Boris Godunov | Page 8

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.)
PALACE OF THE TSAR
The TSAREVICH is drawing a map. The
TSAREVNA. The NURSE
of the Tsarevna
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