SHUISKY. More wine! Now, my dear guests.

   (He rises; all rise after him.)

                         The final draught!
   Read the prayer, boy.

   Boy.                Lord of the heavens, Who art
   Eternally and everywhere, accept
   The 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 field
   Of battle, on his nightly couch; grant to him
   Victory o'er his foes; from sea to sea
   May he be glorified; may all his house
   Blossom with health, and may its precious branches
   O'ershadow all the earth; to us, his slaves,
   May he, as heretofore, be generous.
   Gracious, long-suffering, and may the founts
   Of 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 not
   My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night.

   (Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.)

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

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

   (Exeunt Servants.)

                             What is it, Athanasius
   Mikailovitch?

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

   SHUISKY. Well?

   PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son
   Of the Terrible—But stay—

   (Goes to the door and examines it.)

                             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 Dimitry
   Rescued, 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 him
   When first he reached the court, and through the ranks
   Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight
   Into 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 bed
   Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed
   Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him,
   From his sick bed upraised him, and straightway
   Took him to Sigismund.

   SHUISKY.             And what say men
   Of 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 medley
   That my head whirls. Brother, beyond all doubt
   This man is a pretender, but the danger
   Is, I confess, not slight. This is grave news!
   And if it reach the people, then there'll be
   A mighty tempest.

   PUSHKIN.        Such a storm that hardly
   Will Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crown
   Upon his clever head; and losing it
   Will get but his deserts! He governs us
   As did the tsar Ivan of evil memory.
   What profits it that public executions
   Have ceased, that we no longer sing in public
   Hymns 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 sceptre
   Rakes in the ashes? Is there any safety
   In 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 renowned
   Of 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 fate
   Will soon be thine. Think of it! Here at home,
   Just as in Lithuania, we're beset
   By treacherous slaves—and tongues are ever ready
   For base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State.
   We hang upon the word of the first servant
   Whom we may please to punish. Then he bethought him
   To take from us our privilege of hiring
   Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters
   Of our own lands. Presume not to dismiss
   An idler. Willy nilly, thou must feed him!
   Presume not to outbid a man in hiring
   A labourer, or you will find yourself
   In the Court's clutches.—Was such an evil heard of
   Even under tsar Ivan? And are the people
   The better off? Ask them. Let the pretender
   But 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 speak
   No word.

   PUSHKIN. Assuredly, keep thine own counsel.
   Thou art—a person of discretion; always
   I am glad to commune with thee; and if aught
   At any time disturbs me, I endure not
   To keep it from thee; and, truth to tell, thy mead
   And velvet ale today have so untied
   My tongue...Farewell then, prince.

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

   (He escorts PUSHKIN out.)

   KSENIA. (Kisses a portrait.) My dear bridegroom, comely
   son of a king, not to me wast thou given, not to thy
   affianced bride, but to a dark sepulchre in a strange
   land; never shall I take comfort, ever shall I weep for
   thee.

   NURSE. Eh, tsarevna! A maiden weeps as the dew falls;
   the sun will rise, will dry the dew. Thou wilt have
   another bridegroom—and handsome and affable. My
   charming child, thou wilt learn to love him, thou wilt
   forget Ivan the king's son.

   KSENIA. Nay, nurse, I will be true to him even in death.

   (Boris enters.)

   TSAR. What, Ksenia? What, my sweet one? In thy girlhood
   Already a woe-stricken widow, ever
   Bewailing thy dead bridegroom! Fate forbade me
   To be the author of thy bliss. Perchance
   I angered Heaven; it was not mine to compass
   Thy happiness. Innocent one, for what
   Art thou a sufferer? And thou, my son,
   With what art thou employed? What's this?

   FEODOR.                           A chart
   Of all the land of Muscovy; our tsardom
   From end to end. Here you see; there is Moscow,
   There Novgorod, there Astrakhan. Here lies
   The sea, here the dense forest tract of Perm,
   And here Siberia.

   TSAR.           And what is this
   Which makes a winding pattern here?

   FEODOR.                           That is
   The Volga.

   TSAR.    Very good! Here's the sweet fruit
   Of learning. One can view as from the clouds
   Our whole dominion at a glance; its frontiers,
   Its towns, its rivers. Learn, my son; 'tis science
   Which gives to us an abstract of the events
   Of our swift-flowing life. Some day, perchance
   Soon, all the lands which thou so cunningly
   Today hast drawn on paper, all will come
   Under thy hand. Learn, therefore; and more smoothly,
   More clearly wilt thou take, my son, upon thee
   The cares of state.

   (SEMYON Godunov enters.)

                     But there comes Godunov
   Bringing reports to me. (To KSENIA.) Go to thy chamber
   Dearest; farewell, my child; God comfort thee.

   (Exeunt KSENIA and NURSE.)

   What news hast thou for me, Semyon Nikitich?

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

   TSAR. Well?

   SEMYON G. In the first place Pushkin's man deposed
   That yestermorn came to his house from Cracow
   A courier, who within an hour was sent
   Without a letter back.

   TSAR.                Arrest the courier.

   SEMYON G. Some are already sent to overtake him.

   TSAR. And what of Shuisky?

   SEMYON G.               Last night he entertained
   His friends; the Buturlins, both Miloslavskys,
   And Saltikov, with Pushkin and some others.
   They parted late. Pushkin alone remained
   Closeted with his host and talked with him
   A long time more.

   TSAR.           For Shuisky send forthwith.

   SEMYON G. Sire, he is here already.

   TSAR.                       Call him hither.

   (Exit SEMYON Godunov.)

   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—

   (Enter SHUISKY.)

                    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 thee
   Grave news.

   TSAR.     I listen.

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

   TSAR.                      The tsarevich
   May learn whate'er Prince Shuisky knoweth. Speak.

   SHUISKY. My liege, from Lithuania there have come
   Tidings to us—

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

   SHUISKY. Nothing is hidden from him!—Sire, I thought
   Thou knew'st not yet this secret.

   TSAR.                           Let not that
   Trouble thee, prince; I fain would scrutinise
   Thy information; else we shall not learn
   The 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.                         Verily
   Thy state, my liege, is firm; by graciousness,
   Zeal, bounty, thou hast won the filial love
   Of all thy slaves; but thou thyself dost know
   The mob is thoughtless, changeable, rebellious,
   Credulous, lightly given to vain hope,
   Obedient to each momentary impulse,
   To truth deaf and indifferent; it feedeth
   On fables; shameless boldness pleaseth it.
   So, if this unknown vagabond should cross
   The Lithuanian border, Dimitry's name
   Raised from the grave will gain him a whole crowd
   Of fools.

   TSAR. Dimitry's?—What?—That child's?—Dimitry's?
   Withdraw, tsarevich.

   SHUISKY.           He flushed; there'll be a storm!

   FEODOR. Suffer me, Sire—

   TSAR.                  Impossible, my son;
   Go, go!

   (Exit FEODOR.)

         Dimitry's name!

   SHUISKY.            Then he knew nothing.

   TSAR. Listen: take steps this very hour that Russia
   Be 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 report
   Is artfully concocted? Hast ever heard
   That dead men have arisen from their graves
   To question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed,
   Chosen by the voice of all the people, crowned
   By the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable?
   Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat?

   SHUISKY.                               I, Sire?

   TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this child
   Had 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 not
   A substitute? Reply.

   SHUISKY.           I swear to thee—

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

   SHUISKY.      He.

   TSAR.           Consider, prince.
   I promise clemency; I will not punish
   With vain disgrace a lie that's past. But if
   Thou now beguile me, then by my son's head
   I swear—an evil fate shall overtake thee,
   Requital such that Tsar Ivan Vasilievich
   Shall shudder in his grave with horror of it.

   SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terror
   Doth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presence
   Dare I use cunning? Could I deceive myself
   So blindly as not recognise Dimitry?
   Three days in the cathedral did I visit
   His corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich.
   Around him thirteen bodies lay of those
   Slain by the people, and on them corruption
   Already had set in perceptibly.
   But lo! The childish face of the tsarevich
   Was bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep;
   The deep gash had congealed not, nor the lines
   Of his face even altered. No, my liege,
   There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave.

   TSAR. Enough, withdraw.

   (Exit SHUISKY.)

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

   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!

   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.

   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.

   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,
   Not 'neath the knife nor tortures of the rack,
   Shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets.

   MARINA. Thou swearest! Then I must believe. Believe,
   Of course! But may I learn by what thou swearest?
   Is it not by the name of God, as suits
   The Jesuits' devout adopted son?
   Or by thy honour as a high-born knight?
   Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone
   As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare.

   PRETENDER. (Proudly.) The phantom of the Terrible hath made me
   His son; from out the sepulchre hath named me
   Dimitry, hath stirred up the people round me,
   And hath consigned Boris to be my victim.
   I am tsarevich. Enough! 'Twere shame for me
   To stoop before a haughty Polish dame.
   Farewell for ever; the game of bloody war,
   The wide cares of my destiny, will smother,
   I hope, the pangs Of love. O, when the heat
   Of shameful passion is o'erspent, how then
   Shall I detest thee! Now I leave thee—ruin,
   Or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia;
   Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier
   In honourable fight, or as a miscreant
   Upon the public scaffold, thou shalt not
   Be my companion, nor shalt share with me
   My fate; but it may be thou shalt regret
   The destiny thou hast refused.

   MARINA.                      But what
   If I expose beforehand thy bold fraud
   To all men?

   PRETENDER. Dost thou think I fear thee? Think'st thou
   They will believe a Polish maiden more
   Than Russia's own tsarevich? Know, proud lady,
   That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles trouble
   Whether my words be true, whether I be
   Dimitry or another. What care they?
   But I provide a pretext for revolt
   And war; and this is all they need; and thee,
   Rebellious one, believe me, they will force
   To hold thy peace. Farewell.

   MARINA.                    Tsarevich, stay!
   At last I hear the speech not of a boy,
   But of a man. It reconciles me to thee.
   Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see
   Again Dimitry. Listen; now is the time!
   Hasten; delay no more, lead on thy troops
   Quickly to Moscow, purge the Kremlin, take
   Thy seat upon the throne of Moscow; then
   Send me the nuptial envoy; but, God hears me,
   Until thy foot be planted on its steps,
   Until by thee Boris be overthrown,
   I am not one to listen to love-speeches.

   PRETENDER. No—easier far to strive with Godunov.
   Or play false with the Jesuits of the Court,
   Than with a woman. Deuce take them; they're beyond
   My power. She twists, and coils, and crawls, slips out
   Of hand, she hisses, threatens, bites. Ah, serpent!
   Serpent! 'Twas not for nothing that I trembled.
   She well-nigh ruined me; but I'm resolved;
   At daybreak I will put my troops in motion.

   KURBSKY. (Galloping at their head.)
   There, there it is; there is the Russian frontier!
   Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine!
   With scorn from off my clothing now I shake
   The foreign dust, and greedily I drink
   New air; it is my native air. O father,
   Thy soul hath now been solaced; in the grave
   Thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy!
   Again doth flash our old ancestral sword,
   This glorious sword—the dread of dark Kazan!
   This good sword—servant of the tsars of Moscow!
   Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter,
   Serving the master of its hopes.

   PRETENDER. (Moves quietly with bowed head.) How happy
   Is he, how flushed with gladness and with glory
   His stainless soul! Brave knight, I envy thee!
   The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile,
   Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father,
   Redeeming his transgression in the grave,
   Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan
   To shed thy blood, to give the fatherland
   Its lawful tsar. Righteous art thou; thy soul
   Should flame with joy.

   KURBSKY.             And dost not thou likewise
   Rejoice in spirit? There lies our Russia; she
   Is thine, tsarevich! There thy people's hearts
   Are waiting for thee, there thy Moscow waits,
   Thy Kremlin, thy dominion.

   PRETENDER.               Russian blood,
   O Kurbsky, first must flow! Thou for the tsar
   Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless; but I lead you
   Against your brothers; I am summoning
   Lithuania against Russia; I am showing
   To foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow!
   But let my sin fall not on me, but thee,
   Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on!

   KURBSKY. Forward! Advance! And woe to Godunov.

   (They gallop. The troops cross the frontier.)

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

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

   (Exit with TRUBETSKOY.)

   TSAR. The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered
   Alliance to me. But we have no need
   To lean on foreign aid; we have enough
   Of our own warlike people to repel
   Traitors and Poles. I have refused.—Shchelkalov!
   In every district to the governors
   Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send
   The people as of old on service; likewise
   Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist
   The servants of the churchmen. In days of old,
   When danger faced our country, hermits freely
   Went into battle; it is not now our wish
   To trouble them; no, let them pray for us;
   Such is the tsar's decree, such the resolve
   Of his boyars. And now a weighty question
   We shall determine; ye know how everywhere
   The insolent pretender hath spread abroad
   His artful rumours; letters everywhere,
   By him distributed, have sowed alarm
   And doubt; seditious whispers to and fro
   Pass in the market-places; minds are seething.
   We needs must cool them; gladly would I refrain
   From 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 delusion
   Shall pass away; for pass away it will,
   And truth's eternal sun will dawn on all.
   Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters
   No prudent judge, ventures today to offer
   His voice to thee. This offspring of the devil,
   This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear
   Dimitry to the people. Shamelessly
   He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich
   As with a stolen vestment. It only needs
   To tear it off—and he'll be put to shame
   By his own nakedness. The means thereto
   God hath Himself supplied. Know, sire, six years
   Since then have fled; 'twas in that very year
   When to the seat of sovereignty the Lord
   Anointed thee—there came to me one evening
   A 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 not
   Nor day, nor night, till my old age; in vain
   I plied myself with herbs and secret spells;
   In vain did I resort in adoration
   To the great wonder-workers in the cloister;
   Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water
   From out the holy wells. The Lord vouchsafed not
   Healing to me. Then lost I hope at last,
   And grew accustomed to my darkness. Even
   Slumber showed not to me things visible,
   Only of sounds I dreamed. Once in deep sleep
   I 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 tsarevich
   Dimitry, whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken
   Into His angel band, and I am now
   A mighty wonder-worker. Go, old man.'
   I woke, and pondered. What is this? Maybe
   God will in very deed vouchsafe to me
   Belated healing. I will go. I bent
   My footsteps to the distant road. I reached
   Uglich, repair unto the holy minster,
   Hear mass, and, glowing with zealous soul, I weep
   Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes
   Were flowing out in tears. And when the people
   Began to leave, to my grandson I said:
   `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich
   Dimitry.' The boy led me—and I scarce
   Had shaped before the grave a silent prayer,
   When sight illumed my eyeballs; I beheld
   The light of God, my grandson, and the tomb."
   That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told.

   (General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris
   several times wipes his face with his handkerchief.)

   To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned
   That many sufferers had found likewise
   Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich.
   This is my counsel; to the Kremlin send
   The sacred relics, place them in the Cathedral
   Of the Archangel; clearly will the people
   See then the godless villain's fraud; the might
   Of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust.

   (Silence.)

   PRINCE SHUISKY. What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways
   Of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him.
   Untainted sleep and power of wonder-working
   He may upon the child's remains bestow;
   But vulgar rumour must dispassionately
   And diligently be tested; is it for us,
   In stormy times of insurrection,
   To weigh so great a matter? Will men not say
   That insolently we made of sacred things
   A worldly instrument? Even now the people
   Sway senselessly this way and that, even now
   There are enough already of loud rumours;
   This is no time to vex the people's minds
   With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange.
   I myself see 'tis needful to demolish
   The rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk;
   But for this end other and simpler means
   Will 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 thee
   Go with us to the palace, where today
   I must converse with thee.

   (Exeunt; all the boyars follow them.)

   1ST BOYAR. (Sotto voce to another.) Didst mark how pale
   Our sovereign turned, how from his face there poured
   A mighty sweat?

   2ND BOYAR.    I durst not, I confess,
   Uplift mine eyes, nor breathe, nor even stir.

   1ST BOYAR. Prince Shuisky has pulled it through. A
   splendid fellow!