No More Learning

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?
'
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, glowing with zealous soul, I weep
Sweetly, as if the blindness from mine eyes
Were flowing out in tears. 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.

(General agitation. In the course of this speech Boris
several times wipes his face with his handkerchief. )

To Uglich then I sent, where it was learned
That many sufferers had found likewise
Deliverance at the grave of the tsarevich.
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.