To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland

  Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul

  Should flame with joy.

  KURBSKY. And dost not thou likewise

  Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she

  Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people’s hearts

  Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits,

  Thy Kremlin, thy dominion.

  PRETENDER. Russian blood,

  O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar

  Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you

  Against your brothers; I am summoning

  Lithuania against Russia; I am showing

  To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow!

  But let my sin fall not on me, but thee,

  Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on!

  KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov.

  (They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.)

  THE COUNCIL OF THE TSAR

  The TSAR, the PATRIARCH and Boyars

  TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us

  Leads rascal troops, a truant friar dares write

  Threats to us! Then ‘tis time to tame the madman!

  Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov;

  My zealous governors need help. Chernigov

  Already by the rebel is besieged;

  Rescue the city and citizens.

  BASMANOV. Three months

  Shall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour’s tongue

  Shall cease to speak of the pretender; caged

  In iron, like a wild beast from oversea,

  We’ll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God.

  (Exit with TRUBETSKOY.)

  TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered

  Alliance to me. But we have no need

  To lean on foreign aid; we have enough

  Of our own warlike people to repel

  Traitors and Poles. I have refused. — Shchelkalov!

  In every district to the governors

  Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send

  The people as of old on service; likewise

  Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist

  The servants of the churchmen. In days of old,

  When danger faced our country, hermits freely

  Went into battle; it is not now our wish

  To trouble them; no, let them pray for us;

  Such is the tsar’s decree, such the resolve

  Of his boyars. And now a weighty question

  We shall determine; ye know how everywhere

  The insolent pretender hath spread abroad

  His artful rumours; letters everywhere,

  By him distributed, have sowed alarm

  And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro

  Pass in the market-places; minds are seething.

  We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain

  From executions, but by what means and how?

  That we will now determine. Holy father,

  Thou first declare thy thought.

  PATRIARCH. The Blessed One,

  The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul,

  Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience;

  Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner,

  Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion

  Shall pass away; for pass away it will,

  And truth’s eternal sun will dawn on all.

  Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters

  No prudent judge, ventures today to offer

  His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil,

  This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear

  Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly

  He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich

  As with a stolen vestment. It only needs

  To tear it off — and he’ll be put to shame

  By his own nakedness. The means thereto

  God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years

  Since then have fled; ‘twas in that very year

  When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord

  Anointed thee — there came to me one evening

  A simple shepherd, a venerable old man,

  Who told me a strange secret. “In my young days,”

  He said, “I lost my sight, and thenceforth knew not

  Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain

  I plied myself with herbs and secret spells;

  In vain did I resort in adoration

  To the great wonder-workers in the cloister;

  Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water

  From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not

  Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last,

  And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even

  Slumber showed not to me things visible,

  Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep

  I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me:

  `Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town,

  To the Cathedral of Transfiguration;

  There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious —

  And I shall pardon thee.’ `But who art thou?’

  I asked the childish voice. `I am the tsarevich

  Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken

  Into His angel band, and I am now

  A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.’

  I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe

  God will in very deed vouchsafe to me

  Belated healing. I will go. I bent

  My footsteps to the distant road. I reached

  Uglich, repair unto the holy minster,

  Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep

  Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes

  Were flowing out in tears. And when the people

  Began to leave, to my grandson I said:

  `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich

  Dimitry.’ The boy led me — and I scarce

  Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer,

  When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld

  The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb.”

  That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told.

  (General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris

  several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.)

  To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned

  That many sufferers had found likewise

  Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich.

  This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send

  The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral

  Of the Archangel; clearly will the people

  See then the godless villain’s fraud; the might

  Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust.

  (Silence.)

  PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways

  Of the All-Highest? ‘Tis not for me to judge Him.

  Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working

  He may upon the child’s remains bestow;

  But vulgar rumour must dispassionately

  And diligently be tested; is it for us,

  In stormy times of insurrection,

  To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say

  That insolently we made of sacred things

  A worldly instrument? Even now the people

  Sway senselessly this way and that, even now

  There are enough already of loud rumours;

  This is no time to vex the people’s minds

  With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange.

  I myself see ‘tis needful to demolish

  The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk;

  But for this end other and simpler means

  Will serve. Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire,

  I will myself appear in public places,

  I will persuade, exhort away this madness,

>   And will expose the vagabond’s vile fraud.

  TSAR. So be it! My lord Patriarch, I pray thee

  Go with us to the palace, where today

  I must converse with thee.

  (Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.)

  1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale

  Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured

  A mighty sweat?

  2ND BOYAR. I durst not, I confess,

  Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir.

  1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A

  splendid fellow!

  A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK

  DECEMBER 21st, 1604

  A BATTLE

  SOLDIERS. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe! The Tsarevich!

  The Poles! There they are! There they are!

  (Captains enter: MARZHERET and WALTHER ROZEN.)

  MARZHERET. Whither, whither? Allons! Go back!

  ONE OF THE FUGITIVES. You go back, if you like, cursed

  infidel.

  MARZHERET. Quoi, quoi?

  ANOTHER. Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the

  sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we — we are

  orthodox.

  MARZHERET. Qu’est-ce a dire “orthodox”? Sacres gueux,

  maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j’enrage; on

  dirait que ca n’a pas de bras pour frapper, ca n’a que des

  jambes pour fuir.

  ROZEN. Es ist Schande.

  MARZHERET. Ventre-saint gris! Je ne bouge plus d’un pas;

  puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire. Qu’en dites-vous,

  mein Herr?

  ROZEN. Sie haben Recht.

  MARZHERET. Tudieu, il y fait chaud! Ce diable de “Pretender,”

  comme ils l’appellent, est un bougre, qui a du

  poil au col? — Qu’en pensez-vous, mein Herr?

  ROZEN. Ja.

  MARZHERET. He! Voyez donc, voyez donc! L’action s’engage

  sur les derrieres de l’ennemi. Ce doit etre le brave

  Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie.

  ROZEN. Ich glaube das.

  (Enter Germans.)

  MARZHERET. Ha, ha! Voici nos allemands. Messieurs!

  Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu,

  chargeons!

  ROZEN. Sehr gut. Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch!

  THE GERMANS. (They march.) Hilf Gott!

  (Fight. The Russians flee again.)

  POLES. Victory! Victory! Glory to the tsar Dimitry!

  DIMITRY. (On horseback.) Cease fighting. We have

  conquered. Enough! Spare Russian blood. Cease

  fighting.

  OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW

  THE PEOPLE

  ONE OF THE PEOPLE. Will the tsar soon come out of the

  Cathedral?

  ANOTHER. The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on.

  THE FIRST. What! Have they already cursed him?

  THE SECOND. I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon

  cried out: — Grishka Otrepiev is anathema!

  THE FIRST. Let him curse to his heart’s content; the

  tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev.

  THE SECOND. But they are now singing mass for the repose

  of the soul of the tsarevich.

  THE FIRST. What? A mass for the dead sung for a living

  Man? They’ll suffer for it, the godless wretches!

  A THIRD. Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar?

  A FOURTH. No, it is the idiot.

  (An idiot enters, in an iron cap, hung round with

  chains, surrounded by boys.)

  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