The Queen of Spades and Selected Works (Pushkin Collection)

  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 kno
w 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

  THE STONE GUEST

  Translated by T. Keane

  This poetic drama is based on the Spanish legend of Don Juan and was written in 1830 as part of Pushkin’s collection of four short plays titled The Little Tragedies. Unlike most traditional adaptations of the Don Juan tale, which tend to use a farcical and comedic tone, Pushkin’s play is more in the style of a romantic tragedy. It is now believed that The Stone Guest was never meant for the stage, being a play with little action, except for a duel. The poet is believed to have been inspired after seeing the premiere of a Russian-language version of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Pushkin borrowed certain elements from the libretto, though he made the story his own by adopting the tragic tone.

  ‘Pushkin’ by Orest Kiprensky, 1827

  CONTENTS

  SCENE I

  SCENE II

  SCENE III

  SCENE IV

  THE STONE GUEST

  LEPORELLO.

  O statua gentilissima

  Del gran Commendatore!...

  Ah, Padrone!

  Don Giovanni

  SCENE I

  DON JUAN AND LEPORELLO

  DON JUAN. Here we’ll await the night. — And so at last

  We’ve reached the portals of Madrid, and soon

  Along the well-known streets shall I be flitting,

  Mustache and brows concealed by cloak and hat.

  What think you? Could I e’er be recognized?

  LEPORELLO. Ah, sure ‘tis hard to recognize Don Juan!

  There are so many like him.