ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I. A Greek convent in a bleak district near the sea Belozero. A train of nuns, in black robes and veils, passes over the back of the stage. MARFA, in a white veil, stands apart from the others, leaning on a tombstone. OLGA steps out from the train, remains gazing at her for a time, and then advances to her. OLGA. And does thy heart not urge thee forth with us To taste reviving nature's opening sweets? The glad sun comes, the long, long night retires, The ice melts in the streams, and soon the sledge Will to the boat give place and summer swallow. The world awakes once more, and the new joy Woos all to leave their narrow cloister cells For the bright air and freshening breath of spring. And wilt thou only, sunk in lasting grief, Refuse to share the general exultation? MARFA. On with the rest, and leave me to myself! Let those rejoice who still have power to hope. The time that puts fresh youth in all the world Brings naught to me; to me the past is all, My hopes, my joys are with the things that were. OLGA. Dost thou still mourn thy son—still, still lament The sovereignty which thou has lost? Does time, Which pours a balm on every wounded heart, Lose all its potency with thee alone? Thou wert the empress of this mighty realm, The mother of a blooming son. He was Snatched from thee by a dreadful destiny; Into this dreary convent wert thou thrust, Here on the verge of habitable earth. Full sixteen times since that disastrous day The face of nature hath renewed its youth; Still have I seen no change come over thine, That looked a grave amid a blooming world. Thou'rt like some moonless image, carved in stone By sculptor's chisel, that doth ever keep The selfsame fixed unalterable mien. MARFA. Yes, time, fell time, hath signed and set me up As a memorial of my dreadful fate. I will not be at peace, will not forget. That soul must be of poor and shallow stamp Which takes a cure from time—a recompense For what can never be compensated! Nothing shall buy my sorrow from me. No, As heaven's vault still goes with the wanderer, Girds and environs him with boundless grasp, Turn where he will, by sea or land, so goes My anguish with me, wheresoe'er I turn; It hems me round, like an unbounded sea; My ceaseless tears have failed to drain its depths. OLGA. Oh, see! what news can yonder boy have brought, The sisters round him throng so eagerly? He comes from distant shores, where homes abound, And brings us tidings from the land of men. The sea is clear, the highways free once more. Art thou not curious to learn his news? Though to the world we are as good as dead, Yet of its changes willingly we hear, And, safe upon the shore, with wonder mark The roar and ferment of the trampling waves. [NUNS come down the stage with a FISHER BOY. XENIA—HELENA. Speak, speak, and tell us all the news you bring. ALEXIA. Relate what's passing in the world beyond. FISHER BOY. Good, pious ladies, give me time to speak! XENIA. Is't war—or peace? ALEXIA. Who's now upon the throne? FISHER BOY. A ship is to Archangel just come in From the north pole, where everything is ice. OLGA. How came a vessel into that wild sea? FISHER BOY. It is an English merchantman, and it Has found a new way out to get to us. ALEXIA. What will not man adventure for his gain? XENIA. And so the world is nowhere to be barred! FISHER BOY. But that's the very smallest of the news. 'Tis something very different moves the world. ALEXIA. Oh, speak and tell us! OLGA. Say, what has occurred? FISHER BOY. We live to hear strange marvels nowadays: The dead rise up, and come to life again. OLGA. Explain yourself. FISHER BOY. Prince Dmitri, Ivan's son, Whom we have mourned for dead these sixteen years, Is now alive, and has appeared in Poland. OLGA. The prince alive? MARFA (starting). My son! OLGA. Compose thyself! Calm down thy heart till we have learned the whole. ALEXIA. How can this possibly be so, when he Was killed, and perished in the flames at Uglitsch? FISHER BOY. He managed somehow to escape the fire, And found protection in a monastery. There he grew up in secrecy, until His time was come to publish who he was. OLGA (to MARFA). You tremble, princess! You grow pale! MARFA. I know That it must be delusion, yet so little Is my heart steeled 'gainst fear and hope e'en now, That in my breast it flutters like a bird. OLGA. Why should it be delusion? Mark his words! How could this rumor spread without good cause? FISHER BOY. Without good cause? The Lithuanians And Poles are all in arms upon his side. The Czar himself quakes in his capital. [MARFA is compelled by her emotion to lean upon OLGA and ALEXIA. XENIA. Speak on, speak, tell us everything you know. ALEXIA. And tell us, too, of whom you stole the news. FISHER BOY. I stole the news? A letter has gone forth To every town and province from the Czar. This letter the Posadmik of our town Read to us all, in open market-place. It bore, that busy schemers were abroad, And that we should not lend their tales belief. But this made us believe them; for, had they Been false, the Czar would have despised the lie. MARFA. Is this the calm I thought I had achieved? And clings my heart so close to temporal things, That a mere word can shake my inward soul? For sixteen years have I bewailed my son, And yet at once believe that still he lives. OLGA. Sixteen long years thou'st mourned for him as dead, And yet his ashes thou hast never seen! Naught countervails the truth of the report. Nay, does not Providence watch o'er the fate Of kings and monarchies? Then welcome hope! More things befall than thou canst comprehend. Who can set limits to the Almighty's power? MARFA. Shall I turn back to look again on life, To which long since I spoke a sad farewell? It was not with the dead my hopes abode. Oh, say no more of this. Let not my heart Hang on this phantom hope! Let me not lose My darling son a second time. Alas! My peace of mind is gone,—my dream of peace I cannot trust these tidings,—yet, alas, I can no longer dash them from my soul! Woe's me, I never lost my son till now. Oh, now I can no longer tell if I Shall seek him 'mongst the living or the dead, Tossed on the rock of never-ending doubt. OLGA [A bell sounds,—the sister PORTERESS enters. Why has the bell been sounded, sister, say? PORTERESS. The lord archbishop waits without; he brings A message from the Czar, and craves an audience. OLGA. Does the archbishop stand within our gates? What strange occurrence can have brought him here? XENIA. Come all, and give him greeting as befits. [They advance towards the gate as the ARCHBISHOP enters; they all kneel before him, and he makes the sign of the Greek cross over them. ARCHBISHOP. The kiss of peace I bring you in the name Of Father, Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Proceeding from the Father! OLGA. Sir, we kiss In humblest reverence thy paternal hand! Command thy daughters! ARCHBISHOP. My mission is addressed to Sister Marfa. OLGA. See, here she stands, and waits to know thy will. [All the NUNS withdraw. ARCHBISHOP. It is the mighty prince who sends me here; Upon his distant throne he thinks of thee; For as the sun, with his great eye of flame, Sheds light and plenty all abroad the world, So sweeps the sovereign's eye on every side; Even to the farthest limits of his realm His care is wakeful and his glance is keen. MARFA. How far his arm can strike I know too well. ARCHBISHOP. He knows the lofty spirit fills thy soul, And therefore feels indignantly the wrong A bold-faced villain dares to offer thee. Learn, then, in Poland, an audacious churl, A renegade, who broke his monkish vows, Laid down his habit, and renounced his God, Doth use the name and title of thy son, Whom death snatched from thee in his infancy. The shameless varlet boasts him of thy blood, And doth affect to be Czar Ivan's son; A Waywode breaks the peace; from Poland leads This spurious monarch, whom himself created, Across our frontiers, with an armed power: So he beguiles the Russians' faithful hearts, And lures them on to treason and revolt. The Czar, With pure, paternal feeling, sends me to thee. Thou hold'st the manes of thy son in honor; Nor wilt permit a bold adventurer To steal his name and title from the tomb, And with audacious hand usurp his rights. Thou wilt proclaim aloud to all the world That thou dost own him for no son of thine. Thou wilt not nurse a bastard's alien blood Upon thy heart, that beats so nobly; never! Thou wilt—and this the Czar expects from thee— Give the vile counterfeit the lie, with all The righteous indignation it deserves. 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. Demetrius falls, pierced by their swords, at Marfa's feet. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEMETRIUS: A PLAY *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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