All language subtitles for Boris Godounov 1989.1080p.BluRay.x264.DTS-KESH.EN

What's wrong with you?

Have you turned to wooden statues?

Quickly, on your knees!

To whom have you abandoned us,

Father?

To whom did you leave us...

O adored one?

We beg you!

With tears,

with bitter tears!

Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!

O beloved Boyar!

Our Father!

Our guardian!

Boyar!

Mercy!

Quiet now, are we?

Cat got your tongue?

Don't get shirty.

Has it been too long since you felt
a whip play on your backs?

Why, I'll teach you...

Don't get in a lather,
kind policeman.

We're just having a breather.
He won't even let us breathe,

the bastard!

Are your throats ailing?

All right!

Well?

O ye of faith!

The Boyar remains inflexible...

He replies to the desperate calls

of his peers
and the Leader of the Church

that he won't even consider
taking the throne.

Mourning has gripped Russia,

inexorable grief,

O ye of faith!

Lawlessness is stifling
the country...

With all your strength,

turn toward God

that he may send

much-needed consolation

to his grieving Russia...

and that his heavenly light
may illuminate

Boris's weary mind...

Glory to you,
supreme creator on earth!

Glory to your celestial armies
and all your Saints!

Glory to Russia!

The angel of the Lord
proclaimed to the world:

rise, O threatening shadows!

Go, up between heaven and earth,

and cover the land of Russia!

Slay the dreaded dragon

with its dozen winged horns,

this dragon sowing despair

in the kingless land of Russia.

Proclaim these words
to those of faith,

for salvation awaits!

Did you hear

what the enlightened ones said?

I heard!

Under the icon
of this saint or that...

Under the icon
of this saint or that...

Let's go...

Where?

Take that icon...

Get a grip, friend!

Adorn yourselves with lights,

seize the icon of this saint or that

and prepare to welcome the Tsar.

The Tsar?

But which Tsar?

Hey, you!

What do you mean, which Tsar?

Tsar Boris!

Hey, you, you herd of sheep!

Are you deaf?

There you are!

They got what they wanted.

A fat lot of good that does us!

If they force us to wail,

we'll wail all the way to the Palace.

We'll wail.

Why shouldn't we?

Come, children,

shall we go?

Hail to Tsar Boris Feodorovich!

Long live our father, our Tsar!

Praise him!

To the sun,
risen in all its splendor be glory,

glory to Boris,
Tsar over all of Russia!

Glory, glory!

Praise the Tsar! Celebrate him!

Long live the Tsar!

Glory to Boris, Tsar of all Russia!

Glory! Glory!

Glory to the Tsar!

Glory!

Glory!

My soul languishes...

What is this uncontrolled fear

that shackles my heart

to some fatal foreboding?

O you who make the laws,

O my benevolent father,

look from the heavenly heights
upon the tears

of your faithful servants.

And send me a blessing from on high

upon my kingdom

that I may be good

and merciful as yourself

and that I may govern
my people gloriously.

Now let us kneel in prayer

before the tombs of Russia's kings.

And then all the people shall feast,

every man, from Boyar

to the most destitute blind beggar,

bid them all enter!

Let all be my welcome guests!

Glory, glory, glory!

Hail to the Tsar, our father!

Long may Tsar Boris prosper!

As to the sun in the heavens!

Glory, glory!

Hail to Tsar Boris!

Glory!

Glory!

Just one final tale

and my chronicle will be complete.

I have done the work

that God assigned to me,

poor wretch that I am.

O God, strong and just,

listen to your slaves

who adore you.

That dream again!

Three times... the very same dream!

Inextricable dream,

accursed dream!

All you do is write,

you do not lose yourself in sleep.

But with me,
a demonic disorder comes

to trouble the peace
of my soul and my mind.

I dreamed

a winding staircase
led me to a tower

and from on high,
Moscow appeared to me.

And, like an anthill,

the people below
seething in the square

pointed me out and made fun of me.

I was ashamed and became afraid,

and I fell head first,

and I awoke.

Here, in that same cell,

where once a monk lived,

a very experienced and upright man,

this is where I saw the Tsar.

Thoughtful and quiet,

before us sat Ivan the Terrible,

and humble was the speech

that poured from his lips,

but in his stern eyes,

the tear of regret trembled

and he wept!

God loved

the softening of the Tsar,

and under him Russia

- glorious and free of storms -

grew calm.

When his last hour came,

an incredible miracle occurred:

the rooms were filled

with a divine perfume,

and his face

shone like the sun.

Never will we see his like as Tsar!

We incurred God's wrath,

sinned,

chose for a sovereign
a killer of Tsars.

For a long time, O venerable one,

I wanted to question you

about the death of Tsarevich Dimitri.

They say you were in Uglich
at the time.

Oh, yes, I remember!

God made me see the crime,

the bloody sin!

I had been sent to Uglich

to do my penitence.

I arrived during the night;

at dawn,

the hour of Matins,

I suddenly heard bells!

Sounding the alarm!

Shouts,

hubbub!

Everyone rushed
into the Tsarina's courtyard,

myself included, and I saw:

the Tsarevich, his throat cut,

lying in his blood.

His mother the Tsarina

wild-eyed, above him.

The unfortunate nurse

screamed in despair

and there,

in the square, the enraged people

scolded the traitress,
the ungodly housekeeper!

Fury!

Wailing!

Suddenly amongst them,

wild, pale with rage,

appeared the Judas

Bityagovsky!

There,

there's the villain!
Shouted the crowd on all sides.

They set off in pursuit

of the three fleeing murderers.

The criminals were caught

and they were brought

before the still-warm corpse

of the child.

A miracle!

Suddenly, the dead boy

gave a shudder!

Repent,

the people roared.

And in terror, threatened by the ax,

the killers confessed

and named

Boris.

The bells rang for Matins...

God, bless your slaves.

Hand me my cane, Gregory.

Have mercy on us, God.

Have mercy on us,

all-merciful God.

Our benevolent Father,

just and eternal God,

have mercy on us!

Boris, Boris!

All tremble before you!

No one dare mention

the remains
of the unfortunate child.

And yet a monk in his dark cell

is writing
a dreadful denunciation of you.

You will find no escape
from the judgment of men,

just as you will find no escape
from the judgment of God!

Why so melancholy, comrade?

We are but a stone's throw
from the border with Lithuania

that you have long
been striving to reach.

Until I'm in Lithuania,

I cannot be calm!

Why are you so set on Lithuania?

Look at us,
good Father Missail and myself,

a poor sinner before God,

we fled from the monastery

and care not a jot
where we wander!

Lithuania

or Russia,

violin or Violoncello,

it's all the same to us

as long as there's good wine!

And there is!

Taste it, good fathers,
and drink to your health!

Thanks, pretty hostess,

may God be with you!

Drink,

but keep your wits about you,
Father Varlaam!

My Wits?

What good does it do me
to keep my wits about me?

How he gallops,

never stopping,

faster and faster,

his moth-eaten hat
burning his head.

Mistress, where does this path lead?

And off flies the fugitive.

To Lithuania, my good...

ls Lithuania far?

No, my dear,

it is not far.

You could sleep there this night,

were it not for the patrols...

What?

Patrols?

Someone has fled Moscow.

Their order is to arrest everyone

and check everything...

One man's loss
is another man's gain.

Turn slightly to your left,

go as far as the Chekhan chapel,
by the little brook,

and from there, to Khlopino,
and from there to Zakharevo.

Even a kid could show you the way
to Lithuania from there.

All you hear about these patrols

is that they're a nuisance to travelers

and steal from us,
the poorest of the poor!

So he arrived...

Knock-knock at the door.

I am dusty from the road,
knock-knock!

And paralyzed by fear...

What next?

Here comes the cursed band!

They're doing their rounds...

See how he gallops,

up and up he gallops,

and he never stops.

Who might you be?

Quiet brothers, honest novices.

We travel through
from village to village,

collecting alms for the Church.

And who might you be?

Our comrade!

This guy, it seems, is naked!

He's had a wretched life.

And these?
Are they truly men of the Church?

What's got into you,

staring at me like that?

This is what!

Hey, Alex!

Have you got the decree?

Give it here!

Look:

a heretic named Otrepiev
has fled from Moscow.

Do you know about this?

Gregory, a low-born monk

with the peasant's name Otrepiev,

raised by the devil,

sought to shake his holy brotherhood

by all manner of seductions
and crimes.

This Gregory has fled
toward the Lithuanian border

and the Tsar has given orders
to seize him...

And to hang him!

It doesn't say that here...

Lies!

Not every word
is written in decrees.

Read it!

Seize him and hang him!

Hang him...

His age -

this Gregory?

He was born

fifty years ago!

Grey beard... fat stomach,
red nose...

Hold him!
It's him, children!

Are you mad,

you bunch of losers?

What's got into you?

Gregory, me?

No, brother,
the youngster's teasing you!

Even though I can barely spell,

even though I can barely mumble,

I'll mumble,

I'll mumble,

since this case
could reach the gallows...

His a...

a...

His age is...

but twenty years.

Fifty, you say!

You see...

He is of medium size.

His hair

is red.

On his nose...

On his nose is a wart.

On his forehead...

On his forehead is another.

One hand...

is shorter...

...is shorter than the other.

That's not him!

Seize him! Seize him!

Here's a tale of tales!

The chicken gave birth to an ox,

and the little piglet laid an egg!

A fairy tale's a fairy tale,
but not for fools.

Cockle-doodle-doo!
How far away have you flown?

Over the sea, over the sea,
to the city of Kiev.

There, in a hoary oak,

lives a bald old owl
who's very clever.

He pretends to be dumb,
blinks and sings loudly,

crash, bang, wallop,
they shaved me roundly.

They carried me aloft
up to the gallows,

up to the scaffold,

One step, two step,
three step, four...

As once upon a time,
a sparrow was born.

A whole sparrow,
a youngster entire.

His beak was long,
his beak was sharp!

The sparrow flew away to visit the owl

to whisper in the ear

of the mustachioed one.

The priest's men
threshed his wheat

and broke his flails,
threw them in the water.

The water caught fire,
wouldn't you know,

and the fire at his window
showed him what to do.

The priest was scared.

He hid under a basket,
his ear got stuck,

his deacon fell out of bed
and broke his spine.

His wife put some old crones
in the oven.

The hangmen ran in to eat the crones.

The biggest eaters
were a cow and a bull;

of seven hundred piglets,
only the trotters are left.

Woe is me!

What's this?

The wicked wolf

is scaring mother hen?

Forgive me, Lord and Tsar!

I am become a nervous,

poor old woman.

And you, my son,

what are you up to?

What can this be?

I made a drawing
and mapped our lands,

from one end of the empire
to the other.

Here, you see:

here is Moscow,

here, Novgorod,

and here, Kazan,

Astrakhan.

This is the sea,

the Caspian Sea.

Here are the great pine forests!

And here's Siberia!

Well done, my son!

With but a glance,

as on a cloud,

you can visit the entire empire:

borders,

rivers and towns!

Study, Feeder'.!

Someday

- and it may be soon -

this entire empire

will be yours.

Study, my child...

I have reached the height
of my power.

For almost six years

I have reigned peacefully

but there is no happiness

in my tortured soul...

In vain

do the soothsayers predict

long days in power,

free of riots...

Neither life, nor power,

nor fires, nor glory,

nor the acclaim of the crowd

can convince me to rejoice.

Heavy is the right hand

of the terrible judge.

Hideous is the lesson given

to a soul who has sinned.

Darkness all around me,

impenetrable shadows

never softened

by the light of respite.

My heart is too full of grief,

my tired soul pains me

and stirs with a secret thrill...

It's waiting for something.

By praying fervently

to the saints in the heavens,

I thought I could quell these torments.

In all the grandeur

and the brilliance of power,

limitless power,

I am the absolute master
of Russia,

and I beg them

for one tear of relief.

But here comes the denunciation:

Boyar intrigues,

Lithuanian raids,

undermining my work,

hunger and pestilence,

fear and destruction,

like wild beasts,
people wander, plague-stricken...

The country groans in grief.

Starving, impoverished,

Russia is choking

in my cruel grief,

sent by God.

As a test for my sins,

they point at me as the cause

of all these ills!

In all the public squares,

the name of Boris is cursed!

Now sleep is stolen from me,

and in the darkest night

the blood-stained child arises...

His eyes shine,

and his hands join together
in a plea for mercy.

But mercy was denied him.

The terrible wound gleams red,

and I hear his cry of death!

O Lord my God!

Back!

What is this?

Get behind me, Satan!

Go see what has happened.

Get behind me, poverty!

What is this tumult?

Why are you here?

Bid them cease!

Yes?

Great King,

Prince Vassily Shouisky

is requesting

an audience.

Shouisky?

Bid him enter!

We are always glad
to see the prince

and receive his counsel.

A serf came from Pushkin

to denounce Shouisky,

his friends and others,

and his master

of plotting in secret

because a messenger arrived
from Krakow bringing...

Seize the messenger!

Aha, Prince Shouisky...

Great King,

my respects...

O famous general,

august leader of a madcap pack,

criminal head
of the intriguing Boyars,

mole burrowing under
the Tsars' throne,

shameless liar, triple perjurer,

malignant sycophant, mangy devil,

pig wearing a Boyar's hat,

manipulator,

rascal!

To Tsar Ivan,

may God grant peace to his soul.

A different distinction is made

for the Shouisky princes...

What?

Tsar Ivan Vasilyich the Terrible
would willingly

have fried you more than somewhat
over hot coals.

His Royal hand turning you

with his iron stick,

while chanting a holy hymn...

But we, who are not proud,

find it pleasant to love

an insolent valet...

Tsar!

What?

What do you say, Prince Shouisky?

Tsar!

We hear tidings

and important news
for your kingdom...

The same that was vouchsafed
to Pushkin,

or to yourself
by the secret messenger

from your colleagues,
the treacherous Boyars?

Yes, Sire!

A usurper has arisen in Lithuania!

The King, the Polish nobles

and the Pope acclaim him!

By what name

does he seek to rise against us?

What title has the villain stolen?

His name?

Indeed, O Tsar,

your power is mighty,

but it is by being merciful,
kind and generous

that you won the hearts
of those servants

devoted to your cause.

But you know better than anyone

how fickle the mob can be...

And even though I suffer,
great King,

though my heart bleed within me,

I dare not hide from you

that if a reckless adventurer

crossed the border from Lithuania,

he might just attract the populace

by resurrecting

the name of Dimitri...

Dimitri?

Tsarevich, now withdraw!

O Sire,
permit me to remain beside you.

You cannot...
Child, you cannot stay!

To learn of the terrible tragedy

that has befallen you...
- Tsarevich,

obey!

Lose no time: take steps,

see that Russia's border
is protected from Lithuania by patrols

and that no living thing
may cross that border!

Go now!

No...

Wait.

Wait, Shouisky!

Have you ever heard tell

that murdered babes may rise

from their coffined slumbers

to vex the souls of Tsars

and lawful kings

elected by the people

and anointed
by the Patriarch himself?

What?

Is this funny?

Why are you not laughing?

Have mercy on me, Great King!

Listen, Prince.

When the great evil came to pass,

when the boy perished before his time

and his body remained

in the bloody square,

filling with pain

the hearts of those in Uglich
that he orphaned

by calling for revenge...

This boy...

The murdered boy...

Was he...

Dimitri?

Himself.

Vasily Ivanich!

I beseech you by the cross
and by God,

tell me honestly

the whole truth.

You know me to be clement.

I shall not punish

your past lies.

But if you try to outsmart us,

I swear to you

I shall devise for you a torture,

a torture so malicious

that Tsar Ivan
would turn with horror

in his grave.

I'm waiting for your answer!

Why would you not believe me?

You would doubt your own dog,

your devoted servant

and seek to scare him

by some remorseless torment?

I fear no torture so much

as your displeasure...

In the church at Uglich,

before the people,

for five whole days

I watched over the body
of the slaughtered child.

All around him,

thirteen corpses lay,

disfigured,

covered in bloodstained rags,

and the bodies, in truth,

were crying out for burial.

But the little face of the Tsarevich

was radiant,

pure and clear.

The terrible, deep wound

gaped,

and on his innocent lips

an angelic smile played.

One would have thought

he was sleeping peacefully

in his little bed

with his arms crossed,

his right arm wrapped firmly around

a child's toy.

Enough!

I am suffocating!

I can scarcely draw breath...

I can feel all my blood

rush to my head,

where it throbs painfully...

Oh, remorseless conscience,

how sternly you punish me!

You have a stigma within you,

just one,

however stupidly it came.

Your soul will catch fire,

your heart will fill with venom

and become heavy, so heavy,

that it will batter
like a hammer in your ears

a message of reproach

and malediction...

It suffocates you,

stifles you,

your head spins.

What you see

is the bloody child!

Go! Go away!

What's that?

There in the corner...

It's moving, it's getting bigger...

It's drawing near,
it moans and it quivers...

Be gone... Be gone!

It is not I!
I am not the source of your suffering!

Be gone! Be gone, child!

It is the people, not I!

It's the people's will!
Be gone, child!

Dear God!

You do not desire
the death of a sinner.

Have mercy on the soul

of the guilty Tsar...

...Boris!

Marina is bored.

Oh, how bored she is!

How painfully and languidly

the days stretch out before me.

Everything is empty, stupid

and sterile.

All the princes,

viscounts and gentlemen
with their worldly power

cannot dissipate
this hellish ennui.

But there, on the dark horizon,

a clear light shone.

That fugitive Muscovite

glanced upon Mistress Mnishek.

My Dimitri,

terrible bearer of vengeance,

ruthless,

like God's judgment

and God's punishment

of the little Tsarevich,

sacrificed for the insatiable power,

sacrificed for the hunger of Boris,

to the villainy of Godunov!

I'll wake the powerful men
from their dozing!

With the glitter of gold and treasure

I will lure them to the march!

And you, my adventurer,

my dark lover,

I will make you drink your fill

of tears of terrible fire.

I will suffocate you
with passionate hugs,

murder you with kisses,

my dear, my Tsarevich,
my Dimitri,

my one and only fiancé...

My sweet love chatter

will bewitch your ear.

Mistress Mnishek is too bored

with the outpourings of passion

and pleadings of pimply youths,

the platitudes of old money.

Mistress Mnishek wants fame!

Mistress Mnishek thirsts for power!

On the throne of the kings of Moscow,

I shall sit, as the wife of the Tsar!

And in purple shot with gold,

I will shine like the sun!

And suddenly,
with my sublime beauty,

will subjugate
the stupid Muscovites

and bring the vicious Boyar troops
to their knees!

And they will write stories

praising their proud Tsarina,

those stupid Boyars!

I give no faith, sir,

to your passion.

Your oaths and persuasions
are useless!

I have no faith in your passion, sir!

We'll make short work
of the Muscovite empire!

We will bring you Muscovite prisoners
by the thousand, mistress!

We shall surely break Boris
and his armies!

Ladies and gentlemen,
why have you been dawdling for so long?

March on Moscow right now,

and take Boris prisoner!

To build the Polish Republic,

we must tear apart
the lair of the Muscovites!

Marina won't succeed:

she's a beauty, but she's dry,

naughty, nasty...

Wine! Wine, gentlemen!

Long live Marina!

A toast to the Mnishek family!

The best wine to toast Marina!

The glory of the Tsars' crown
for Marina!

Cheers!

Faster, where is my armor?

My helmet, my sword from Asia,

my horse!

Charge!

On to the deadly battle!

Charging at the head

of a valiant team,

to meet, face-to-face

the enemy lines,

and from the glory of the battle,

to seize my rightful throne!

Dimitri!
Tsarevich!

Dimitri!

O Tsarevich,

I beg of you,

do not blame me

for ill-considered words.

They do not resound with malice

nor with mockery,

but with pure love,

with thirst for your glory,

with thirst for your greatness,

my words ring out

in the silence of the night,

m)' darling!

Oh, my love,

your Marina will never change!

But forget, forget her.

The sooner you forget your love,

the sooner

you will seize the Tsar's throne!

Marina! Do not worsen

the infernal torture of my soul

by a whimsical love...

I love you,

my lover!

My master!

Oh, say it again, Marina!

Never let this ardor cool,

go easy on my soul,

my enchantress.

MY Tsar!

Rise, my miraculous Empress.

Oh, how you have revived my heart,

my master!

Oh...

Oh, my lovebirds!

What innocent simpletons you are.

The blessed moment
will arrive just as fast

as the long-awaited
day of happiness.

So, is the Mass finished?

Yes. They excommunicated him.

Who?

Gregory, Gregory Otrepiev.

Ah, there we are.

They say he is nearing Moscow...

He's coming with his soldiers
to Moscow.

He's destroying every last one
of Boris's troops.

A grim path leads him

toward the throne of his fathers,

of the faithful Russian tsars

who come to our aid.

Death to Boris and his children!

What are you doing?

Silence, you demons!

Would you forget
the chains and dungeons?

Iron bonnet!

Iron bonnet!

The moon charts its course...

The little cat weeps...

Arise, Enlightened One,

make your prayer to God.

Show reverence to Christ.

Christ is our God,

for there will be a bucket,

there will be a moon.

A bucket,

the moon...

Good day, good day,

enlightened son of Ivan!

Jump up and make us tea,

make us a plan.

Take off your fine hat!

Your heavy hat!

Ding, ding, ding, how it rings!

I, meanwhile, have
my little piece of silver...

It's a trick!

You can't dupe us, you know!

- Pow!
- Thwack!

They robbed the Enlightened One!

They stole his piece of silver.

O Father who provides for us,

in the name of Christ...

Our Father, in the name of Christ!

O Lord Tsar, in the name of Christ

O Lord, by the blood of Christ...

Our Father, give us

our bread!

Give us our bread!

Our bread!

Our Father,

by the blood of Christ...

Boris, oh, Boris,

they have robbed
the Enlightened One.

What's he complaining about?

The kids took
my little silver coin from me!

Why don't you cut their throats

like you cut the throat
of the tiny Tsarevich?

Shut your mouth, fool!

Arrest the fool!

Don't touch him!

Pray for me, blessed one!

No, Boris!

We must not, Boris!

We must not pray

for a child-killing Tsar!

The mother of God

will not allow that.

Esteemed Boyars!

Our great sovereign,

Tsar Boris Feodorovich,

blessed

by our Holy Father,

Patriarch of the Russian Church,

Has ordered this:

a highwayman,

a miser, a dark vagrant,

thief and rebel,

has risen as a rioter.

With a horde of greedy mercenaries,

he has taken the Tsarevich's name,

wanting to become Tsar lawfully,

accompanied by disgraced Boyars

and all manner
of Lithuanian riff-raff.

They boast they will crush
Boris's throne

and you with it!

He calls brazenly

and disseminates sham decrees!

Given the facts,

I do implore you

to try him here in all truthfulness.

Well, Boyars,
should we put it to a vote?

It's your turn, Boyars, to start...

We made up our minds long ago!

Write it down, Andrei Mikhailich!

This crook,

whoever he is, must be tortured!

Wait, Boyars...

Catch him first

and then we shall torture him!

Perfect!

Well, not quite perfect...

Come now, Boyars,

don't beat about the bush...

Sooner pray to God

humbly, on your knees,

that he may, upon Russia,

have mercy...

Shame Prince Shouisky
isn't here...

Even though he's a schemer,

without him our minds
cannot be made up...

Excuse me, Boyars...

Talk of the devil!

I was delayed a little.

Please forgive me
for not being on time.

What can one do?

So much business...
and hard work...

Are you not ashamed, Prince,

at your age

of all your low scheming,

of inciting the people
in the marketplaces,

of swearing the Tsarevich
is alive?

What's got into you, Boyars?

May God help you!

So it is that,

while loving you sincerely,
dear Boyars,

I want to warn you...

When I left the Tsar,

suffering with all my heart

at being so far from his soul,

I did, by chance,

cast a glance

backwards.

Oh, what did I see, Boyars?

His face pale,

drenched in cold sweat,

his body all a-tremble,

mumbling strange words
and non-sequiturs,

rolling his eyes wildly,

prey to some secret torture,

our unfortunate Sovereign

in turmoil...

Suddenly, his skin turned blue,

his eyes were transfixed

and he began to choke horribly!

- You are lying, Prince!
- Calling to the murdered Tsarevich,

he impotently shooed
his specter away!

Murmuring be gone, be gone!

Be gone!

Be gone, child!

Shh! Quiet, Tsar...

Tsar!

Be gone, child!

My God,

may the armies of Christ
be with us!

Be gone, be gone!

Who talks of murder

when there is no murderer...

The boy is here, alive!

As for Shouisky
who lies and perjures,

we'll quarter him!

May God have mercy on you!

I summoned you, Boyars,

because I rely on your wisdom.

In times of woe

and hardship,

you Boyars are my helpers...

A quiet hermit,

not some clever judge

of the affairs of this world,

would raise his voice...

Tell me, old chap,

everything you know.

Don't hide anything.

I became so accustomed
to my blindness

that even my dreams

revealed nothing more for me to see

and I only dreamed

of sounds...

Once,

in the depths of my slumber,

I heard, all of a sudden,

a child's voice calling me.

It called me so distinctly:

arise, old man, arise

and go to the town of Uglich.

Go to the Church
of the Transfiguration

and there, pray on my little grave.

Know, old man,

that I am Dimitri, the Tsarevich!

God bid me join his band of angels

and now I am

the great miracle-worker of Russia!

I awoke,

and a thought came to me.

I took my grandson with me

and set out on the road.

As soon as I bent over
the little grave,

everything became
so beautiful and bounteous,

and tears flowed freely
from my eyes,

a flood of gentle tears.

I saw anew

the world of God,

and my grandson

and the little grave...

Give me air! I'm choking!

Call the Tsarevich, quickly!

Ah, the unction weighs heavy...

Leave us!

Go away, all of you!

Farewell, my son.

I am dying-

Now you will commence your reign.

Do not ask me

what paths I took to reach power.

You do not need to know.

You will reign lawfully,

as my heir,

my first-born son.

Listen, Feodor,

do not trust the patter

of the deceitful Boyars!

Be vigilant,
and keep your eye on

their secret business
with Lithuania.

Punish treason without mercy.

Show no leniency.

Lay yourself open
to the people's judgment,

the only one free of hypocrisy.

Keep defenders
of the true faith close.

Venerate the saints in heaven...

Q my God!

My God!

Deign to see, I beg of thee,

the tears of a father
who has sinned!

I do not pray for myself,

not for myself, my God!

From your seat
in the highest heights,

pour a little beneficent light

on the fate of my innocents,

their lives so short

and yet so clean!

Heavenly hosts,

which keep safe the throne
for all eternity!

With your wings of light,

you protect

my dear son

from misfortune and evil,

from temptation...

The bell,

the funeral bell!

Weep, weep, good people,

for there is no more life in him.

The funeral weeping!

The unction...

The unction to become a monk...

...and he gives no answer...

The Tsar is entering a monastery!

...so weep, alleluia!

Sire!

Calm yourself.

God will help you...

No, no, my son,

my hour is tolling!

I can see the child

in his death throes...

My God...

...and I weep aloud.

I am weighed down!

I cannot erase my sins with prayer!

O evil Death,

how cruelly you torture!

And he shall have no salvation...

Wait...

I am still the Tsar!

I am still the Tsar...

God! My death!

Forgive me!

Here is your Tsar!

The Tsar...

Forgive me,

forgive...

Forgive...

Come over here...

Sit him on the block, men!

That's it!

And so he doesn't wail,

or damage his worthless throat,

939 him!

There!

Now what, brothers?

Are we to leave him unconsoled?

That wouldn't be right:

he was, after all, chief of staff
of Boris's armies...

Our Lord the great thief

had the throne of kings,

and the boy would steal from me...

We'll console him
like the thief he is.

Come, lads!

Catch him

at the double!

This is no hawk hovering
twixt heaven and earth,

nor a stallion swift as lightning,

but a Boyar, stiff
from sitting on his ass

and dreaming his dreams.

Glory to the little Boyar.

Glory to the son of Boris!

Glory!

The sun and the moon are sullied.

The stars tumble in the night.

The horizon capsizes without a cry

from the weight of the sins of Boris.

The beast roars louder than any other.

It devours

the bodies of men

for the glory of Boris's dark sins.

They torture and interrogate
the little folk, the faithful.

They are torturing Boris's henchmen!

We will teach them the lesson of power

for the glory of the sins of Boris!

Holy Russia writhes and chokes,

moaning under the fist
of the renegade,

under the cursed fist
that did kill a Tsar

in a burst of unpardonable sin.

Joy!

It sparkles and is unleashed,

the blood boiling in our veins!

An underground force,
our daring and our pain

rises from the depths,

never to be extinguished!

Loot!

Good people, welcome your Tsar
according to blood.

Welcome the survivor.

God made him flee
from the assassin.

God protected him
with his hand through darkness.

Welcome Tsar Dimitri,

son of Ivan!

We, Dimitri Ivanovich,

by the will of God,
praise the Tsarevich of all Russia!

Prince of the line of my ancestors!

We, who were hunted by Godunov,
call you to us,

and we promise you

kindness and protection!

Hail, son of Ivan, I salute you!

Arise, Boyar!

Onward to the famous battle

for the holy homeland,

for Moscow and the Kremlin!

Long live the Tsar!

Long live Tsar Dimitri,
son of Ivan!

Deo Gloria!

Flow on and on,

sad tears,

weep and weep,
soul of the true faith.

Soon the enemy will come

and night will fall,

darker than ever

in the shadows.

Grief, the grief of Russia!

Weep, weep, people of Russia,

as you starve!

The false Dimitri took Moscow
and reigned there for 11 months.

He was assassinated
on 27 May, 1606.

Maryna was remarried twice,
to two consecutive false Dimitris.

She was drowned under the ice
of a frozen river, with her child.

Shouisky took the crown
and reigned for four years,

before being imprisoned.

This film was made in 1989.

Subtitles: Eclair Group