The Tsar, the Patriarch and Boyars

TSAR. Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against usLeads rascal troops, a truant friar dares writeThreats to us! Then 'tis time to tame the madman!Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov;My zealous governors need help. ChernigovAlready by the rebel is besieged;Rescue the city and citizens.

BASMANOV. Three monthsShall not pass, Sire, ere even rumour's tongueShall cease to speak of the pretender; cagedIn iron, like a wild beast from oversea,We'll hale him into Moscow, I swear by God.

TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tenderedAlliance to me. But we have no needTo lean on foreign aid; we have enoughOf our own warlike people to repelTraitors and Poles. I have refused.--Shchelkalov!In every district to the governorsSend edicts, that they mount their steeds, and sendThe people as of old on service; likewiseRide to the monasteries, and there enlistThe servants of the churchmen. In days of old,When danger faced our country, hermits freelyWent into battle; it is not now our wishTo trouble them; no, let them pray for us;Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolveOf his boyars. And now a weighty questionWe shall determine; ye know how everywhereThe insolent pretender hath spread abroadHis artful rumours; letters everywhere,By him distributed, have sowed alarmAnd doubt; seditious whispers to and froPass in the market-places; minds are seething.We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrainFrom 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 delusionShall pass away; for pass away it will,And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all.Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly mattersNo prudent judge, ventures today to offerHis voice to thee. This offspring of the devil,This unfrocked monk, has known how to appearDimitry to the people. ShamelesslyHe clothed himself with the name of the tsarevichAs with a stolen vestment. It only needsTo tear it off--and he'll be put to shameBy his own nakedness. The means theretoGod hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six yearsSince then have fled; 'twas in that very yearWhen to the seat of sovereignty the LordAnointed thee--there came to me one eveningA 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 notNor day, nor night, till my old age; in vainI plied myself with herbs and secret spells;In vain did I resort in adorationTo the great wonder-workers in the cloister;Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing waterFrom out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed notHealing to me. Then lost I hope at last,And grew accustomed to my darkness. EvenSlumber showed not to me things visible,Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleepI 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 tsarevichDimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath takenInto His angel band, and I am nowA mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.'I woke, and pondered. What is this? MaybeGod will in very deed vouchsafe to meBelated healing. I will go. I bentMy footsteps to the distant road. I reachedUglich, repair unto the holy minster,Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weepSweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyesWere flowing out in tears. And when the peopleBegan to leave, to my grandson I said:`Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevichDimitry.' The boy led me--and I scarceHad shaped before the grave a silent prayer,When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheldThe light of God, my grandson, and the tomb."That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told.

To Uglich then I sent, where it was learnedThat many sufferers had found likewiseDeliverance at the grave of the tsarevich.This is my counsel; to the Kremlin sendThe sacred relics, place them in the CathedralOf the Archangel; clearly will the peopleSee then the godless villain's fraud; the mightOf the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust.

PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the waysOf the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him.Untainted sleep and power of wonder-workingHe may upon the child's remains bestow;But vulgar rumour must dispassionatelyAnd diligently be tested; is it for us,In stormy times of insurrection,To weigh so great a matter? Will men not sayThat insolently we made of sacred thingsA worldly instrument? Even now the peopleSway senselessly this way and that, even nowThere are enough already of loud rumours;This is no time to vex the people's mindsWith aught so unexpected, grave, and strange.I myself see 'tis needful to demolishThe rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk;But for this end other and simpler meansWill 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 theeGo with us to the palace, where todayI must converse with thee.

1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how paleOur sovereign turned, how from his face there pouredA mighty sweat?