Tavern on the Lithuanian Frontier

MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that veryLithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach.

GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall notBe content.

VARLAAM. What is it that makes you so fond of Lithuania!Here are we, Father Missail and I, a sinner, when we fledfrom the monastery, then we cared for nothing. Was itLithuania, was it Russia, was it fiddle, was it dulcimer?All the same for us, if only there was wine. That's themain thing!

HOSTESS. (Enters.)There you are, my fathers. Drink to your health.

MISSAIL. Thanks, my good friend. God bless thee. (Themonks drink. Varlaam trolls a ditty: "Thou passestby, my dear," etc.) (To GREGORY) Why don't you joinin the song? Not even join in the song?GREGORY. I don't wish to.

VARLAAM. But a tipsy man's in Heaven.* Father Missail!We will drink a glass to our hostess. (Sings: "Wherethe brave lad in durance," etc.) Still, Father Missail,when I am drinking, then I don't like sober men; tipsinessis one thing--but pride quite another. If you wantto live as we do, you are welcome. No?--then takeyourself off, away with you; a mountebank is nocompanion for a priest.

GREGORY. Drink, and keep your thoughts to yourself,Father Varlaam! You see, I too sometimes know howto make puns.VARLAAM. But why should I keep my thoughts to myself?

GREGORY. (To HOSTESS.) Whither leads this road?

HOSTESS. To Lithuania, my dear, to the Luyov mountains.

GREGORY. (Aside.) Here's a pretty mess!

VARLAAM. Hallo, comrade! You've been making up tomine hostess. To be sure you don't want vodka, butyou want a young woman. All right, brother, all right!Everyone has his own ways, and Father Missail and Ihave only one thing which we care for--we drink to thebottom, we drink; turn it upside down, and knock atthe bottom.GREGORY. Hostess! Is there another room in the cottage?

HOSTESS. No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide.But they are only pretending to go their rounds; butgive them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what--May perdition take them, the accursed ones! May--OFFICERS. Good health to you, mine hostess!

HOSTESS. You are kindly welcome, dear guests.

AN OFFICER. (To another.) Ha, there's drinking going onhere; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.)Who are you?

OFFICER. (To GREGORY.) And thou?

MISSAIL. So you have changed your mind?

VARLAAM. Badly, my sons, badly! The Christians havenow turned stingy; they love their money; they hidetheir money. They give little to God. The people ofthe world have become great sinners. They have alldevoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; theythink of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul.You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes inthree days begging will not bring you three half-pence.What a sin! A week goes by; another week; you lookinto your bag, and there is so little in it that you areashamed to show yourself at the monastery. What areyou to do? From very sorrow you drink away what isleft; a real calamity! Ah, it is bad! It seems our lastdays have come--

HOSTESS. (Weeps.) God pardon and save you!(During the course of VARLAAM'S speech the 1stOFFICER watches MISSAIL significantly.)MISSAIL. I do not know it.

OFFICER. (To VARLAAM.) Do you know how to read?

VARLAAM. In my youth I knew how, but I have forgotten.

OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) And thou?

MISSAIL. God has not made me wise.

OFFICER. So then here's the tsar's edict.

OFFICER. Which of you here is a scholar?

GREGORY. (Comes forward.) I am a scholar!

OFFICER. Oh, indeed! And from whom did you learn?

GREGORY. From our sacristan.

GREGORY. (Reads.) "An unworthy monk of the MonasteryOf Chudov, Gregory, of the family of Otrepiev, has falleninto heresy, taught by the devil, and has dared to vexthe holy brotherhood by all kinds of iniquities and actsof lawlessness. And, according to information, it hasbeen shown that he, the accursed Grishka, has fled to theLithuanian frontier."

OFFICER. (To MISSAIL.) How can it be anyone but you?

GREGORY. "And the tsar has commanded to arrest him--"

GREGORY. "And to hang. And the age of the thiefGrishka" (looking at VARLAAM) "about fifty, and hisheight medium; he has a bald head, grey beard, fatbelly."

VARLAAM. (Snatching the paper.) Hands off, my lads!What sort of a Grishka am I? What! Fifty years old,grey beard, fat belly! No, brother. You're too youngto play off tricks on me. I have not read for a long timeand I make it out badly, but I shall manage to make itout, as it's a hanging matter. (Spells it out.) "And hisage twenty." Why, brother, where does it say fifty?--Do you see--twenty?

VARLAAM. (Continues.) "And in stature he is small, chestbroad, one arm shorter than the other, blue eyes, redhair, a wart on his cheek, another on his forehead."Then is it not you, my friend?

OFFICERS. Hold him! Hold him!

The final draught!Read the prayer, boy.

Boy. Lord of the heavens, Who artEternally and everywhere, acceptThe prayer of us Thy servants. For our monarch,By Thee appointed, for our pious tsar,Of all good Christians autocrat, we pray.Preserve him in the palace, on the fieldOf battle, on his nightly couch; grant to himVictory o'er his foes; from sea to seaMay he be glorified; may all his houseBlossom with health, and may its precious branchesO'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves,May he, as heretofore, be generous.Gracious, long-suffering, and may the fountsOf his unfailing wisdom flow upon us;Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens,For this we pray.

SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign!Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned notMy bread and salt. Farewell; good-night.

PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed,Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that weshould not succeed in getting any private talk.

SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you standGaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clearthe table, and then be off.

What is it, AthanasiusMikailovitch?

PUSHKIN. Such a wondrous thing!A message was sent here to me todayFrom Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin.

PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The sonOf the Terrible--But stay--

The royal boy,Who murdered was by order of Boris--SHUISKY. But these are no new tidings.

PUSHKIN. Wait a little;Dimitry lives.

SHUISKY. So that's it! News indeed!Dimitry living!--Really marvelous!And is that all?

PUSHKIN. Pray listen to the end;Whoe'er he be, whether he be DimitryRescued, or else some spirit in his shape,Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender,In any case Dimitry has appeared.SHUISKY. It cannot be.

PUSHKIN. Pushkin himself beheld himWhen first he reached the court, and through the ranksOf Lithuanian gentlemen went straightInto the secret chamber of the king.

SHUISKY. What kind of man? Whence comes he?

PUSHKIN. No one knows.'Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky's servant;That to a ghostly father on a bedOf sickness he disclosed himself; possessedOf this strange secret, his proud master nursed him,From his sick bed upraised him, and straightwayTook him to Sigismund.

SHUISKY. And what say menOf this bold fellow?

PUSHKIN. 'Tis said that he is wise,Affable, cunning, popular with all men.He has bewitched the fugitives from Moscow,The Catholic priests see eye to eye with him.The King caresses him, and, it is said,Has promised help.

SHUISKY. All this is such a medleyThat my head whirls. Brother, beyond all doubtThis man is a pretender, but the dangerIs, I confess, not slight. This is grave news!And if it reach the people, then there'll beA mighty tempest.

PUSHKIN. Such a storm that hardlyWill Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crownUpon his clever head; and losing itWill get but his deserts! He governs usAs did the tsar Ivan of evil memory.What profits it that public executionsHave ceased, that we no longer sing in publicHymns to Christ Jesus on the field of blood;That we no more are burnt in public places,Or that the tsar no longer with his sceptreRakes in the ashes? Is there any safetyIn our poor life? Each day disgrace awaits us;The dungeon or Siberia, cowl or fetters,And then in some deaf nook a starving death,Or else the halter. Where are the most renownedOf 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 fateWill soon be thine. Think of it! Here at home,Just as in Lithuania, we're besetBy treacherous slaves--and tongues are ever readyFor base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State.We hang upon the word of the first servantWhom we may please to punish. Then he bethought himTo take from us our privilege of hiringOur serfs at will; we are no longer mastersOf our own lands. Presume not to dismissAn idler. Willy nilly, thou must feed him!Presume not to outbid a man in hiringA labourer, or you will find yourselfIn the Court's clutches.--Was such an evil heard ofEven under tsar Ivan? And are the peopleThe better off? Ask them. Let the pretenderBut 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 speakNo word.

PUSHKIN. Assuredly, keep thine own counsel.Thou art--a person of discretion; alwaysI am glad to commune with thee; and if aughtAt any time disturbs me, I endure notTo keep it from thee; and, truth to tell, thy meadAnd velvet ale today have so untiedMy tongue...Farewell then, prince.

SHUISKY. Brother, farewell.Farewell, my brother, till we meet again.