Boris Godunov | Page 4

Think, my son,
On the
great tsars; who loftier than they?

God only. Who dares thwart them?
None. What then?
Often the golden crown became to them
A
burden; for a cowl they bartered it.
The tsar Ivan sought in monastic

toil
Tranquility; his palace, filled erewhile
With haughty minions,
grew to all appearance
A monastery; the very rakehells seemed

Obedient monks, the terrible tsar appeared
A pious abbot. Here, in
this very cell
(At that time Cyril, the much suffering,
A righteous
man, dwelt in it; even me
God then made comprehend the
nothingness
Of worldly vanities), here I beheld,
Weary of angry
thoughts and executions,
The tsar; among us, 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