Александр Пушкин
Boris Godunov

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.)

   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

Dressing-Room of Marina

MARINA, ROUZYA (dressing her), Serving-Women

   MARINA.
   (Before a mirror.) Now then, is it ready? Cannot
   you make haste?

   ROUZYA. I pray you first to make the difficult choice;
   Will you the necklace wear of pearls, or else
   The emerald half-moon?

   MARINA.              My diamond crown.

   ROUZYA. Splendid! Do you remember that you wore it
   When to the palace you were pleased to go?
   They say that at the ball your gracious highness
   Shone like the sun; men sighed, fair ladies whispered—
   'Twas then that for the first time young Khotkevich
   Beheld you, he who after shot himself.
   And whosoever looked on you, they say
   That instant fell in love.

   MARINA.                  Can't you be quicker?

   ROUZYA. At once. Today your father counts upon you.
   'Twas not for naught the young tsarevich saw you;
   He could not hide his rapture; wounded he is
   Already; so it only needs to deal him
   A resolute blow, and instantly, my lady,
   He'll be in love with you. 'Tis now a month
   Since, quitting Cracow, heedless of the war
   And throne of Moscow, he has feasted here,
   Your guest, enraging Poles alike and Russians.
   Heavens! Shall I ever live to see the day?—
   Say, you will not, when to his capital
   Dimitry leads the queen of Moscow, say
   You'll not forsake me?

   MARINA.              Dost thou truly think
   I shall be queen?

   ROUZYA.         Who, if not you? Who here
   Dares to compare in beauty with my mistress?
   The race of Mnishek never yet has yielded
   To any. In intellect you are beyond
   All praise.—Happy the suitor whom your glance
   Honours with its regard, who wins your heart—
   Whoe'er he be, be he our king, the dauphin
   Of France, or even this our poor tsarevich
   God knows who, God knows whence!

   MARINA.                        The very son
   Of the tsar, and so confessed by the whole world.

   ROUZYA. And yet last winter he was but a servant
   In the house of Vishnevetsky.

   MARINA.                     He was hiding.

   ROUZYA. I do not question it: but still do you know
   What people say about him? That perhaps
   He is a deacon run away from Moscow,
   In his own district a notorious rogue.

   MARINA. What nonsense!

   ROUZYA.              O, I do not credit it!
   I only say he ought to bless his fate
   That you have so preferred him to the others.

   WAITING-WOMAN. (Runs in.) The guests have come already.

   MARINA.                           There you see;
   You're ready to chatter silliness till daybreak.
   Meanwhile I am not dressed—

   ROUZYA.                   Within a moment
   'Twill be quite ready.

(The Waiting-women bustle.)

MARINA. (Aside.) I must find out all.

A SUITE OF LIGHTED ROOMS

VISHNEVETSKY, MNISHEK

   MNISHEK. With none but my Marina doth he speak,
   With no one else consorteth—and that business
   Looks dreadfully like marriage. Now confess,
   Didst ever think my daughter would be a queen?

   VISHNEVETSKY. 'Tis wonderful.—And, Mnishek, didst thou think
   My servant would ascend the throne of Moscow?

   MNISHEK. And what a girl, look you, is my Marina.
   I merely hinted to her: "Now, be careful!
   Let not Dimitry slip"—and lo! Already
   He is completely tangled in her toils.

(The band plays a Polonaise. The PRETENDER and

   MARINA advance as the first couple.)

   MARINA. (Sotto voce to Dimitry.) Tomorrow evening at eleven, beside
   The fountain in the avenue of lime-trees.

(They walk off. A second couple.)

   CAVALIER. What can Dimitry see in her?

   DAME.                                How say you?
   She is a beauty.

   CAVALIER.      Yes, a marble nymph;
   Eyes, lips, devoid of life, without a smile.

(A fresh couple.)

DAME. He is not handsome, but his eyes are pleasing,
And one can see he is of royal birth.

(A fresh couple.)

   DAME. When will the army march?

   CAVALIER.                     When the tsarevich
   Orders it; we are ready; but 'tis clear
   The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean
   To keep us prisoners here.

   DAME.                    A pleasant durance.

   CAVALIER. Truly, if you…

(They walk off; the rooms become empty.)

   MNISHEK.          We old ones dance no longer;
   The sound of music lures us not; we press not
   Nor kiss the hands of charmers—ah! My friend,
   I've not forgotten the old pranks! Things now
   Are not what once they were, what once they were!
   Youth, I'll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty
   So lively; everything—confess, my friend—
   Has somehow become dull. So let us leave them;
   My comrade, let us go and find a flask
   Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould;
   Let's bid my butler open an old bottle,
   And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete,
   Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat;
   And while we're so engaged, let's think things over.
   Let us go, brother.

   VISHNEVETSKY.     Yes, my friend, let's go.

NIGHT

THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN

   PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come.
   I was not born a coward; I have seen
   Death near at hand, and face to face with death
   My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon
   Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued,
   And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness
   I have escaped captivity. But what
   Is this which now constricts my breath? What means
   This overpowering tremor, or this quivering
   Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day
   I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered
   On all that I should say to her, how best
   I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind,
   Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour
   Has come—and I remember naught, I cannot
   Recall the speeches I have learned by rote;
   Love puts imagination to confusion—
   But something there gleamed suddenly—a rustling;
   Hush—no, it was the moon's deceitful light,
   It was the rustling of the breeze.

   MARINA. (Enters.)                Tsarevich!

   PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still.

   MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou?

   PRETENDER.                 Bewitching voice!

(Goes to her.)

   Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone
   With me, beneath the roof of quiet night?
   How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly
   The glow of evening died away! How long
   I have waited in the gloom of night!

   MARINA.                            The hours
   Are flitting fast, and time is precious to me.
   I did not grant a meeting here to thee
   To listen to a lover's tender speeches.
   No need of words. I well believe thou lovest;
   But listen; with thy stormy, doubtful fate
   I have resolved to join my own; but one thing,
   Dimitry, I require; I claim that thou
   Disclose to me thy secret hopes, thy plans,
   Even thy fears, that hand in hand with thee
   I may confront life boldly—not in blindness
   Of childlike ignorance, not as the slave
   And plaything of my husband's light desires,
   Thy speechless concubine, but as thy spouse,
   And worthy helpmate of the tsar of Moscow.

   PRETENDER. O, if it be only for one short hour,
   Forget the cares and troubles of my fate!
   Forget 'tis the tsarevich whom thou seest
   Before thee. O, behold in me, Marina,
   A lover, by thee chosen, happy only
   In thy regard. O, listen to the prayers
   Of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith
   My heart is full.

   MARINA.         Prince, this is not the time;
   Thou loiterest, and meanwhile the devotion
   Of thine adherents cooleth. Hour by hour
   Danger becomes more dangerous, difficulties
   More difficult; already dubious rumours
   Are current, novelty already takes
   The place of novelty; and Godunov
   Adopts his measures.

   PRETENDER.         What is Godunov?
   Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness,
   Swayed by Boris? Nay, nay. Indifferently
   I now regard his throne, his kingly power.
   Thy love—without it what to me is life,
   And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia?
   On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, thou—
   Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown;
   Thy love—

   MARINA. For shame! Forget not, prince, thy high
   And sacred destiny; thy dignity
   Should be to thee more dear than all the joys
   Of life and its allurements. It thou canst not
   With anything compare. Not to a boy,
   Insanely boiling, captured by my beauty—
   But to the heir of Moscow's throne give I
   My hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich
   Rescued by destiny.

   PRETENDER.        Torture me not,
   Charming Marina; say not that 'twas my rank
   And not myself that thou didst choose. Marina!
   Thou knowest not how sorely thou dost wound
   My heart thereby. What if—O fearful doubt!—
   Say, if blind destiny had not assigned me
   A kingly birth; if I were not indeed
   Son of Ivan, were not this boy, so long
   Forgotten by the world—say, then wouldst thou
   Have loved me?

   MARINA.      Thou art Dimitry, and aught else
   Thou canst not be; it is not possible
   For me to love another.

   PRETENDER.            Nay! Enough—
   I have no wish to share with a dead body
   A mistress who belongs to him; I have done
   With counterfeiting, and will tell the truth.
   Know, then, that thy Dimitry long ago
   Perished, was buried—and will not rise again;
   And dost thou wish to know what man I am?
   Well, I will tell thee. I am—a poor monk.
   Grown weary of monastic servitude,
   I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design,
   Made ready for the world a miracle—
   And from my cell at last fled to the Cossacks,
   To their wild hovels; there I learned to handle
   Both steeds and swords; I showed myself to you.
   I called myself Dimitry, and deceived
   The brainless Poles. What say'st thou, proud Marina?
   Art thou content with my confession? Why
   Dost thou keep silence?

   MARINA.               O shame! O woe is me!

(Silence.)

   PRETENDER. (Sotto voce.) O whither hath a fit of anger led me?
   The happiness devised with so much labour
   I have, perchance, destroyed for ever. Idiot,
   What have I done? (Aloud.) I see thou art ashamed
   Of love not princely; so pronounce on me
   The fatal word; my fate is in thy hands.
   Decide; I wait.

(Falls on his knees.)

   MARINA.       Rise, poor pretender! Think'st thou
   To please with genuflex on my vain heart,
   As if I were a weak, confiding girl?
   You err, my friend; prone at my feet I've seen
   Knights and counts nobly born; but not for this
   Did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk—

   PRETENDER. (Rises.) Scorn not the young pretender; noble virtues
   May lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy
   Of Moscow's throne, even of thy priceless hand—

   MARINA. Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch!

   PRETENDER. I am to blame; carried away by pride
   I have deceived God and the kings—have lied
   To the world; but it is not for thee, Marina,
   To judge me; I am guiltless before thee.
   No, I could not deceive thee. Thou to me
   Wast the one sacred being, before thee
   I dared not to dissemble; love alone,
   Love, jealous, blind, constrained me to tell all.

   MARINA. What's that to boast of, idiot? Who demanded
   Confession of thee? If thou, a nameless vagrant
   Couldst wonderfully blind two nations, then
   At least thou shouldst have merited success,
   And thy bold fraud secured, by constant, deep,
   And lasting secrecy. Say, can I yield
   Myself to thee, can I, forgetting rank
   And maiden modesty, unite my fate
   With thine, when thou thyself impetuously
   Dost thus with such simplicity reveal
   Thy shame? It was from Love he blabbed to me!
   I marvel wherefore thou hast not from friendship
   Disclosed thyself ere now before my father,
   Or else before our king from joy, or else
   Before Prince Vishnevetsky from the zeal
   Of a devoted servant.

   PRETENDER.          I swear to thee
   That thou alone wast able to extort
   My heart's confession; I swear to thee that never,
   Nowhere, not in the feast, not in the cup
   Of folly, not in friendly confidence,