Original subtitles

BORIS GODUNOV

My dear, you're charming as always...

We're so happy you could come...

Count, I've told you 1000 times, I can't...

What's wrong with you?

Have you turned to stone?

Quickly, on your knees!

How can you forsake us,

our father?

Who will be there for us

if you abandon us?

You are our benefactor.

We beg and beseech you.

we implore you with our tears...

our burning tears.

Mercy! Mercy!

Father boyar!

Our father!

Our benefactor!

Have mercy on us, boyar.

What's wrong? Why have you fallen silent?

Are you sparing your throats? I'll show you.

Have you forgotten the feel of the whip on your backs?

On your knees and make it fast!

Don't be cross with us, dear Nikitich.

Once we catch our breath we'll start singing again.

He won't even let us pause for breath, the devil.

Come on! Don't spare your throats.

We won't.

Oh faithful Christians...

The boyar will not yield.

Despite all the anguished pleas

of the Boyars Council and the Patriarch,

still he will not accept the throne of the Tsars.

Russia is filled with sorrow.

Inconsolable sorrow.

Oh faithful Christians...

The country groans

under the yoke of injustice.

Kneel before the Almighty.

May He grant consolation

to our afflicted Russia.

And may He shed His heavenly light

upon Boris's weary spirit.

Glory to Thee, O heavenly Creator on earth!

Glory to your heavenly powers and all your Saints!

Hailed be Thy name in Russia!

Thus spoke the Angel of the Lord.

Gather, ye storm clouds.

Fly across the heavens

and darken the Russian lands

Crush the fearful serpent

the twelve-winged monster.

Crush the serpent

which sows lawlessness in Russia.

Announce glad tidings to the faithful.

May their salvation be at hand.

Did you hear what the holy pilgrims were saying?

I did.

Bring forth the icons of Our Lady of the Don and Vladimir...

Well?

Bring forth the icons of Our Lady...

- Go with them.. - To whom?

- Go with them... - Where?

Go with the holy icons of Our Lady...

You're hopeless.

Don ye all fair chasubles.

Bring forth the icons of Our Lady.

Approach in solemn fashion and acclaim your Tsar.

Our Tsar? What Tsar?

Hey, you!

What do you mean, what Tsar? Boris is the Tsar.

Hey, you! You flock of sheep! Have you gone deaf?

So that's it. They didn't call us for nothing.

It's all the same to us.

If we're told to howl...

we can howl just as well in the Kremlin.

We'll howl.

Why not, after all?

Let's go, lads.

Long live Tsar Boris Fyodorovich!

Long live the Tsar, our father!

Hail him!

Like the sun, supreme in the heavens,

Tsar Boris reigns in glory over all Russia.

All glory to him!

All glory to Tsar Boris!

Long live Tsar Boris Fyodorovich!

Tsar Boris reigns in glory over all Russia.

All glory to him!

Glory! Glory!

My soul despairs.

A secret terror haunts me.

and paralyses my heart

with ominous foreboding.

O Almighty,

righteous Father...

Behold from heaven

Thy faithful servants' tears

and give Thy holy blessing

to my reign.

Let me show Thy mercy and Thy righteousness

and in glory let me rule my people.

Let us now pay homage to Russia's departed rulers

and then summon the people to a feast.

Everyone, from a boyar down to a blind beggar...

All may enter freely.

All are my welcome guests.

Glory! Glory! Glory!

Long live the Tsar, our father!

Long live Tsar Boris!

Like the sun, supreme in the heavens,

All glory to Tsar Boris!

Tsar Boris reigns in glory over all Russia.

Glory! Glory!

Glory! Glory!

Just one last tale...

and my chronicle is finished.

Completed the task

assigned to me by God,

poor sinner that I am.

O Almighty, righteous Father...

Heed Thy servants

who offer Thee their prayers.

That dream again!

Three times now that same dream has returned

How it haunts me...

Accursed dream!

You have been writing. You haven't slept a wink.

But my repose was disturbed by hellish visions.

sent by the Evil One to muddle me.

I dreamed of a steep staircase which led me up to a tower.

From the top, I had a view of all Moscow below.

It was like an anthill.

The squares were swarming with people.

who were laughing and pointing at me.

This made me feel ashamed and frightnened.

Then suddenly I fell headlong...

and so awakened.

Here, in this very cell,

where once lived Kirill, who suffered greatly

and was a righteous man...

Here it was that I saw the Tsar.

Pensive and calm,

Ivan the Terrible sat before us.

Hushed words were flowing from his lips

and in his stern eyes

there trembled tears of repentance.

And he wept.

The Tsar's humility pleased God

and Russia under his rule lived contentedly,

in glorious serenity.

When his final hour came

an unprecedented miracle occurred.

His chambers were filled with a sweet fragrance.

His visage shone,

as radiant as the sun.

Never again shall we see such a Tsar.

We have angered God with our sins.

We have named a regicide to be our sovereign.

I have long been meaning to ask you, holy father,

about the death of Tsarevich Dimitri.

They say you were in Uglich at the time.

Yes, I remember.

It was God's will that I should see that evil deed...

that bloody sin.

I had been sent to Uglich to do penance.

I came at night.

The next morning...

at the hour of mass...

I suddenly heard the bells.

They were sounding the alarm.

Cries! Uproar! A rush towards the Tsarina's chambers!

I followed and saw...

the murdered Tsarevich, all steeped in blood.

The Tsarina, his mother,

was in a frenzy at his side.

His hapless wet-nurse was sobbing in despair.

Outside in the square, the crowd, mad with grief,

dragged out the maid, that godless traitor.

Howls! Moans!

Suddenly, in their midst,

fierce and pale with venom,

the Judas appeared...

Bityagovsky!

"There he is, the villain!" the people screamed as one.

The crowd gave chase to the fleeing murderers.

They were soon captured...

and brought before the still warm body of the slain child.

O miracle!

Suddenly, the corpse began to tremble.

"Confess your crime!" the people thundered.

And terrified, under the axe,

the villains confessed

and denounced Boris.

The bell...

We're called to matins.

Bestow Thy blessing, Lord,

upon Thy servants.

Give me my staff, Grigory.

Have mercy on us, Lord.

Have mercy on us,

Almighty God.

O Father, our blessed Saviour,

God of truth and justice,

have mercy on us.

Boris! Boris! All tremble in awe before you.

No one dares remind you of the hapless child's fate.

But meanwhile a hermit in a dark cell

has denounced you in his chronicle.

You will not escape the people's judgement

just as you will never escape the judgment of God.

You look preoccupied, my friend.

Here is the Lithuanian border

which you have been so anxious to reach.

I cannot rest until I am in Lithuania.

Why are you so keen on Lithuania?

Look at us... Father Misail and myself, a wretched sinner.

Since we escaped from the monastery

we haven't had a care in the world.

We couldn't care less if we were in Russia or Lithuania.

Anywhere is fine as long as there's wine.

And wine there is!

Here you are, Fathers, and may you enjoy it.

Thank you, good hostess! May God bless you.

Drink, but keep your head, Father Varlaam.

Keep my head?

What would I want to keep my head for?

He rides along.

Ever onwards.

He drives his horse onwards.

And his hat...

Tell me, good hostess...

Where does this road lead?

... his hat sticks out...

To Lithuania, kind sir.

Is Lithuania far from here?

No, my dear.

Not far at all.

You could easily get there before dark...

- ...but for the patrols. - What?

Patrols?

Somebody from Moscow is on the run.

They have orders to stop and check everyone.

Well! This is indeed a nasty surprise.

Take the left turn.

Then follow the path to the chapel by the stream.

Then to Khlopino, and from there to Zaitsevo.

From there, any lad can take you to Lithuania.

All these sentries ever do is harrass travelers

and fleece poor people like us.

His journey's done.

Loudly ... knock, knock!

He raps with all his might. Knock, knock, knock!

What's going on there?

Here they are, the devils, doing their rounds again.

He rides along.

Ever onwards.

He drives his horse...

Who are you then?

Humble monks, mendicant friars.

We wander the land, begging for alms.

And who are you?

He's with us.

We can't even take the shirt off his back.

Not much of a catch.

But as for the friars...

Why are you staring at me like that?

Here's why.

Alyosha! Have you got the order?

Give it to me.

Listen! A heretic, Grigory Otrepyev by name,

has fled from Moscow.

Have you heard about it?

In the monastery of Chudov

a wicked monk named Grigory of the Otrepyev family,

incited by the devil,

took it into his head to tempt the holy brethren

with devious blandishments and illicit actions.

The said Grigory has fled towards Lithuania.

The Tsar has decreed that he be caught...

and hanged.

It says nothing here about hanging.

Liar! It's there between the lines.

Read it again. "That he be caught and hanged."

And hanged.

The age of this... Grigory...

is about...

fifty.

He has a grey beard, a pot-belly and a red nose.

Seize him, lads!

Hold on!

Let me be, you wretches. What's got into you?

How can I be Grigory?

No, brother. You're too young to be playing jokes.

Though I can barely read

and I struggle to make out the meaning,

I'll work this one out.

I'll work it out

since it's a hanging matter

His age...

his age...

His age is about...

twenty.

Where does this say fifty?

You see?

He is of medium height

and his hair is...

red.

and on his nose...

and on his nose there is a wart

with another on his forehead.

And he has one arm...

shorter than the other.

Why, surely this is...

Seize him! Seize him!

Seize him! Seize him!

Here's a little tale about a hen who hatched an ox

and a piglet who laid an egg.

My tale has rules, but not for fools.

Cock-a-doodle, little rooster. How far did you fly?

Far away across the sea, to the city of Kiev.

There stands a speading oak

with an owl who wisely spoke.

The owl blinked and sang a song.

Ding-ding, dilly-dong...

Topsy-turvy all day long.

Stepping, pacing, all day racing.

A priest's wife bore a sparrow -

a real sparrow, a young sparrow.

The sparrow was quick and sharp-beaked,

it took off to see the owl and began whispering in the owl's ear

A deacon's lads were threshing,

broke the flails and threw them in a barn,

The barn burst into flames, and the deacon saw it,

he was scared out of his wits

he crawled under the bench, and got his ear pinched.

A scribe almost twisted his neck when he saw

the deacon's wife baking pies,

guards rushed in and ate them all.

The deacon Luka himself ate a cow and an ox,

seven hundred piglets, only the feet got left.

Oh, my!

Come now.

Did the wild beast frighten the broody hen?

Mighty Tsar, forgive me.

With the passing years I am more easily scared.

And you, my son, what are you busy with?

What is this?

A map of the Muscovite lands.

Our whole realm, from end to end.

Here you see...

Here is Moscow.

Here is Novgorod, and here is Kazan.

Here is Astrakhan, and here is the sea...

the Caspian Sea.

Here are the thick forests around Perm.

And here is Siberia.

Well done, my son.

As if from a cloud,

one can survey our whole realm at a single glance...

its borders, rivers and towns.

Study well, Fyodor.

The day will come, and it may be soon

when you will inherit this entire realm.

Study, my child.

I stand supreme in my power.

For six years now my reign has been untroubled.

Yet my tormented soul can find no peace.

In vain do the soothsayers predict long years of power,

free from turmoil.

Neither life, nor power, nor the lure of glory,

nor praise from the crowd

can bring cheer to my heart.

Heavy is the hand which metes our justice.

How dreadful the sentence which awaits the guilty soul.

Impenetrable gloom and darkness surround me.

If I could but glimpse a single ray of hope!

My heart is full of sorrow, my weary spirit falters.

I'm seized by trepidation... vague apprehension...

By fervent prayer to all God's saints

I sought in vain to drown my soul's anguish.

In the majesty and glory of my boundless power,

I, Russia's sovereign, begged for tears of consolation.

Instead, denunciations, sedition among the boyars,

conspiracy in Lithuania, subversive plottings,

famine, pestilence, villainy and destitution.

Beset by plague, my people roam like wild animals.

Starved and impoverished,

Russia groans...

And in their immense woe,

sent down by God

as the punishment for my sin

the people see me as the root of these evils

and in every square they curse the name of Boris.

Even sleep eludes me, and in the dark of night

a blood-spattered child rises up.

Eyes ablaze, hands clasped, he begs for mercy.

But there was no mercy.

His terrible wound gapes open and his dying shriek rings out.

O Lord, my God...

What is it?

Shoo, shoo!

Find out what's happened.

Shoo, shoo!

How they wail!

Devil!

What are you doing here?

Why are you silent?

Well?

Great Tsar...

Prince Shuysky humbly requests an audience.

Shuysky?

Show him in. Tell him we are glad to see him

and wait to converse with him.

Last night one of Pushkin's serfs

came to denounce Shuysky and other boyars,

including his own master.

They had been meeting secretly at night.

A messenger came from Cracow and brought them...

Arrest the messenger!

Aha, Prince Shuysky!

I humbly greet you, great Tsar.

Ah, the glorious orator!

You, worthy leader of the witless rabble.

You, criminal head of the seditious boyars.

You, adversary of the royal throne.

You, brazen liar, triple perjurer.

You, cunning hypocrite, wily flatterer.

You, rogue disguised as boyar.

Liar! Cheat!

Under Tsar Ivan,

may God rest his soul,

the Shuysky princes were accorded due esteem.

What?

Tsar Ivan the Terrible...

would have gladly roasted you over the coals.

He would have stretched his royal hand

and turned you himself with his staff of iron

while singing a holy psalm.

But we are not so proud.

We have the grace to pardon our arrogant serf.

Tsar!

What have you got to say, Prince Shuysky?

Tsar...

I bring tidings...

of great importance, concerning your throne.

Tidings secretly conveyed to Pushkin by yourself

from your accomplices, the disgraced boyars?

Yes, Sire.

A pretender has appeared in Lithuania.

The king, nobles and the Pope all support his claim.

Under what name does he dare take up arms against me?

Whose name is it that the villain has usurped?

Whose name?

Your power, mighty Tsar, is very great, of course.

Your grace, solicitude and generosity

have secured the filial love of your serfs

whose hearts and souls are devoted to your throne.

But you know yourself, great Tsar,

how easy is to mislead the foolish mob.

Though it pains me to say it, great Tsar,

though my heart bleeds to have to tell you this,

I dare not withhold from you the fact

that if this brash and impertinent vagabond

were to cross our border from Lithuania

the mob may well rally to him,

drawn by the resurrected name of Dimitri.

Dimitri?

Leave us, Tsarevich.

O Sire, let me stay with you.

You must not, my child.

If danger threatens...

Tsarevich, obey!

Take steps at once to seal our border with Lithuania.

Make sure not a single soul crosses the border.

Now go!

No...

Stay...stay, Shuysky.

Have you ever heard

of dead children rising from their graves

to interrogate tsars, legitimate tsars...

chosen by the people, crowned by the Patriarch!

What?

Isn't that funny? Why aren't you laughing then?

Have mercy, great Tsar.

Listen, Prince.

When that horrendous act of villainy occurred,

when that little child met his untimely death...

and his bloodstained body lay in the square,

striking grief into the hearts of the people of Uglich

and arousing in them a thirst for vengeance..

Was the child... the murdered one...

Was he...

Dimitri?

Yes!

Vasily Ivanovich!

I beseech you, in the name of the Lord.

Be frank with me. Tell me the whole truth.

You know I'm merciful.

I will not punish you for your past lies.

But if you try to deceive me,

I swear to you...

I shall devise for you a death so cruel

that Tsar Ivan will shudder with horror in his grave.

Now answer me!

You don't believe me?

How can you doubt your devoted serf

and threaten him with a cruel death?

It is not death I fear

but only your displeasure.

In the cathedral of Uglich,

before the people,

for five days and more

I watched over the child's body.

By his side

there were thirteen other corpses,

terribly disfigured,

their tattered clothing soaked with blood,

and already, their flesh...

showed traces of decay.

But the visage of Dimitri

was radiant, pure and serene.

Deep and terrible...

his wound gaped open.

But on his innocent lips

a gentle smile played.

He seemed to be sleeping peacefully in his cradle.

His arms were folded

and in his right hand he clutched a child's toy...

Enough!

I cannot bear it!

Let me catch my breath.

I could feel the blood rushing to my face,

then slowly receding.

O guilty conscience!

How savagely you punish!

If you have a blemish...

a single blemish...

even if it be acquired by chance...

your soul will burn

and your heart will fill with poison

and grow heavy within you.

Like hammerstrokes,

reproaches and curses pound in your ears.

Something is choking you.

Choking...

Your head is spinning!

And then you see the bloody, murdered child.

What's that over there?

What's that there... in the corner?

It's swaying, growing bigger...

It's approaching, quaking and moaning.

Begone!

It wasn't I who did you wrong.

Begone, child!

It was the people... not I.

The people's will... Begone, child!

O Lord...

You can't desire a sinner's death.

Have mercy on the soul...

of the criminal tsar...

Boris.

Marina is bored.

Oh, so bored.

How drearily and sluggishly the endless days drag by.

So empty, so dull... so futile.

A host of princes, counts and noblemen

can't dispel Marina's deadly boredom.

And yet, on the horizon, there's a glimmer of dawn.

A rascal from Moscow has caught Lady Marina's fancy.

My Dimitri, fearless and merciless,

God's chosen instrument of retribution,

will avenge the child Tsarevich, victim of insatiable power,

victim of the greed and malice of the villanious Tsar Godunov.

I shall rouse the drowsy magnates.

I shall lure the Polish nobles with the glitter of gold.

And for you, my pretender, my languid lover,

I shall give you a potion of tears and burning passion.

I shall stifle you in my arms and smother you with kisses.

My Tsarevich, my Dimitri, my darling betrothed...

I shall charm you with sweet words of love.

Lady Mniszek is bored with passionate effusions,

with pleas from ardent youths and platitutes from magnates.

Lady Mniszek longs for glory, Lady Mniszek thirsts for power.

I shall be Tsarina on Moscow's royal throne.

In robes of golden brocade, I shall shine like the sun.

My sublime beauty will dazzle the dull-witted Muscovites

and the haughty boyars will kneel to me in homage.

And the stupid Muscovites will glorify me

in tales and fables.

I have no faith in your ardor, gentlemen.

Your vows and assurances are all in vain.

And you can't, kind sirs...

We shall soon overthrow Moscow's empire

and bring home many captives, my lady.

We shall rout the armies of Boris.

There is no point in lingering, dear sirs.

March on Moscow and take Boris prisoner.

For Poland's sake, we must destroy the Muscovites' lair.

Marina will not succeed.

She's lovely but cold, arrogant and wicked.

Some wine, gentlemen!

Long live Marina!

A toast to the House of Mniszek!

Let's drink to the lovely Marina!

To the glory of Marina's royal crown!

Vivat!

I can't wait to don my armour,

to take up my sword of Damascus steel.

Then to the horses!

Forward!

Fierce battle awaits!

I shall gallop at the head of my valiant army

and meet the foe face to face.

Covered in glory, I shall reclaim my ancestors' throne.

Dimitri! Tsarevich!

Dimitri!

O Tsarevich!

I implore you...

Do not berate me for my wicked words.

They are meant neither as reproach or mockery

but are inspired by my love for you.

and my desire that you win glory and power.

Only thus do my words sound in the night.

O my beloved!

My sweetheart...

Your Marina will never betray you.

But forget her now. Forget your love.

Hasten to conquer your royal throne.

Marina, do not aggravate the torments of my soul

with your false love.

I love you. my beloved,

my sovereign.

Say those words again, Marina.

Don't let the ecstasy of this moment slip away.

Fill my soul with rapture,

my enchantress, my life!

My Tsar!

Rise and embrace me, my beloved Tsarina.

You have stirred my heart to new life,

my sovereign.

O my little turtle-doves! You are so sweet and innocent.

May the moment of bliss be swift in coming.

May the moment of happiness soon draw near...

Well, has the mass finished?

Yes, and once again a curse was called down upon him.

But who is he?

It's that Grigory... Grigory Otrepyev.

Fancy that.

They say he's not far off now.

His regiments are marching on Moscow

and routing Boris's armies on every front.

His victorious path leads him to his forefathers' throne,

the throne of the righteous tsars.

He comes to save us

and to bring death to Boris and his brood.

What are you saying? Quiet, you devils.

Have you forgotten the rack and the dungeons?

Trrr, trrr! Iron hat!

Iron hat!

The moon glides by.

A kitten mewls.

Get up, holy fool

and pray to God.

Let's worship Christ.

Christ is our God.

There will be a pail...

and the moon.

There will be a pail...

and the moon...

Greetings, Ivan, you holy fool.

Stand up and do us honour. Bow down to the ground.

Take off your little cap. What a heavy little cap.

Ting-ting-ting... Hear it ring!

I have got a kopeck.

It's a joke. You can't fool us.

See?

Ah! They've done a mischief to the holy fool.

Ah! They've taken his kopeck.

O Father and benefactor, alms, for the love of Christ.

O Father and sovereign, for the love of Christ.

O Tsar, give us alms, for the love of Christ.

Our benefactor, our father...

Give us alms, for the love of Christ.

O Father, for the love of Christ.

Bread! Bread!

We are starving!

Bread! Bread!

For the love of Christ...

Boris! Hey, Boris!

Ah! They've done a mischief to the holy fool.

What is he wailing about?

The lads took my kopeck.

You should have them slaughtered...

just as you had the little Tsarevich slaughtered.

Shut up, you fool! Take him away.

No, don't touch him. Leave him alone.

Let him be.

Pray for me, holy fool.

No, Boris.

No, I can't, Boris.

One can't pray...

for King Herod.

Our Blessed Lady doesn't permit it.

Honourable boyars...

His Majesty Tsar Boris Fyodorovich,

with the blessing of our Holy Father

the Patriarch of all Russia,

wishes you to know the following...

A robber, thief and nameless vagabond,

a villain and a rebel

who has raised in mutiny a mob of needy hirelings,

has presumed to take the title of Tsarevich

and has styled himself the rightful Tsar.

Abetted by the boyars now in banishment

and all sorts of Lithuanian rabble...

he plots to remove Boris from his throne.

In his arrogance, he asks you, boyars, to join with him.

To this effect, he issues his villainous decrees.

For this reason,

and with God's blessing,

you are summoned to sit in truthful judgment on him.

Well, let's cast our votes, boyars.

You lead the way, boyars.

Our opinion has long been settled.

Write this down, Andrei Mikhailovich.

"The villain, whoever he is, must be executed."

One moment, boyars...

See that he's caught first, then executed, if you will.

Very well.

It's not all very well.

Come on, boyars, don't confuse us.

Let's pray to the Lord on bended knee

that He may take pity on Russia...

in her affliction.

It's a pity Prince Shuysky isn't here.

A schemer he may be

but it seems we can reach no decision without him.

Forgive me, boyars.

Speak of the devil...

I am a little late.

I'm afraid I've been somewhat delayed.

What can one do?

Weighty cares and concerns...

It isn't easy, is it?

You should be ashamed, Vasily Ivanovich,

dealing in treacherous intrigue at your age.

You've stirred up the people in the streets

by claiming Dimitri is alive.

Oh! How can you say this, boyars?

Have you no fear of God?

Once again, boyars, loving you as I do,

I ask you to heed this warning.

The other day, as I was leaving the Tsar,

grieving in my heart and concerned for his soul,

by chance I happened to peep...

through a chink.

I peeped and...

Oh, boyars, what a sight it was!

Deathly pale, bathed in cold sweat,

his whole body trembling,

he muttered strange, incoherent words.

Glaring about him in wild frenzy,

racked by some secret torment,

our afflicted sovereign languished.

Suddenly, blue in the face, he stared into a corner

and groaning most awfully, he recoiled...

Lies!

...addressing the dead Tsarevich.

In vain did he try to drive the ghost away.

"Begone!" he whispered.

Begone, child!

The Tsar! The Tsar!

Begone, child!

O Lord!

Be merciful and protect us.

Begone!

Who speaks of murder?

There was no murder.

The little one is alive.

Let Shuysky, who has perjured himself,

be drawn and quartered!

May God have mercy on you.

I summoned you, boyars...

relying on your wisdom.

In times of trouble and bitter ordeals,

I turn to you, boyars, for support.

A humble monk,

no judge of worldly ways,

is bold enough to speak up here.

Tell us, old man, everything you know.

Conceal nothing.

I had grown so used to the enfolding darkness

that even my dreams

no longer offered the sight of things I once had seen.

I dreamed of sounds alone.

Once as I lay fast asleep,

I suddenly heard...

a child's voice.

It was calling me, calling me so clearly.

"Get up, Grandfather.

"Go to the town of Uglich.

"Enter the Cathedral of the Transfiguration

"and pray there over my little tomb.

"For you should know, Grandfather,

"that I'm Tsarevich Dimitri.

"The Lord has chosen me to dwell among His angels

"and I have become, for Russia,

"a great worker of miracles."

I then awoke...

deep in thought.

I took my grandson

and set forth on the long journey.

Scarcely had I knelt beside the little tomb

when I felt such peace, and my tears flowed freely...

abundant, quiet tears...

and I saw...

the light of God,

my grandson...

and the tomb.

I'm suffocating! Bring light!

Quickly, bring my son.

Such agony... A monk's habit!

Now leave us. Leave us, all of you.

Farewell, my son.

I'm dying.

You will succeed now to the throne.

Don't ask by what path I gained my kingdom.

You don't need to know.

You will reign as Russia's rightful ruler,

as my heir, my firstborn son.

Listen, Fyodor.

Beware the calumnies of the treacherous boyars.

Keep a vigilant eye on their secret dealings with Lithuania.

Punish treason without mercy, without pity.

Give careful consideration to the judgment of the people.

It's judgment without guile.

Guard and defend the holy faith.

Hold in deepest reverence God's blessed saints.

O Lord...

Lord...

Behold, I beg Thee, a sinful father's tears.

I don't pray selfishly.

Not for myself, my Lord.

From the unapproachable heights of heaven,

shed Thy blessed light

upon my innocent children,

so pure and gentle...

Heavenly powers...

You who guard the eternal throne of God...

Spread your fair wings

and shield this child of mine

from harm and evil

and from temptation.

The bells!

They sound the death knell.

Weep ye, good people,

for his course is run...

The funeral dirge!

A habit! A monk's habit!

And he will not answer...

The Tsar will take his holy vows.

Weep ye. Halleluja.

Sire! Take comfort.

God will help us.

No, my son. My hour has struck.

I see a dying child...

O Lord!

And I'm crying...

O Lord! What agony!

Will I never expiate my sin?

O cruel death!

How savagely you torment me!

But he will find no salvation.

No, wait!

I'm still your Tsar.

I'm still your Tsar.

My God! Death, forgive me.

Here... here is your Tsar.

Tsar...

Forgive me.

Forgive...

Forgive...

Over here! Sit him on this stump, lads... like this.

And to keep him from wailing and ruining his noble throat,

caulk him up... tightly!

Wait, fellows! Can we deny the boyar due honour?

Deny him due honour?

That wouldn't do. He was one of Boris's generals.

Boris was a thief who stole the throne

but this one stole from the thief.

So let's honour him as the fine thief he is.

Hey! Guards!

Fomka! Yepifan!

Seize the boyar. That's right.

This is no falcon soaring in the sky.

This is no swift stallion galloping over the fields.

This is our dear boyar, sitting there quietly,

lost in deepest thought.

Glory to the boyar! Glory to Boris's man!

Glory to the boyar! Glory to Boris's man!

Glory!

The sun and the moon have grown dim.

The stars have fallen from the sky.

The universe has shuddered

because of Boris's mortal sin.

Beasts never seen before roam the land,

beasts never heard of until now.

They greedily devour human flesh

and thus render glory to Boris's sin.

They torture and torment God's people,

these lackeys of our wicked Tsar,

incited by the powers of hell

and thus they render glory to Satan's throne.

Holy Russia languishes and groans.

She groans under the hand of the apostate,

under the accursed hand of the regicide

who glorifies in his inexpiable sin.

Hurrah!

Bold and fervent, our spirit wells up within us.

Strong and forceful, our spirit is running wild.

Our fiery blood is stirred and boils in our veins.

Its ardent flame will not be quenched.

From the depths, our dormant strength is rising.

Welling up, it bursts forth and will not be staunched.

Come now, good people. Hail your rightful Tsar.

Hail your Tsar who was saved by God.

Hail him whom God shielded from the murderer.

Hail your Tsar who was saved by God.

Come now, good people.

Hail Tsar Dimitri, son of Ivan.

We, Dimitri, son of Ivan,

by God's will Tsarevich of all Russia,

who have inherited this title by right of birth,

summon here all those persecuted by Godunov

summon them all and promise them

our favour and protection.

Son of Ivan! All glory to you.

Rise, boyar!

Forward now to glorious battle!

Forward now to our holy Motherland!

To Moscow, to the gold-domed Kremlin!

All glory to you!

Our Tsar, our Father!

Deo gloria!

Flow, flow...

bitter tears.

Weep, weep...

Christian soul.

Soon the enemy will come

and darkness will fall.

Deep darkness.

Impenetrable darkness.

Woe, woe to Russia.

Weep, weep, Russian people,

starving people...

The false Dimitri took Moscow and ruled for 11 months.

He was assassinated on May 27, 1606.

Marina married the next two false Dimitris. She and her child

were drowned under the ice of a frozen river.

Shuysky was crowned and ruled for 4 years

before he in turn was thrown into prison.

This film was made in 1989.