All language subtitles for Boris Godunov.en

A hurt that can't be erased.

The South is no place
for a boy with peculiar grace.

You'll go north. You'll make your way.
Nothing can stop you!

No reason to stay! The South is no
place for a boy with peculiar grace.

What is it?
Have you turned to stone?

Down on your knees.

Do as you're told!

Shout, you good-for-nothings.

Why do you forsake us, Boris, our father?

Into whose hands will you entrust your people?

Without you, we are defenseless orphans.

We implore you, Boris, our father,
with prayers and weeping.

Behold our bitter tears!

Have pity on us, O boyar, our father!

Merciful protector, have pity!

Why are we here?

You fools, how should I know?

We want a new tsar for Russia.

We're tired of shouting.

Could you spare a drop of water?

So high and mighty.
Why didn't they bring their own?

Quiet, you hags!

Who are you to give us orders?

Enough of your squabbling!

Listen to that devil!
We've had enough of him!

Quiet, you witches!

What's going on?
Why are you quiet?

You need a good thrashing.
I'll teach you a lesson!

Let us catch our breath
if you want us to keep shouting.

Yes! Shout as loud as you can.

�All right.
�Well, then?

Father, why do you forsake us?

To whom will you entrust your people?

Hear the weeping of your orphans!

See our bitter tears!

Take pity on us, O boyar!

Our protector and father, have mercy!

Silence!

Listen. The secretary of the council will speak!

True believers, Boris has not relented.

The council and the patriarch
have pleaded with him.

But he still refuses to ascend the throne.

Woe to Russia, sad and desperate.

Our doomed land pleads for salvation.

Pray to God Almighty in heaven.

Pray that He may console us,
and show mercy to Russia.

Let Him send wisdom to Boris
and guide his weary soul.

Glory to Thee, Lord Creator.

Blessed be Thy holy name, and all Thy saints.

So spoke the angel of the Lord,
"Arise, stormy clouds!"

"Fly through the heavens
above our Russian land."

"Crush the twelve-winged serpent,
fierce and cruel."

"The monster who sows chaos
in our fatherless land."

"Bestow your salvation..."

"...upon all your faithful people."

"Clothe yourselves in white.
Lift high the icons of the Virgin."

"And with the icons of our saints,
go forth to acclaim your Tsar."

Sing hymns of praise
to our Lord and His holy saints.

Glory to Thee on earth, O Heavenly Father!

You heard what the holy pilgrims told us?

I heard! Lift high the icons of our saints.

Go forth and pay homage.

�To whom?
�You know...the saints.

If you say so.

Clothe yourselves in white.

With the icons of our saints,
go forth to acclaim your Tsar.

�Our Tsar?
�And who is our Tsar?

�Can't you guess?
�It's Boris!

Listen, you pack of half-wits!
Are you deaf?

Here are your new instructions.

Tomorrow, go to the Kremlin
and await further orders.

Did you hear me?

They have to keep us busy!

Do we care?

They want us to shout,
we'll shout at the Kremlin.

�I guess we will.
�Why not....

I guess we should go.

Long life to Tsar Boris!

Long live our father, the Tsar!

All praise him!

As we praise the glory of the sun in the heavens...

...so we praise the glory of Tsar Boris of Russia.

Long live our sovereign!

Long live the Tsar, our protector and father!

True believers, exult and rejoice!

True believers, be glad of heart.

All hail Tsar Boris Feodorovich!

Tsar Boris, reign in glory over Russia!

Glory! Glory!

My soul is troubled.

I am filled with dread.

And I am gripped by a terrible foreboding.

O righteous Lord, Almighty Father in heaven!

From Thy throne, behold the tears
of Thy faithful servant.

Send down Thy holy blessing upon my reign.

Let me be just and merciful, just as Thou art.

Let me rule this land in glory.

Now let us pay homage
to the tsars who came before us.

Let the people join the feast.

Each one, from boyar to lowly beggar.

Each shall be our welcome guest.

Glory! Glory! Glory!

Long live our Tsar, our father!

Glory and honor to him!

As we praise the glory of the sun in the heavens...

...so we praise the glory of Tsar Boris of Russia.

One final tale, and my chronicle
will be completed at last.

A task entrusted to me,
a sinner, by God Almighty.

The Lord chose me to bear
witness these many years.

One day, another monk will discover
my work, unsigned, unnamed.

Like me, he'll light his lamp.
He'll shake the dust from the pages.

And he'll transcribe my words...

...so that tomorrow's faithful
may know the story of their country.

In my old age I relive the past.

Those troubled days pass before me
like a churning, stormy sea.

They were eventful years, tumultuous times.

But now all is peaceful and silent.

Soon it will be dawn.

The lamp grows dim.

And now the final chapter.

That same dream, again and again.

The old man is still writing.

He must have been working all night.

How I love his humility.

He immerses himself in the past...

...with such calm and dignity
as he writes his chronicle.

You're awake, brother.

I ask your blessing, Holy Father.

May the Lord bless you,
on this day, and always.

You've written all through the night,
without sleeping.

But my sleep was troubled by an evil dream.

I dreamed I climbed to the top of a tower.

Moscow lay below, like an anthill.

People swarmed about,
pointing up at me and laughing.

I was ashamed and frightened.

I began to fall.

Then I awoke.

Your young blood is stirring.

Chasten yourself with fasting and prayer.

Then you will find peace and restful sleep again.

Sometimes, if sleep overtakes me
before I can say my prayers...

...my rest is disturbed by sinful thoughts.

My dreams are filled with
feasting, carousing, and battles.

The mad pleasures of youth.

Your youth was so exciting....

You fought at Kazan,
and drove back the Lithuanians.

You saw the splendor
of Tsar Ivan and his court.

But I have spent my youth within this cloister.

Why shouldn't I go to battle?

Why can't I dine at royal banquets?

Do not regret that you renounced
the sinful world in your youth.

Idle pleasures and women's wiles
may lure us, even from afar.

But consider, my son,
the tsars of Russia's past.

Who has been greater than they?

Yet they often put aside
the royal scepter and robes.

They spurn pomp and splendor
for a monk's simple garb.

And they seek the peace of God in a cloister.

Kyril, a righteous man,
once lived in this very cell.

And in this cell, I also saw the Tsar himself.

Tsar Ivan the Terrible sat here, in quiet reflection.

Sadly he uttered words of remorse.

Tears of repentance shone in his stern eyes.

And he wept.

Then came his son, Feodor.

Under his rule, the royal chambers
became a house of prayer.

God loved that humble man.

Russia was at peace
during his reign, and prospered.

Then, in his dying hour, there came a miracle.

The palace was filled with a heavenly fragrance.

And his face shone radiantly as the sun.

Never again shall we have such a tsar.

We have angered God.
We have sinned.

We have crowned Boris,
who murdered the rightful heir to the throne.

Holy Father, I have wanted to ask
about the young Tsarevich Dimitri.

You were there when he died?

Yes, the Lord led me there
to witness the bloody deed.

I had been sent to Uglich as a penance.

I arrived at night.

The next morning...

...when it was time for prayers...

...a bell suddenly sounded the alarm.

There was shouting and confusion
as people rushed to the palace.

I hurried there to see for myself.

The Tsarevich lay in a pool of blood, murdered.

His mother, the Tsaritsa,
lay beside him, unconscious.

His wet nurse kneeled nearby, sobbing.

The frenzied crowd dragged
his traitorous nanny into the square.

They cursed her!

Suddenly, a man pale with hatred
appeared among them.

It was that Judas, Bityagovsky.

"There's the assassin!"
the people cried out.

He and his cohorts fled,
pursued by the crowd.

The villains were captured.

They were brought before
the body of the child.

Then, a miracle.
The corpse began to tremble.

"Confess," the people cried, "Repent!"

Terrified, and fearing execution,
the villains confessed.

They said Boris had plotted the murder.

How old was Dimitri when he was killed?

Seven years old.

But wait.

Have ten years passed since then?

Or twelve years?
Yes, twelve.

He would have been your age,
and on the throne today.

But God did not will it so.

So, with the heinous crime of Boris,
I shall conclude my chronicle.

Brother Grigory,
your studies have enlightened you.

I shall entrust my work to you.

Record and bear true witness
to all that passes in your lifetime.

War or peace...

...the reign of monarchs...

...prophecies and miracles.

As for me, the time has come to rest.

Now for morning prayers.

Grant Thy blessing to Thy servants, O Lord.

Hand me my staff, Grigory.

Have mercy on us, O Lord.

Lord, save us all.

Almighty and righteous Lord,
have mercy on us.

Boris, they tremble before you.

They dare not mention
the fate of the poor child.

But a hermit in his cell
denounces your grievous crime.

You will not escape the judgment
of man, nor of God.

What may I offer you, reverend fathers?

Whatever God provides.

Have you any wine?

Of course.

I'll fetch it.

What's the matter, young fellow?

You wanted to reach Lithuania,
and you're almost there.

I'll only feel safe once
I've crossed the border.

But why Lithuania?

For Father Missail and me...

...one place is as good as another...

...since we've left the monastery.

As long as there's wine!

Drink your fill, good fathers.

Our thanks.
May God bless you.

Now the story of the siege of Kazan,
and Tsar Ivan the Terrible.

He slaughtered the Tartars,
so they didn't come visit Russia again!

Tsar Ivan dug tunnels
beneath the river near Kazan.

The Tartars didn't know
what Tsar Ivan had in store for them.

Hiding behind his famous scowl,
Tsar Ivan went on with his plan.

He called for his gunner boys
to ready their fuses.

The fuses were lit, and the gunners
gave the powder kegs a shove.

The kegs rolled down the tunnels
and exploded, one by one!

The Tartars howled and cursed
as they were hurled into the air.

Hordes of them fell,
forty-three thousand in all!

That's how it was at the siege of Kazan!

Brother, why don't you sing along?
Why aren't you drinking?

I don't want to.

Each as he pleases.

And wine pleases me.
Let's toast our hostess.

But listen, brother.

When I drink, I don't like sober folk around.

It's one thing to be drunk, another to be smug.

Join us if you like.

If not, get out of here!

Drink all you like,
but mind your own business.

My business?

Why mind my own business?

He walks along, goes on and on....

He goes on, the whole day long....

Good woman, tell me where that road leads.

It leads to Lithuania, sir.

Is it far to the border?

No, brother...quite near.

You could be there by dark,
except for the barricades.

What? Barricades?

Someone fled from Moscow,
so they're checking everyone.

Just my luck!

Now he falls down.

Who are they after?

How should I know?

Maybe a robber.
There are sentries everywhere.

What's the use?
They'll never catch anyone.

There are other roads to take.

I can show you.

Follow that path to the chapel
at Chekhan, near the brook.

Go on to Khlopino and Zaitsevo,
then any child can show you to the border.

The sentries are useless,
and will try to rob you.

When he arrived, he knocked at the door.

But on he goes, just the same....

Now who is there?

Those cursed officers again!

But then they drove him on...

...and he goes on and on....

Who are these people?

We're humble monks,
begging alms for the poor.

And who is this?

Our companion.

I live nearby.

I've been their guide.
Now I'm on my way home.

We got a kopeck out of him.

But as for the monks?

So, your reverences, how are you doing?

Very poorly, my son.

The people are miserly these days.

They love their money.

They hide it.

There's nothing left for God.

The world is steeped in sin and corruption.

We walk, we beg.
We're lucky to get a coin or two.

Just enough for a little wine.

Truly the day of judgment is near.

Lord, have mercy!

Why do you stare at me?

I'll tell you.

Alyokha, you have the warrant?

Give it to me.

A heretic, Grishka Otrepiev,
has fled from Moscow.

You've heard about him?

I have not.

The Tsar has ordered him captured and hanged.

You know about this?

I do not.

Can you read?

The Lord never willed it.

Here's the warrant.

What's it to me?

You're the fugitive heretic!

What are you saying?

Accusing a monk!

Who knows how to read?

I do, sir.

Go on, then. Read it aloud.

"Grigory Otrepiev,
a monk in league with the devil..."

"...has betrayed his brothers
at the Chudov monastery..."

"...with the vilest of temptations."

"He's headed for Lithuania.
The Tsar has ordered him captured."

And hanged.

It says nothing about hanging.

You liar! Read more carefully!
"Captured and hanged."

"And hanged."

"The age of this Grishka is...fifty."

"Gray beard, fat paunch, red nose."

That's him all right!

You wretches!
What are you doing?

How could I be Grishka?

You must be joking, my friend.

I may be slow at reading, but let me try...

...since it seems that my life may depend on it.

"And..."

"...his..."

"...age...his age is about..."

"...twenty."

So where does it say fifty?

"He is tall, with brown hair."

"On his nose...on his nose there is a wart.
And another..."

"...on his forehead.
One arm is shorter than the other."

Why, surely this must....

That's him! Grab him!

My promised one, my handsome prince!

It wasn't me you took as your bride...

...but a cold grave in a distant land.

The Volga's tributary, the Oka....

The Klyazma...and here's Vladimir...
and there's Kama.

The Sheksna, and the Mologa,
all tributaries of the Volga.

And the cities�Tvyer, Yaroslavl...

...Uglich, Kostroma, Nizhniy.

And here's Astrakhan.

Here's the mouth of the Volga.
Good lord, so many islands!

Where are you, my beloved?

You who left me crying such bitter tears...

...grieving for you.

My dear Ivanushka, my Tsarevich,
my adored promised one.

Enough, my princess, my angel.

Put an end to your weeping and grieving.

But I am so sad, Nanny, so unhappy.

Come, come, my child.

A young girl's tears are like dew
that soon dries in the sunlight.

The world is yours. We'll find you
a handsome and charming prince.

You will forget your Ivan.

No, no, dear Nanny!
I'll be true to him even in death.

Where are you, my promised one?

Where are you, Ivanushka?

My darling Xenia, already a widow...

...grieving for your dead betrothed.

Fate did not make me
the agent of your happiness.

Perhaps I angered the heavens.

But why must you suffer?

Go now, my love.

Go to the sun porch and join your friends.

Clear your mind of dark thoughts.

Go, my child.

And you, my son, what do you have there?

A map of Muscovy, our realm.
From east to west.

Here is Moscow.
Here's Novgorod, and there's Kazan.

Astrakhan, and there's the Caspian sea.

The forests of Perm.

And Siberia.

Well done, my son.

It's as though we're looking
down from the clouds.

You can see the whole realm,
its borders, rivers, and cities.

Study hard, Feodor.

The day will come, perhaps soon...

...when this holy land will be yours to rule.

Study hard, my son.

I have achieved the highest power.

For six years, I have reigned in peace.

But there is no joy in my tormented soul.

My soothsayers promise me
a tranquil reign of many years.

But neither life, nor power,
nor glory brings joy to my heart.

I had hoped to bring my people
contentment through my generosity.

All in vain.

I can't allow the people's clamor
to cause distress.

God sent famine to our land,
and the people wailed in torment.

I ordered gifts of grain and money.

But still I am condemned on every side.

Fire swept our land
and destroyed many homes.

I built new houses and distributed clothing.

Though I clothed and sheltered them,
they still blame me for the fire.

That is the judgment of the rabble.

I had hoped my family would
bring me consolation.

I planned a joyful wedding feast
for my daughter, my dearest angel.

But God did not ordain
that this should be my consolation.

Death struck like lightning
and stole her beloved.

And then the insidious rumor began
to spread among the people...

...that I was the cause of his death!

Whoever dies, I am called his murderer.

The poisoner of my sister,
the assassin of Feodor Ivanovich.

And the unfortunate infant, your prince.

What do you want?

�Mighty Lord.
�Well?

Have you lost your tongue?

Mighty Lord, Prince Vassily Shuisky
begs an audience.

Shuisky? Show him in.

Wait�

Tell him we are not angry
and are eager for his news.

Pushkin's servant tells us
that Shuisky and others are plotting.

They met through the night in secret.
A courier from Krakow has brought�

Arrest the courier!

I detest Pushkin's rabble.

And Shuisky is not to be trusted.

He is compliant, but cunning.

Almighty Tsar and Lord, I greet you.

What is your news, Prince Vassily?

A matter of great importance.

The news of Pushkin's plot?

I thought you were unaware.

Tell me everything.

In front of the Tsarevich?

He may know what Prince Shuisky knows.

Speak!

Tsar, in Lithuania, a pretender has arisen!

What?

Who is this pretender?

The Polish crown and the pope support him.

Is he dangerous?

Certainly, Tsar.
But your throne is secure.

Your kindness and mercy have won you
the affection of all your people.

Still, mighty Tsar,
the crowd is fickle and gullible.

Subject to the smallest empty hope
and the slightest suggestion.

They are indifferent to truth
and easily swayed by deceit.

They love shameless bravery.

Should the wretched pretender
cross our border from Lithuania...

...the crowds may rally to him,
to the name of young Dimitri, resurrected.

Dimitri!
Tsarevich, leave us!

My Lord, allow me....

Obey me!

Have the roads blocked at our border...

...so not even a crow can fly in from Krakow.

Now go!

No...wait, Shuisky.

This is quite an elaborate tale, is it not?

Have you ever heard...

...of dead children rising from their graves...

...confronting the Tsar, the rightful sovereign...

...who is elected by the people
and crowned by the patriarch?

Well, isn't that amusing?

Why aren't you laughing?

I? Sovereign....

Listen, Shuisky.

How did this boy meet his untimely death?

You were sent to view the body.

Now I implore you before God and the cross.

On your honor, tell me the whole truth.

Did you recognize Dimitri?

I swear to you....

Shuisky! Tell me, was it the Tsarevich?

�Yes.
�Vassily Ivanich!

Tell me the truth, you know I am merciful.

I will not punish you for your past lies.

But if you try to deceive me, I swear to you...

...I'll send you to a death so terrible...

...that even Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich...

...would shudder from horror in his grave.

It is not death I fear, but your displeasure.

Could I deceive you?

For three days, I attended the body
of the child at the church in Uglich.

Beside him lay thirteen other corpses,
already showing signs of decay.

But the face of the Tsarevich
remained pure and radiant.

His hideous wound was gaping.

But on his innocent lips there was a lovely smile.

It seemed as if he were asleep in his little bed.

In his hands a top, a child's top.

Enough! Leave me!

I can't bear it.
Let me breathe!

I felt the blood rush to my face,
and then fade.

O conscience, how harsh is your punishment!

If even once you have committed an evil deed...

...whether it was by intent or by fate...

...your soul is doomed, your heart is poisoned.

The reproaches throb in my ears
like hammer blows.

I feel something choking me.
My head is spinning.

I see the bloodstained child!

There! In the corner!

He's swaying and groaning,
coming closer. Go away!

Not I! I am not to blame!
Keep away!

Not I! It was the people's will.
Child, go away!

Lord, you do not wish the death of a sinner.

Have mercy on the soul of the criminal...

...Tsar Boris.

The liturgy has ended?

Yes.

They excommunicated him.

Who do you mean?

That pretender, Grishka Otrepiev.

The fat deacon stood at the altar and shouted...

"The pretender Grishka Otrepiev is anathema!"

That's nonsense!
You must be mistaken.

No, we heard him say...

"Grishka Otrepiev, be accursed!"

Then so be it.

The Tsarevich doesn't care.

You mean Grishka?

Of course!

But they prayed over the dead Tsarevich!

It's so confusing.

Dimitri is alive?

Of course, you infidels!
Dimitri is alive!

You'll see him soon, and so will Boris!

Dimitri is already nearing Moscow.

He advances with his troops.

He is crushing the armies of Boris in his path.

Fate is leading him to the throne.

He'll save us all.

Death to Tsar Boris!

Quiet, you fools, or they'll hang you all!

Look! His hat is made of tin!

Moon is shining, kitten whining,
let me pray to God Almighty.

Pray to Christ, pray to our God.

Send us sunlight, send us moonlight.

Greetings, holy fool!

Rise and bow to us, and take off your cap!

I've found a kopeck.

You can't fool us!

Now they've upset me!

They took my kopeck.

Merciful father, give us alms for our Lord's sake.

Kind father, have mercy, in the name of Christ.

O gracious Tsar, give bread to the hungry.

Give us bread, O father, for our Lord's sake.

O gracious Tsar, give us alms for our Lord's sake.

Kind Tsar, have mercy.

Give us bread!
We are hungry!

Have mercy.
Give us bread, for our Lord's sake.

Boris, they have robbed me!

Why is he crying?

The children stole my kopeck!

Have them murdered...

...the way you had
the little Tsarevich murdered.

Quiet, you fool!
Seize him!

Don't touch him.

Pray for me, holy man.

No, Boris. I can't, I can't.

One mustn't pray for a Tsar Herod.

The Holy Virgin does not allow it.

Flow on, bitter tears.

Weep, weep, O faithful soul.

Soon comes the foe, and darkness will fall.

Impenetrable darkness.

Sorrow, sorrow, weep, weep,
O starving people of Russia.

Honorable boyars of the council!

Hear this proclamation,
made by our Tsar, Boris Feodorovich...

...with the blessing of his Holiness,
the patriarch of all Russia.

"A scoundrel, thief, and vagabond
supported by a hired mob..."

"...has usurped the name of Dimitri,
heir to the throne."

"Supported by exiled boyars
and Lithuanian hoodlums..."

"...he asks you to join with him
to crush the reign of Boris."

"He has made known his evil intentions."

"We bid you to pronounce
a righteous judgment upon him."

Then let us vote, boyars.

Let us first hear from you.

We reached our decision long ago.

Whoever he is, the scoundrel must die.

First he must be captured, and then put to death.

That's obvious.

Let us not argue!

The scoundrel must be caught,
and tortured on a stake.

Then be executed,
and his body left for the vultures.

Let his corpse be burned,
and his ashes cursed for three days.

They should be thrown to the winds...

...so that all traces of him shall vanish.

All his supporters shall die.

Their corpses shamed in public!

Let this verdict be proclaimed
in every corner of the land.

Let us beg the Lord to shower mercy
on holy Russia in her affliction.

Too bad Shuisky isn't here.

He is devious, but we need his advice.

Forgive me.

Well, here he is.

I've kept you waiting, but it couldn't be helped.

Important matters detained me.

For shame, Vassily Ivanich!

How can you deal in such treachery?

You're inciting rebellion!

Claiming Dimitri is alive!

O boyars, may God forgive you!

In such troubled times,
when Russia's welfare is my only concern...

...how could I betray her?

My foes slander me with such talk!

Even now, out of loyalty to you,
I come to warn you.

When I left the Tsar this night...

...I was concerned by his distress.

After I left him, I returned to his chamber door.

Oh, what I saw!

Tsar Boris, bathed in sweat,
was trembling in terror.

He was muttering like a madman.

Eyes ablaze, he seemed
tormented by a secret pain.

And our sovereign was weeping.

Suddenly, he stared across the room,
and cried out in anguish.

Lies! Lies!

He cried out to the dead Tsarevich.

"Stay away! Leave me, child!"

Leave me, child!

Merciful Lord, protect us!

Who speaks of murder?
There was no murder.

The child is alive, I tell you!

Shuisky will hang for spreading this slander.

Lord have mercy on you!

I summoned you, boyars...

...because I need your wisdom.

You are my guides in times
of grief and tribulation.

Mighty Tsar, allow a word
from your humble servant.

Here, waiting at the door...

...Pimen the hermit humbly begs
to be received by you.

He is revered by all
for his virtue and wisdom.

He wishes to divulge a secret to you.

Very well. Allow him to enter.

Perhaps he will bring consolation
to my tortured soul.

A humble hermit comes from seclusion
and begs you to hear him.

Speak freely, holy man.
Do not hold back.

My story is a simple one.

It tells of the wonders
of the Lord's great blessings.

One evening, a shepherd came to me.

The venerable old man spoke of a miracle.

"I lost my sight as a child," he told me.

"From that time on,
day and night seemed alike to me."

"No remedy, no herbs or magic spells
could cure me," he said.

"I bathed my eyes with water from holy fountains."

"All in vain."

"I grew so accustomed to the dark..."

"...that my dreams at night
were not of images, but of sounds."

"Once, as I was sleeping, I heard a voice," he said.

"A child's voice, strong and clear, called out to me."

"Rise, O Father, and go to Uglich."

"Go into the great cathedral."

"Kneel and pray over my tomb."

"Know, O Father,
that I am Dimitri, the Tsarevich."

"The Lord has taken me to be an angel..."

"...and to work great miracles for Russia."

"I awoke, and pondered all this."

"And then, with my grandson,
I set out for Uglich."

"I had scarcely knelt before the tomb..."

"...when I felt a great joy,
and tears flowed from my eyes."

"And through those tears,
I could see at last."

"I saw the light of God,
my grandson, and the tomb."

Help me! I am suffocating!

Call the Tsarevich at once!

My death is near. A monk's robe!

Now go...leave us alone.

Farewell, my son. I am dying.

Now you shall begin your reign.

Do not ask me how I came to Russia's throne.

You need not know.

Now you are the rightful ruler,
my firstborn, my successor.

My son, my beloved child!

The crown has come to you in troubled times.

Beware of the pretender.
The name he bears is his sword.

You will face treachery,
rebellion, famine, and plague.

Hear me, Feodor.

Be wary of the devious boyars...

...and their secret dealings with Lithuania.

Condemn and punish traitors without mercy.

Listen to your people,
and draw on their simple wisdom.

Be the guardian of our holy faith...

...and revere the blessed saints of God.

Preserve your character, Feodor.

It is your strength, your wisdom and salvation.

Look after your sister, my son.

You are now her only guide and protector.

Our Xenia, beloved angel!

O Lord!

Behold the tears of a sinful father.

I do not pray for myself.

O heavenly Savior....

Send down Your holy light from on high.

Bestow Your saving grace on my
innocent children, heavenly spirits.

O holy ones who stand at the throne of God.

Shield my children with your shining wings.

Protect them from all harm,
from sin and temptation.

The bells!

They toll my death.

Weep, weep, O people.
Bring him heavenly life.

The lamentations of death.

Clothe me in monastic robes.
Let the Tsar die a monk.

My Lord, have courage!
God will save you.

No, my son. My life is ended.

We see the dying child and weep.
For him there is no salvation.

O God!

Will my sin ever be forgiven?

O Death, how cruel is your torment!

It is not time yet! I am still Tsar.

I am still Tsar.

O God...Death...forgive me!

There is your Tsar.

Forgive me....