Boris Godounoff - Scene the Fifteenth
SCENE THE FIFTEENTH.
Night. A Garden with Fountain.
THE PRETENDER MARINA .
THE PRETENDER
This is the fountain: hither she will come
It is not nature makes me fearsome now:
Face to face I have stood with threat'ning death,
And death had not the strength to fright my soul.
Imprisonment for life did menace me,
I was pursued, but ne'er my spirit failed,
And boldness saved me from the prison-cell.
But now, my breath comes strangely thick and hard.
What mean this beating heart, these trembling limbs?
Is it the shudder of intense desire?
Not so: 'tis fear. The whole day long I wait
With eager hope the secret trysting-hour;
Thought over all that I have longed to say,
Planned how I best could bend her haughty will,
Kneeling, hail her with the name, Tsaritza.
But now the hour has come, forgotten quite
Are all the speeches I had learned by rote,
And tricksy love plays havoc with my brain...
But hearken, something glitters, something moves!
'Tis nothing but the cold moon's cheating light,
Murmur soft of evening breeze.
MARINA .
Tsarevitch!
THE PRETENDER
'Tis she! My curdled blood has ceased to flow!
MARINA .
Dmitry! It is you?
THE PRETENDER .
Sweet, enchanting voice!
And art thou come at last? See I thee here,
Alone with me beneath the shades of night?
How slowly have the halting hours gone by,
Till dull-paced twilight melted into night!
How long I wait in darkness and in gloom!
MARINA .
The hours fly, and time to me is precious
I have not thought to ask thee meet me here,
To listen to a lover's speeches soft.
We need no words to tell our love. I know
Thou lovest me. But learn, I am resolved
With thy fate, though stormy and uncertain,
Mine own to knit. And this, my firm resolve,
Gives me the right to ask one thing, Dmitry,
That thou to me discover now, at once,
Thy secret hopes, designs, and hardy schemes;
That I may, hand in hand, along the path
Of life thy equal tread, not led like child,
Nor as a slave to husband's light desires,
Nor be thy dumb, submissive concubine;
But as thy wife and spouse, the worthy peer,
And aid, and counsellor of Moscow's Tsar.
THE PRETENDER
We will forget, if but for one bare hour,
The sordid cares and aching fears of fate;
Thyself forget that I Tsarevitch am!
But, rather, see in me the lover thou
Hast chosen of thy free, unfettered will,
Who lives but in the sunshine of thine eyes!
Oh, listen to the prayer of earnest love,
And let my heart give voice to all its plaint!
MARINA
'Tis no fit time, my Prince. Thou idlest here,
Thy truest followers meanwhile wax cold;
From hour to hour the dangers and hardships
Grow still more dangerous and still more hard;
Vague rumours are already spread abroad,
And each new tale gives place to one more strange,
And Godounoff will slily hatch fresh plots.
THE PRETENDER .
Why speak of Godounoff? Does, then, thy love,
My soul's sole joy, on his proud will depend?
Nay, nay! With eyes of cold indifference
I now regard his throne and sov'reign power.
Thy love... of that deprived, life has no worth,
Nor glory's blaze, nor rule of Russian realm.
There on the steppe, in some rude hut of mud,
Thou shalt repay the loss of brightest crown;
Thy love...
MARINA
Shame not thyself! Canst thou forget
The high and sacred call thou hast received?
To thee thy princely rank should dearer be
Than all the noisy, tinsel joys of life;
Naught else should hold a place within thy heart.
Not to the stripling, with his frothy vows,
Who will consent to be my beauty's slave,
But to the rightful heir of Moscow's throne,
To the Tsarevitch, saved by hand of fate,
To him I give with pride my heart and love
THE PRETENDER .
Torment me not, Marina, I implore,
Nor say, that 'tis my rank, and not myself,
Has won thee Nay, Marina, thou knowst not,
How, like a deadly drug, thy words my heart
Have poisoned... Can it be?... O horrid thought!
But say, had chance refused me royal birth,
And were I not, in truth, great Ivan's son,
The boy, whom all the world has long forgot,
Wouldst thou, then, love me, as thou lovest now?
MARINA
Thou canst not be another than thou art,
Nor could I other love.
THE PREIENDER
No more, enough,
With a dead man I'll ne'er consent to share
His mistress-love, who still belongs to him;
Nor will I longer play a part. The truth
I'll tell, and thou shalt know that thy Dmitry
Lies in his grave, whence he can come no more.
And wouldst thou know who, then, I really am?
Well, if thou wouldst, learn this: I am a monk,
Who of his monkish dress and prison tired,
Beneath whose cowl a daring scheme was born,
A scheme to startle and convulse the world
At last, the moment came. I fled my cell,
The Ukraine reached, found refuge in its huts,
Learned well to ride the steed and wield the sword,
Appeared to you, and Dmitry called myself
Nor was it hard to cheat the brainless Poles
And now, what will the proud Marina say?
Art pleased to know the secret of my soul?
What means this silence strange?
MARINA
Oh, woe is me!
THE PRETENDER .
Alas, my fit of boyish discontent
In one short moment, it may be, has spoiled
Those future hopes I schemed with patient toil:
What have I thoughtless done?
I see too well
None but a prince need hope to win thy hand
I pray thee, quick pronounce the fatal word,
Thou art the sov'reign mistress of my fate:
Pronounce! Thy sentence, kneeling, I await.
MARINA .
Arise, pretender base and little-souled!
Thinkst thou, with worship of the bended knee
To charm, as though I had the easy heart
Of some weak girl, whom even thou canst gull?
Thou art deceived, my friend. At my feet I've seen
The courtliest of knights and lords high-named;
And if all coldly I repelled their suit,
'Twas not, in sooth, to please a beggar-monk.
THE PRETENDER .
Do not, I pray, the young pretender scorn,
Whose heart, believe me, with a courage beats
That gives him right to sit on Moscow's throne,
And makes him worthy suitor of thy hand...
MARINA .
Or worthy of the hangman's rope, bold youth!
THE PRETENDER .
My crime I own. With proud ambition drunk,
I lied before my God, before His Tsar,
Before the world. But 'tis not thine, I feel
To punish me: to thee I have been true
The world I could deceive, but never thee;
For thou hast ever been my angel-saint,
Before whose shrine I dare not lie or cheat
Mad love, the jealous love that makes men blind,
And naught but love has forced me to disclose
My soul to thee.
MARINA
And what hast thou to boast?
Who asked from thee confession of thy crime?
Methinks, if thou, a nameless, vagrant rogue,
Couldst with thy juggling cheat two peoples blind,
Thou shouldst have proved deserving of success,
And in thy heart of hearts have stubborn kept
Thy lie a hidden secret from the world.
And can I give my hand to one like thee?
Can I betray my kin and maiden shame,
And join my fate to thine, when thou thyself,
With low simplicity, blown by the wind,
Hast public made thy full and complete shame?
And he dare prate of love... from love he spake!
I marvel that, by friendship's claim impelled,
Thou hast not made my sire thy confidant,
Or with light heart revealed it to our King,
Or shown, at least, the true slave's faithful zeal,
And told Pan Visnevetsky all thy tale!
THE PRETENDER .
I swear that thou alone hast had the force
To wring from me the secret of my life.
I swear, that in no place and at no time,
At banquet, or at noisy drunken rouse,
Or in deep confidence with comrade sworn,
Or under threat of death, or torturing wheel,
Shall tongue of mine betray my burdened soul.
MARINA .
Thou swearst? And must I, therefore, need believe?
But why believe? By whom, I fain would know,
Wilt thou think well to swear? Perchance, by God,
Like novice when he takes his Order's oath?
Or by thy honour, like some errant Knight?
Or wilt thou, rather, as Tsarevitch swear
Upon thy word? Which oath best pleases? Speak!
THE PRETENDER .
The shade of Ivan has adopted me,
And from his grave the name Dmitry given,
Around me in revolt the people raised,
And doomed Boris to punishment condign
I am Tsarevitch. But enough! I blush,
That I have cringed before a Polish girl
Farewell! The chances of this bloody war,
The heavy cares imposed on me by fate,
Will smother soon, I ween, the pangs of love.
And when my passion's fever hot has cooled,
My love for thee shall turn to bitter hate
And now, I go. The victor's wreath or crown
Of thorns shall mark my triumph or disgrace;
On battle-field the hero's death I seek,
Or perish on the block in city-square.
But thou wilt not be near to joy or grieve,
But thou wilt not be near to share my fate;
And yet, methinks, too late thou shalt regret
The lot thou hast behind thee cast with scorn.
MARINA .
But what, if I should publish to the world
The story of thy bold and shameless cheat?
THE PRETENDER .
Thinkst thou, I need to fear what thou canst do?
What man will heed the chat of Polish girl,
When the Tsarevitch gives the lie? And learn,
Nor king, nor pope, nor nobles care to know
If these my claims be true, and if I be
Dmitry or some other, it is the same.
I serve as cause for their vile broils and wars,
And that is all they ask And as for thee,
They soon will find an easy way to still
A rebel's tongue. Farewell!
MARINA .
Tsarevitch, stay!
At last, I hear from thee no boy's lament,
But manly words that bind me to thy lot
I will forget the story of thy birth:
Before me stands once more Dmitry! But hark,
The hour has struck! Awake! Delay no more!
To Moscow quickly march thy marshalled troops,
The Kremlin clear of foes, the throne possess:
And, if thou wilt, then send to sue my hand.
For God my witness be, till thou hast made
Thy foes a mounting-ladder to the throne,
And till proud Godounoff be driven forth,
No words of love will I consent to hear.
THE PRETENDER
No! It is hard to fight with Godounoff,
Or 'gainst the Jesuits at court to plot,
But women harder still! No skill avails
They coil around, creep slily in and out,
And, hissing, stinging, crawl from out your grasp,
Like slimy serpents! Not in vain I feared
Lest I should fall into her poisoned clutch
But 'tis resolved! To-morrow morn we march.
Night. A Garden with Fountain.
THE PRETENDER MARINA .
THE PRETENDER
This is the fountain: hither she will come
It is not nature makes me fearsome now:
Face to face I have stood with threat'ning death,
And death had not the strength to fright my soul.
Imprisonment for life did menace me,
I was pursued, but ne'er my spirit failed,
And boldness saved me from the prison-cell.
But now, my breath comes strangely thick and hard.
What mean this beating heart, these trembling limbs?
Is it the shudder of intense desire?
Not so: 'tis fear. The whole day long I wait
With eager hope the secret trysting-hour;
Thought over all that I have longed to say,
Planned how I best could bend her haughty will,
Kneeling, hail her with the name, Tsaritza.
But now the hour has come, forgotten quite
Are all the speeches I had learned by rote,
And tricksy love plays havoc with my brain...
But hearken, something glitters, something moves!
'Tis nothing but the cold moon's cheating light,
Murmur soft of evening breeze.
MARINA .
Tsarevitch!
THE PRETENDER
'Tis she! My curdled blood has ceased to flow!
MARINA .
Dmitry! It is you?
THE PRETENDER .
Sweet, enchanting voice!
And art thou come at last? See I thee here,
Alone with me beneath the shades of night?
How slowly have the halting hours gone by,
Till dull-paced twilight melted into night!
How long I wait in darkness and in gloom!
MARINA .
The hours fly, and time to me is precious
I have not thought to ask thee meet me here,
To listen to a lover's speeches soft.
We need no words to tell our love. I know
Thou lovest me. But learn, I am resolved
With thy fate, though stormy and uncertain,
Mine own to knit. And this, my firm resolve,
Gives me the right to ask one thing, Dmitry,
That thou to me discover now, at once,
Thy secret hopes, designs, and hardy schemes;
That I may, hand in hand, along the path
Of life thy equal tread, not led like child,
Nor as a slave to husband's light desires,
Nor be thy dumb, submissive concubine;
But as thy wife and spouse, the worthy peer,
And aid, and counsellor of Moscow's Tsar.
THE PRETENDER
We will forget, if but for one bare hour,
The sordid cares and aching fears of fate;
Thyself forget that I Tsarevitch am!
But, rather, see in me the lover thou
Hast chosen of thy free, unfettered will,
Who lives but in the sunshine of thine eyes!
Oh, listen to the prayer of earnest love,
And let my heart give voice to all its plaint!
MARINA
'Tis no fit time, my Prince. Thou idlest here,
Thy truest followers meanwhile wax cold;
From hour to hour the dangers and hardships
Grow still more dangerous and still more hard;
Vague rumours are already spread abroad,
And each new tale gives place to one more strange,
And Godounoff will slily hatch fresh plots.
THE PRETENDER .
Why speak of Godounoff? Does, then, thy love,
My soul's sole joy, on his proud will depend?
Nay, nay! With eyes of cold indifference
I now regard his throne and sov'reign power.
Thy love... of that deprived, life has no worth,
Nor glory's blaze, nor rule of Russian realm.
There on the steppe, in some rude hut of mud,
Thou shalt repay the loss of brightest crown;
Thy love...
MARINA
Shame not thyself! Canst thou forget
The high and sacred call thou hast received?
To thee thy princely rank should dearer be
Than all the noisy, tinsel joys of life;
Naught else should hold a place within thy heart.
Not to the stripling, with his frothy vows,
Who will consent to be my beauty's slave,
But to the rightful heir of Moscow's throne,
To the Tsarevitch, saved by hand of fate,
To him I give with pride my heart and love
THE PRETENDER .
Torment me not, Marina, I implore,
Nor say, that 'tis my rank, and not myself,
Has won thee Nay, Marina, thou knowst not,
How, like a deadly drug, thy words my heart
Have poisoned... Can it be?... O horrid thought!
But say, had chance refused me royal birth,
And were I not, in truth, great Ivan's son,
The boy, whom all the world has long forgot,
Wouldst thou, then, love me, as thou lovest now?
MARINA
Thou canst not be another than thou art,
Nor could I other love.
THE PREIENDER
No more, enough,
With a dead man I'll ne'er consent to share
His mistress-love, who still belongs to him;
Nor will I longer play a part. The truth
I'll tell, and thou shalt know that thy Dmitry
Lies in his grave, whence he can come no more.
And wouldst thou know who, then, I really am?
Well, if thou wouldst, learn this: I am a monk,
Who of his monkish dress and prison tired,
Beneath whose cowl a daring scheme was born,
A scheme to startle and convulse the world
At last, the moment came. I fled my cell,
The Ukraine reached, found refuge in its huts,
Learned well to ride the steed and wield the sword,
Appeared to you, and Dmitry called myself
Nor was it hard to cheat the brainless Poles
And now, what will the proud Marina say?
Art pleased to know the secret of my soul?
What means this silence strange?
MARINA
Oh, woe is me!
THE PRETENDER .
Alas, my fit of boyish discontent
In one short moment, it may be, has spoiled
Those future hopes I schemed with patient toil:
What have I thoughtless done?
I see too well
None but a prince need hope to win thy hand
I pray thee, quick pronounce the fatal word,
Thou art the sov'reign mistress of my fate:
Pronounce! Thy sentence, kneeling, I await.
MARINA .
Arise, pretender base and little-souled!
Thinkst thou, with worship of the bended knee
To charm, as though I had the easy heart
Of some weak girl, whom even thou canst gull?
Thou art deceived, my friend. At my feet I've seen
The courtliest of knights and lords high-named;
And if all coldly I repelled their suit,
'Twas not, in sooth, to please a beggar-monk.
THE PRETENDER .
Do not, I pray, the young pretender scorn,
Whose heart, believe me, with a courage beats
That gives him right to sit on Moscow's throne,
And makes him worthy suitor of thy hand...
MARINA .
Or worthy of the hangman's rope, bold youth!
THE PRETENDER .
My crime I own. With proud ambition drunk,
I lied before my God, before His Tsar,
Before the world. But 'tis not thine, I feel
To punish me: to thee I have been true
The world I could deceive, but never thee;
For thou hast ever been my angel-saint,
Before whose shrine I dare not lie or cheat
Mad love, the jealous love that makes men blind,
And naught but love has forced me to disclose
My soul to thee.
MARINA
And what hast thou to boast?
Who asked from thee confession of thy crime?
Methinks, if thou, a nameless, vagrant rogue,
Couldst with thy juggling cheat two peoples blind,
Thou shouldst have proved deserving of success,
And in thy heart of hearts have stubborn kept
Thy lie a hidden secret from the world.
And can I give my hand to one like thee?
Can I betray my kin and maiden shame,
And join my fate to thine, when thou thyself,
With low simplicity, blown by the wind,
Hast public made thy full and complete shame?
And he dare prate of love... from love he spake!
I marvel that, by friendship's claim impelled,
Thou hast not made my sire thy confidant,
Or with light heart revealed it to our King,
Or shown, at least, the true slave's faithful zeal,
And told Pan Visnevetsky all thy tale!
THE PRETENDER .
I swear that thou alone hast had the force
To wring from me the secret of my life.
I swear, that in no place and at no time,
At banquet, or at noisy drunken rouse,
Or in deep confidence with comrade sworn,
Or under threat of death, or torturing wheel,
Shall tongue of mine betray my burdened soul.
MARINA .
Thou swearst? And must I, therefore, need believe?
But why believe? By whom, I fain would know,
Wilt thou think well to swear? Perchance, by God,
Like novice when he takes his Order's oath?
Or by thy honour, like some errant Knight?
Or wilt thou, rather, as Tsarevitch swear
Upon thy word? Which oath best pleases? Speak!
THE PRETENDER .
The shade of Ivan has adopted me,
And from his grave the name Dmitry given,
Around me in revolt the people raised,
And doomed Boris to punishment condign
I am Tsarevitch. But enough! I blush,
That I have cringed before a Polish girl
Farewell! The chances of this bloody war,
The heavy cares imposed on me by fate,
Will smother soon, I ween, the pangs of love.
And when my passion's fever hot has cooled,
My love for thee shall turn to bitter hate
And now, I go. The victor's wreath or crown
Of thorns shall mark my triumph or disgrace;
On battle-field the hero's death I seek,
Or perish on the block in city-square.
But thou wilt not be near to joy or grieve,
But thou wilt not be near to share my fate;
And yet, methinks, too late thou shalt regret
The lot thou hast behind thee cast with scorn.
MARINA .
But what, if I should publish to the world
The story of thy bold and shameless cheat?
THE PRETENDER .
Thinkst thou, I need to fear what thou canst do?
What man will heed the chat of Polish girl,
When the Tsarevitch gives the lie? And learn,
Nor king, nor pope, nor nobles care to know
If these my claims be true, and if I be
Dmitry or some other, it is the same.
I serve as cause for their vile broils and wars,
And that is all they ask And as for thee,
They soon will find an easy way to still
A rebel's tongue. Farewell!
MARINA .
Tsarevitch, stay!
At last, I hear from thee no boy's lament,
But manly words that bind me to thy lot
I will forget the story of thy birth:
Before me stands once more Dmitry! But hark,
The hour has struck! Awake! Delay no more!
To Moscow quickly march thy marshalled troops,
The Kremlin clear of foes, the throne possess:
And, if thou wilt, then send to sue my hand.
For God my witness be, till thou hast made
Thy foes a mounting-ladder to the throne,
And till proud Godounoff be driven forth,
No words of love will I consent to hear.
THE PRETENDER
No! It is hard to fight with Godounoff,
Or 'gainst the Jesuits at court to plot,
But women harder still! No skill avails
They coil around, creep slily in and out,
And, hissing, stinging, crawl from out your grasp,
Like slimy serpents! Not in vain I feared
Lest I should fall into her poisoned clutch
But 'tis resolved! To-morrow morn we march.
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