Fence of the Monastery

by Alexsander Pushkin

　　[This scene was omitted by Pushkin from the publishedversion of the play.]GREGORY and a Wicked MonkGREGORY. O, what a weariness is our poor life,What misery! Day comes, day goes, and everIs seen, is heard one thing alone; one seesOnly black cassocks, only hears the bell.Yawning by day you wander, wander, nothingTo do; you doze; the whole night long till daylightThe poor monk lies awake; and when in sleepYou lose yourself, black dreams disturb the soul;Glad that they sound the bell, that with a crutchThey rouse you. No, I will not suffer it!I cannot! Through this fence I'll flee! The worldIs great; my path is on the highways neverThou'lt hear of me again.MONK. Truly your lifeIs but a sorry one, ye dissolute,Wicked young monks!GREGORY. Would that the Khan againWould come upon us, or Lithuania riseOnce more in insurrection. Good! I would thenCross swords with them! Or what if the tsarevichShould suddenly arise from out the grave,Should cry, "Where are ye, children, faithful servants?Help me against Boris, against my murderer!Seize my foe, lead him to me!"MONK. Enough, my friend,Of empty babble. We cannot raise the dead.No, clearly it was fated otherwiseFor the tsarevich—But hearken; if you wishTo do a thing, then do it.GREGORY. What to do?MONK. If I were young as thou, if these grey hairsHad not already streaked my beard—Dost take me?GREGORY. Not I.MONK. Hearken; our folk are dull of brain,Easy of faith, and glad to be amazedBy miracles and novelties. The boyarsRemember Godunov as erst he was,Peer to themselves; and even now the raceOf the old Varyags is loved by all. Thy yearsMatch those of the tsarevich. If thou hastCunning and hardihood—Dost take me now?GREGORY. I take thee.MONK. Well, what say'st thou?GREGORY. 'Tis resolved.I am Dimitry, I tsarevich!MONK. Give meThy hand, my bold young friend. Thou shalt be tsar!