TSAR. Stay!--Is it not a fact that this report Is artfully concocted? Hast ever heard That dead men have arisen from their graves To question tsars, legitimate tsars, appointed, Chosen by the voice of all the people, crowned By the great Patriarch? Is't not laughable? Eh? What? Why laugh'st thou not thereat? SHUISKY. I, Sire? TSAR. Hark, Prince Vassily; when first I learned this child Had been--this child had somehow lost its life, 'Twas thou I sent to search the matter out. Now by the Cross and God I do adjure thee, Declare to me the truth upon thy conscience; Didst recognise the slaughtered boy; was't not A substitute? Reply. SHUISKY. I swear to thee-- TSAR. Nay, Shuisky, swear not, but reply; was it Indeed Dimitry? SHUISKY. He. TSAR. Consider, prince. I promise clemency; I will not punish With vain disgrace a lie that's past. But if Thou now beguile me, then by my son's head I swear--an evil fate shall overtake thee, Requital such that Tsar Ivan Vasilievich Shall shudder in his grave with horror of it. SHUISKY. In punishment no terror lies; the terror Doth lie in thy disfavour; in thy presence Dare I use cunning? Could I deceive myself So blindly as not recognise Dimitry? Three days in the cathedral did I visit His corpse, escorted thither by all Uglich. Around him thirteen bodies lay of those Slain by the people, and on them corruption Already had set in perceptibly. But lo! The childish face of the tsarevich Was bright and fresh and quiet as if asleep; The deep gash had congealed not, nor the lines Of his face even altered. No, my liege, There is no doubt; Dimitry sleeps in the grave. TSAR. Enough, withdraw. (Exit SHUISKY.) I choke!--let me get my breath! I felt it; all my blood surged to my face, And heavily fell back.--So that is why For thirteen years together I have dreamed Ever about the murdered child. Yes, yes-- 'Tis that!--now I perceive. But who is he, My terrible antagonist? Who is it Opposeth me? An empty name, a shadow. Can it be a shade shall tear from me the purple, A sound deprive my children of succession? Fool that I was! Of what was I afraid? Blow on this phantom--and it is no more. So, I am fast resolved; I'll show no sign Of fear, but nothing must be held in scorn. Ah! Heavy art thou, crown of Monomakh! CRACOW. HOUSE OF VISHNEVETSKY The PRETENDER and a CATHOLIC PRIEST PRETENDER. Nay, father, there will be no trouble. I know The spirit of my people; piety Does not run wild in them, their tsar's example To them is sacred. Furthermore, the people Are always tolerant. I warrant you, Before two years my people all, and all The Eastern Church, will recognise the power Of Peter's Vicar.