The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

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 h
apless, 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