Boris Godunov | Page 5

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. What to do?
MONK. If I were young as thou, if these grey hairs
Had not already
streaked my beard-- Dost take me?
GREGORY. Not I.
MONK. Hearken; our folk are dull of brain,
Easy of faith, and glad to
be amazed
By miracles and novelties. The boyars
Remember
Godunov as erst he was,
Peer to themselves; and even now the race

Of the old Varyags is loved by all. Thy years
Match those of the
tsarevich. If thou hast
Cunning and hardihood-- Dost take me now?
GREGORY. I take thee.
MONK. Well, what say'st thou?
GREGORY. 'Tis resolved.
I am Dimitry, I tsarevich!
MONK. Give me
Thy hand, my bold young friend. Thou shalt be
tsar!
PALACE OF THE PATRIARCH
PATRIARCH, ABBOT of the Chudov Monastery
PATRIARCH. And he has run away, Father Abbot?
ABBOT. He has run away, holy sovereign, now three days ago.
PATRIARCH. Accursed rascal! What is his origin?
ABBOT. Of the family of the Otrepievs, of the lower nobility of
Galicia; in his youth he took the tonsure, no one
knows where, lived

at Suzdal, in the Ephimievsky
monastery, departed from there,
wandered to various
convents, finally arrived at my Chudov fraternity;

but I, seeing that he was still young and inexperienced,
entrusted
him at the outset to Father Pimen, an old man,
kind and humble. And
he was very learned, read our
chronicle, composed canons for the
holy brethren; but,
to be sure, instruction was not given to him from
the
Lord God--
PATRIARCH. Ah, those learned fellows! What a thing to
say, "I
shall be tsar in Moscow." Ah, he is a vessel of
the devil! However, it
is no use even to report to the
tsar about this; why disquiet our father
sovereign?
It will be enough to give information about his flight to

the Secretary Smirnov or the Secretary Ephimiev.
What a heresy: "I
shall be tsar in Moscow!"...
Catch, catch the fawning villain, and send
him to
Solovetsky to perpetual penance. But this--is it not
heresy,
Father Abbot?
ABBOT. Heresy, holy Patriarch; downright heresy.
PALACE OF THE TSAR
Two Attendants
1ST ATTENDANT. Where is the sovereign?
2ND ATTENDANT. In his bed-chamber,
Where he is closeted with
some magician.
1ST ATTENDANT. Ay; that's the kind of intercourse he loves;
Sorcerers, fortune-tellers, necromancers.
Ever he seeks to dip into the
future,
Just like some pretty girl. Fain would I know
What 'tis he
would foretell.
2ND ATTENDANT. Well, here he comes.
Will it please you
question him?

1ST ATTENDANT. How grim he looks!
(Exeunt.)
TSAR. (Enters.) I have attained the highest power. Six years Already
have I reigned in peace; but joy
Dwells not within my soul. Even so
in youth
We greedily desire the joys of love,
But only quell the
hunger of the heart
With momentary possession. We grow cold,

Grow weary and oppressed! In vain the wizards
Promise me length of
days, days of dominion
Immune from treachery--not power, not life

Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven
And woe. For me no
happiness. I thought
To satisfy my people in contentment,
In glory,
gain their love by generous gifts,
But I have put away that empty
hope;
The power that lives is hateful to the mob,--
Only the dead
they love. We are but fools
When our heart vibrates to the people's
groans
And passionate wailing. Lately on our land
God sent a
famine; perishing in torments
The people uttered moan. The granaries

I made them free of, scattered gold among them,
Found labour for
them; furious for my pains
They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed
their homes;
I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth
They
blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob,
Such is its judgment! Seek
its love, indeed!
I thought within my family to find
Solace; I
thought to make my daughter happy
By wedlock. Like a tempest
Death took off
Her bridegroom--and at once a stealthy rumour

Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief--
Me, me, the hapless
father! Whoso dies,
I am the secret murderer of all;
I hastened
Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned
My sister-queen, the lowly
nun--all I!
Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace
Mid worldly
cares, nothing save only conscience!
Healthy she triumphs over
wickedness,
Over dark slander; but if in her be found
A single
casual stain, then misery.

With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart;

My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer
Beat in mine ears
reproach; all things revolt me,
And my head whirls, and in my eyes
are children
Dripping with blood; and gladly would