A PLAIN NEAR NOVGOROD SEVERSK

(December 21st, 1604)

A BATTLE

Soldiers. (Run in disorder.) Woe, woe!  The Tsarevich! 
The Poles!  There they are!  There they are!

(Captains enter:  MARZHERET and Walther ROZEN.)

MARZHERET.  Whither, whither?  Allons!  Go back!

One of the fugitives.  You go back, if you like, cursed infidel.

MARZHERET.  Quoi, quoi?

Another.  Kva! kva!  You like, you frog from over the sea, to croak at the Russian tsarevich; but we—­we are orthodox.

MARZHERET.  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 fuir.

ROZEN.  Es ist Schande.

MARZHERET.  Ventre-saint gris!  Je ne bouge plus d’un pas; puisque le vin est tire, il faut le boire.  Qu’en dites-vous, mein Herr?

ROZEN.  Sie haben Recht.

MARZHERET.  Tudieu, il y fait chaud!  Ce diable de “Pretender,” comme ils l’appellent, est un bougre, qui a du poil au col?—­Qu’en pensez-vous, mein Herr?

ROZEN.  Ja.

MARZHERET.  He!  Voyez donc, voyez donc!  L’action s’engage sur les derrieres de l’ennemi.  Ce doit etre le brave Basmanov, qui aurait fait une sortie.

ROZEN.  Ich glaube das.

(Enter Germans.)

MARZHERET.  Ha, ha!  Voici nos allemands.  Messieurs!  Mein Herr, dites-leur donc de se raillier et, sacrebleu, chargeons!

ROZEN.  Sehr gut.  Halt! (The Germans halt.) Marsch!

The Germans. (They march.) Hilf Gott!

(Fight.  The Russians flee again.)

Poles.  Victory!  Victory!  Glory to the tsar Dimitry!

Dimitry. (On horseback.) Cease fighting.  We have conquered.  Enough!  Spare Russian blood.  Cease fighting.

OPEN SPACE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL IN MOSCOW

THE PEOPLE

One of the people.  Will the tsar soon come out of the Cathedral?

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

The first. What!  Have they already cursed him?

The second.  I stood in the porch and heard how the deacon cried out:—­Grishka Otrepiev is anathema!

The first. Let him curse to his heart’s content; the tsarevich has nothing to do with the Otrepiev.

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

The first. What?  A mass for the dead sung for a living Man?  They’ll suffer for it, the godless wretches!

A third.  Hist!  A sound.  Is it not the tsar?