Dame.  When will the army march?

Cavalier.  When the tsarevich
Orders it; we are ready; but ’tis clear
The lady Mnishek and Dimitry mean
To keep us prisoners here.

Dame.  A pleasant durance.

Cavalier.  Truly, if you...

(They walk off; the rooms become empty.)

Mnishek.  We old ones dance no longer;
The sound of music lures us not; we press not
Nor kiss the hands of charmers—­ah!  My friend,
I’ve not forgotten the old pranks!  Things now
Are not what once they were, what once they were! 
Youth, I’ll be sworn, is not so bold, nor beauty
So lively; everything—­confess, my friend—­
Has somehow become dull.  So let us leave them;
My comrade, let us go and find a flask
Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould;
Let’s bid my butler open an old bottle,
And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete,
Let’s drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat;
And while we’re so engaged, let’s think things over. 
Let us go, brother.

Vishnevetsky.  Yes, my friend, let’s go.

NIGHT

THE GARDEN.  THE FOUNTAIN

Pretender. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come. 
I was not born a coward; I have seen
Death near at hand, and face to face with death
My spirit hath not blenched.  A life-long dungeon
Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued,
And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness
I have escaped captivity.  But what
Is this which now constricts my breath?  What means
This overpowering tremor, or this quivering
Of tense desire?  No, this is fear.  All day
I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered
On all that I should say to her, how best
I might enmesh Marina’s haughty mind,
Calling her queen of Moscow.  But the hour
Has come—­and I remember naught, I cannot
Recall the speeches I have learned by rote;
Love puts imagination to confusion—­
But something there gleamed suddenly—­a rustling;
Hush—­no, it was the moon’s deceitful light,
It was the rustling of the breeze.

Marina. (Enters.) Tsarevich!

Pretender.  ’Tis she.  Now all the blood in me stands still.

Marina.  Dimitry!  Is it thou?

Pretender.  Bewitching voice!

(Goes to her.)

Is it thou, at last?  Is it thou I see, alone
With me, beneath the roof of quiet night? 
How slowly passed the tedious day!  How slowly
The glow of evening died away!  How long
I have waited in the gloom of night!