SCENE THE TENTH.
Moscow. Shouisky's House.
SHOUISKY. POUSHKIN. GUESIS A BOY
SHOUISKY .
Give here more wine And now, dear friends, we'll pledge
The last and crowning toast!
Recite the prayer.
BOY .
O King of Heaven blest, that from all times
And in all places art, fulfil our prayer!
We humbly pray Thee for our Sov'reign dread,
Whom Thou hast called to be the Lord and Head
And Autocrat Supreme of Christian folk;
Beneath his palace roof, on battle field,
In journeys wide, or sleeping on his couch,
Protect and shield him with Thy helpful grace.
O'er all his foes make him victorious;
Extend his glory-fame from sea to sea
With health and length of days his household bless;
Wide let his race o'er all the world be spread;
And may he show to us, his faithful slaves,
As ever he hath shown in days before,
Forbearance, pity, love, and patience
And from his wisdom, that no limits bind,
As from rich source, may unstrained justice flow
And raising high with loud acclaim the bowl,
We pray the King of Kings to bless our Tsar!
SHOUISKY .
Long years and happy to our mighty Tsar!
I wish you all, dear friends, a kind farewell;
Accept my thanks that you have deigned to share
My bread and salt. Good slumbers wait you all!
(Exeunt guests, whom Shouisky accompanies to the door.)
POUSHKIN
It is only by force thou hast got rid of them! To tell the truth, Prince Vassiely Ivanovitch, I began to fear, I should have no chance of a word with thee in private.
SHOUISKY .
What are you standing there for with gaping mouths? Is it your place to hear what your masters have to say? Clear away the tables, and leave us alone.... What is it, Athanasius Michaelovitch?
POUSHKIN
A marvel, and naught else! A courier
My nephew, Gabriel, from Kracoff sends
SHOUISKY .
Well?
POUSHKIN .
Most strange the news my nephew writes:
Dread Ivan's son... but stop!...
He whom Boris at Uglitch put to death...
SHOUISKY .
That is stale news, good prince.
POUSHKIN .
A minute wait:
The young Dmitry lives!
SHOUISKY .
That, indeed, is news!
The young Tsarevitch lives! A marvel, true,
But, as thou saidst, nothing more.
POUSHKIN .
Listen yet:
Whoe'er he be, young Dmitry saved from death,
Or spirit that his image has assumed,
Or reckless, daring rogue, pretender false,
This, at least, is sure: Dmitry has appeared.
SHOUISKY .
It cannot be.
POUSHKIN .
Poushkin himself was there,
And saw how he first time to palace came,
And through the ranged lines of nobles passed,
And to the King's own private room made way.
SHOUISKY .
But who is he, and whence comes he?
POUSHKIN .
None know;
'Tis only known, he served awhile as slave
In Visnevetsky's house, where he fell ill,
And told his priest the secret of his birth.
The haughty Pole, of this informed, at once
The sick man sought, and nursed him in his bed,
And then set off with him to Sigismund.
SHOUISKY .
And what report give men of this smart sprig?
POUSHKIN .
They say he is wise, and affable, and sly;
Beloved by all. The Moscow runaways
He has securely won. The Latin priests
Are on his side. The King does flatter him,
And, it is said, his active aid has sworn.
SHOUISKY .
All this, dear friend, is turmoil so confused,
To make a poor man's puzzled head turn round
He is, no doubt, a cheat that plays on men,
But, I confess, great danger lies a-head:
The news is grave, and should the people come
To know of it, a storm will burst on us!
POUSHKIN
And such a storm, that Tsar Boris will find
It hard to keep the crown on his sly head;
And he will reap what he has sown. He rules,
As Tsar Ivan:... ill dreams be far from us!
What gain, if open punishments have ceased,
If we no longer on the bloody pale
Before the mob commend our souls to Christ;
If now we are not burned upon the square,
And he no more with staff the ashes rakes?
Are our poor lives one whit the surer made?
Each one of us, we live beneath the fear
Of ban, exile, the prison, cowl, or chains,
Or death from hunger in the wilds, or noose.
Where are the noblest heroes of our race?
Where are prince Schietsky, or prince Schistounoff,
Romanoff, once our fallen country's hope?
Imprisoned close, or doomed to cruel death.
In time, such too will be thy certain fate!
Ourselves the victims of a lot as hard;
At home surrounded by unfaithful slaves,
And not a tongue but ready to betray,
No man but he and his have bought and bribed.
Our lives, our all, depend upon the first
Rude hind, whose proved crimes we dare chastise.
And now, he has Saint George's day suppressed;
No longer have we power on our domains:
" The idle serf discharge not. Pleased, or not,
Both feed and nourish him. Nor shalt thou change
Thy workmen-slaves " . Such is his new decree.
Beneath the iron rule of Tsar Ivan,
Such patent, flagrant wrong was never known
The people ask, if they are now content:
And let this new Pretender try his luck,
And promise them once more Saint George's Day,
The game is his.
SHOUISKY .
Thou speakst the truth, good friend;
And yet, methinks, of this and much akin,
We will awhile strict silence keep.
POUSHKIN .
Of course,
We each for his own skin must care. But thou
Art wise, and much I like to chat with thee.
This news has deeply stirred me to my soul,
I could not help my fears with thee to share;
Besides, the truth to tell, thy wine and beer
Have made me indiscreet of speech to-day.
Farewell, good Prince.
SHOUISKY .
Till our next meeting, friend!
Moscow. Shouisky's House.
SHOUISKY. POUSHKIN. GUESIS A BOY
SHOUISKY .
Give here more wine And now, dear friends, we'll pledge
The last and crowning toast!
Recite the prayer.
BOY .
O King of Heaven blest, that from all times
And in all places art, fulfil our prayer!
We humbly pray Thee for our Sov'reign dread,
Whom Thou hast called to be the Lord and Head
And Autocrat Supreme of Christian folk;
Beneath his palace roof, on battle field,
In journeys wide, or sleeping on his couch,
Protect and shield him with Thy helpful grace.
O'er all his foes make him victorious;
Extend his glory-fame from sea to sea
With health and length of days his household bless;
Wide let his race o'er all the world be spread;
And may he show to us, his faithful slaves,
As ever he hath shown in days before,
Forbearance, pity, love, and patience
And from his wisdom, that no limits bind,
As from rich source, may unstrained justice flow
And raising high with loud acclaim the bowl,
We pray the King of Kings to bless our Tsar!
SHOUISKY .
Long years and happy to our mighty Tsar!
I wish you all, dear friends, a kind farewell;
Accept my thanks that you have deigned to share
My bread and salt. Good slumbers wait you all!
(Exeunt guests, whom Shouisky accompanies to the door.)
POUSHKIN
It is only by force thou hast got rid of them! To tell the truth, Prince Vassiely Ivanovitch, I began to fear, I should have no chance of a word with thee in private.
SHOUISKY .
What are you standing there for with gaping mouths? Is it your place to hear what your masters have to say? Clear away the tables, and leave us alone.... What is it, Athanasius Michaelovitch?
POUSHKIN
A marvel, and naught else! A courier
My nephew, Gabriel, from Kracoff sends
SHOUISKY .
Well?
POUSHKIN .
Most strange the news my nephew writes:
Dread Ivan's son... but stop!...
He whom Boris at Uglitch put to death...
SHOUISKY .
That is stale news, good prince.
POUSHKIN .
A minute wait:
The young Dmitry lives!
SHOUISKY .
That, indeed, is news!
The young Tsarevitch lives! A marvel, true,
But, as thou saidst, nothing more.
POUSHKIN .
Listen yet:
Whoe'er he be, young Dmitry saved from death,
Or spirit that his image has assumed,
Or reckless, daring rogue, pretender false,
This, at least, is sure: Dmitry has appeared.
SHOUISKY .
It cannot be.
POUSHKIN .
Poushkin himself was there,
And saw how he first time to palace came,
And through the ranged lines of nobles passed,
And to the King's own private room made way.
SHOUISKY .
But who is he, and whence comes he?
POUSHKIN .
None know;
'Tis only known, he served awhile as slave
In Visnevetsky's house, where he fell ill,
And told his priest the secret of his birth.
The haughty Pole, of this informed, at once
The sick man sought, and nursed him in his bed,
And then set off with him to Sigismund.
SHOUISKY .
And what report give men of this smart sprig?
POUSHKIN .
They say he is wise, and affable, and sly;
Beloved by all. The Moscow runaways
He has securely won. The Latin priests
Are on his side. The King does flatter him,
And, it is said, his active aid has sworn.
SHOUISKY .
All this, dear friend, is turmoil so confused,
To make a poor man's puzzled head turn round
He is, no doubt, a cheat that plays on men,
But, I confess, great danger lies a-head:
The news is grave, and should the people come
To know of it, a storm will burst on us!
POUSHKIN
And such a storm, that Tsar Boris will find
It hard to keep the crown on his sly head;
And he will reap what he has sown. He rules,
As Tsar Ivan:... ill dreams be far from us!
What gain, if open punishments have ceased,
If we no longer on the bloody pale
Before the mob commend our souls to Christ;
If now we are not burned upon the square,
And he no more with staff the ashes rakes?
Are our poor lives one whit the surer made?
Each one of us, we live beneath the fear
Of ban, exile, the prison, cowl, or chains,
Or death from hunger in the wilds, or noose.
Where are the noblest heroes of our race?
Where are prince Schietsky, or prince Schistounoff,
Romanoff, once our fallen country's hope?
Imprisoned close, or doomed to cruel death.
In time, such too will be thy certain fate!
Ourselves the victims of a lot as hard;
At home surrounded by unfaithful slaves,
And not a tongue but ready to betray,
No man but he and his have bought and bribed.
Our lives, our all, depend upon the first
Rude hind, whose proved crimes we dare chastise.
And now, he has Saint George's day suppressed;
No longer have we power on our domains:
" The idle serf discharge not. Pleased, or not,
Both feed and nourish him. Nor shalt thou change
Thy workmen-slaves " . Such is his new decree.
Beneath the iron rule of Tsar Ivan,
Such patent, flagrant wrong was never known
The people ask, if they are now content:
And let this new Pretender try his luck,
And promise them once more Saint George's Day,
The game is his.
SHOUISKY .
Thou speakst the truth, good friend;
And yet, methinks, of this and much akin,
We will awhile strict silence keep.
POUSHKIN .
Of course,
We each for his own skin must care. But thou
Art wise, and much I like to chat with thee.
This news has deeply stirred me to my soul,
I could not help my fears with thee to share;
Besides, the truth to tell, thy wine and beer
Have made me indiscreet of speech to-day.
Farewell, good Prince.
SHOUISKY .
Till our next meeting, friend!