Original subtitles

Part Two

Tsarevich!

'Tis she.

Dimitry! Is it thou?

Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see,

alone with me, beneath the roof of quiet night?

O, if it be only for one short hour, Forget the cares and troubles of my fate!

O, listen to the prayers of love! Grant me to utter all wherewith my heart is full

Prince, this is not the time; Thou loiterest,

and meanwhile the devotion of thine adherents cooleth.

already dubious rumours are current, novelty already takes the place of novelty

- and Godunov adopts his measures. - What is Godunov?

Is thy sweet love, my only blessedness, Swayed by Boris?

Nay, nay. Indifferently I now regard his throne, his kingly power

Thy love, without it what to me is life, And glory's glitter, and the state of Russia?

On the dull steppe, in a poor mud hut, Thou wilt requite me for the kingly crown

- Thy love... - For shame!

Forget not, prince, thy high And sacred destiny

thy dignity should be to thee more dear than all the joys of life and its allurements

It thou canst not with anything compare

Not to a boy, insanely boiling, captured by my beauty but to the heir

of Moscow's throne give I my hand in solemn wise, to the tsarevich rescued by destiny

Say...

if blind destiny had not assigned me a kingly birth

if I were not indeed son of Ivan,

were not this boy, so long forgotten by the world... say,

then wouldst thou have loved me?

Thou art Dimitry, and aught else thou canst not be

it is not possible for me to love another

Nay! I have done with counterfeiting,

and will tell the truth. Know, then,

thy Dimitry long ago perished,

was buried - and will not rise again

And dost thou wish to know what man I am?

Well, I will tell thee.

I am - a poor monk.

Grown weary of monastic servitude, I pondered 'neath the cowl my bold design,

Made ready for the world a miracle... And from my cell at last fled

I showed myself to you. I called myself Dimitry,

What say'st thou, proud Marina?

Art thou content with my confession? Why dost thou keep silence?

O shame!

O woe is me!

O whither hath a fit of anger led me?

Idiot, what have I done?

I see, I see

thou art ashamed of love not princely; so pronounce on me the fatal word

my fate is in thy hands.

Decide

I wait.

Rise, poor pretender!

prone at my feet I've seen knights and counts nobly born

but not for this did I reject their prayers, that a poor monk...

Scorn not the young pretender

noble virtues may lie perchance in him, virtues well worthy of Moscow's throne,

even of thy priceless hand...

Say of a shameful noose, insolent wretch!

I swear to thee that thou alone wast able to extort my heart's confession

I swear to thee that never, nowhere,

shall my tongue give away these weighty secrets.

Thou swearest! Then I must believe.

Believe, of course!

But may I learn by what thou swearest?

Is it not by the name of God, as suits the Jesuits' devout adopted son?

Or by thy honour as a high-born knight?

Or, maybe, by thy royal word alone As a king's son? Is it not so? Declare.

The phantom of the Terrible hath made me his son

from out the sepulchre hath named me Dimitry,

hath stirred up the people round me,

And hath consigned Boris to be my victim

I am tsarevich. Enough!

'Twere shame for me to stoop before a haughty Polish dame.

Farewell for ever

the game of bloody war,

The wide cares of my destiny,

will smother, I hope, the pangs of love

Now I leave thee

ruin, or else a crown, awaits my head in Russia

Whether I meet with death as fits a soldier in honourable fight,

or as a miscreant upon the public scaffold

thou shalt not be my companion,

nor shalt share with me my fate

But what if I expose beforehand thy bold fraud to all men?

Dost thou think I fear thee?

Think'st thou They will believe a Polish maiden more

Than Russia's own tsarevich?

Know, proud lady, That neither king, nor pope, nor nobles

trouble whether my words be true,

whether I be Dimitry

or another.

What care they?

But I provide a pretext for revolt and war

and this is all they need

and thee, rebellious one, believe me, they will force to hold thy peace

Farewell.

Tsarevich, stay!

At last I hear the speech not of a boy, but of a man.

It reconciles me to thee.

Prince, I forget thy senseless outburst, see again Dimitry.

Listen...

now is the time!

Hasten, delay no more,

lead on thy troops quickly to Moscow,

purge the Kremlin, take thy seat upon the throne of Moscow

then send me the nuptial envoy

but, God hears me, until thy foot be planted on its steps,

Until by thee Boris be overthrown,

I am not one to listen to love-speeches.

Ah, serpent! Serpent!

'Twas not for nothing that I trembled. She well-nigh ruined me

but I'm resolved

At daybreak I will put my troops in motion

There, there it is

there is the Russian frontier!

Fatherland! Holy Russia! I am thine!

With scorn from off my clothing now I shake the foreign dust,

and greedily I drink new air; it is my native air.

O father, thy soul hath now been solaced

in the grave thy bones, disgraced, thrill with a sudden joy!

Brave knight, I envy thee!

The son of Kurbsky, nurtured in exile, Forgetting all the wrongs borne by thy father,

Redeeming his transgression in the grave,

Ready art thou for the son of great Ivan To shed thy blood,

to give the fatherland its lawful tsar.

Righteous art thou; thy soul should flame with joy.

And dost not thou likewise rejoice in spirit?

There lies our Russia; she is thine, tsarevich!

There thy people's hearts Are waiting for thee,

there thy Moscow waits, thy Kremlin, thy dominion.

Russian blood, o Kurbsky, first must flow!

Thou for the tsar Hast drawn the sword, thou art stainless

but I lead you against your brothers; I am summoning Lithuania against Russia

I am showing to foes the longed-for way to beauteous Moscow!

But let my sin fall not on me, but thee, Boris, the regicide! Forward! Set on!

Advance! And woe to Godunov.

Is it possible? An unfrocked monk against us leads rascal troops,

a truant friar dares write threats to us!

Then 'tis time to tame the madman!

Three months shall not pass,

Sire, ere even rumour's tongue Shall cease to speak of the pretender

aged in iron, like a wild beast from oversea, we'll hale him into Moscow,

I swear by God.

Shchelkalov! In every district to the governors send edicts,

that they mount their steeds, and send the people as of old on service

The heretic Grishka Otrepiev, unfrocked monk

former young monk, a cleric of the Russian land

defiled the image of a monk

be damned

anathema

To our great sovereign

Boris Feodorovich

whole Russia's autocrat

many years of life

seditious whispers to and fro Pass in the market-places

minds are seething

We needs must cool them

gladly would I refrain from executions,

but by what means and how? That we will now determine.

Holy father, Thou first declare thy thought.

The means thereto God hath Himself supplied.

Know, sire, six years Since then have fled

'twas in that very year when to the seat of sovereignty the Lord anointed thee

there came to me one evening a simple shepherd, a venerable old man,

Who told me a strange secret.

"In my young days," He said, "I lost my sight,

and thenceforth knew not Nor day, nor night, till my old age

in vain I plied myself with herbs and secret spells

Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water from out the holy wells

The Lord vouchsafed not Healing to me.

Once in deep sleep I hear a childish voice; it speaks to me:

`Arise, grandfather, go to Uglich town, To the Cathedral of Transfiguration

There pray over my grave. The Lord is gracious - And I shall pardon thee.'

`But who art thou?' I asked the childish voice.

`I am the tsarevich Dimitry,

whom the Heavenly Tsar hath taken into His angel band,

and I am now a mighty wonder-worker.

Go, old man.'

I woke, and pondered.

What is this? Maybe God will in very deed vouchsafe to me belated healing.

I will go. I bent My footsteps to the distant road.

I reached Uglich, repair unto the holy minster, hear mass,

And when the people began to leave,

to my grandson I said: `Lead me, Ivan, to the grave of the tsarevich Dimitry .'

The boy led me...

and I scarce had shaped before the grave a silent prayer,

When sight illumed my eyeballs

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

That is the tale, Sire, which the old man told.

This is my counsel: to the Kremlin send the sacred relics,

place them in the Cathedral of the Archangel

clearly will the people see then the godless villain's fraud

the might of the fiends will vanish as a cloud of dust.

What mortal, holy father, knoweth the ways

of the All-Highest? 'Tis not for me to judge Him.

This is no time to vex the people's minds With aught so unexpected, grave, and strange.

I myself see 'tis needful to demolish the rumour spread abroad by the unfrocked monk

But for this end other and simpler means Will serve.

Therefore, when it shall please thee, Sire,

I will myself appear in public places, I will persuade, exhort away this madness,

And will expose the vagabond's vile fraud.

So be it!

My lord Patriarch, I pray thee Go with us to the palace,

where today I must converse with thee.

Woe, woe!

The Tsarevich! The Poles! There they are! There they are!

Whither, whither? Allons! Go back!

You go back, if you like, cursed infidel.

Quoi, quoi?

Kva! kva! You like, you frog from over the sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich

but we - we are orthodox.

Qu'est-ce a dire "orthodox"?

Sacres gueux, maudite canaille! Mordieu, mein Herr, j'enrage

on dirait que ca n'a pas de bras pour frapper,

ca n'a que des jambes pour foutre le camp.

Es ist Schande.

Tudieu, il y fait chaud!

Ce diable de "Pretender," comme ils l'appellent,

est un bougre, qui a du poil au cul?

- Qu'en pensez-vous, mein Herr? - Oh ja.

Voyez donc, voyez donc!

Ha! Voici nos allemands.

Messieurs!

Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu, chargeons!

Sehr gut.

Halt!

Marsch!

Hilf Gott!

Cease fighting. We have conquered. Enough!

Spare Russian blood. Cease fighting.

The heretic Grishka Otrepiev, unfrocked monk

former young monk, a cleric of the Russian land

defiled the image of a monk

be damned

Will the tsar soon come out of the cathedral?

The mass is ended; now the Te Deum is going on.

What! Have they already cursed him?

Let him curse to his heart's content

the tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev.

But they are now singing mass for the repose of the soul of the tsarevich.

What? A mass for the dead sung for a living man?

They'll suffer for it, the godless wretches!

Hist! A sound. Is it not the tsar?

No, it is the idiot.

Nick, Nick, iron nightcap!

Let him be, you young devils.

Innocent one, pray thou for me a sinner.

Give, give, give a penny.

There is a penny for thee; remember me in thy prayers.

The moon sails on,

The kitten cries,

Nick, arise,

Pray to God.

How do you do, Nick?

How it rings!

But I have got a penny.

That's not true; now, show it.

They have taken my penny,

they are hurting Nick.

The tsar, the tsar is coming!

Boris, Boris!

The boys are hurting Nick.

Give him alms!

What is he crying for?

The boys are hurting me...

Give orders to slay them, as thou slewest the little tsarevich.

Go away, fool! Seize the fool!

Leave him alone.

Pray thou for me, Nick.

No, no!

It is impossible to pray for tsar Herod

the Mother of God forbids it.

- Where is the prisoner? - Here.

Call him before me.

Who art thou?

Rozhnov, a nobleman of Moscow.

- Hast long been in the service? - About a month.

Art not ashamed, Rozhnov, that thou hast drawn the sword against me?

What else could I do? 'Twas not our fault.

Didst fight beneath the walls of Seversk?

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

What of Godunov?

The battle's loss, Mstislavsky's wound, hath caused him much apprehension

Shuisky he hath sent to take command.

Well, how go things in Moscow?

All is quiet, thank God.

Say, do they look for me?

God knows. They dare not talk too much there now.

Of some the tongues have been cut off, of others even the heads.

Each day an execution. All the prisons are crammed.

Well! Of me what say they in your camp?

Your graciousness they speak of; say that thou,

Sire, (be not wrath), Art a thief, but a fine fellow.

Even so I'll prove myself to them in deed.

My friends, we will not wait for Shuisky

I wish you joy; Tomorrow, battle.

Long life to Dimitry!

Again doth flash our old ancestral sword,

This glorious sword - the dread of dark Kazan!

This good sword - servant of the tsars of Moscow!

Now will it revel in its feast of slaughter,

Serving the master of its hopes.

Come to me!

A horse for me!

My poor horse!

he is dying.

what to do?

Take off the bridle, and loose the girth

Let him at least die free.

Good day to you, gentlemen!

How is't I see not Kurbsky among you?

He fell on the field of battle.

Honour to the brave, And peace be on his soul!

And where shall we now spend the night?

Why, here, in the forest.

Why not this for our night quarters?

At daybreak we'll take the road, and dine in Rilsk. Good night.

A pleasant sleep, tsarevich!

Smashed to bits, Rescued by flight alone,

he is as careless as a simple child

'tis clear that Providence protects him,

and we, my friends, will not lose heart.

He is vanquished, but what profit lies in that?

We are crowned with a vain conquest

he has mustered again his scattered forces,

and anew threatens us from the ramparts of Putivl.

Meanwhile what are our heroes doing?

They stand at Krom,

where from its rotten battlements a band of Cossacks braves them.

There is glory! No, I am ill content with them

thyself I shall despatch to take command of them

I give authority not to birth, but brains

Their pride of precedence, let it be wounded!

The time has come for me to hold in scorn The murmur of distinguished nobodies,

And quash pernicious custom.

Ay, my lord Blessed a hundredfold will be that day

When fire consumes the lists of noblemen With their dissensions, their ancestral pride

That day is not far off

let me but first subdue the insurrection of the people.

Why trouble about that? The people always Are prone to secret treason

even so the swift steed champs the bit; so doth a lad chafe at his father's ruling

But what then?

The rider quietly controls the steed, The father sways the son.

Sometimes the horse Doth throw the rider,

nor is the son at all times quite 'neath the father's will

we can restrain the people only by unsleeping sternness

So thought Ivan, sagacious autocrat And storm-subduer

so his fierce grandson thought.

No, no, kindness is lost upon the people

Act well - it thanks you not at all

extort and execute - 'twill be no worse for you.

What now?

The foreign guests are come.

I go to welcome them.

Basmanov, wait, stay here

I still have need to speak... a word with thee.

A great thought within his mind has taken birth; it must not be suffered to grow cold

What a career for me when the ancestral horn he breaks of the nobility

I have no rivals in war. I shall stand closest to the throne

And it may chance...

- Fetch a physician! - Quickly to the Patriarch!

A confessor!

The tsar is ill, the tsar is dying.

Tsarevich, fetch the tsarevich!

Let all depart - alone leave the tsarevich with me.

I am dying

Let us embrace.

Farewell, my son

this hour thou wilt begin to reign.

O God, my God! This hour I shall appear before Thy presence

And have no time to purge my soul with shrift.

But yet, my son, I feel thou art dearer to me than is my soul's salvation, be it so

A subject was I born; it seemed ordained That I should die a subject in obscurity

Yet I attained to sovereignty; but how? Ask not.

Enough that thou art innocent.

In justice now thou'lt reign

and I alone am answerable for all to God

Give ear...

Firstly, select a steadfast counsellor, Of cool, ripe years,

loved of the people, honoured mid the boyars for birth and fame, even Shuisky.

The army craves today a skilful leader

Basmanov send, and firmly bear the murmurs of the boyars.

change not procedure. Custom is the soul of states.

Of late I have been forced to reinstate Bans, executions--these thou canst rescind

At the same time, little by little, tighten anew the reins of government

now slacken; But let them not slip from thy hands.

Be taciturn

The royal voice must never lose itself Upon the air in emptiness,

but like a sacred bell must sound but to announce

some great disaster or great festival.

Dear son,

thou art approaching to those years when woman's beauty agitates our blood.

Preserve, preserve the sacred purity Of innocence and proud shamefacedness

Of thy household be always head

show honour to thy mother, But rule thy house thyself

thou art a man and tsar to boot.

Be loving to thy sister

Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector.

No, no; live on, my father, and reign long

Without thee both the folk and we will perish

All is at end for me, mine eyes grow dark,

I feel the coldness of the grave

Who's there?

'tis the vestment! The holy tonsure

The hour has struck. The tsar becomes a monk,

And the dark sepulchre will be my cell.

Wait yet a little, my lord Patriarch,

I still am tsar. Listen to me, boyars:

To this my son I now commit the tsardom Do homage to Feodor.

Basmanov, thou, and ye, my friends, on the grave's brink I pray you

to serve my son with zeal and rectitude!

As yet he is both young and uncorrupted. Swear ye?

We swear.

We swear.

I am content.

Forgive me Both my temptations and my sins,

my wilful and secret injuries.

Now, holy father, Approach thou; I am ready for the rite.

Here enter, and speak freely. So to me he sent thee.

He doth offer thee his friendship and the next place to his in the realm of Moscow.

But even thus highly by Feodor am I already raised

The army I command; For me he scorned nobility of rank and the wrath of the boyars

I have sworn to him allegiance.

To the throne's lawful successor Allegiance thou hast sworn

but what if one more lawful still be living?

Listen, Pushkin: enough of that; tell me no idle tales! I know the man.

Russia and Lithuania Have long acknowledged him to be Dimitry

But, for the rest, I do not vouch for it.

Perchance he is indeed the real Dimitry Perchance but a pretender

only this I know, that soon or late the son of Boris will yield Moscow to him.

So long as I stand by the youthful tsar, so long he will not forsake the throne.

We have enough of troops, thank God! With victory I will inspire them.

with you I'll not dissemble, but, Basmanov, dost thou know wherein our strength lies?

Not in the army, no. Nor Polish aid, but in opinion

yes, in popular opinion.

Nay Basmanov, it is too late to blow on the cold embers of this dispute

with all thy wits and firmness thou'lt not withstand him.

Were't not better for thee To furnish to our chief a wise example,

Proclaim Dimitry tsar, and by that act Bind him your friend for ever?

How thinkest thou?

- Tomorrow thou shalt know. - Resolve. - Farewell.

Ponder it well, Basmanov.

He is right. He is right.

Everywhere treason ripens; what shall I do?

Wait, that the rebels may deliver me In bonds to the Otrepiev?

Had I not better forestall the stormy onset of the flood, myself

But to forswear mine oath! Dishonour to deserve from age to age!

The trust of my young sovereign to requite with horrible betrayal!

'Tis a light thing for a disgraced exile to meditate sedition and conspiracy, but I?

Is it for me, the favourite of my lord?

But death... but power... the people's miseries...

The tsarevich a boyar hath sent to us.

Let's hear what the boyar will tell us.

Hither! Hither!

Townsmen of Moscow!

The tsarevich bids me convey his greetings to you.

Ye know how Divine Providence saved the tsarevich from out the murderer's hands

he went to punish his murderer, but God's judgment hath already struck down Boris

All Russia hath submitted unto Dimitry

with heartfelt repentance Basmanov hath himself led forth

his troops to swear allegiance to him

In love, in peace Dimitry comes to you

Would ye, to please the house of Godunov, uplift a hand

Against the lawful tsar, against the grandson of Monomakh?

Not we.

Townsmen of Moscow!

The world well knows how much ye have endured under the rule of the cruel stranger

ban, dishonour, executions, taxes, hardships, hunger...

all these ye have experienced.

Dimitry is disposed to show you favour

But he himself is coming to his ancestral throne with dreadful escort.

Provoke not ye the tsar to wrath, fear God And swear allegiance to the lawful ruler

What is to be said? The boyar spake truth. Long live Dimitry, our father!

People! To the Kremlin! To the Royal palace!

The whelp of Boris go bind!

Perish the race of Godunov!

Bind, drown him! Hail Dimitry!

Give alms, for Christ's sake Give alms, for Christ's sake

Go away; it is forbidden to speak to the prisoners.

Go, old man, I am poorer than thou; thou art at liberty.

- Brother and sister - Poor children, like birds in a cage.

Are you going to pity them? Accursed family!

The father was a villain, but the children are innocent.

The apple does not fall far from the apple-tree.

Dear brother!

Dear brother! I think the boyars are coming to us.

That is Golitsin, Mosalsky. I do not know the others.

Ah! Dear brother, my heart sinks.

Make way, make way; the boyars come.

- What have they come for?

- Most like to make Feodor Godunov take the oath. - Very like.

We will go up!

The doors are fastened

People! Maria Godunov and her son Feodor have poisoned themselves.

We have seen their dead bodies.

Why are ye silent?

Cry, Long live the tsar Dimitry Ivanovich!

Actors appearing in mass folk scenes

Episodic appearances

The Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre Conductor Vyacheslav Ovchinnikov

Crew

The End Copyright (C) Mosfilm Studio, 1986