suddenly he fell; blood gushed   From his mouth and ears.

   (The TSAR is carried in on a chair. All the Tsar's    household; all the boyars.)

   TSAR.                  Let all depart—alone   Leave the tsarevich with me. (All withdraw.) I am dying;   Let us embrace. Farewell, my son; this hour   Thou wilt begin to reign.—O God, my God!   This hour I shall appear before Thy presence—   And have no time to purge my soul with shrift.   But yet, my son, I feel thou art dearer to me   Than is my soul's salvation—be it so!   A subject was I born; it seemed ordained   That I should die a subject in obscurity.   Yet I attained to sovereignty; but how?   Ask not. Enough that thou art innocent.   In justice now thou'lt reign; and I alone   Am answerable for all to God. Dear son,   Cherish no false delusion, of thy free will   Blind not thyself. Stormy the days wherein   Thou dost assume the crown. He is dangerous,   This strange pretender; with a fearful name   He is armed. For many a year experienced   In rule, I could restrain revolt and treason;   They quaked with fear before me; treachery   Dared not to raise its voice; but thou, a boy,   An inexperienced ruler, how wilt thou   Govern amid the tempests, quench revolt,   Shackle sedition? But God is great! He gives   Wisdom to youth, to weakness strength.—Give ear;   Firstly, select a steadfast counsellor,   Of cool, ripe years, loved of the people, honoured   Mid the boyars for birth and fame—even Shuisky.   The army craves today a skilful leader;   Basmanov send, and firmly bear the murmurs   Of the boyars. Thou from thy early years   Didst sit with me in council, thou dost know   The formal course of government; change not   Procedure. Custom is the soul of states.   Of late I have been forced to reinstate   Bans, executions—these thou canst rescind;   And they will bless thee, as they blessed thy uncle   When he obtained the throne of the Terrible.   At the same time, little by little, tighten   Anew the reins of government; now slacken;   But let them not slip from thy hands. Be gracious,   Accessible to foreigners, accept   Their service trustfully. Preserve with strictness   The Church's discipline. Be taciturn;   The royal voice must never lose itself   Upon the air in emptiness, but like   A sacred bell must sound but to announce   Some great disaster or great festival.   Dear son, thou art approaching to those years   When woman's beauty agitates our blood.   Preserve, preserve the sacred purity   Of innocence and proud shamefacedness;   He, who through passion has been wont to wallow   In vicious pleasures in his youthful days,   Becomes in manhood bloodthirsty and surly;   His mind untimely darkens. Of thy household   Be always head; show honour to thy mother,   But rule thy house thyself; thou art a man   And tsar to boot. Be loving to thy sister—   Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector.   FEODOR. (On his knees.) No, no; live on, my father, and reign long;   Without thee both the folk and we will perish.   TSAR. All is at end for me—mine eyes grow dark,   I feel the coldness of the grave—

   (Enter the PATRIARCH and prelates; behind them all the boyars lead the TSARITSA by the hand; the TSAREVNA is sobbing.)

                                    Who's there?   Ah, 'tis the vestment—so! The holy tonsure—   The hour has struck. The tsar becomes a monk,   And the dark sepulchre will be my cell.   Wait yet a little, my lord Patriarch,   I still am tsar. Listen to me, boyars:   To this my son I now commit the tsardom;   Do homage to Feodor. Basmanov, thou,   And ye, my friends, on the grave's brink I pray you   To serve my son with zeal and rectitude!   As yet he is both young and uncorrupted.   Swear ye?   BOYARS. We swear.   TSAR.           I am content. Forgive me   Both my temptations and my sins, my wilful   And secret injuries.—Now, holy father,   Approach thou; I am ready for the rite.

   (The rite of the tonsure begins. The women are carried out swooning.)

A TENT

BASMANOV leads in PUSHKIN   BASMANOV. Here enter, and speak freely. So to me   He sent thee.   PUSHKIN.    He doth offer thee his friendship   And the next place to his in the realm of Moscow.   BASMANOV. But even thus highly by Feodor am I   Already raised; the army I command;   For me he scorned nobility of rank   And the wrath of the boyars. I have sworn to him   Allegiance.   PUSHKIN.  To the throne's lawful successor   Allegiance thou hast sworn; but what if one   More lawful still be living?   BASMANOV.                  Listen, Pushkin:   Enough of that; tell me no idle tales!   I know the man.   PUSHKIN.      Russia and Lithuania   Have long acknowledged him to be Dimitry;   But, for the rest, I do not vouch for it.   Perchance he is indeed the real Dimitry;   Perchance but a pretender; only this   I know, that soon or late the son of Boris   Will yield Moscow to him.   BASMANOV.               So long as I   Stand by the youthful tsar, so long he will not   Forsake the throne. We have enough of troops,   Thank God! With victory I will inspire them.   And whom will you against me send, the Cossack   Karel or Mnishek? Are your numbers many?   In all, eight thousand.   PUSHKIN.              You mistake; they will not   Amount even to that. I say myself   Our army is mere trash, the Cossacks only   Rob villages, the Poles but brag and drink;   The Russians—what shall I say?—with you I'll not   Dissemble; but, Basmanov, dost thou know   Wherein our strength lies? Not in the army, no.   Nor Polish aid, but in opinion—yes,   In popular opinion. Dost remember   The triumph of Dimitry, dost remember   His peaceful conquests, when, without a blow   The docile towns surrendered, and the mob   Bound the recalcitrant leaders? Thou thyself   Saw'st it; was it of their free-will our troops   Fought with him? And when did they so? Boris   Was then supreme. But would they now?—Nay, nay,   It is too late to blow on the cold embers   Of this dispute; with all thy wits and firmness   Thou'lt not withstand him. Were't not better for thee   To furnish to our chief a wise example,   Proclaim Dimitry tsar, and by that act   Bind him your friend for ever? How thinkest thou?   BASMANOV. Tomorrow thou shalt know.   PUSHKIN.                          Resolve.   BASMANOV.                                Farewell.   PUSHKIN. Ponder it well, Basmanov.

   (Exit.)

   BASMANOV.                        He is right.   Everywhere treason ripens; what shall I do?   Wait, that the rebels may deliver me   In bonds to the Otrepiev? Had I not better   Forestall the stormy onset of the flood,   Myself to—ah! But to forswear mine oath!   Dishonour to deserve from age to age!   The trust of my young sovereign to requite   With horrible betrayal! 'Tis a light thing   For a disgraced exile to meditate   Sedition and conspiracy; but I?   Is it for me, the favourite of my lord?—   But death—but power—the people's miseries…

   (He ponders.)

   Here! Who is there? (Whistles.) A horse here!   Sound the muster!

PUBLIC SQUARE IN MOSCOW

PUSHKIN enters, surrounded by the people   THE PEOPLE. The tsarevich a boyar hath sent to us.   Let's hear what the boyar will tell us. Hither!   Hither!   PUSHKIN. (On a platform.) Townsmen of Moscow! The tsarevich   Bids me convey his greetings to you. (He bows.) Ye know   How Divine Providence saved the tsarevich   From out the murderer's hands; he went to punish   His murderer, but God's judgment hath already   Struck down Boris. All Russia hath submitted   Unto Dimitry; with heartfelt repentance   Basmanov hath himself led forth his troops   To swear allegiance to him. In love, in peace   Dimitry comes to you. Would ye, to please   The house of Godunov, uplift a hand   Against the lawful tsar, against the grandson   Of Monomakh?   THE PEOPLE. Not we.   PUSHKIN.          Townsmen of Moscow!   The world well knows how much ye have endured   Under the rule of the cruel stranger; ban,   Dishonour, executions, taxes, hardships,   Hunger—all these ye have experienced.   Dimitry is disposed to show you favour,   Courtiers, boyars, state-servants, soldiers, strangers,   Merchants—and every honest man. Will ye   Be stubborn without reason, and in pride   Flee from his kindness? But he himself is coming   To his ancestral throne with dreadful escort.   Provoke not ye the tsar to wrath, fear God,   And swear allegiance to the lawful ruler;   Humble yourselves; forthwith send to Dimitry   The Metropolitan, deacons, boyars,   And chosen men, that they may homage do   To their lord and father.

   (Exit. Clamour of the People.)

   THE PEOPLE.             What is to be said?   The boyar spake truth. Long live Dimitry, our father!   A PEASANT ON THE PLATFORM. People! To the Kremlin!   To the Royal palace!   The whelp of Boris go bind!   THE PEOPLE. (Rushing in a crowd.)                             Bind, drown him! Hail   Dimitry! Perish the race of Godunov!

THE KREMLIN. HOUSE OF BORIS

A GUARD on the Staircase. FEODOR at a Window   BEGGAR. Give alms, for Christ's sake.   GUARD. Go away; it is forbidden to speak to the prisoners.   FEODOR. Go, old man, I am poorer than thou; thou art at   liberty.

   (KSENIA, veiled, also comes to the window.)

   ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Brother and sister—poor children, like   birds in a cage.   SECOND PERSON. Are you going to pity them? Accursed   Family!   FIRST PERSON. The father was a villain, but the children are   innocent.   SECOND PERSON. The apple does not fall far from the   apple-tree.   KSENIA. Dear brother! Dear brother! I think the boyars   are coming to us.   FEODOR. That is Golitsin, Mosalsky. I do not know the   others.   KSENIA. Ah! Dear brother, my heart sinks.

   (GOLITSIN, MOSALSKY, MOLCHANOV, and SHEREFEDINOV; behind them three archers.)

   THE PEOPLE. Make way, make way; the boyars come.

   (They enter the house.)

   ONE OF THE PEOPLE. What have they come for?   SECOND. Most like to make Feodor Godunov take the oath.   THIRD. Very like. Hark! What a noise in the house!   What an uproar! They are fighting!   THE PEOPLE. Do you hear? A scream! That was a   woman's voice. We will go up. We will go up!—The   doors are fastened—the cries cease—the noise continues.

   (The doors are thrown open. MOSALSKY appears on    the staircase.)

   MOSALSKY. People! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor   have poisoned themselves. We have seen their dead   bodies.

   (The People are silent with horror.)

   Why are ye silent? Cry, Long live the tsar Dimitry   Ivanovich!

   (The People are speechless.)

THE END

1

The list of Dramatis Personae which does not appear in the original has been added for the convenience of the reader—A.H.

2

This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the published version of the play.

3

The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot be satisfactorily rendered into English.

4

The Russian text has here a play on the words which cannot be satisfactorily rendered into English.