MARFA (who has during the last speech subdued the most violent emotion).
   What do I hear, archbishop? Can it be?
   Oh, tell me, by what signs and marks of proof
   This bold-faced trickster doth uphold himself
   As Ivan's son, whom we bewailed as dead?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   By some faint, shadowy likeness to the Czar,
   By documents which chance threw in his way,
   And by a precious trinket, which he shows,
   He cheats the credulous and wondering mob.

   MARFA.
   What is the trinket? Oh, pray, tell me what?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   A golden cross, gemmed with nine emeralds,
   Which Ivan Westislowsky, so he says,
   Hung round his neck at the baptismal font.

   MARFA.
   What do you say? He shows this trinket, this?

      [With forced composure.

   And how does he allege he came by it?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   A faithful servant and Diak, he says,
   Preserved him from the assassins and the flames,
   And bore him to Smolenskow privily.

   MARFA.
   But where was he brought up? Where, gives he forth,
   Was he concealed and fostered until now?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   In Tschudow's monastery he was reared,
   Unknowing who he was; from thence he fled
   To Lithuania and Poland, where
   He served the Prince of Sendomir, until
   An accident revealed his origin.

   MARFA.
   With such a tale as this can he find friends
   To peril life and fortune in his cause?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Oh, madam, false, false-hearted is the Pole,
   And enviously he eyes our country's wealth.
   He welcomes every pretext that may serve
   To light the flames of war within our bounds!

   MARFA.
   And were there credulous spirits, even in Moscow,
   Could by this juggle be so lightly stirred?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Oh, fickle, princess, is the people's heart!
   They dote on alteration, and expect
   To reap advantage from a change of rulers.
   The bold assurance of the falsehood charms;
   The marvellous finds favor and belief.
   Therefore the Czar is anxious thou shouldst quell
   This mad delusion, as thou only canst.
   A word from thee annihilates the traitor
   That falsely claims the title of thy son.
   It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see
   The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride,
   And, with a noble anger paints thy cheek.

   MARFA.
   And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now,
   Who dares usurp the title of my son?

   ARCHBISHOP.
   E'en now he's moving on to Tscherinsko;
   His camp at Kioff has broke up, 'tis rumored;
   And with a force of mounted Polish troops
   And Don Cossacks, he comes to push his claims.

   MARFA.
   Oh, God Almighty, thanks, thanks, thanks, that thou
   Hast sent me rescue and revenge at last!

   ARCHBISHOP.
   How, Marfa, how am I to construe this?

   MARFA.
   Ob, heavenly powers, conduct him safely here!
   Hover, oh all ye angels, round his banners!

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Can it be so? The traitor, canst thou trust----

   MARFA.
   He is my son. Yes! by these signs alone
   I recognize him. By thy Czar's alarm
   I recognize him. Yes! He lives! He comes!
   Down, tyrant, from thy throne, and shake with fear!
   There still doth live a shoot from Rurik's stem;
   The genuine Czar--the rightful heir draws nigh,
   He comes to claim a reckoning for his own.

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Dost thou bethink thee what thou say'st? 'Tis madness!

   MARFA.
   At length--at length has dawned the day of vengeance,
   Of restoration. Innocence is dragged
   To light by heaven from the grave's midnight gloom.
   The haughty Godunow, my deadly foe,
   Must crouch and sue for mercy at my feet;
   Oh, now my burning wishes are fulfilled!

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Can hate and rancorous malice blind you so?

   MARFA.
   Can terror blind your monarch so, that he
   Should hope deliverance from me--from me--
   Whom he hath done immeasurable wrong?
   I shall, forsooth, deny the son whom heaven
   Restores me by a miracle from the grave,
   And to please him, the butcher of my house,
   Who piled upon me woes unspeakable?
   Yes, thrust from me the succor God has sent
   In the sad evening of my heavy anguish?
   No, thou escap'st me not. No, thou shalt hear me,
   I have thee fast, I will not let thee free.
   Oh, I can ease my bosom's load at last!
   At last launch forth against mine enemy
   The long-pent anger of my inmost soul!
              Who was it, who,
   That shut me up within this living tomb,
   In all the strength and freshness of my youth,
   With all its feelings glowing in my breast?
   Who from my bosom rent my darling son,
   And chartered ruffian hands to take his life?
   Oh, words can never tell what I have suffered,
   When, with a yearning that would not be still,
   I watched throughout the long, long starry nights,
   And noted with my tears the hours elapse!
   The day of succor comes, and of revenge;
   I see the mighty glorying in his might.

   ARCHBISHOP.
   You think the Czar will dread you--you mistake.

   MARFA.
   He's in my power--one little word from me,
   One only, sets the seal upon his fate!
   It was for this thy master sent thee here!
   The eyes of Russia and of Poland now
   Are closely bent upon me. If I own
   The Czarowitsch as Ivan's son and mine,
   Then all will do him homage; his the throne.
   If I disown him, then he is undone;
   For who will credit that his rightful mother,
   A mother wronged, so foully wronged as I,
   Could from her heart repulse its darling child,
   To league with the despoilers of her house?
   I need but speak one word and all the world
   Deserts him as a traitor. Is't not so?
   This word you wish from me. That mighty service,
   Confess, I can perform for Godunow!

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Thou wouldst perform it for thy country, and
   Avert the dread calamities of war,
   Shouldst thou do homage to the truth. Thyself,
   Ay, thou hast ne'er a doubt thy son is dead;
   And couldst thou testify against thy conscience?

   MARFA.
   These sixteen years I've mourned his death; but yet
   I ne'er have seen his ashes. I believed
   His death, there trusting to the general voice
   And my sad heart--I now believe he lives,
   Trusting the general voice and my strong hope.
   'Twere impious, with audacious doubts, to seek
   To set a bound to the Almighty's will;
   And even were he not my heart's dear son,
   Yet should he be the son of my revenge.
   In my child's room I take him to my breast,
   Whom heaven has sent me to avenge my wrongs.

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Unhappy one, dost thou defy the strong?
   From his far-reaching arm thou art not safe
   Even in the convent's distant solitude.

   MARFA.
   Kill me he may, and stifle in the grave,
   Or dungeon's gloom, my woman's voice, that it
   Shall not reverberate throughout the world.
   This he may do; but force me to speak aught
   Against my will, that can he not; though backed
   By all thy craft--no, he has missed his aim!

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Is this thy final purpose. Ponder well!
   Hast thou no gentler message for the Czar?

   MARFA.
   Tell him to hope for heaven, if so he dare,
   And for his people's love, if so he can.

   ARCHBISHOP.
   Enough! thou art bent on thy destruction.
   Thou lean'st upon a reed, will break beneath thee;
   One common ruin will o'erwhelm ye both.

                     [Exit.

   MARFA.
   It is my son, I cannot doubt 'tis he.
   Even the wild hordes of the uncultured wastes
   Take arms upon his side; the haughty Pole,
   The palatine, doth stake his noble daughter
   On the pure gold of his most righteous cause,
   And I alone reject him--I, his mother?
   I, only I, shook not beneath the storm
   Of joy that lifts all hearts with dizzying whirl,
   And scatters turmoil widely o'er the earth.
   He is my son--I must, will trust in him,
   And grasp with living confidence the hand
   Which heaven hath sent for my deliverance.
   'Tis he, he comes with his embattled hosts,
   To set me free, and to avenge my shame!
   Hark to his drums, his martial trumpets' clang!
   Ye nations come--come from the east and south.
   Forth from your steppes, your immemorial woods
   Of every tongue, of every raiment come!
   Bridle the steed, the reindeer, and the camel!
   Sweep hither, countless as the ocean waves,
   And throng around the banners of your king!
   Oh, wherefore am I mewed and fettered here,
   A prisoned soul with longings infinite!
   Thou deathless sun, that circlest earth's huge ball,
   Be thou the messenger of my desires!
   Thou all-pervading, chainless breeze that sweep'st
   With lightning speed to earth's remotest bound,
   Oh, bear to him the yearnings of my heart.
   My prayers are all I have to give; but these
   I pour all glowing from my inmost soul,
   And send them up to heaven on wings of flame,
   Like armed hosts, I send them forth to hail him.




SCENE II.

      A height crowned with trees. A wide and smiling landscape
      occupies the background, which is traversed by a beautiful
      river, and enlivened by the budding green of spring. At
      various points the towers of several towns are visible.
      Drums and martial music without. Enter ODOWALSKY, and other
      officers, and immediately afterwards DEMETRIUS.

   ODOWALSKY.
   Go, lead the army downward by the wood,
   Whilst we look round us here upon the height.

            [Exeunt some of the officers.

      Enter DEMETRIUS.

   DEMETRIUS (starting back).
   Ha! what a prospect!

   ODOWALSKY.
              Sire, thou see'st thy kingdom
   Spread out before thee. That is Russian land.

   RAZIN.
   Why, e'en this pillar here bears Moscow's arms;
   Here terminates the empire of the Poles.

   DEMETRIUS.
   Is that the Dnieper, rolls its quiet stream
   Along these meadows?

   ODOWALSKY.
              That, sire, is the Desna;
   See, yonder rise the towers of Tschernizow!

   RAZIN.
   Yon gleam you see upon the far horizon
   Is from the roofs of Sewerisch Novogrod.

   DEMETRIUS.
   What a rich prospect! What fair meadow lands!

   ODOWALSKY.
   The spring has decked them with her trim array;
   A teeming harvest clothes the fruitful soil.

   DEMETRIUS.
   The view is lost in limitless expanse.

   RAZIN.
   Yet is this but a small beginning, sire,
   Of Russia's mighty empire. For it spreads
   Towards the east to confines unexplored,
   And on the north has ne'er a boundary,
   Save the productive energy of earth.
   Behold, our Czar is quite absorbed in thought.

   DEMETRIUS.
   On these fair meads dwell peace, unbroken peace,
   And with war's terrible array I come
   To scatter havoc, like a listed foe!

   ODOWALSKY.
   Hereafter 'twill be time to think of that.

   DEMETRIUS.
   Thou feelest as a Pole, I am Moscow's son.
   It is the land to which I owe my life;
   Forgive me, thou dear soil, land of my home,
   Thou sacred boundary-pillar, which I clasp,
   Whereon my sire his broad-spread eagle graved,
   That I, thy son, with foreign foemen's arms,
   Invade the tranquil temple of thy peace.
   'Tis to reclaim my heritage I come,
   And the proud name that has been stolen from me.
   Here the Varegers, my forefathers, ruled,
   In lengthened line, for thirty generations;
   I am the last of all their lineage, snatched
   From murder by God's special providence.




SCENE III.

      A Russian village. An open square before a church.
      The tocsin is heard. GLEB, ILIA, and TIMOSKA rush in,
      armed with hatchets.

   GLEB (entering from a house).
   Why are they running?

   ILIA (entering from another house).
               Who has tolled the bell.

   TIMOSKA.
   Neighbors, come forth! Come all, to council come!

      [Enter OLEG and IGOR, with many other peasants,
      women and children, who carry bundles.

   GLEB.
   Whence come ye hither with your wives and children?

   IGOR.
   Fly, fly! The Pole has fallen upon the land
   At Maromesk, and slaughters all he finds.

   OLEG.
   Fly into the interior--to strong towns!
   We've fired our cottages, there's not a soul
   Left in the village, and we're making now
   Up country for the army of the Czar.

   TIMOSKA.
   Here comes another troop of fugitives.

      [IWANSKA and PETRUSCHKA, with armed peasantry,
      enter on different sides.

   IWANSKA.
   Long live the Czar! The mighty prince Dmitri!

   GLEB.
   How! What is this!

   ILIA.
              What do you mean?

   TIMOSKA.
                       Who are you?

   PETRUSCHKA.
   Join all who're loyal to our princely line!

   TIMOSKA.
   What means all this? There a whole village flies
   Up country to escape the Poles, while you
   Make for the very point whence these have fled,
   To join the standard of the country's foe!

   PETRUSCHKA.
   What foe? It is no foe that comes; it is
   The people's friend, the emperor's rightful heir.


   *   *   *   *   *


The POSADMIK (the village judge) enters to read a manifesto by Demetrius.
Vacillation of the inhabitants of the village between the two parties.
The peasant women are the first to be won over to Demetrius, and turn the
scale.


Camp of DEMETRIUS. He is worsted in the first action, but the army of
the Czar Boris conquers in a manner against its will, and does not follow
up its advantages. Demetrius, in despair, is about to destroy himself,
and is with difficulty prevented from doing so by Korela and Odowalsky.
Overbearing demeanor of the Cossacks even to DEMETRIUS.


Camp of the army of the CZAR BORIS. He is absent himself, and this
injures his cause, as he is feared but not loved. His army is strong,
but not to be relied on. The leaders are not unanimous, and partly
incline to the side of Demetrius from a variety of motives. One of their
number, Soltikow, declares for him from conviction. His adherence is
attended with the most important results; a large portion of the army
deserts to DEMETRIUS.


BORIS in Moscow. He still maintains his position as absolute ruler, and
has faithful servants around him; but already he is discomposed by evil
tidings. He is withheld from joining the army by apprehension of a
rebellion in Moscow. He is also ashamed as Czar to enter the field in
person against a traitor. Scene between him and the archbishop.


Bad news pours in from all sides, and Boris' danger grows momently more
imminent. He hears of the revolt of the peasantry and the provincial
towns,--of the inactivity and mutiny of the army,--of the commotions in
Moscow,--of the advance of Demetrius. Romanow, whom he has deeply
wronged, arrives in Moscow. This gives rise to new apprehensions. Now
come the tidings that the Boiars are flying to the camp of Demetrius, and
that the whole army has gone over to him.


BORIS and AXINIA. The Czar appears in a touching aspect as father, and
in the dialogue with his daughter unfolds his inmost nature.


BORIS has made his way to the throne by crime, but undertaken and
fulfilled all the duties of a monarch; to the country he is a valuable
prince and a true father of his people. It is only in his personal
dealings with individuals that he is cunning, revengeful, and cruel. His
spirit as well as his rank elevates him above all that surround him. The
long possession of supreme power, the habit of ruling over men, and the
despotic form of government, have so nursed his pride that it is
impossible for him to outlive his greatness. He sees clearly what awaits
him; but still he is Czar, and not degraded, though he resolves to die.


He believes in forewarnings, and in his present mood things appear to him
of significance which, on other occasions, he had despised. A particular
circumstance, in which he seems to hear the voice of destiny, decides
him.


Shortly before his death his nature changes; he grows milder, even
towards the messengers of evil, and is ashamed of the bursts of rage with
which he had received them before. He permits the worst to be told to
him, and even rewards the narrator.


So soon as he learns the misfortune that seals his fate, he leaves the
stage without further explanation, with composure and resignation.
Shortly afterwards he returns in the habit of a monk, and removes his
daughter from the sight of his last moments. She is to seek protection
from insult in a cloister; his son, Feodor, as a child, will perhaps have
less to fear. He takes poison, and enters a retired chamber to die in
peace.

General confusion at the tidings of the Czar's death. The Boiars form an
imperial council and rule in the Kremlin. Romanow (afterwards Czar, and
founder of the now ruling house) enters at the head of an armed force,
swears, on the bosom of the Czar, an oath of allegiance to his son
Feodor, and compels the Boiars to follow his example. Revenge and
ambition are far from his soul; he pursues only justice. He loves Axinia
without hope, and is, without knowing it, beloved by her in return.


ROMANOW hastens to the army to secure it for the young Czar.
Insurrection in Moscow, brought about by the adherents of Demetrius.
The people drag the Boiars from their houses, make themselves masters
of Feodor and Axinia--put them in prison, and send delegates to
Demetrius.


DEMETRIUS in Tula, at the pinnacle of success. The army is his own; the
keys of numerous towns are brought to him. Moscow alone appears to offer
resistance. He is mild and amiable, testifies a noble emotion at the
intelligence of the death of Boris, pardons a detected conspiracy against
his life, despises the servile adulations of the Russians, and is for
sending them away. The Poles, on the other hand, by whom he is
surrounded, are rude and violent, and treat the Russians with contempt.
Demetrius longs for a meeting with his mother, and sends a messenger to
Marina.


Among the multitude of Russians who throng around Demetrius in Tula
appears a man whom he at once recognizes; he is greatly delighted to see
him. He bids all the rest withdraw, and so soon as he is alone with this
man he thanks him, with full heart, as his preserver and benefactor.
This person hints that Demetrius is under especial obligations to him,
and to a greater extent than he is himself aware. Demetrius urges him to
explain, and the assassin of the genuine Demetrius thereupon discloses
the real facts of the case. For this murder he had received no
recompense, but on the contrary had nothing but death to anticipate from
Boris. Thirsting for revenge, he stumbled upon a boy, whose resemblance
to the Czar Ivan struck him. This circumstance must be turned to
account. He seized the boy, fled with him from Uglitsch, brought him to
a monk, whom he succeeded in gaining over for his ends, and delivered to
him the trinkets which he had himself taken from the murdered Demetrius.
By means of this boy, whom he had never lost sight of, and whose steps he
had attended upon all occasions without being observed, he is now
revenged. His tool, the false Demetrius, rules over Russia in Boris'
room.


During this narration a mighty change comes over Demetrius. His silence
is awful. In the moment of the highest rage and despair, the assassin
drives him to the extreme of endurance, when with a defying and insolent
air he demands his reward. Demetrius strikes him to the earth.


Soliloquy of Demetrius. Internal conflict; but the feeling of the
necessity for maintaining his position as Czar is triumphant.


The delegates from Moscow arrive, and submit themselves to Demetrius.
They are received gloomily, and with a menacing demeanor. Among them is
the Patriarch. Demetrius deposes him from his dignity, and soon
afterwards sentences to death a Russian of rank, who had questioned the
authenticity of his birth.


MARFA and OLGA await Demetrius under a magnificent tent. Marfa speaks of
the approaching interview with more doubt and fear than hope, and
trembles as the moment draws near which should assure her highest
happiness. Olga speaks to her, herself without faith. During the long
journey they have both had time to recall the whole circumstances; the
first exultation had given place to reflection. The gloomy silence and
the repulsive glances of the guards who surround the tent serve still
further to augment their despondency.


The trumpets sound. Marfa is irresolute whether she shall advance to
meet Demetrius. Now he stands before her alone. The little that was
left of hope in her heart altogether vanishes on seeing him. An unknown
something steps between them--Nature does not speak--they are separated
forever. The first impulse is an endeavor to approach; Marfa is the
first to make a movement to recede. Demetrius observes it, and remains
for a moment paralyzed. Significant silence.

DEMETRIUS. Does thy heart say nothing? Dost thou not recognize thy
blood in me?

   MARFA is silent.

DEMETRIUS. The voice of nature is holy and free; I will neither
constrain nor belie it. Had thy heart spoken at the first glance then
had mine answered it; thou shouldst have found a pious, loving son in me.
The claim of duty would have concurred with inclination and heartfelt
affection. But if thou dost not feel as a mother for me, then, think as
a princess, command thyself as a queen! Fate unexpectedly gave me to
thee as a son; accept me as a gift of heaven. Though even I were not thy
son, which I now appear to be, still I rob thy son of nothing. I
stripped it from thy foe. Thee and thy blood have I avenged; I have
delivered thee from the grave in which thou went entombed alive, and led
thee back into the royal seat. That thy destiny is linked with mine thou
knowest. With me thou standest, and with me must fall. All the people's
eyes are upon us. I hate deception, and what I do not feel I may not
show; but I do really feel a reverence for thee, and this feeling, which
bends my knee before thee, comes from my heart.

   [Dumb show of MARFA, to indicate her internal emotion.

DEMETRIUS. Make thy resolve! Let that which nature will not prompt be
the free act of thy will! I ask no hypocrisy--no falsehood, from thee; I
ask genuine feelings. Do not seem to be my mother, but be so. Throw the
past from thee--grasp the present with thy whole heart! If I am not thy
son yet I am the Czar--I have power and success upon my side. He who
lies in his grave is dust; he has no heart to love thee, no eye to smile
upon thee. Turn to the living.

   [MARFA bursts into tears.

DEMETRIUS. Oh, these golden drops are welcome to me. Let them flow!
Show thyself thus to the people!

   [At a signal from DEMETRIUS the tent is thrown open, and
   the assembled Russians become spectators of this scene.


Entrance of Demetrius into Moscow. Great splendor, but of a military
kind. Poles and Cossacks compose the procession. Gloom and terror
mingle with the demonstrations of joy. Distrust and misfortune surround
the whole.


Romanow, who came to the army too late, has returned to Moscow to protect
Feodor and Axinia. It is all in vain; he is himself thrown into prison.
Axinia flies to Marfa, and at her feet implores protection against the
Poles. Here Demetrius sees her, and a violent and irresistible passion
is kindled in his breast. Axinia detests him.


DEMETRIUS as Czar. A fearful element sustains him, but he does not
control it: he is urged on by the force of strange passions. His inward
consciousness betokens a general distrust; he has no friend on whom he
can rely. Poles and Cossacks, by their insolent licentiousness, injure
him in the popular opinion. Even that which is creditable to him--his
popular manners, simplicity, and contempt of stiff ceremonial, occasions
dissatisfaction. Occasionally he offends, through inadvertency, the
usages of the country. He persecutes the monks because he suffered
severely under them. Moreover, he is not exempt from despotic caprices
in the moments of offended pride. Odowalsky knows how to make himself at
all times indispensable to him, removes the Russians to a distance, and
maintains his overruling influence.


DEMETRIUS meditates inconstancy to Marina. He confers upon the point
with the Archbishop Iob, who, in order to get rid of the Poles, falls in
with his desire, and puts before him an exalted picture of the imperial
power.


MARINA appears with a vast retinue in Moscow. Meeting with Demetrius.
Hollow and cold meeting on both sides; she, however, wears her disguise
with greater skill. She urges an immediate marriage. Preparations are
made for a magnificent festival.


By the orders of Marina a cup of poison is brought to Axinia. Death is
welcome to her; she was afraid of being forced to the altar with the
Czar.


Violent grief of Demetrius. With a broken heart he goes to the betrothal
with Marina.


After the marriage Marina discloses to him that she does not consider him
to be the true Demetrius, and never did. She then coldly leaves him in a
state of extreme anguish and dismay.

Meanwhile SCHINSKOI, one of the former generals of the Czar Boris, avails
himself of the growing discontent of the people, and becomes the head of
a conspiracy against Demetrius.


ROMANOW, in prison, is comforted by a supernatural apparition. Axinia's
spirit stands before him, opens to him a prospect of happier times in
store, and enjoins him calmly to allow destiny to ripen, and not to stain
himself with blood. ROMANOW receives a hint that he may himself be
called to the throne. Soon afterwards he is solicited to take part in
the conspiracy, but declines.


SOLTIKOW reproaches himself bitterly for having betrayed his country to
Demetrius. But he will not be a second time a traitor, and adheres, from
principle and against his feelings, to the party which he has once
adopted. As the misfortune has happened, he seeks at least to alleviate
it, and to enfeeble the power of the Poles. He pays for this effort with
his life; but he accepts death as a merited punishment, and confesses
this when dying to Demetrius himself.


CASIMIR, a brother of LODOISKA, a young Polish lady, who has been
secretly and hopelessly attached to Demetrius, in the house of the
Waywode of Sendomir, has, at his sister's request, accompanied Demetrius
in the campaign, and in every encounter defended him bravely. In the
moment of danger, when all the other retainers of Demetrius think only of
their personal safety, Casimir alone remains faithful to him, and
sacrifices life in his defence.


The conspiracy breaks out. Demetrius is with Marfa when the leading
conspirators force their way into the room. The dignity and courage of
Demetrius have a momentary effect upon the rebels. He nearly succeeds in
disarming them by a promise to place the Poles at their disposal. But at
this point SCHINSKOI rushes in with an infuriated band. An explicit
declaration is demanded from the ex-empress; she is required to swear,
upon the cross, that Demetrius is her son. To testify against her
conscience in a manner so solemn is impossible. She turns from Demetrius
in silence, and is about to withdraw. "Is she silent?" exclaims the
tumultuous throng. "Does she disown him?" "Then, traitor, die!" and
Demetrius falls, pierced by their swords, at Marfa's feet.