Palace of the Tsar

KSENIA. (Kisses a portrait.) My dear bridegroom, comelyson of a king, not to me wast thou given, not to thyaffianced bride, but to a dark sepulchre in a strangeland; never shall I take comfort, ever shall I weep forthee.

NURSE. Eh, tsarevna! A maiden weeps as the dew falls;the sun will rise, will dry the dew. Thou wilt haveanother bridegroom--and handsome and affable. Mycharming child, thou wilt learn to love him, thou wiltforget Ivan the king's son.KSENIA. Nay, nurse, I will be true to him even in death.

TSAR. What, Ksenia? What, my sweet one? In thy girlhoodAlready a woe-stricken widow, everBewailing thy dead bridegroom! Fate forbade meTo be the author of thy bliss. PerchanceI angered Heaven; it was not mine to compassThy happiness. Innocent one, for whatArt thou a sufferer? And thou, my son,With what art thou employed? What's this?

FEODOR. A chartOf all the land of Muscovy; our tsardomFrom end to end. Here you see; there is Moscow,There Novgorod, there Astrakhan. Here liesThe sea, here the dense forest tract of Perm,And here Siberia.

TSAR. And what is thisWhich makes a winding pattern here?

FEODOR. That isThe Volga.

TSAR. Very good! Here's the sweet fruitOf learning. One can view as from the cloudsOur whole dominion at a glance; its frontiers,Its towns, its rivers. Learn, my son; 'tis scienceWhich gives to us an abstract of the eventsOf our swift-flowing life. Some day, perchanceSoon, all the lands which thou so cunninglyToday hast drawn on paper, all will comeUnder thy hand. Learn, therefore; and more smoothly,More clearly wilt thou take, my son, upon theeThe cares of state.

But there comes GodunovBringing reports to me. (To KSENIA.) Go to thy chamberDearest; farewell, my child; God comfort thee.

SEMYON G. Today at dawn the butler of Prince ShuiskyAnd Pushkin's servant brought me information.

SEMYON G. In the first place Pushkin's man deposedThat yestermorn came to his house from CracowA courier, who within an hour was sentWithout a letter back.TSAR. Arrest the courier.

TSAR. And what of Shuisky?

SEMYON G. Last night he entertainedHis friends; the Buturlins, both Miloslavskys,And Saltikov, with Pushkin and some others.They parted late. Pushkin alone remainedCloseted with his host and talked with himA long time more.

TSAR. For Shuisky send forthwith.

TSAR. Call him hither.

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--

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 theeGrave news.

TSAR. I listen.

SHUISKY. (Sotto voce, pointing to FEODOR.)But, sire--

TSAR. The tsarevichMay learn whate'er Prince Shuisky knoweth. Speak.

SHUISKY. My liege, from Lithuania there have comeTidings to us--

TSAR. Are they not those same tidingsWhich yestereve a courier bore to Pushkin?

SHUISKY. Nothing is hidden from him!--Sire, I thoughtThou knew'st not yet this secret.

TSAR. Let not thatTrouble thee, prince; I fain would scrutiniseThy information; else we shall not learnThe 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. VerilyThy state, my liege, is firm; by graciousness,Zeal, bounty, thou hast won the filial loveOf all thy slaves; but thou thyself dost knowThe mob is thoughtless, changeable, rebellious,Credulous, lightly given to vain hope,Obedient to each momentary impulse,To truth deaf and indifferent; it feedethOn fables; shameless boldness pleaseth it.So, if this unknown vagabond should crossThe Lithuanian border, Dimitry's nameRaised from the grave will gain him a whole crowdOf fools.

TSAR. Dimitry's?--What?--That child's?--Dimitry's?Withdraw, tsarevich.SHUISKY. He flushed; there'll be a storm!

TSAR. Impossible, my son;Go, go!

SHUISKY. Then he knew nothing.

TSAR. Listen: take steps this very hour that RussiaBe 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 reportIs artfully concocted? Hast ever heardThat dead men have arisen from their gravesTo question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed,Chosen by the voice of all the people, crownedBy the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable?Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat?

TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this childHad 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 notA substitute? Reply.

TSAR. Nay, Shuisky, swear not, but reply; was itIndeed Dimitry?

TSAR. Consider, prince.I promise clemency; I will not punishWith vain disgrace a lie that's past. But ifThou now beguile me, then by my son's headI swear--an evil fate shall overtake thee,Requital such that Tsar Ivan VasilievichShall shudder in his grave with horror of it.

SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terrorDoth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presenceDare I use cunning? Could I deceive myselfSo blindly as not recognise Dimitry?Three days in the cathedral did I visitHis corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich.Around him thirteen bodies lay of thoseSlain by the people, and on them corruptionAlready had set in perceptibly.But lo! The childish face of the tsarevichWas bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep;The deep gash had congealed not, nor the linesOf his face even altered. No, my liege,There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave.TSAR. Enough, withdraw.

I choke!--let me get my breath!I felt it; all my blood surged to my face,And heavily fell back.--So that is whyFor thirteen years together I have dreamedEver about the murdered child. Yes, yes--'Tis that!--now I perceive. But who is he,My terrible antagonist? Who is itOpposeth 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 signOf fear, but nothing must be held in scorn.Ah! Heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh!