Boris Godunov | Page 4

meditative, quiet?Here sat the Terrible; we motionless?Stood in his presence, while he talked with us?In tranquil tones. Thus spake he to the abbot?And all the brothers: "My fathers, soon will come?The longed-for day; here shall I stand before you,?Hungering for salvation; Nicodemus,?Thou Sergius, Cyril thou, will all accept?My spiritual vow; to you I soon shall come?Accurst in sin, here the clean habit take,?Prostrate, most holy father, at thy feet."?So spake the sovereign lord, and from his lips?Sweetly the accents flowed. He wept; and we?With tears prayed God to send His love and peace?Upon his suffering and stormy soul.--?What of his son Feodor? On the throne?He sighed to lead the life of calm devotion.?The royal chambers to a cell of prayer?He turned, wherein the heavy cares of state?Vexed not his holy soul. God grew to love?The tsar's humility; in his good days?Russia was blest with glory undisturbed,?And in the hour of his decease was wrought?A miracle unheard of; at his bedside,?Seen by the tsar alone, appeared a being?Exceeding bright, with whom Feodor 'gan?To commune, calling him great Patriarch;--?And all around him were possessed with fear,?Musing upon the vision sent from Heaven,?Since at that time the Patriarch was not present?In church before the tsar. And when he died?The palace was with holy fragrance filled.?And like the sun his countenance outshone.?Never again shall we see such a tsar.--?O, horrible, appalling woe! We have sinned,?We have angered God; we have chosen for our ruler?A tsar's assassin.
GREGORY. Honoured father, long?Have I desired to ask thee of the death?Of young Dimitry, the tsarevich; thou,?'Tis said, wast then at Uglich.
PIMEN. Ay, my son,?I well remember. God it was who led me?To witness that ill deed, that bloody sin.?I at that time was sent to distant Uglich?Upon some mission. I arrived at night.?Next morning, at the hour of holy mass,?I heard upon a sudden a bell toll;?'Twas the alarm bell. Then a cry, an uproar;?Men rushing to the court of the tsaritsa.?Thither I haste, and there had flocked already?All Uglich. There I see the young tsarevich?Lie slaughtered: the queen mother in a swoon?Bowed over him, his nurse in her despair?Wailing; and then the maddened people drag?The godless, treacherous nurse away. Appears?Suddenly in their midst, wild, pale with rage,?Judas Bityagovsky. "There, there's the villain!"?Shout on all sides the crowd, and in a trice?He was no more. Straightway the people rushed?On the three fleeing murderers; they seized?The hiding miscreants and led them up?To the child's corpse yet warm; when lo! A marvel--?The dead child all at once began to tremble!?"Confess!" the people thundered; and in terror?Beneath the axe the villains did confess--?And named Boris.
GREGORY. How many summers lived?The murdered boy?
PIMEN. Seven summers; he would now?(Since then have passed ten years--nay, more--twelve years) He would have been of equal age to thee,?And would have reigned; but God deemed otherwise.?This is the lamentable tale wherewith?My chronicle doth end; since then I little?Have dipped in worldly business. Brother Gregory,?Thou hast illumed thy mind by earnest study;?To thee I hand my task. In hours exempt?From the soul's exercise, do thou record,?Not subtly reasoning, all things whereto?Thou shalt in life be witness; war and peace,?The sway of kings, the holy miracles?Of saints, all prophecies and heavenly signs;--?For me 'tis time to rest and quench my lamp.--?But hark! The matin bell. Bless, Lord, Thy servants!?Give me my crutch.
(Exit.)
GREGORY. Boris, Boris, before thee?All tremble; none dares even to remind thee?Of what befell the hapless child; meanwhile?Here in dark cell a hermit doth indite?Thy stern denunciation. Thou wilt not?Escape the judgment even of this world,?As thou wilt not escape the doom of God.
FENCE OF THE MONASTERY*
*This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the published version of the play.
GREGORY and a Wicked Monk
GREGORY. O, what a weariness is our poor life,?What misery! Day comes, day goes, and ever?Is seen, is heard one thing alone; one sees?Only black cassocks, only hears the bell.?Yawning by day you wander, wander, nothing?To do; you doze; the whole night long till daylight?The poor monk lies awake; and when in sleep?You lose yourself, black dreams disturb the soul;?Glad that they sound the bell, that with a crutch?They rouse you. No, I will not suffer it!?I cannot! Through this fence I'll flee! The world?Is great; my path is on the highways never?Thou'lt hear of me again.
MONK. Truly your life?Is but a sorry one, ye dissolute,?Wicked young monks!
GREGORY. Would that the Khan again?Would come upon us, or Lithuania rise?Once more in insurrection. Good! I would then?Cross swords with them! Or what if the tsarevich?Should suddenly arise from out the grave,?Should cry, "Where are ye, children, faithful servants??Help me against Boris, against my murderer!?Seize my foe, lead him to me!"
MONK. Enough, my friend,?Of empty babble. We cannot raise the dead.?No, clearly it was fated otherwise?For the tsarevich-- But hearken; if you wish?To do a thing, then do it.
GREGORY.