Boris Godunov Part 13

(A Russian prisoner enters.)

Who art thou?

PRISONER. Rozhnov, a n.o.bleman of Moscow.

PRETENDER. Hast long been in the service?

PRISONER. About a month.

PRETENDER. Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn The sword against me?

PRISONER. What else could I do?

'Twas not our fault.

PRETENDER. Didst fight beneath the walls Of Seversk?

PRISONER. 'Twas two weeks after the battle I came from Moscow.

PRETENDER. What of G.o.dunov?

PRISONER. The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him Much apprehension; Shuisky he hath sent To take command.

PRETENDER. But why hath he recalled Basmanov unto Moscow?

PRISONER. The tsar rewarded His services with honour and with gold.

Basmanov in the council of the tsar Now sits.

PRETENDER. The army had more need of him.

Well, how go things in Moscow?

PRISONER. All is quiet, Thank G.o.d.

PRETENDER. Say, do they look for me?

PRISONER. G.o.d knows; They dare not talk too much there now. Of some The tongues have been cut off, of others even The heads. It is a fearsome state of things-- Each day an execution. All the prisons Are crammed. Wherever two or three forgather In public places, instantly a spy Worms himself in; the tsar himself examines At leisure the denouncers. It is just Sheer misery; so silence is the best.

PRETENDER. An enviable life for the tsar's people!

Well, how about the army?

PRISONER. What of them?

Clothed and full-fed they are content with all.

PRETENDER. But is there much of it?

PRISONER. G.o.d knows.

PRETENDER. All told Will there be thirty thousand?

PRISONER. Yes; 'twill run Even to fifty thousand.

(The Pretender reflects; those around him glance at one another.)

PRETENDER. Well! Of me What say they in your camp?

PRISONER. Your graciousness They speak of; say that thou, Sire, (be not wrath), Art a thief, but a fine fellow.

PRETENDER. (Laughing.) Even so I'll prove myself to them in deed. My friends, We will not wait for Shuisky; I wish you joy; Tomorrow, battle.

(Exit.)

ALL. Long life to Dimitry!

A POLE. Tomorrow, battle! They are fifty thousand, And we scarce fifteen thousand. He is mad!

ANOTHER. That's nothing, friend. A single Pole can challenge Five hundred Muscovites.

PRISONER. Yes, thou mayst challenge!

But when it comes to fighting, then, thou braggart, Thou'lt run away.

POLE. If thou hadst had a sword, Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon Have vanquished thee.

PRISONER. A Russian can make s.h.i.+ft Without a sword; how like you this (shows his fist), you fool?

(The Pole looks at him haughtily and departs in silence. All laugh.)

A FOREST

PRETENDER and PUSHKIN

(In the background lies a dying horse)

PRETENDER. Ah, my poor horse! How gallantly he charged Today in the last battle, and when wounded, How swiftly bore me. My poor horse!

PUSHKIN. (To himself.) Well, here's A great ado about a horse, when all Our army's smashed to bits.

PRETENDER. Listen! Perhaps He's but exhausted by the loss of blood, And will recover.

PUSHKIN. Nay, nay; he is dying.

PRETENDER. (Goes to his horse.) My poor horse!--what to do? Take off the bridle, And loose the girth. Let him at least die free.

(He unbridles and unsaddles the horse. Some Poles enter.)

Good day to you, gentlemen! How is't I see not Kurbsky among you? I did note today How to the thick of the fight he clove his path; Around the hero's sword, like swaying ears Of corn, hosts thronged; but higher than all of them His blade was brandished, and his terrible cry Drowned all cries else. Where is my knight?

POLE. He fell On the field of battle.