Boris Godunov | Page 3

Righteous
Father, King Of kings, look down
From Heaven upon the tears of
Thy true servants,
And send on him whom Thou hast loved, whom
Thou
Exalted hast on earth so wondrously,
Thy holy blessing. May
I rule my people
In glory, and like Thee be good and righteous!
To
you, boyars, I look for help. Serve me
As ye served him, what time I
shared your labours,
Ere I was chosen by the people's will.
BOYARS. We will not from our plighted oath depart.

BORIS. Now let us go to kneel before the tombs
Of Russia's great
departed rulers. Then
Bid summon all our people to a feast,
All,
from the noble to the poor blind beggar.
To all free entrance, all most
welcome guests.
(Exit, the Boyars following.)
PRINCE VOROTINSKY. (Stopping Shuisky.)
You rightly guessed.
SHUISKY. Guessed what?
VOROTINSKY. Why, you remember--
The other day, here on this
very spot.
SHUISKY. No, I remember nothing.
VOROTINSKY. When the people
Flocked to the Virgin's Field, thou
said'st--
SHUISKY. 'Tis not
The time for recollection. There are times

When I should counsel you not to remember,
But even to forget. And
for the rest,
I sought but by feigned calumny to prove thee,
The
truelier to discern thy secret thoughts.
But see! The people hail the
tsar--my absence
May be remarked. I'll join them.
VOROTINSKY. Wily courtier!
NIGHT
Cell in the Monastery of Chudov (A.D. 1603)
FATHER PIMEN, GREGORY (sleeping)
PIMEN (Writing in front of a sacred lamp.)
One more, the final
record, and my annals
Are ended, and fulfilled the duty laid
By God
on me a sinner. Not in vain
Hath God appointed me for many years

A witness, teaching me the art of letters;
A day will come when some

laborious monk
Will bring to light my zealous, nameless toil,

Kindle, as I, his lamp, and from the parchment
Shaking the dust of
ages will transcribe
My true narrations, that posterity
The bygone
fortunes of the orthodox
Of their own land may learn, will mention
make
Of their great tsars, their labours, glory, goodness--
And
humbly for their sins, their evil deeds,
Implore the Saviour's
mercy.--In old age
I live anew; the past unrolls before me.--
Did it
in years long vanished sweep along,
Full of events, and troubled like
the deep?
Now it is hushed and tranquil. Few the faces
Which
memory hath saved for me, and few
The words which have come
down to me;--the rest
Have perished, never to return.--But day

Draws near, the lamp burns low, one record more,
The last. (He
writes.)
GREGORY. (Waking.) Ever the selfsame dream! Is 't possible? For the
third time! Accursed dream! And ever
Before the lamp sits the old
man and writes--
And not all night, 'twould seem, from drowsiness,

Hath closed his eyes. I love the peaceful sight,
When, with his soul
deep in the past immersed,
He keeps his chronicle. Oft have I longed

To guess what 'tis he writes of. Is 't perchance
The dark dominion
of the Tartars? Is it
Ivan's grim punishments, the stormy Council
of
Novgorod? Is it about the glory
Of our dear fatherland?--I ask in vain!

Not on his lofty brow, nor in his looks
May one peruse his secret
thoughts; always
The same aspect; lowly at once, and lofty--
Like
some state Minister grown grey in office,
Calmly alike he
contemplates the just
And guilty, with indifference he hears
Evil
and good, and knows not wrath nor pity.
PIMEN. Wakest thou, brother?
GREGORY. Honoured father, give me
Thy blessing.
PIMEN. May God bless thee on this day,
Tomorrow, and for ever.

GREGORY. All night long
Thou hast been writing and abstained
from sleep,
While demon visions have disturbed my peace,
The
fiend molested me. I dreamed I scaled
By winding stairs a turret,
from whose height
Moscow appeared an anthill, where the people

Seethed in the squares below and pointed at me
With laughter. Shame
and terror came upon me--
And falling headlong, I awoke. Three
times
I dreamed the selfsame dream. Is it not strange?
PIMEN. 'Tis the young blood at play; humble thyself
By prayer and
fasting, and thy slumber's visions
Will all be filled with lightness.
Hitherto
If I, unwillingly by drowsiness
Weakened, make not at
night long orisons,
My old-man's sleep is neither calm nor sinless;

Now riotous feasts appear, now camps of war,
Scuffles of battle,
fatuous diversions
Of youthful years.
GREGORY. How joyfully didst thou
Live out thy youth! The fortress
of Kazan
Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse
The
army of Litva. Thou hast seen the court,
And splendour of Ivan. Ah!
Happy thou!
Whilst I, from boyhood up, a wretched monk,
Wander
from cell to cell! Why unto me
Was it not given to play the game of
war,
To revel at the table of a tsar?
Then, like to thee, would I in my
old age
Have gladly from the noisy world withdrawn,
To vow
myself a dedicated monk,
And in the quiet cloister end my days.
PIMEN. Complain not, brother, that the sinful world
Thou early didst
forsake, that few temptations
The All-Highest sent to thee. Believe
my words;
The glory of the world, its luxury,
Woman's seductive
love, seen from afar,
Enslave our souls. Long have I lived, have taken

Delight in many things, but never knew
True bliss until that season
when the Lord
Guided me to the cloister.