 | The False Demetrius |  |
ACT I.
Scene.—The Monastery of Tchudoff, the gate closed.Maria, (the dowager Czarina,) habited in the order of black Nuns, enters, followed by others of her Convent, and approaching the gate, announces her arrival.
Mar.
Peace to the holy brotherhood of Tchudoff!
Twice seven long years of slow-revolving time
Have number'd my sad sighs, since by the hands
Of savage murderers my Demetrius fell;
And ever as this black and mournful day
Comes yearly round, by sufferance I appear
Before these gates, sad mother, to beseech
A requiem for the soul of my dear son.
Will they not come, or must a widow'd queen
Wait at their portal?
A Monk appears at the gate.
Monk.
Who is at our gate?
Mar.
Maria Feodorafna, a poor suitor
For your good offices with the strong angel,
Who keeps the gates of purgatory barr'd,
Till holy men like you can move his pity.
I'll send one to you of authority:
I am but menial—And behold! here comes
The deacon Otreneif—He'll speak to you.
Demetrius enters, habited as a deacon.
Dem.
Now, ye veil'd sisters, what d'ye want?
Mar.
Your prayers,
Dem.
Our prayers indeed! Will not your own suffice
To keep your consecrated flesh and blood
In due allegiance to your holy vows?
Mar.
Are you a deacon of this pious order,
And answer with such levity?
Dem.
I am;
Like you, I am cull'd out from Nature's flock
To check the world's increase, and contradict
Creation's first great law.
Mar.
You are too bold:
You know me not.
Dem.
Nor am I known by you;
Else—
Mar.
What else? Are you other than you seem?
Hah! what is that I see beneath your eye?
How came you by that mark?
Dem.
My mother gave it.
She was a great astrologer, and held
Familiar commerce with a fav'rite star.
It is a mark o' th' mother.
Mar.
Heaven defend me!
Dem.
Amen! I leave you to these reverend fathers:
Lo! where they beckon you. Go in; go in.
They'll give you pray'rs enough; I reserve mine
For greater purpose, and at greater need.
[Exit Demetrius.
Prior.
Peace and Heav'n's grace be with you evermore,
Most honour'd lady! What are your commands
For us your humble beadsmen?
Mar.
Reverend Prior,
Full well you know my customary suit,
As this sad day comes round. Why name it to you,
When the whole empire feels and mourns my loss?
Prior.
Heav'n give you comfort!
Mar.
'Tis from Heaven I seek it,
When I solicit of your holy choir
A solemn requiem for the guiltless soul
Of my Demetrius, so may I indulge
A pious hope, that, by your pray'rs set free,
My sainted innocence may be received
Amongst the blest in Heaven; and now behold
The congregated fathers only wait
Your signal to begin their solemn chaunt.
Prior.
Strike up the canticle for the departed,
Nam'd in our holy service The Resurge,
Whilst the sad parent joins her pray'rs with our's—
Solemn Air.(Organ.
“O dilecte fili matris amantissimæ!
“Tandem ut, solutis vinculis peccatorum,
“Unus sis inter choros angelorum:
“Concede hoc nobis, custos mortuorum!”
As Demetrius is passing over the stage, Petrilla runs out from a house, and calls to him.
Petril.
Father, father, hear me, I beseech you.
Turn an ear of pity on a poor damsel, and grant
me the boon of your good offices for the love
of—Oh dear, I had almost said for the love of
Heaven—But now I look upon you, Sir, I'm sure
I need not trouble Heaven to move your pity.
Dem.
You need not trouble me. I've nothing
for you.
Petril.
Oh yes, you have: So young, so
comely, and with an air so noble, I'm sure you
cannot find it in your heart to be uncourteous to
a female suitor.
Dem.
Get you gone, hussey! I'm not for
your purpose. I've left off practice in your way
of business.
Petril.
You have not left off praying I shall
hope, and that's my present business with your
reverence. I have a mother in the house you
see, bedridden and dying. Give her your holy
help in her last moments—
Dem.
If she is dying, let her die in peace.
Petril.
But that, she cannot do, having a
certain scruple on her conscience.
Dem.
I am no casuist for an old woman's
scruples. If you have any such to reconcile—
Petril.
You are the very man to do it. I
believe you; but my case, just now, does not
require your help; my mother's does.
Dem.
What is your mother's case?
Petril.
Oh! that's a secret of such mighty import,
as only can be told in close confession.
What secret can your mother have to
tell? Who is your mother?
Petril.
Catherine, the wife of Peter Bassovitz—
Dem.
What! she that nurs'd the Czarowitz
Demetrius.
Petril.
Yes, she; the very woman—
Dem.
Lead me to her instantly. Away, you
lapwing, fly with all your speed.
[They enter the house.
Scene changes to a room in Peter Bassovitz's house. He is sitting at a table. A bottle and glasses.
Peter.
Pet.
Heigho! sad times, sorrowful times!
Only one poor old wife left to comfort me, and
she's at her last prayers—Lord help the wicked!
Every groan she gives, pierces my heart; then
I swallow a glass of brandy, to reconcile it to my
feelings.
[Petrilla, followed by Demetrius, passes
hastily to the chamber of Catherine.]
There!
there goes the death-warrant for my dame—
A confessor and a coffin—So the world passes—
Death is common—We must all die—flesh is
grass, time mows it down, and man is mortal—
These melancholy truths—Holla! who's this?
Ah, Donski, is it you?
Donski enters.
Dons.
Yes, here am I. What ails you, Peter?
You seem out of spirits.
Pet.
Hush! not so loud. Thank you for your
kind enquiries: I am a little out of spirits
I help you to a cup?
Dons.
Not a drop, not a drop. I have an oath
against it.
Pet.
Have you indeed? That's an oath I
never took; but you Tartars have a knack of
swearing. Give me your hand, however! So
you are come to the festival of our great Saint,
Alexander Newski. I am vastly glad to see
you; but what shall I do to make you welcome?
You say you won't drink: perhaps you would eat
a slice of something. I am sorry I have no horse-flesh
to set before you; but I'm quite out of it.
Dons.
Make no apology: I have an oath
against that also—but where is the good dame,
Catherine, your spouse?
Pet.
In the next chamber: don't speak of her;
you'll break my heart. Catherine is dying;
her confessor is with her:
Dons.
Well, well, well! be content. Greater
than she must die. The Czar himself is not long
for this life; and then we'll have a sovereign of
the house of Ruric.
Pet.
Where will you find him? Recollect
yourself. Ivan is dead, and Theodore is dead;
they were the last, except Demetrius.
Dons.
And 'tis Demetrius we are sworn to
elect.
Pet.
Why then I swear you must elect his
ghost.
Dons.
How now! 'tis false. I have spoken
with those, that have seen him alive. Come,
come, no more of this! We know he's living,
and we look to you, who had his life in charge,
now to produce him—Aye, and you shall produce
him, Peter Bassovitz, or woe befall you.
Pet.
Gently, my good friend, gently. What
in an old dying woman, neither can I bring a
dead prince to life again.
Dons.
Tell that to the Cossacks, if you dare.
We are encamp'd, ten thousand strong; and all
are bound under an oath never to touch the flesh
of animal, or taste the spirit of the grape, till
we have set Demetrius on the throne.
[Demetrius comes out from the chamber of Catherine.—
Dem.
Well, honest Peter, I've confess'd your
wife; I have her deposition here in scriptis.
'Tis a receipt in full—
Pet.
Yes, father, she had many good receipts.
Dem.
And one beyond them all for excellence.
I owe my life to it. What do you stare at?
Don't you recollect me?
Pet.
I can't say I have the least recollection
of you, reverend father.
Dem.
That's wonderful. You have danc'd me
in your arms a thousand times.
Pet.
Whuh! that's a good one.
[Aside.
Dons.
Brush up your memory, Peter. Don't
you hear the gentleman?
Pet.
Yes, I hear the gentleman, but I have no
memory of him, or about him.
Dem.
Away! You are sand-blind, and can't
see Nature's hand-writing legible in my face—
[Turns to Donski.]
I think I heard you speaking
of Demetrius—Be pleased to tell me how I
am to accost you.
Dons.
Donski the Cossack; second to the
Hetman.
Mic.
The Czar is dead—There's news for you,
my masters!
Dem.
Who says that Boris Godenoff is dead?
Mic.
I say it. Ah, friend Griska, are you
here?
Dem.
Silence! you know not who it is you
speak to.
Mic.
Not know my fellow-traveller and friend?
Many a hundred weary wersts we have trudg'd.
In Poland I remember we were Jews; Christians
in Moscovy; in Cracow, you took up the trade
of a conjurer, and in Moscow, of—
Dem.
A Czar—for such I am by blood and
right. Stand not amaz'd, but hear me to the
end. Catherine, my nurse, now on the bed of
death, has recognized me for the true Demetrius:
her daughter heard, and will attest the facts, to
which her dying mother has deposed. Michael
has told you to what various shifts I have been
put whilst Boris sought my life; he knows me
for the true and rightful prince; he has long
had the secret in his keeping, and calls me
Griska by my travelling name; and honest
Peter here, by whose contrivance I was sav'd
from murder, now may speak out, and he shall
feel my bounty, so he maintain the truth.
Pet.
Tell me what truth you wish me to
maintain, and I'll stick to it.
Dons.
I'll tell you, Peter—Down upon your
knees—You know me for a man of few words,
but steady to my purpose. Let's have no double-dealing.
I am satisfied you are in presence
of the true Demetrius. Down on your knees,
and own your rightful prince!
[Peter kneels.
Petril.
Aye, father, that's all right, and as it
shou'd be.
Dem.
Stand up, old man, and look me in the
face. You recollect this mark upon my cheek.
Pet.
Oh yes, I see it there on your right cheek;
it was upon your left, the very same! it cannot
be mistaken; I remember it.
Dem.
I'm glad your memory is in part come
to you.
Petril.
Father, take care. My mother has
confess'd. The prince knows all the story, how
you took the money to destroy him out of
hand—
Pet.
'Tis false, I took no money.
Petril.
Yes, you did, father, you know you
did: you took the money, but you sav'd his life.
Pet.
Aye, aye, I sav'd his life; that I remember;
that I am perfect in.
Dem.
Come, come! no more. Put that old
fool aside! His senses wander. To you, brave
Donski, I commit the task, to move your gallant
Cossacks in my cause.
Dons.
We are ten thousand strong, and to a
man will turn out for Demetrius and his right,
Michael is with us also.
Mic.
Heart and soul: to my last drop of
blood, I am your man, and for Demetrius.
Dem.
I'll fetch the Dowager Czarina forth
from out her convent, and she shall attest I am
the true Demetrius, and her son. The patriarch
shall confirm it, and the people shall see the
ancient dynasty of Ruric in me restored; Now
then, my friends, take notice on this day, Saint
Newski's day, which evermore has brought
for empire; and when you hear the evening
bell ring out, in the great square before Saint
Michael's church, there I will meet you, and
present myself to the assembled people as their
Czar, which that I am, you are my witnesses.
So, farewell all! Be constant, and we triumph!
[Exit.
Mic.
There's a brave spirit; take my word
for that. Ah, masters, he's a right one, he's a
true one.
Pet.
But is he true Demetrius? tell me that.
Mic.
As sure as you are Peter, he's Demetrius.
What, don't I know him?
Pet.
Yes, you call'd him Griska.
Mic.
Tut! what are names? I have called
him by more names than I have fingers. In
Poland he was Griska: we did a few things
there, that got us into more fame, than was
quite convenient; so we beat our march back
to Moscow, and here my friend Griska took a
billet on the convent of Tchudoff, by the style
and title of Deacon Otreneif. Now, what do
you find in all this, that shou'd prevent you
from discovering the true Czarowitz; especially
when even your owl eyes can see the seal of
Nature stampt upon his cheek?
Dons.
Now, Peter, what do you say to that?
Speak out.
Petril.
Aye, father, what do you say to that?
My poor dear mother rais'd herself in bed, look'd
at him steadily, and by the mark, pronounc'd
him the true prince.
Pet.
'Tis certain that the Czarowitz, my
charge, was mark'd upon the cheek: it wou'd
have been a mole in common faces; in his, by
courtesy, it was a star.
Well, and a star it is.
Pet.
But not a fixt one: it has changed its
place.
Dons.
'Tis false. Take care that you don't
change your place, if you give such half-evidence;
and mark me! I and my comrades search
not into titles; we steer not by the stars, but go
right on, resolv'd to have a Czar of our own
choosing—Therefore, do you mind me; if your
citizens will not elect Demetrius this night,
there shall not be a house, no, not a hut, in Moscow
standing by to-morrow morning—Take
that on my word, and good bye to you.
[Exit Donski.
Petril.
There, father, did you hear him?
Pet.
Yes, I heard him. He is a Tartar, and
don't know the comfort of living in a house;
but come, my child, we must attend upon your
dying mother.
Mic.
A word before you go. Now mark me,
Peter. Our fortune is at issue: half measures
will not serve us: either confirm the whole, or
contradict the whole. If you are against us, we
will have your life; if you are for us, we will
make your fortune. You've had your warning;
therefore, choose your part.
Pet.
Well! we shall see. Petrilla, follow me!
[Exit Peter.
Mic.
Stay, my sweet girl; I hope you mean to
come to the great square.
Petril.
At evening bell I'll come.
Mic.
Then we shall meet again.
Petril.
I shall expect you; but remember,
Michael, if there is fighting, you must take care
of me.
Mic.
Ah, you dear rogue, I love you. That's
enough.
[Exeunt severally.
| The False Demetrius | |