Tsar.  The Lord of Sweden hath by envoys tendered
Alliance to me.  But we have no need
To lean on foreign aid; we have enough
Of our own warlike people to repel
Traitors and Poles.  I have refused.—­Shchelkalov! 
In every district to the governors
Send edicts, that they mount their steeds, and send
The people as of old on service; likewise
Ride to the monasteries, and there enlist
The servants of the churchmen.  In days of old,
When danger faced our country, hermits freely
Went into battle; it is not now our wish
To trouble them; no, let them pray for us;
Such is the tsar’s decree, such the resolve
Of his boyars.  And now a weighty question
We shall determine; ye know how everywhere
The insolent pretender hath spread abroad
His artful rumours; letters everywhere,
By him distributed, have sowed alarm
And doubt; 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.

Patriarch.  The Blessed One,
The All-Highest, hath instilled into thy soul,
Great lord, the spirit of kindness and meek patience;
Thou wishest not perdition for the sinner,
Thou wilt wait quietly, until delusion
Shall pass away; for pass away it will,
And truth’s eternal sun will dawn on all. 
Thy faithful bedesman, one in worldly matters
No prudent judge, ventures today to offer
His voice to thee.  This offspring of the devil,
This unfrocked monk, has known how to appear
Dimitry to the people.  Shamelessly
He clothed himself with the name of the tsarevich
As with a stolen vestment.  It only needs
To tear it off—­and he’ll be put to shame
By his own nakedness.  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;
In vain did I resort in adoration
To the great wonder-workers in the cloister;
Bathed my dark eyes in vain with healing water
From out the holy wells.  The Lord vouchsafed not
Healing to me.  Then lost I hope at last,
And grew accustomed to my darkness.  Even
Slumber showed not to me things visible,
Only of sounds I dreamed.  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?’