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ILYAOF 
 MUROM 
 
 THE EIGHTEENTH GROVE PLAY 
 OF THE BOHEMIAN CLUB 
 
 1920 
 
ILYA OF MUROM 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES CALDWELL DOBIE 
 
 MUSIC BY 
 
 ULDERICO MARCELLI 
 
 THE EIGHTEENTH GROVE PLAY OF THE 
 BOHEMIAN CLUB OF SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 AS PERFORMED BY ITS MEMBERS IN THE BOHEMIAN GROVE 
 SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, ON THE TWENTY- 
 FOURTH NIGHT OF JULY, NINETEEN 
 HUNDRED AND TWENTY 
 
 I 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 BOHEMIAN CLUB 
 
 1920 
 
COPYRIGHT 1920 
 
 BY BOHEMIAN CLUB 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 PRINTED BY BRUCE BROUGH 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 
 
 AL'G -2 1920 
 ©CI,A570918 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The material for the following Grove Play was gleaned 
 from the legends of Little Russia^ known as the Kiev cycle. 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to state that many liberties have 
 been taken with the original tales in order to weld them into 
 a dramatic whole. 
 
 Many of the lyrics have followed in form and spirit^ as 
 nearly as possible^ old Russian folk songs and dances^ while 
 others^ obviously^ are modeled along more conventional lines. 
 
 The author craves the indulgence of all who have the good 
 fortune to have the technique of poetry at their command. 
 Failing such knowledge^ and fearing the heaviness of pages 
 of florid prose J he has availed himself of the new poetic 
 license and broken up the dialogue into very free verse. 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 ILYA 
 
 IVAN, Father of Ilya 
 MARYA, Mother of Ilya 
 NIGHTINGALE THE ROBBER 
 
 (A Bird-Demon) 
 
 ZLATIGORKA 
 
 (A Warrior-Enchantress) 
 
 PRINCE VLADIMIR 
 FALCON THE HUNTER 
 
 (A Demi-God) 
 FIRST PEASANT 
 SECOND PEASANT 
 FIRST WAYFARER 
 SECOND WAYFARER 
 THIRD WAYFARER 
 METROPOLITAN 
 
 THE VOICE OF ILYA 
 
 (Before the curtain rises) 
 
 Dion Holm 
 Frank P. Deering 
 Harold K. Baxter 
 William S. Rainey 
 
 William B. Hanley 
 
 Benjamin Purrington 
 E. Malcolm Cameron 
 
 David Eisenbach 
 Ernest H. Denicke 
 Ralph H. Lachmund 
 Easton Kent 
 Frank E. Rodolph 
 Charles H. Kendrick 
 Charles Bulotti 
 
 Chorus of Peasants J Peasant Dancers^ Bird-Demons ^ NobleSy 
 Soldiers, Fruit Bearers 
 
CHORUS OF PEASANTS 
 
 F. N. Anderson 
 A. A. Arbogast 
 L. Barnes 
 H. K. Baxter 
 E. Blanchard 
 
 R. O. BOKEE 
 
 R. A. Brown 
 
 C. F. BULOTTI 
 
 E. Cardinal 
 P. S. Carlton 
 Harrison Coles 
 E. D. Crandall 
 C. C. Crane 
 M. Creswell 
 W. W. Davis 
 T. G. Elliott 
 David Eisenbach 
 C. E. Engvick 
 C. J. Evans 
 R. E. Fisher 
 E. Gerson 
 
 R. A. Glenn 
 
 E. Hause 
 R. B. Heath 
 Chester Herold 
 W. F. Hooke 
 
 W. H. Hopkinson 
 r. m. hotaling 
 Otis Johnson 
 A. G. Kellogg 
 Easton Kent 
 Walter Kneiss 
 R. H. Lachmund 
 A. F. Lawton 
 Richard Lundgren 
 R. I. Lynas 
 
 F. A. Mack 
 
 E. H. McCandlish 
 Mathew McCurrie 
 John McEwing 
 Nelson McGee 
 W. A. Mitchell 
 
 P. J. MOHR 
 
 R. M. Neily 
 W. L. Newmeyer 
 
 W. P. NiELSON 
 
 Wm. Olney 
 H. W. Orr 
 R. Probasco 
 
 G. PURLENKY 
 C. A. RiESER 
 
 Frank E. Rodolph 
 E. W. Roland 
 Benjamin Romaine 
 
 A. W. Sperry 
 
 B. M. Stich 
 A. H. Still 
 E. L. Taylor 
 
 C. F. VOLKER 
 
 T. G. Whitaker 
 Mark White 
 G. R. Williams 
 H. S. Wilson 
 A. Y. Wood 
 
 GROUPS 
 
 PEASANT DANCERS 
 
 Fred H. Attinger Chester Deschant Fred Kappleman 
 Charles Deschant G. Hammersmith H. J. Levey 
 
 J. C. Messerschmidt August Trost 
 
 Leslie Cupples 
 
 J. R. GWYNN 
 
 R. Leonard 
 
 BIRD-DEMONS 
 
 Ira S. Lillick 
 R. W. Maples 
 R. L. McWilliams 
 E. Trabucco 
 
 F. C. Shaughnessy 
 Ted Shawn 
 George E. Sykes 
 
NOBLES 
 
 C. C. Broadwater 
 W. C. Hays 
 
 W. F. Leib 
 L. W. Mace 
 
 G. Hammersmith 
 John R. Selby 
 
 W. H. French 
 Andrew F. Mahony 
 
 SOLDIERS 
 
 Preston McKinney 
 R. D. Merrill 
 
 R. L. Shurtleff 
 George B. Stacy 
 
 Charles K. Field 
 
 FRUIT BEARERS 
 
 Russell B. Field 
 Burt F. Lum 
 
 George C. Leib 
 
 STAGE DIRECTOR 
 LIGHTING 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 DIRECTORS OF DANCE 
 
 PROPERTIES 
 
 CHORUS MASTER 
 CONDUCTOR 
 CONCERT MASTER 
 ORCHESTRA MANAGER 
 
 Reginald Travers 
 
 Edward J. Duffey assisted 
 by Vincent Duffey 
 
 Wm. H. Smith 
 
 Ted Shawn assisted by 
 
 George Hammersmith 
 
 Harry P. Carlton and 
 
 Harry S. Fonda 
 Eugene Blanchard 
 Ulderico Marcelli 
 T. H. Jensen 
 Walter Oesterricher 
 
 Place : Forest Glades near Kiev 
 Time : The Middle Ages 
 
PLAN OF MUSIC 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Prelude 
 
 Lament of Ilya 
 
 Hymn of Peasants 
 
 Dance and Song of Peasants 
 
 Wayfarers' Chorus 
 
 Miracle Music 
 
 Finale 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Interlude 
 
 Entrance of Nightingale 
 
 Theme of Ilya 
 
 Theme of Zlatigorka 
 
 Dance of the Bird-Demons 
 
 Wayfarers* Chorus 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Opening Chorus of Peasants 
 
 March of the Nobles 
 
 Entrance of Falcon 
 
 Fight between Ilya and Falcon 
 
 Funeral March 
 
 Hymn of Peasants 
 
 Wayfarers' Chorus 
 
 Finale 
 
Nightingale, the Robber 
 
ILYA OF MUROM 
 
 A FOLK-TALE DRAMA 
 
 ACT I 
 A FOREST GLADE IN HOLY RUSSIA 
 
 Before the curtain is raised the lament of Ilya is heard. 
 
 Ilya (singing) 
 
 'Tis not the breeze sighing so long and vainly, 
 Nor yet the sky drenching thy hair with dew; 
 No, 'tis thy poor Ilya, seeking God's blessing. 
 Plead for me, little mother, plead for thy helpless son! 
 
 'Tis not the fluttering of a wounded nestling. 
 
 Nor yet the twig snapping before the axe; 
 
 Nay, 'tis my poor heart breaking in twain. 
 
 Plead for me, little mother, plead for thy helpless son! 
 
 \At the conclusion of the lament^ the curtain rises. 
 Ilya is discovered upon a rude couch of straw 
 and boughs. A rustic table is at his side with a 
 jug of water and a few homely household utensils 
 upon it. Off stage comes the sound of song and 
 snatches of laughter and the ringing note of axes. 
 Ilya raises himself upon his elbow and listens^ 
 struggles as if to rise, and, lifting his hands 
 toward Heaven in supplication, falls back sob- 
 bing. Marya enters. She catches the sound of 
 Ilya's grief and rushes toward him, dropping 
 to her knees and lifting him up. 
 
 [9] 
 
Ilya 
 
 Good mother, let me but dry these bitter tears 
 
 Upon the soft patience of thy smile 
 
 And I shall be as blue-skyed as a noon-day hour 
 
 After the dripping anger of April has spent itself. 
 
 ForthoUjof all my kin, know best the burden of my grieving, 
 
 Thou who hast borne me to this sad life of dreadful ease, 
 
 Condemned to eat my bread in idleness. 
 
 Here must I lie, forever gazing at the dancing tree-tops 
 
 Which alone my fancy scales. 
 
 Here must I lie, forever listening to the woodman's greedy 
 
 axe 
 Ravishing the fair, green bodies of the forest. 
 Here must I lie, chained like yon silvering brook 
 When the white curse of north winds is upon it. 
 But see thee now, the Spring has long since 
 Melted flint-hearted Winter to garrulous pity; 
 And, in a summer truce, the impotent stream of bleak 
 
 December 
 Laughs on its rippling way, like pigeons to their homing. 
 Tell me, kind mother, canst thou not give me words 
 So fiery and burning that I may pour them out in hot 
 
 entreaty 
 Upon the heart of God until His anger soften? 
 Or shall I woo the gentle Christ with sweeter supplications ? 
 Surely, He who released the brook from ice-bound servitude 
 Can set the warm blood tingling in these limbs of mine 
 Withered in an untimely womb. 
 Come gentle soul, let us together plead. 
 Perhaps our stream of mingled prayers may overflood the 
 
 wall 
 Reared by the sins of an unworthy generation 
 That, long agone, hath spawned 
 Both us and God's displeasure! 
 
 [10] 
 
[Ilya lifts his hands palm-upward toward heaven^ 
 his mother kneels before him with fingers clasped 
 in prayer, 'The peasants enter in boisterous 
 groups. Some carry axes, some wooden rakes, 
 some sickles, and other evidences of harvest-time. 
 As each group draws near Ilya and his mother 
 they discover the prayerful attitude of the two 
 and instinctively drop to their knees. As the last 
 peasant assumes this attitude of reverence, cer- 
 tain of the company break into song. 
 
 Song of the Peasants 
 
 Here in the golden hush of noon, 
 Straight falls the ever-speeding sun; 
 
 Thus, Lord, let down Thy gracious boon. 
 On each and every sinful one. 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread. 
 And bless the fruitage of the field; 
 
 Extend the forest's leafy spread. 
 
 Increase the stream-side's leaping yield. 
 
 Clothe us in faith as sweetly green. 
 
 As thou hast clothed these fragrant trees; 
 
 Lead now our steps in paths serene. 
 And grant all sorrow quick surcease. 
 
 Revive our hopes, destroy our fears. 
 Bind up the crimson wounds of sin; 
 
 Soften our pride with chastening tears. 
 That thy fair peace may enter in. 
 
 [II] 
 
Make whole the sick, restore the bHnd, 
 Turn not from this thy servant*s cry; 
 
 Sweet Christ, whose heart is ever kind. 
 Pass not the humblest of us by. 
 
 Ilya {extending his arms toward the peas- 
 ants in thankful benediction) 
 
 Sweet friends, how can I find fair words 
 
 To thank you for your supplications ? 
 
 Surely, if what they say is true. 
 
 This day the throne of Heaven, wearied by our petitions, 
 
 Will, even as the unjust judge, grant us our prayers. 
 
 And make us whole again in body and in spirit. 
 
 [The company rise slowly and begin to spread a 
 rude feast upon the grass. 
 
 Ivan {advancing toward Ilya) 
 
 My son, see what today came to my hand 
 
 As merrily I wrought my reaping: 
 
 A lark's nest in the grassy thicket 
 
 Filled to the brim with wide-mouthed life! 
 
 Straightway I thought of thee. 
 
 And carried it thus tenderly in my bosom 
 
 For thy delight. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Ah, 'tis a goodly omen! 
 
 Let me but hold it here close to this coverlet, 
 
 So to keep warm its precious burden. 
 
 And, when thou goest again to thy gay reaping. 
 
 Take it and lay it gently where the sorrowing mother 
 
 Broods songless at her loss. 
 
 For I, least of all men, can spare the care- free carolings 
 
 Of these, our feathered friends. 
 
 [12] 
 
First Peasant - 
 
 And I, this woodland flower of wondrous blue, did pluck, 
 Take it and wear it next thy heart! 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Not so! My heart is sinful, and hot with a revolt 
 That, in a twinkling, would sear so frail a bloom. 
 Rather let it be sprinkled with reviving dew 
 And kept beneath my gaze. 
 Flowers were sent us for our cherishing. 
 [He hands the flower to Marya. 
 
 Second Peasant 
 
 I set a snare among the thorny bushes of the hills 
 For swift-winged doves. But, in their place this morn. 
 Found I this timorous mouse strayed from low-lying plains. 
 Perhaps its nimble presence will help more speedily 
 To pass the sullen hours. 
 
 Ilya 
 Give it here! 
 
 Poor little frightened thing, think you that couch-tied Ilya 
 Will find his pleasure in a sorely-caged companion? 
 Nay, trembling creature of the fields, take freedom 
 From my hand and go in peace! 
 
 [He frees the mouse. 'The peasants look downcast. 
 
 First Peasant 
 
 How! have our gifts so little pleased you.^* 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Freely made gifts must be as freely spent 
 
 If we would find them sweet. 
 
 Look not so sad because my fancy plays the spendthrift. 
 
 Give us a tune, good comrades, and let your dancing feet 
 
 Tell me that I am rich in your forgiveness ! 
 
 [131 
 
Ivan 
 
 The lad says truly. 
 
 First Peasant 
 
 Come, some music! We who have feet for dancing 
 Can scarce deny the gentle favor asked by Ilya 
 Our heaven-cursed companion! 
 
 [yf lively bustle ensues. Some throw themselves upon 
 the grass and eat^ others lift drinking jugs to 
 their lips. Music is played. A group of peasants 
 dance furiously^ after the manner of Little Rus- 
 sia^ with brave shouts and laughter. 
 
 Peasants {singing) 
 
 When the axe is full of flashing laughter, 
 Then the woodland trembles at its mirth; 
 
 When the axe is full of flashing laughter, 
 Quickly fall the sobbing trees to earth. 
 
 Watch the sickle hke a moon of silver. 
 Moving in the truant sunlight's glow; 
 
 Watch the sickle like a moon of silver, 
 Swiftly lay the trembling grasses low. 
 
 See the little sun-burnt leaflets whirling, 
 Bitter is the wind and dark their flight; 
 
 See the little sun-burnt leaflets whirling. 
 Like the souls of children in their flight. 
 
 Now, my lady's feet are on the greensward. 
 Red-tipped are her boots and laced with blue; 
 
 Now my lady's feet are on the greensward. 
 Tell me, is my dancing sweetheart true. 
 
 [14] 
 
When my Masha smiles at me with lips so gay, 
 Then my feet go dancing all the live-long day. 
 Ai, liuli, liuli, liuli, 
 Then my feet go dancing all the live-long day! 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Well done! But to watch your sunlit whirlings 
 
 Sets my dull pulses leaping, 
 
 And stirs my heart to a vain hope! 
 
 Second Peasant {glancing upward) 
 The hour of noon is swiftly waning. 
 If we would spend a lusty day to the sun's red setting 
 We had best claim our noon-day drowse. 
 
 [The peasants respond with nods of approval. 'They 
 begin to yawn and stretch. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Ilya, lad, keep thy sharp eye aloft. 
 And when the sun is at its proper slanting. 
 Call us that we may be, in perfect season. 
 To our appointed tasks. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Aye, father. I'll let no single sunbeam fall unmeasured. 
 
 [One by one the peasants fall asleep until the only 
 wakeful one is Ilya. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 See, now, how graciously they sleep. 
 
 Rocked in the rude-hung cradle of toil. 
 
 Would that I might one day drink as deep of the oblivion. 
 
 Which comes so swift upon the heels of labor. 
 
 But I must be content to lie, 
 
 [15] 
 
Wide-eyed and pricked with bitter longings, 
 
 Gazing at the clear blue of Heaven, 
 
 That, had I but the wings, would seem 
 
 No further than a swallow's flight! 
 
 [He falls back and lies with arms outstretched^ gazing 
 up at the sky. T'he sound oj faint singing is heard 
 coming nearer and nearer. Finally^ the figures of 
 three holy wayfarers are seen slowly descending 
 the long trail. 
 
 Song of the Wayfarers 
 
 Over the hills and the plains. 
 Over the streams and the sea. 
 
 Come we tearfully. 
 
 Come we fearfully, 
 Foot-sore and wearily. 
 
 In the hot sunlight of noon. 
 In the cold bleakness of night. 
 
 With scarce a heeding. 
 
 With scarce a needing. 
 Save for Our Lord's delight. 
 
 Past the gray castles of ease. 
 Past the sad huts of the poor. 
 
 Unmindful of sorrow. 
 
 Unmindful of morrow, 
 Christ-like do we endure. 
 
 By the still waters of peace. 
 By the loud surges of strife, 
 
 God's love adoring, 
 
 God's love imploring, 
 Seek we the perfect life. 
 
 [i6] 
 
He who revives us with drink, 
 He who sustains us with bread, 
 
 Lightens a dreary road. 
 
 Lightens a sinful load, 
 Blessings be on his head! 
 
 Over the hills and the plains. 
 Over the streams and the sea. 
 
 Come we tearfully. 
 
 Come we fearfully. 
 Foot-sore and wearily. 
 
 [At first Ilya remains inactive^ but, as the strains come 
 nearer he rouses himself, watching in silent curi- 
 osity the wayfarers as they make their way toward 
 the center of the stage. 
 
 First Wayfarer 
 Quickly . . . some water ... I faint! 
 
 Second Wayfarer 
 
 Courage, brother! 
 
 My senses tell me that we have drawn near a humble habi- 
 tation. 
 The poor are ever gracious and pitiful. 
 
 Third Wayfarer {turning about and 
 catching sight of Ilya) 
 
 How now, lad? Must thou lie thus in swaddled ease. 
 While poor, spent pilgrims swoon before thy slumbering 
 
 threshold? 
 Some water! In all haste and charity come quickly. 
 Lest we die! 
 
 [17] 
 
Ilya {pointing to the jug upon the table) 
 Gentle and holy men, drink ye your fill! 
 Yon jug is moist to overflowing. 
 
 Third Wayfarer 
 
 Bring it to us, thou slothful and unmannerly youth! 
 Canst thou not see that we are all three 
 Wearied and foot-sore almost to our death? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Pitiful strangers, how canst thou think so ill of this thy 
 
 helpless servant? 
 Gladly would I run tripping to thy call, had not just God 
 
 Himself, 
 Set the dull curse of withered limbs upon me. 
 
 Third Wayfarer {lifting his right arm 
 aloft) 
 
 Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 
 
 Ilya {struggling painfully) 
 Holy Brothers, I cannot! 
 
 Second Wayfarer 
 Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 
 
 Ilya {struggling and raising himself a 
 trifle) 
 
 Sweet friends in Christ, thou doth almost persuade me. 
 
 First Wayfarer 
 Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 
 
 [i8] 
 
Ilya {throwing himself with a mighty ef- 
 fort from his couch and standing sud- 
 denly erect) 
 
 Pitiful Heaven, do I but dream? 
 
 Or do my feet at last touch the moist Mother Earth? 
 
 Wake me not, I pray thee, if my senses have so sweetly 
 
 wandered. 
 But let me rather flee the body thus in trembUng joy! 
 
 Third Wayfarer 
 How now? . . . Hast thou so soon forgotten? 
 Water! Art thou still unmindful of our need? 
 
 [Ilya gazes at the wayfarers in silent wonderment ^ then 
 very slowly and cautiously he moves toward the 
 table. Lifting the jug he pours a draught into an 
 earthern cup and, carrying it between his palms, 
 he walks over to the wayfarers. He falls on his 
 knees, offering them the cup. They each in their 
 turn receive it. 
 
 First Wayfarer 
 
 Drink ye also, Ilya, son of weakness! 
 
 [Ilya receives the cup and drinks. 
 
 Second Wayfarer 
 Ilya, son of sudden hope, how is it now with thy strength? 
 
 Ilya {stretching and opening his arms 
 with newfound power) 
 I thank thee with reverence, venerable fathers. 
 My strength is now such as could surely move the earth! 
 
 Third Wayfarer 
 
 Give us to drink once more. 
 
 [Ilya hands them the cup. 
 
 [19I 
 
First Wayfarer 
 Drink again in thy turn, Ilya, son of great power! 
 [Ilya drinks. 
 
 Third Wayfarer 
 Ilya, son of holy might, how is it now with thy strength? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 I thank thee gratefully, pious brothers. 
 
 My strength is only half as wondrous as before. 
 
 First W^ayfarer 
 'Tis well ! 
 
 If it were greater then this moist Mother Earth 
 Being too frail, would bend beneath thy weight! 
 
 [Ilya leaps to bis feet with sudden ecstacy^ and^ seiz- 
 ing an axe^ begins to strike right and left at some 
 saplings bringing them down with a crash, 
 
 Ilya 
 Father . . . mother . . . comrades! 
 Awake ! Awake ! Awake! 
 Throw off your heavy slumber. 
 And see what miracle has by these holy men, 
 In God's sweet name, been wrought! 
 
 [The peasants start up in great confusion. Ilya, 
 swinging his axe aloft^ brings it crashijig down 
 into a stump. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 The good Lord save my senses ! Have I gone suddenly mad ? 
 Or is this, then, indeed my ill-begotten son. 
 Who, but an hour agone, lay like a wingless fledgling 
 Deserted by the flying brood? 
 
 [20] 
 
Come, little mother, tell me, is thy sight also 
 
 Tricked into vain imaginings? 
 
 [Marya, shrinking into Ivan's encircling arm, nods 
 her answer. T'he two, in wonderment, draw near 
 their son, feeling his arms, his face, his hair, 
 T^he peasants do likewise. 
 
 First Peasant {seeking to dislodge the 
 axe that Ilya left in the stump) 
 Saint Basil and all his followers preserve us! 
 This strong-armed son of fury has lodged the axe 
 Past all hope of recovery! 
 
 [Ivan and the Second Peasant try their hands at 
 the axe also, without avail. Ilya, throwing his 
 head back with a smile, pushes the peasants aside 
 and draws the axe from the stump. 
 
 Ivan {lifting his eyes toward heaven^ 
 Now, then, gracious Father, give ear to the poor thanks 
 Falling thus humbly from the lips of thy unworthy servant. 
 For this, my son, who was in bondage held, is freed again! 
 For this, my son, who was laid low, is raised aloft! 
 
 [Ivan steps fo7'ward, enfolds Ilya in his arms, and 
 kisses him upon either cheek. Marya follows. 
 
 Ilya 
 Look not so sad, good comrades ! This is a time for laughter ! 
 See how I leap and click my anxious heels together. 
 Do we lack music or has my sudden fortune 
 Forever stilled your dancing feet? 
 
 [At this hint the music starts up the same merry tune 
 that was played when the peasants danced for 
 Ilya's delight. At its somid the peasants for?n a 
 
 [21] 
 
circle about Ilya and swing into a spirited 
 measure as he stands in the center capering to 
 the music. Ivan, urged in pantomime by the 
 anxious mother^ breaks through the circle and 
 drags the reluctant Ilya aside. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Softly, my lusty son ! Thy mother 
 
 Is not yet fully won to thy swift-winged recovery. 
 
 Stands she aside with anxious heart. 
 
 Counselling a greater prudence. 
 
 There will be time enough for mirth and dancing 
 
 After the burden of both field and forest 
 
 Hath by thy might been tested. 
 
 Ilya {^standing between his father and 
 mother with an arm encircling each) 
 
 Good sire and patient mother, forgive my foolish joy! 
 
 Hadst thou but known the sweet taste of deliverance, 
 
 Thy fond indulgence would bear with me. 
 
 But thou sayest truly, too long have I been fed by pitiful 
 bounty. 
 
 The sun is slanting to its slow-measured wane; 
 
 Give me yon axe and let me try my fortune 
 
 Side by side with these fair friends. 
 
 Who have, in days gone by, helped me 
 
 With song and dance and jest 
 
 To pass the loathsome hours. 
 
 Or if the reaping of the meadow suits best thy purpose, 
 
 Put in my hand a shining sickle, 
 
 And I shall prove my worth, and so requite thee all. 
 
 [During this speech the wayfarers who have stood 
 silent and forgotten begin to recover interest in 
 the proceedings. At the conclusion of Ilya's 
 
 [22] 
 
words they push their way toward the center 
 of the stage, with their right arms uplifted. 
 
 Third Wayfarer 
 
 Ilya, son of Ivan, spend not thy strength upon the forest 
 Nor put the might of thy right arm to either plow or scythe. 
 
 Second Wayfarer 
 
 But set thee out this day upon the business of thy Father 
 who is in Heaven, 
 
 For He hath graciously raised thee up to be a light shining 
 in the darkness. 
 
 For he hath redeemed thee from weakness to be a sure de- 
 fense for them that are beset. 
 
 First Wayfarer 
 
 Gird up thy loins and get thee speedily to the Holy City, 
 
 And, in its gilded Sanctuary, offer thyself up a stainless 
 sacrifice. 
 
 That God may consecrate thee in graciousness to snow- 
 white deeds 
 
 Fit to release the world from its sad thrall. 
 
 Tarry not an instant on thy way. 
 
 For the road is long and the journey filled with weariness. 
 
 And there is none save thee strengthened for the task. 
 
 Keep thy heart clean and trust not to the wiles of women; 
 
 For in the kisses of their mouths is destruction. 
 
 And from their couches rise tribulation and sorrow. 
 
 Do but keep this commandment and thou shalt be con- 
 founded by nothing: 
 
 Neither by the hordes of infidels upon the plains 
 
 Nor the companies of robbers that lie in wait upon the hill- 
 tops. 
 
 [23] 
 
The foaming river bordering the Black Morass shall not 
 
 affright thee, 
 Nor shall the bird-demons of the forest find aught in thee 
 
 but might for their destruction. 
 But take you good heed of Nightingale, the Robber, 
 Whose nest is raised among the seven highest tree-tops 
 And whose sons and daughters sharpen their talons 
 Wherewith to pluck out the eyes of them that God hath 
 
 favored. 
 Through thee shall all fear be laid low; and by thy strength 
 
 shall all sorrow and strife be ended. 
 Keep thou but in the path of righteousness and speedily 
 
 will joy and fellow-ship be brought to fruit. 
 But fail thee in purity but one hair's-breadth 
 And who shall say how long the Lord, in His just anger, 
 Will keep thy weak feet wandering in the soft paths of sin, 
 Until his heart be melted. 
 Ilya, son of Ivan, farewell! 
 
 Take neither script nor cloak nor loaves upon thy journey. 
 But wear this golden cross ever about thy neck, 
 And all things shall be added to thy store. 
 
 [ne First Wayfarer slips the golden cross from his 
 shoulders and places it about Ilya's neck. He 
 salutes him with a kiss upon the forehead. Ilya 
 kneels before him. 
 
 Ivan {clasping his wife in his arms) 
 
 The Lord hath given and the Lord hath taken away. 
 Good mother, grant that we may be faithful, even unto 
 sorrow ! 
 
 [The wayfarers begin their departure, singiiig. As they 
 climb the hill the peasants kneel, grouped about 
 Ilya. 
 
 [24] 
 
Song of the Wayfarers 
 
 Over the hills and the plains. 
 Over the streams and the sea. 
 
 Go we carefully, 
 
 Go we prayerfully, 
 Wandering pilgrims three. 
 
 Bearing a message of hope. 
 Bearing a message of joy. 
 
 From the appointed one. 
 
 From the anointed one, 
 Who shall all care destroy. 
 
 God who is patient and kind, 
 God who is loving and strong, 
 
 Sends thee a spotless youth. 
 
 Sends thee a shining truth, 
 Watch for the night is long! 
 
 Over the hills and the plains. 
 Over the streams and the sea. 
 
 Praising the Holy One, 
 
 Praising His gracious Son, 
 Praising the Blessed Three. 
 
 [yfj the wayfarers disappear^ Ilya rises to bis feet 
 and begins to ascend the hill. His mother rushes 
 forward and attempts to dissuade him but Ivan 
 gains his side and together the three make their 
 way until half the hillside is gained. At this point 
 Ilya gives his parents a last embrace. He then 
 lifts aloft the cross hanging about his neck ayid his 
 mother and father drop on their knees. 'The peas- 
 ants, still kneeling, sing. 
 
 [25] 
 
Song of the Peasants 
 
 Speed now thy servant on his way, 
 
 Armed with the weapons of thy might; 
 
 Be Thou his shining cloud by day 
 And guiding shaft of fire by night. 
 
 Keep his swift feet within the path 
 Trod by Thy gracious saints above. 
 
 Lay not on him Thy chastening wrath 
 But fold him gently in Thy love. 
 
 Until at last his journey done, 
 Exalted may he ever rest, 
 
 The good fight fought, the swift race won. 
 Among the company of the blest. 
 ['The First Peasant rushes up the hillside and 
 places a cap upon Ilya's head. The Second 
 Peasant follows swiftly and puts a pilgrim s 
 staff in his hand. The far-away echo of the way-- 
 farers' chorus comes to Ilya's ears. He embraces 
 his friends and begins to climb the hillside. 
 
 Curtain 
 
 [26] 
 
ACT II 
 
 At the foot of a mountain path on the Way to the Holy 
 City. 'The entrance to a castle looms vaguely in the light of 
 flickering torches. 
 
 [Nightingale, the Robber, flies out of the gloom, 
 breaking the woodland silence with devilish 
 laughter. 
 
 Nightingale 
 The night is swooning fast, 
 Its pallid fate forecast, 
 
 As hushed it cowers. 
 Blackness foretells its doom, 
 Woven upon the loom 
 
 Of ever-darkening hours. 
 
 Now through this sullen glade 
 The moon's cold glances fade, 
 
 And all intent 
 Upon the wolfs drear howl. 
 Answers the twittering owl. 
 
 In soft lament. 
 
 List to the amorous toads. 
 Lilting their croaking odes, 
 
 Hard by the rim 
 Of lily-petaled ponds, 
 Ringed by unfolding fronds. 
 
 Fern-green and dim. 
 
 [27] 
 
This is the time for deeds, 
 Foul as the slimy weeds. 
 
 Plucked from a pool 
 By noisesome drippings fed. 
 And stinking waters bred, 
 
 Soft-choked with drool. 
 
 Come now my sharp-clawed flock. 
 
 Thy chest of dreams unlock. 
 Loosening thy spell; 
 
 Break down Sleep's flimsy gate 
 
 With bludgeonings of hate, 
 And unbind Hell! 
 [Nightingale's call is answered by shrill cries from 
 his broody who dart out of the gloom and with 
 outstretched wings come gliding down the trail. 
 Nightingale stands in the center of the stagCy 
 filling the night with horrible laughter as his 
 brood execute a brief pantomimic dance. At the 
 height of this orgy the door of the castle is thrown 
 open and the figure of Zlatigorka emerges^ 
 followed by two attendants with flaming torches. 
 Nightingale gives the signal for the birds to dis- 
 perse. T'hey flee upstage and cower, listening 
 in the dimness. Nightingale, himself, slinks 
 into a shadowy corner and watches. 
 
 Zlatigorka {to her attendants) 
 Lift higher thy torches! 
 
 The venom-tongued cries of Hell come not from shadows! 
 
 I would seek out these gaudy-voiced revelers. 
 
 Who suit my purpose and my mood in such shrill fashion. 
 
 [As the attendants do her bidding, Nightingale 
 
 comes slinking out of the gloom, fawningupon her. 
 
 [28] 
 
Ah, Nightingale, thou arrant robber. 
 
 So 'tis thou who seeks to thus beguile my casement 
 
 With sharp-toothed serenades ! Come closer, fear me not; 
 
 Silence has pricked me deep with her cold fangs, 
 
 And tonight, thy throaty clamor drips like a stinging balm 
 
 Upon my wounds. Tell me, was the moon blood-red with 
 
 Or hid she sullen and disdainful, at her rising, 
 Behind a smoke-dun cloud? 
 For I am gorged with bitter unquiet, 
 And sharp forebodings gnaw my vitals. 
 The sky must be thick-starred with flaming portents 
 Upon a night that brews so strong a draught of wakeful- 
 ness 
 For my sleep-greedy lips! 
 
 Nightingale 
 Why seek from me a sign, thou mighty and unvanquished 
 
 warrior-queen ? 
 Hast thou no spells with which to snare 
 The future's red-fanged secrets ? 
 Where is the boasted and silver-shining shield 
 That once did fend thy brave though mortal father? 
 Many a time saw I thy socerous mother 
 Lifting a torch above its brazen depths 
 At the dark hour before dawning; 
 And like a garrulous mirror its polished surface 
 Yielded the hidden purposes of Fate. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 Thou dost but mock me with thine accursed truths! 
 This shield have I unfearsomely consulted 
 For weal or woe that must on others fall; 
 But I would, as lief, sever a crushed and dripping limb 
 
From my fair body, as gaze with mine own eyes 
 Unscreened upon the scurvy tricks that Fate hath stored 
 Against my deep content. 
 
 Nightingale 
 
 Ha, Powerful Zlatigorka! Where now is thy prideful 
 
 strength? 
 Art thou indeed strong in arm only, but in thy spirit 
 As timorous as a twittering sparrow? 
 Hast thou not learned that Fate hath chains 
 Only for the binding of them that fear her? 
 Bring forth thy father's shield and let me read the tale 
 That runs within the shining depths. And if it be too 
 
 horrid, 
 ril veil its ugliness in silken falsehoods. 
 
 Zlatigorka {pacing restlessly up and 
 down in indecision) 
 
 Nightingale, art thou indeed a friendly knave. 
 
 Or dost thou plot to rob me of courage and my high estate 
 
 In one swift darting? 
 
 Nightingale {fawning before her) 
 
 Do humming-birds plot to overthrow the eagle's 
 Sky-blue empire? And is the bear's snug pit 
 Threatened by the assaults of nibbling hares? 
 Deny my friendship if thou wilt but grant to me, at least, 
 The soft-armed vJrtue of prudence. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 The dripping honey of thy words doth almost lure me to 
 thy purpose. 
 
 \She paces about in further indecision. 
 Well, as thou wilt! 
 
 [30] 
 
[Tb the attendants. 
 Bring forth my father's valorous shield, 
 And let misfortune's messenger run swiftly to his journey's 
 end! 
 
 [One of the attendants hands his torch to the other and 
 goes into the castle upon Zlatigorka's errand. 
 T'he enchantress stands in deep dejection but 
 Nightingale can scarcely conceal his satisfac- 
 tion. The attendant returns hearing the shield. 
 At his entrance the brood of Nightingale who 
 have been lurking in the shadows creep cautiously 
 upon the upper stage and stand in close-locked 
 groups^ peering down. As the attendant passes 
 Zlatigorka with shield up-borne^ she shrinks 
 behind her own shield as ij fearful to catch even a 
 brief glimpse of its telltale depths. Nightingale 
 motions the first attendant to set the shield upon 
 the ground. The second attendant steps forward 
 and returns the torch to his companion. These two 
 range themselves on either side of the shield^ hold- 
 ing the torches directly over it. Nightingale 
 stoops between them, peering down into its 
 polished surface. Zlatigorka stands expectantly 
 but with averted face. 
 
 Nightingale 
 
 Now Fate doth spin her net 
 Misfortune's snare to set 
 
 With threads of chance; 
 And in this shining shield 
 Her hidden secrets yield 
 
 To my keen glance. 
 
 [31] 
 
Within the brazen rim 
 Flashes in outhnes dim 
 
 A form, swift-paced; 
 Valiant and undefiled, 
 Comely but unbeguiled, 
 
 Thick-loined yet chaste! 
 
 Into this leafy bower 
 
 Strays he with righteous power, 
 
 Unchained by sins; 
 Hung not with sword nor spear. 
 Yet knowing naught of fear 
 
 His mate he wins! 
 
 Zlatigorka {with a confident laugh) 
 
 Tell me, is this the dribbling yield of prophesy 
 
 From so prodigal a sowing? The figure of thy visioning 
 
 Smells more to me of dung-hill than of battle-sweat! 
 
 \Musingly, 
 Hung not with sword nor spear! 
 
 Nightingale {interrupting) 
 Yet knowing naught oi jearl 
 
 Zlatigorka {impatiently) 
 
 Think thou our woodland fastness 
 
 Is to be made the sport of fools? 
 
 Ignorance and courage doth ever couch together. 
 
 Thou knowst well it is decreed that I shall be invincible 
 
 Save to that warrior who can in fair-won fight 
 
 Subdue me to his rough-shod will, melting my steel-cold 
 
 chastity 
 Within the red flame of his yearning. 
 Look ye again and seek a further sign 
 With which to match such valiant prophesies! 
 
Nightingale {bending over the shield 
 again) 
 
 With measured tread and slow. 
 Vague phantom-figures grow 
 
 In endless chain. 
 By tear-crowned sorrow led, 
 Soft to the marriage-bed 
 
 Of Death, glides pain. 
 
 Struck by the torches' beam, 
 A shaft of golden gleam, 
 
 Untouched by dross. 
 Rises to meet my gaze 
 As with profane amaze 
 
 I glimpse the Cross ! 
 
 [At the mention of the Holy Symbol the torches are 
 mysteriously extinguished and Nightingale' s 
 brood fall terror-stricken on their faces. Zlati- 
 GORKA shrinks again behind her up-raised shield. 
 
 Nightingale {gliding to Zlatigorka's 
 side) 
 Didst thou find this last visioning to thy taste? 
 Or shall we light the Heaven-blown torches once again 
 And tempt Fate's ugly purpose further? 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 The Cross! 
 Tis strong enough in sooth! . . . What's to be done? 
 
 Nightingale {mockingly) 
 
 What's to be done! 
 Do my ears play me false, or is this then indeed 
 The skimming eaglet of the ice-carved pinnacles 
 
 [33\ 
 
Seeking the favor of a thicket nesthng? 
 
 Thou art proud, with reason, Warrior-Queen, 
 
 But, until this night, thou rose disdainful 
 
 And self-sufficient in thy power. 
 
 Not so thy socerous mother. With all her skill. 
 
 Bound she the loyalty of her woodland friends 
 
 With the swift thongs of service. 
 
 He who stands singly stands on scant ground! 
 
 Tis well, I bend my neck to thy commands. 
 
 Grant me the single boon of charmed life 
 
 And I shall ever do thy bidding! 
 
 Zlatigorka [lifting her shield above 
 Nightingale's prostrate body and 
 placing her foot upon his neck) 
 
 So long as I, myself, shall hfe endure 
 Thou shalt by neither dart nor ill be slain! 
 
 Nightingale {leaping to his feet) 
 
 Now shall I be immortal! For we twain 
 
 Casting our lots together can, like a yelping wolf-pack. 
 
 Keep Death at bay and scorn the very Gilded Cross, itself! 
 
 Advance, my thick-spurred brood, and bow thyself 
 
 Before this dual throne of power! 
 
 [At Nightingale's command his brood flutter down 
 the hillside and prostrate themselves before Zlati- 
 gorka and Nightingale. Safe in the assurance 
 of a charmed life. Nightingale has lost his 
 fawning manner and stands erect and imperious, 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 What sound was that, 
 
 A woodland whisper fluttering from top-most branch, 
 
 134] 
 
Or hath the wind plucked from its place a dew-starred 
 
 cob-web 
 And dashed it free of its filched jewels against some gaunt 
 
 and naked twig? 
 
 Nightingale {putting a hand to his ear) 
 I hear the muffled beat 
 And glide of swift-sure feet 
 Sifting adown the gloom; 
 Let us in purple shade 
 Go creeping undismayed 
 Plotting pale virtue's doom! 
 [Tb Zlatigorka 
 
 From thy sword-latticed bower, 
 Watch thou in brooding power 
 
 The coming morn. 
 By powers low or high 
 On earth will Heaven die 
 Or Hell be born! 
 \The brood melt upstage into the shadows where they 
 can be dimly seen. Zlatigorka enters the castle^ 
 followed by her attendants who close the door. 
 Nightingale slinks into the gloom andy crouch- 
 ing, waits for the coming of the traveler whose 
 footfalls have so disturbed them. Ilya enters 
 confidently and peering about the gloom catches 
 sight of the castle. 
 
 Ilya (^starting toward the flaming torches 
 before the castle' s entrance) 
 What beacon-lights are these starring the pall-hung night? 
 Are they friendly eyes winking me to gracious shelter, 
 Or do they glare in somber anger like prowling beasts of 
 
 prey^ 
 
 \zs\ 
 
[He advances almost to the castle door. 
 A goodly portal! yet it frowns with close-locked mouth. 
 A moment since and weariness was stranger to me, 
 But here, within a short-paced stride of entertainment, 
 Sleep weights my dust-stung lids. 
 Aye, now I know the sweet content of a sweat-wrung 
 
 repose ! 
 ril beat upon the door and see if honest needs 
 Can set this threshold smiling out a welcome. 
 
 [He beats upon the door with his pilgrim's staff. 'The 
 door opens slowly and Zlatigorka, unattended^ 
 steps out into the night. 
 
 Zlatigorka {haughtily) 
 
 Whence comes this cloutish clamor. 
 
 Breaking the virgin stillness of these woods in noisy rav- 
 ishment? 
 Thou vile-coated varlet, tell me thy name. 
 And, as well, the fly-blown dung-hill which bred thee! 
 
 Ilya (proudly) 
 Ilya is my name. And my good sire and mother 
 With honorable labor do reap their fields and fell their trees 
 Within the sweet-strewn forest of Murom. 
 
 Zlatigorka {in a rage) 
 
 What! Can I have heard aright? 
 
 Hath this world waxed so mean that I, the far-famed 
 
 Zlatigorka, 
 Warrior-Queen and dark Enchantress, must find my 
 
 dream-decked slumbers 
 Rent in twain by the thick-fingered brutishness 
 Of lumbering peasant-breed? 
 
 [36] 
 
Come closer, thou reckless fool, and tell me, if thou canst. 
 What punishment I may devise for thy undoing. 
 
 [Ilya draws close to Zlatigorka, half shyly, half 
 boldly. As he catches a near-view of her face he 
 starts back a trifle and then, with an impetuous 
 movement forward, he answers. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 If 't were punishment to serve thee, beauteous creature. 
 Forge me thick chains of mighty tasks and I shall languish 
 
 happily 
 In harsh imprisonment forever! 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 Ye friends! What next will my thrice-doubting ears report? 
 Art thou gone suddenly mad? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Mad? . . . Thou sayest truly! 
 
 Give me thy lips and take whatever wage thy fancy fas- 
 hions! 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 My lips! Thou swine! Thou sweat-stale plough-boy! 
 
 Know thou not that my fierce favors 
 
 Are to the mightiest warriors themselves denied? 
 
 Lives there no man within a six-months' journey 
 
 Who can with sword or lance wrest from me 
 
 My virgin hoard! Invincible throughout the countless 
 
 years, 
 I wait the doom of spear-won mating! 
 Think thou then, that what the gods themselves 
 Find from their strong-armed reach. 
 Will fall a worm-cursed apple into thy loutish hands? 
 
 [37] 
 
Ilya 
 
 How I shall come by thy sweet gifts I care not! 
 
 Only this I know, I have the strength to hurl 
 
 The mightiest of these forest giants to sprawling length 
 
 Upon the mouldering sward. 
 
 If 'tis thy purpose then to wield thy spear against me 
 
 And play the warrior, lay on, and let Heaven itself 
 
 Proclaim the victor! 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 Rash youth, rush not so speedily to thy doom ! 
 
 If thy scant brains have by wan-moonlit wanderings been 
 
 addled, 
 ril let thee go in peace. 
 
 I am no petty princess, seeking to entrap a puling fool. 
 Think thou that I would match this spear 
 Against a path-worn pilgrim's staff? 
 
 Ilya {mockingly) 
 
 What! art thou cowed down already by my boasts? 
 Lift high thy shining spear and let me prove 
 The warrior blood which pricks my veins so hotly! 
 
 [As Ilya finishes bis speech, be provokes the reluctant 
 Zlatigorka to battle with a sharp blow struck 
 by his pilgrim's staff against her spear. They 
 fight furiously. Meanwhile, with a malignant 
 laugh. Nightingale rushes from the shadows 
 and attempts to barrass Ilya. His efforts are 
 unavailing for, finally, Ilya gets the upper hand 
 of the enchantress. He strikes her spear to the 
 ground with bis staff, and rushing upon her, 
 grasps her in his two strong bands and brings 
 her to her feet. 
 
 [38] 
 
Ilya 
 Gracious Queen, what would you now? 
 
 Zlatigorka {adoringly) 
 
 Naught but thy pleasure, 
 
 Thou beetle-browed and ripe-lipped youth! 
 
 Nightingale 
 Ye fiends of Hell! 
 What net is this spread for our snaring? 
 
 [To his brood. 
 Rise up, thou sharp of beak. 
 Thy spur-keen vengeance reek 
 
 Upon yon guileless fool ! 
 With claw and swift-winged dart 
 Pluck eyes and bathe his heart 
 In blood-red pool! 
 
 [The brood rush down, and, led by Nightingale, pro- 
 ceed to attack Ilya. Zlatigorka, recovering her- 
 self, turns upon her protectors. Finally, worsted, 
 the brood flutter up the hillside. Nightingale 
 flies helplessly about pursued by Ilya, who 
 brandishes his staff. 
 
 Nightingale 
 Help, traitorous Queen! Remember thou our pact! 
 
 [Ilya is in the act of bringing down his staff upon the 
 head of Nightingale when Zlatigorka puts 
 forth a staying hand upraised as she chants a 
 spell. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 With my hand thus raised full well 
 Cast I now my sorcerous spell 
 
 [39] 
 
While I live thou may not die 
 Though I would thy boon deny! 
 
 [Ilya's arm stiffens and the staff Jails from his hand. 
 With an exultant shout Nightingale prepares 
 . to flee, Zlatigorka again stretches forth her 
 hand. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 Gloom-bred robber, stay thy flight, 
 I shall clip thy sharp-clawed might, 
 
 Bind thee harmless as a dove 
 
 In the gilded chains of love! 
 
 [Nightingale/<2//j suddenly forward on his face. 
 
 Zlatigorka {calling in a loud voice) 
 
 What ho there, my minions! 
 
 [The attendants appear at the door of the castle. 
 
 Bring forth my father's shining shield. 
 His two-edged sword, his plumed helmet 
 And the blue cloak with ermine rimmed. 
 
 [The attendants depart. 
 For this, my vanquisher, must be in worthy state 
 Armed and apparelled as befits his might! 
 
 [The attendants return and Zlatigokka invests Ilya 
 with helmet^ shield^ cloak and sword. 
 Now art thou indeed a prince! 
 
 Ilya, plough-boy no longer, but Ilya, the valiant Cossack, 
 Who hath dethroned with ease a virgin Queen! 
 Never in battle shalt thou die. 
 For he who girds himself 
 With this two-edged and magic sword. 
 Shall conquer all! 
 
 [40] 
 
[She turns to the attendants again. 
 Search ye the dungeon for strong-linked chains, 
 And bring them to me! 
 
 Nightingale {lying inert) 
 Have a care, thou spawn of loathing and deceit! 
 Remember I have still my thoughts, and can with evil 
 Breed swamp-sour ills that yet will spell thy doom. 
 
 [The attendants appear; Zlatigorka takes the chains 
 
 from them and slips the shining links belt-wise 
 
 about Nightingale's middle. Then she drags 
 
 him to the spot where Ilya stands in new-found 
 
 arrogance. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 Sweet Prince, here helpless lies thy fluttering foe! 
 Bind him where and by what means thou wilt, 
 And, when thou look upon him, think that thus enslaved 
 Doth my fond heart lie prone beneath thy red-lipped smile! 
 [Ilya takes the tether and spear from Zlatigorka. 
 He leads Nightingale to the upper stage^ and^ 
 thrusting the spear iyi the ground^ tethers Night- 
 ingale to it. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Now then, thou feathered demon. 
 
 Weave trouble as thou wilt in the dark caverns of thy 
 
 mind! 
 If thoughts alone can wound, do then thy worst. 
 For we shall match thy brooding with equal power! 
 
 [Nightingale spits at Ilya with loathing but re- 
 mains silent y pacing restlessly back and forth like 
 a caged animal. As Ilya descends to the lower 
 
 [41] 
 
stage the faint sound of the wayfarers' hymn is 
 heard far off in the distance. Ilya stands trans- 
 fixed and listening. Zlatigorka moves swiftly 
 to his side. She takes his hand and attempts to 
 beguile him gently from his rapt attention. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 My warrior, hast thou so soon forgot thy weaponless slave? 
 
 Ilya {Recalled from his musings but still 
 listening) 
 
 Some old and distant song seems now to trap my senses 
 In the sweet snare of memory. I would I could remember! 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 
 Memory is the dull child of yesterday, 
 
 Come, live within the present's fair-decked chamber! 
 
 \She persuades him nearer and nearer the castle door. 
 
 Tonight we'll drop the crimson curtain of our joy 
 And shut out e'en the future! 
 
 [Placing her shield-girt arm about his neck she shuts 
 out the sound of music from his troubled ears and 
 together they enter the castle. T^he wayfarers' 
 hymn grows nearer and fades away again. 
 
 Nightingale 
 
 Sweet Night, fond shroud of darkness. 
 
 Let ever thy black pall enwrap my woe in dunnest weeds, 
 
 And sharpen my revenge upon the flint-harsh stone of 
 
 sorrow ! 
 Fly thou in ribald dartings, my pestilent fledglings. 
 And, with thy profane carolings and whirr of wings, 
 
 [42] 
 
Drown out the holy song that would recall our love-sick 
 
 vanquisher 
 To his invincible purity! 
 
 Hold him but a short space within the narrow cell of love 
 And then, full truly, shall Hell be spawned anew 
 Upon a helpless world! 
 
 [Nightingale's brood dash out of the gloom and 
 dance in wild abandon until the sound of the 
 wayfarers' hymn becomes stronger and stronger. 
 The dim figures of the wayfarers appear, coming 
 down the steep trail. The brood flee and Night- 
 ingale crouches close to the spear to which he is 
 chained. Singing, the wayfarers pass close to the 
 castle and disappear. 
 
 Song of the Wayfarers 
 
 Over the hills and the plains 
 Over the streams and the sea 
 
 Come we in mourning 
 
 Come we in warning 
 
 List to our humble plea! 
 
 Ilya turn from thy way 
 
 Ilya turn from thy path 
 Think of the race unrun 
 Think of the fight unwon 
 Think of God's righteous wrath. 
 
 Canst thou so soon forget, 
 
 Canst thou so soon deny 
 He who hath filled thy cup 
 He who hath raised thee up 
 
 In holy power all-high? 
 
 [43] 
 
Over the hills and the plains 
 
 Over the streams and the sea 
 Bowed low by heavy years 
 Bowed low by anxious fears 
 Weary and sad come we. 
 [As the last wayfarer disappears, the door of the 
 castle is suddenly thrown open. Ilya rushes out 
 pursued by Zlatigorka. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 My lord, what madness now hath seized thee? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Destroyer of my peace, keep thy good distance! 
 
 How well do I remember now the music 
 
 That fond Heaven, itself, did waft to me, in gracious 
 
 warning. 
 And all too swift at this late hour 
 Comes to my mind the holy pilgrim's charge; 
 Keep thy heart clean and trust not to the wiles of women! 
 
 Zlatigorka {in panic) 
 
 Canst thou find in thy heart the will to thus desert me 
 In the full-flush of joy? Have I not bound in chains 
 Thy feathered foe in joyful symbol of our union? 
 
 [Ilya rushes upon Nightingale and dashes the 
 spear which tethers the bird-demon to the ground, 
 ^hen, grasping the chain in his strong hands, he 
 proceeds to flee up the trail dragging Nightin- 
 gale with him. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Symbol of joy no longer shall this chained monster be, 
 But rather|will I keep him close-tethered neath my gaze 
 
 [44] 
 
Ever a reminder of my loathsome sin! 
 
 Farewell, thou warrior Queen, let sorrow sting thee deep! 
 
 For I was pledged to sinless ways in token of my sure 
 deliverance 
 
 Thus to rejoice the world sinful and sad. 
 
 But thou, unholy woman, hast dashed these hopes still- 
 born 
 
 Upon the rocks of red desire! 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 Not so ! If thou hast lost all thought of me, 
 Think of thy son who one day shall this earth 
 Shake with his mighty tread! 
 Stay, and with valorous arm, school him in deeds of power! 
 
 Ilya 
 My son? . . . Foul schemer thou liest! 
 Virtue and sin have never couched together to fruitful 
 
 purpose! 
 Nay, ril not listen further! But to the Holy City 
 Shall I flee for sanctuary and pardon ! 
 
 Nightingale {with malicious laughter) 
 Farewell, ungrateful witch. 
 My withering curse upon thy quickening body! 
 Soon may the blight begin! 
 
 ["To Ilya. 
 And thou, foul son of weak-kneed Virtue, 
 Trick not thyself in the vain hope that lies 
 Are ever in her mouth. She speaks the truth! 
 Thy son shall live to set a price of bitter sorrow and 
 
 drearest woe 
 Upon thy sore-won pardon ! 
 
 [45] 
 
And through the biting years, footsore and battle-scarred, 
 Shall thou seek vainly the sun-lit road 
 Which leads to consecration. The Holy City 
 May be glimpsed afar, but like the Promised Land 
 Unentered save by purity or perfect penance. 
 
 [With a despairing cry, Zlatigorka falls to the 
 ground. Ilya rushes up the hill dragging the 
 struggling Nightingale, as the dawn ap- 
 proaches. At each turn in the trail a group of 
 bird-demons dart out at Ilya but the sight of the 
 upraised cross which he holds aloft sends them 
 cowering from him. ^he wayfarers^ hymn 
 sounds in the distance. 
 
 Curtain 
 
 [46] 
 
ACT III 
 
 'The scene is the same as in Act I. Twenty years have 
 elapsed. It is twilight. The sound of chimes is heard and the 
 peasants drift on the stage singing. 
 
 Chorus of Peasants 
 
 See the slender brook on the hillside, 
 
 With its silver trickle on the hillside, 
 
 Liuli, liuli, the brooklet! 
 
 Liuli, liuli, the gay one! 
 
 [Following the sound of the chimes they disappear^ 
 with the exception of Marya, who kneels before 
 a rude shrine. From the distance come the voices 
 of the peasants singing an evening hymn: 
 
 Stainless Virgin, thou whose feet were weary, 
 
 Where, sad Mother, didst thou shelter find? 
 
 Blessed Lady, sorrowing for thy lost One, 
 
 Where, O where. Mother, didst thou close thy tired eyes? 
 
 O'er high hills and valleys lowly. 
 
 Through the woodland wild, 
 
 Weeping she went her way. 
 
 Seeking, Christ, her child. 
 
 As the shadows fell there came 
 
 Footsore pilgrims three: 
 
 '* I beg thee, holy men, 
 
 Hast thou passed my son?" 
 
 [During this song the twilight has deepened, and the 
 peasants return singing: 
 
 [47] 
 
Watch the golden stars in the heavens, 
 One by one they glisten in the heavens, 
 Liuli, liuli, they glisten! 
 Liuli, liuli, they beckon! 
 
 [y^s the peasants finish their singing the First Peas- 
 ant catches sight of Marya's kneeling form and 
 calls Ivan's attention to her. 
 
 Ivan {shaking his head) 
 
 Aye, poor soul ! 
 Thus doth she pour out her life in vain petitions 
 For the son who was made whole for our sorrow. 
 The days were happier, by far, when he lay 
 Sweet-voiced and helpless before our humble shelter. 
 Remember thou this day twenty years agone 
 When, in blood-red might, he leapt high. 
 And waked us with the sharp laughter of his ringing axe ? 
 
 First Peasant 
 
 Twenty years? Dost thou say truly? 
 
 Yes, I remember well ! We brought him gifts 
 
 And he rebuked us in all gentleness. 
 
 For our unthinking woodland thefts. 
 
 He was a tender lad in his affliction; 
 
 I would that he had been as kindly in his might! 
 
 Perhaps, then, he had not left the little mother 
 
 Clucking sorrowfully, like a ruffling hen. 
 
 Robbed of her feathered chicks. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Thou dost forget, he had the will to sow and reap with us, 
 But Heaven's purpose was otherwise. Callst thou not to 
 
 mind 
 The Holy Men, and how they charged him with his duty? 
 
 [48] 
 
First Peasant 
 
 Aye . . . and many times have I thought on it! 
 Who knows, perhaps the swiftest path to God 
 Lies in the duty near at hand. 
 And Christ, Himself, was ever mindful of his mother. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Ah, well, we must not quarrel with God's good purpose. 
 To some the road is long and ever-winding; 
 To others, straight and clear and shining to its end. 
 The nest-tied lark doth never fleck the blue of noon-day 
 With sweet-songed dartings! 
 
 First Peasant 
 
 Nor is the mouse who keeps his hole 
 Torn by owlet's dripping beak! 
 
 Ivan {shaking his head) 
 Why argue further? What lark or mouse 
 Or man among us can withstand his fate.^ 
 
 [During Ivan's speech the figure of Ilya is seen 
 coming down the trails leading the dejected 
 Nightingale by a chain. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Tell me, have I still my dull but honest senses? 
 Is this the figure of a man winding adown the hill. 
 Leading a monstrous bird as if it were the dancing pet bear 
 Of some wandering mountebank? 
 
 First Peasant 
 
 In very truth it is! Hey, there, my man! 
 What jugglery dost thou perform? 
 
 [JVith eager cries and much jostling the peasants 
 crowd about Ilya as he arrives in their midst. 
 
 [49] 
 
Ilya 
 Thou unmannerly loons! Hast never seen before a warrior 
 In his shining armour? The sound of pleasant music 
 Lured me hither, but I had better turned my feet 
 To the ribald turmoil of some shameless market-place 
 For all the solace that thy noisy welcome gives. 
 What is the name of this sweet-scented wood 
 That harbors such a motley brood? 
 
 First Peasant {stepping forward) 
 
 We are but simple folk, good sir. 
 
 With scant acquaintanceship with sorceries 
 
 That yield up birds of giant form for cow-like leading. 
 
 These are the woods of Murom. 
 
 Ilya {overcome as he gazes wonderingly 
 about) 
 
 Murom! . . . So 'tis to this vain end that all my years 
 
 Of sword-hewn wanderings have come! 
 
 Sweet Heaven, rob me of my might. 
 
 And give me back the sweet-sad days of my impotent 
 
 youth, 
 Thrilled by the lark's cool song. 
 Wooed to soft day-dreams by the whispering pines, 
 And wrapt in holy fragrance of the flowers! 
 
 {The peasants whisper together^ while the bolder ones 
 provoke the dejected Nightingale to quick 
 darts and spittings. 
 
 Ivan 
 
 Fair sir, if thou hast traveled sore and suffered, 
 Tarry with us a season, and so refresh thyself. 
 We are but humble folk, as he hath said, 
 But wanderers are ever close to our soft hearts. 
 
 [so] 
 
I have a son, who, if he Uves, I doubt not, 
 Hath many tired and foot-sore moments. 
 
 Ilya {with emotion) 
 
 If 'twere my lot I would thy gracious welcome wear 
 
 To thread-bare end. But rest and peace and fair security 
 
 May not be mine until the will of God hath been accom- 
 plished. 
 
 This feathered monster, which thou all doth view with such 
 wide-mouthed amaze. 
 
 Is but a living symbol of my great unworthiness. 
 
 And I have sworn to wander far and wide in his unwhole- 
 some company. 
 
 Till pitiful Heaven, with flaming sign, release me from my 
 holy vow ! 
 
 [He takes Ivan by the shoulders and gazes intently at 
 him. 
 
 Gracious father, knowst thou not me? 
 
 Ivan (starting hack in amazement) 
 Ilya . . . this thou! My son! 
 
 \lVith a cry^ Marya rushes forward^ sweeps her hus- 
 band aside and throws herself into Ilya's arms. 
 T'he peasants crowd forward in great excitement 
 but at this moment the Second Peasant is seen 
 running breathlessly down the trail and he breaks 
 in upon the throng with a loud announcement. 
 
 Second Peasant 
 
 Comrades! Prince Vladimir and all his court 
 Come to this woodland fastness for a revelry. 
 To-night, as I returned from marketing. 
 Met I the wondrous company wending their way 
 
 [51] 
 
With trumpeting and merry jests and valorous boasting! 
 [Tbe sound of trumpets is heard. 
 
 Hark! Already are they here! 
 
 We'll look upon brave sights before the dawning! 
 
 [The peasants fall away to the sides of the lower stage 
 as winding down the trail come the Court of Vlad- 
 imir with a flourish of trumpets and music. 'The 
 trumpeters come first, then the Metropolitan, bear- 
 ing a huge golden icon, preceded by acolytes 
 carrying the Bread and Salt, the Chalice, and 
 swinging censors. Then follow the servants bear- 
 ing platters with a boars head, roast swan, fruits, 
 and flagons of wine. Finally advances the Prince, 
 himself , followed by the nobles and warriors of the 
 Court. A table is swiftly laid upon the upper 
 stage and an altar is set up upon which is deposited 
 the icon, the Bread and Salt and the covered 
 Chalice. When all is ready, the nobles range them- 
 selves about the table, and, at a sign from Prince 
 Vladimir, are seated. Before seating himself the 
 Metropolitan blesses the company with upraised 
 forefingers. The court acknowledges the benedic- 
 tion with swiftly bowed heads, but the peasants 
 bend very low. 
 
 Vladimir {standing) 
 Nobles, warriors, goodly friends, 
 I see that thou art puzzled at our royal whim 
 For woodland feasting; and with good reason. 
 Thy prince, as thou hast guessed, hath a deep purpose 
 Behind this empty screen of revelry. 
 Our royal city, as thou knowst, is daily scourged 
 And nightly sore beset by keen terrors that have sprung 
 Full-fledged to strong-armed evil. 
 
 [52] 
 
For five and twenty days has the shining blue of Heaven 
 Been darkened at unseemly times by the swift flights 
 Of this foul god of dread repute, Falcon the Hunter, 
 Riding the sky and hurling fiery darts 
 Upon the golden pinnacles of our sweet-chimed cathedral. 
 With such an evil circumstance hovering aloft 
 It would be folly's height to plot its doom 
 Under the weighty canopy of gilded roofs 
 And rough-hewn timbers. Thus did we, in royal wisdom, 
 Decide upon this star-hung spot as safest for our gathering. 
 For here, though Falcon may be mighty, he cannot rend 
 the sky 
 
 And make of it a shroud for our untimely end. 
 Now, come we to the meat of what we purpose; 
 How many of you here, knowing the dreadful terror of his 
 might. 
 
 The fiery keenness of his lightning flash, the thunder of his 
 
 voice. 
 Will undertake to stay him when, in burning flight. 
 He next essays his hurtling ride athwart the speechless 
 
 heavens ? 
 
 The Nobles {rising with swords up- 
 raised) 
 We, all of us, in company or singly, 
 As thou wilt! 
 
 Vladimir 
 We thank thee, valiant knights! 
 Knew we full well that not the humblest in our court 
 But would fly quickly to the clarion-call of service. 
 Pass now the flagons of our gold-green wine. 
 And let thy loyalty be sealed in brimming cups. 
 Again our thanks go out to you ! 
 Let us to meat and then to well-seasoned councilling. 
 
 [S2] 
 
[^Jbe nobles seat themselves and the Metropolitan again 
 raises his fingers in blessing. At this pointy Ilya 
 ties Nightingale to a tree^ and marches boldly 
 up to the banquet-table^ with drawn sword. At his 
 appearance^ Vladimir and several of the nobles 
 rise haughtily to their feet. 
 
 Vladimir 
 
 How now, thou sword-girt rustic? 
 
 This is no time for vain petitioning! 
 
 Canst thou not grant thy sovereign Prince a courteous 
 
 privacy, 
 E'en though our fancy chooses to hang 
 Naught but the torch-pierced curtain of night 
 About our festal board? 
 
 Ilya {drawing himself up in dignity) 
 
 Gracious Prince, thou dost misread my purpose; 
 I bear no whining pleas for charity! 
 My ears are ever opened to the call of service; 
 Here is my sword, direct it where thou wilt. 
 
 Vladimir {sarcastically) 
 
 Our thanks to you, brave peasant knight! 
 
 At present speaking our court is hard beset with mighty 
 
 perils. 
 But, at a calmer day, mayhap a simpler ill 
 Will wait upon thy well-intentioned remedy. 
 [Glancing about the table. 
 
 Good friends, crowd up toward me a space. 
 
 That this rash valiant may find a place to sup with us! 
 
 [With much pushing and derisive laughter the nobles 
 shift their positions and leave a place at the foot of 
 the table. "The Prince motions Ilya to be seated. 
 
 [54] 
 
Ilya {in a rage) 
 Dost thou so rudely jest with me, noble Prince? 
 Is this mean seat at table's very end 
 The measure of thy hospitality and my worth? 
 
 Vladimir 
 
 Presumest thou to set a rating on thy merit 
 Beyond these knights, whose swords and spears 
 And lives themselves, are ever listed in the cause 
 Of this our Holy Russia? 
 
 Who art thou, that with such gross impertinence. 
 Dares to rebuke thy sovereign lord? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 I am Ilya, the valiant Cossack, 
 
 Who, for twenty years, has wandered up and down 
 
 The length and breadth of this fair land. 
 
 Wresting from God, with deeds of might and goodliness, 
 
 A pardon for the one sin which binds me in a weary thrall. 
 
 If fair report has kept the word of my achievement from 
 
 thy noble ears, 
 Then Fame, indeed, is but a mute and jealous godess! 
 
 Vladimir 
 
 Ilya, the valiant Cossack! 
 
 If thy speech is truthful, then Heaven itself hath sent thee 
 
 hither, this night! 
 Thy fame and might are on the lips of wise men; 
 And fools cease their babbling at the mention of thy name! 
 Draw nearer and let me clasp thy hand. 
 And sit thee at my side, sharing my cup in perfect fellow- 
 ship. 
 
 [Vladimir, with the utmost deference^ leads Ilya to a 
 place at his side. Instinctively the nobles make 
 way, rising and standing in their places. 
 
 [55] 
 
Fearless stranger, what is thy quest? Whence comest thou? 
 And what favored spot claimed thee at thy birth? 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Vainly I seek the Holy City and God's consecration, 
 But Heaven's displeasure hath closed the shining road to 
 
 my poor feet 
 And I am doomed to stray in endless circles 
 Glimpsing the Promised Land but scarcely entering it. 
 My wanderings have been long and devious, 
 And I would but weary thee and all thy court 
 With tales of my exploits. The name of my birthplace 
 Is more quickly told. Saw I the light of day 
 In these very woods of Murom. 
 
 Below my sire and mother stand, and all my good com- 
 panions. 
 Of a gentler day. 
 
 Vladimir 
 
 This is indeed a pleasant circumstance. 
 And augurs well for our exploit. 
 [^0 the servants. 
 
 I pray you carry refreshment to these worthy rustics 
 Who honor God and Holy Russia with such fruitful issue. 
 [ne servants carry down baskets of fruit and distrib- 
 ute them among the peasants. 
 
 Nightingale {pacing restlessly back and 
 forth at the spot where he is tethered) 
 
 Swiftly the strands of fate 
 In warp and woof of hate 
 
 Are woven true. 
 And the appointed hour 
 Chimes from misfortune's tower 
 
 With clamorous hue! 
 
 [56] 
 
[Js he finishes^ he gives forth a peal of dreadful laugh- 
 ter which affrights the peasants and brings the 
 nobles to their feet, 
 
 Vladimir {in consternation) 
 What dreadful sound is that 
 Breaking upon our revelry with such foreboding? 
 
 Ilya 
 Noble sire, have no fear! 
 
 Tis but the living symbol of my sin, Nightingale the Robber, 
 Who, with strong chains, is bound against all further mis- 
 chief. 
 He and his loathsome brood were once the scourge of pious 
 
 travelers 
 In that drear wood, bordering the Black Morass. 
 But, even with their freedom, would he and all his fledge- 
 lings 
 Be naught against my valor. For, know you not, I bear a 
 
 charmed life? 
 Never in battle shall I be slain while this two-edged 
 And glistening sword is in my hand! 
 
 \A sudden and terrible whistling of wind sweeps the 
 wood; lightnings flashy the thunder roars, the 
 stage grows dark. Midway upon the trail appears 
 the brilliant figure of Falcon, the Hunter, "^he 
 nobles cower in fright as do the peasants below. 
 Only Ilya stands erect and unafraid. 
 
 Falcon {in a loud and terrible voice) 
 Where is this thief and braggart who boasts of charmed 
 
 life? 
 Let him withstand my fiery darts if he but can; 
 And then, if there is still a puff of whispering breath 
 Within his stinking carcass, he'll have good cause for 
 
 boasting! 
 
 [57] 
 
Ilya {running up the hill to meet his ad- 
 versary) 
 
 I am here thou arrant liar and white-livered spawn of 
 
 weakness! 
 Come, do thy worst, and let me prove myself! 
 
 [^hey grapple and wrestle together. T'he nobles^ recov- 
 ering themselves^ begin to encourage Ilya with 
 cries and taunts. The peasants still cower ^ afraid. 
 Nightingale laughs sardonically. Finally, Fal- 
 con wrests himself free of Ilya and hurls a fiery 
 dart at him. Ilya stands smiling a77d unscathed. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Thou art a dauntless foe and worthy of my mettle! 
 
 But, look thee, how thy darts turn back from my charmed 
 
 body! 
 Brave youth, tell me thy land and horde and father. 
 
 Falcon 
 
 What need hast thou of such full knowledge? 
 Shave thee thy head while there is yet good time 
 And get thee to a monastery! 
 
 {They renew the fight. Ilya presently gets the upper 
 hand and, pinning his adversary close against 
 the bank, draws his sword. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Tell me thy parenthood, good youth. 
 
 I would know the sire and dam who bred such courage! 
 
 Falcon 
 
 My mother is Zlatigorka, the gentle warrior queen. 
 My father know I in name only. 
 Ilya, the Valiant Cossack, is he called. 
 
 [58] 
 
Ilya {falling back and releasing Falcon) 
 Gracious Heaven, can this be true? 
 
 Valdimir {tauntingly) 
 How now, boastful Ilya? 
 Canst not dispatch this festering pestilence? 
 Where is the fealty and might thou swore to me? 
 
 Ilya 
 Sweet Prince, this is my son, sprung from my very loins. 
 Flesh of my flesh, with my hot blood pricking him to 
 
 wrathful valor. 
 Let me but plead with him the while in penitent chivalry 
 To cast his lot with mine for holy strivings. 
 
 Vladimir 
 Not so! He is a deadly scourge! 
 
 Thy first loyalty is to thy God, thy country and thy Prince! 
 Dispatch him as thou hast sworn, or, by our Sacred Lord, 
 We'll see it done by fair or foul means! 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Speak not so rashly. I, and I alone, have power for his un- 
 doing. 
 
 [He turns to Falcon 
 
 Swear fealty to thy father and yon Prince, my beauteous 
 son. 
 
 And straightway shall I release thee from thy doom. 
 
 Go thou again in peace to thy fond mother. 
 
 Who once in virgin fierceness sought to turn from my pur- 
 pose; 
 
 Tell her my anger and my loathing have by thy doughty 
 valiance 
 
 Been swallowed up. 
 
 [591 
 
From this night on, shall I her image cherish, 
 Forever in a soft and golden heart. 
 
 Falcon 
 What! thou my father? Thou loutish peasant in a masquer- 
 ade of knightly splendor! 
 
 ['Turning toward the hillside and calling loudly. 
 What ho ! My mother ! 
 Zlatigorka, appear, and choke this feeble lie 
 Back in the throat of one who would escape my might 
 By rustic trickery! 
 
 \Far up on the hillside the figure of Zlatigorka ap- 
 pears. 
 
 Zlatigorka 
 Falcon, thou mighty hunter, son of my gentler years, 
 Didst thou call me? Or have the whispering trees 
 Made sport of anxious ears with sounds of sweet deceit? 
 
 Falcon 
 Thou wert called indeed! Here stands a man of dung-hill 
 
 breed. 
 Who would persuade me that nature in a devilish gambol 
 Did snare thee as his mate, and that I am sprung 
 From such a filthy marriage-bed! 
 
 Zlatigorka {peering down intently at 
 Ilya) 
 
 Fair and reckless Falcon, he says truly! 
 
 Bow thou in all pride and fond humility upon the ground 
 
 before his feet. 
 For thou art happy in a sire whom none can conquer! 
 He did forget me speedily and wound me sore 
 But from the scourge of his disdain rose I to gentler power. 
 The feet of mighty men must ever crush. 
 Whatever stands within the paths they blaze! 
 
 [60] 
 
Falcon 
 
 Thou shameless bawd! Thou hussey! Thou whore! 
 Better had I from deep oblivion been ne'r released 
 Than had such stinking scum as this for father! 
 Tis well, I'll see that nevermore shall warrior-blood 
 Be fouled by taint of vileness! 
 
 [Falcon lifts his right hand high and hurls a dart at 
 
 Zlatigorka. As it strikes her she gives a stricken 
 
 cry and Jails dead, 
 
 Ilya {rushing upon Falcon) 
 
 What hast thou done, thou white and leprous sin made 
 
 flesh? 
 Thought I at first to spare thee, but now, thou diest! 
 And with thee all my guilt and heavy penance! 
 
 [Ilya draws his magic sword and runs Falcon 
 through. Falcon's body Jails to the ground. Ilya 
 gives a despairing cry and staggers down the trail. 
 Vladimir meets him halj-way. 
 
 Ilya {wailing) 
 
 He was my son, fair of form and keen of eye! 
 
 He was my son, mighty in battle and full of valor! 
 
 He was my son, and by his father's hand he died! 
 
 Vladimir {presenting him to the Metro- 
 politan) 
 
 Here is God's chosen instrument for good. 
 
 Present thou him a living sacrifice before the throne of 
 
 grace. 
 For he hath purchased our release from terror at a grievous 
 
 price! 
 
 [6i] 
 
The Metropolitan {chanting) 
 
 The Lord distributeth sorrows in his anger, 
 
 And dominion and fear are with him. 
 
 Yet he maketh his peace in high places 
 
 And with his right hand doth he put out the candle of the 
 
 wicked. 
 
 [He removes Ilya's helmet and places his two hands in 
 blessing upon Ilya's head as he kneels before the 
 Icon, 
 The Lord withdraweth not his eyes from the faithful 
 And if they be bound in fetters of sin 
 Or holden in cords of affliction, 
 Then he sheweth them his work and openeth their ears to 
 
 his discipline. 
 That they may spend their days in prosperity and their 
 
 years in pleasure. 
 
 Vladimir {to the attendants) 
 
 Take litters in thy hands and lay these heathen dead 
 In readiness for decent burial. Perhaps his sacrifice 
 Will cleanse them of profane corruption and set the seal 
 Of Christian grace upon them! 
 
 [7*0 the solemn notes of a funeral march the attendants 
 ascend the hill with litters upon which they deposit 
 the dead. At the same time the acolytes distribute 
 candles among the peasants who light them and 
 kneel between the two biers as they are placed 
 finally on the lower stage. Ilya rises from his 
 knees and moves slowly and sorrowfully down to 
 the lower level where he stands gazing tenderly at 
 the dead. 
 
 Ilya 
 
 Fond mate of sudden springtime. 
 Thou wert indeed closer to my heart 
 
 [62] 
 
Than God's cold penance would allow! 
 
 And thou, too, impetuous blossom of love's golden sum- 
 mering, 
 
 I would that thy cold Ups might, for but one brief moment, 
 
 Call me in tenderness and proud acknowledgement- 
 father ! 
 
 Nightingale {with bantering laughter) 
 
 Daring Ilya! Valiant Cossack 1 
 
 So tis to this brave ending that all thy boasting paths have 
 
 led! 
 Who now is mightier, a father robbed of his fair issue by 
 
 his own hand. 
 Or Nightingale, the Robber, whose hate and malice 
 Can by no hot-forged chains be safely bound? 
 Recallst thou not my warning: 
 Thy son shall live to set a price 
 Of bitter sorrow and drearest woe 
 Upon thy sore-won pardon ? 
 
 Ilya 
 Aye . . . thou wert ever gifted in foul prophesies! 
 Perhaps thy memory serves thee also for thine own swift 
 
 doom ! 
 This valiant Queen who pledged thy safety is no more, 
 And with her died thy curst immunity! 
 
 [Ilya crosses over to Nightingale and, catching him 
 by the throat, strangles him and flings his body 
 upon the ground. 
 So let all thy sinister flock languish and die with thee. 
 And, from their mouldering carcasses arise, 
 No more a serpent-hissing brood, but, by the grace of God, 
 Sweet singers that shall wake the moon-lit hours 
 To swooning ecstacy! 
 
 [63] 
 
The Metropolitan {appearing on the 
 edge of the upper stage and swinging a 
 censor in blessing) 
 
 The Lord doth build up his holy city; 
 
 He lifteth up the meek and He casteth the wicked on the 
 
 ground. 
 He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their 
 
 wounds; 
 He gathereth together the outcasts and the forsaken. 
 The Lord telleth the number of stars and He calleth them 
 
 by their names. 
 Great is His power and his understanding is infinite! 
 
 \As the METROPOLiTANj^/^/j/^d'j", the kneeling peasants 
 break into song. 
 
 Song of the Peasants 
 
 Lord, grant these dead a sure release, 
 From all their vain and wilful debt; 
 
 Receive their souls and give them peace 
 And on their brows forgiveness set. 
 
 They were but shaped to meet thy plans 
 
 So let them lie in sweet repose 
 And as our faith thy anger spans 
 
 Bud thorns of sin with pardon's rose. 
 [I'he wayfarers^ chorus is heard and midway upon 
 the trail the wayfarers appear, climbing up- 
 ward. 
 
 Song of the Wayfarers 
 
 Over the hills and the plains 
 
 Over the streams and the sea 
 Come we in gladness 
 Robbed of all sadness 
 
 Chanting our Lord's decree. 
 
 [64] 
 
Now is the morning come 
 
 Now is the blackness flown 
 Sorrow and strife doth end 
 Peasant and prince doth bend 
 
 Before one throne! 
 
 Ilya, thou art thrice blessed 
 
 Ilya, thou art thrice free; 
 Praise thou the Holy One 
 Praise thou his Gracious Son, 
 
 Praise thou the Blessed Three! 
 [yf J the wayfarers reach the highest pointy they range 
 themselves with the first wayfarer in the center and 
 the others on either side. 
 
 Ilya 
 Now doth the thorn-hedged path of yester-year laugh with 
 
 sweet-scented bloom, 
 And, in a shining course, stretches its way with arrow 
 
 swiftness 
 To the Holy City where I shall seal God*s pardon 
 Beneath the gilded canopy of His wondrous sanctuary. 
 Farewell, sweet friends! Good sire and mother adieu! 
 Once more I go about my Father's business and in His 
 gracious care I leave thee, all ! 
 
 [Ilya mounts to the upper stage where he is met by 
 Vladimir and embraced, 
 
 Vladimir 
 Ilya, thou holy peasant we greet thee! 
 Ilya, thou valiant Cossack, all hail! 
 Peasant and humble warrior, no longer. 
 But, knighted by our earthly hand. 
 Henceforth to us and all our court 
 Ilya, of Murom, shalt thou be! 
 
 [65] 
 
[Vladimir removes Ilya^s faded blue robe and throws 
 a white and gold cloak about his shoulders. Sud- 
 denly a bright light appears where the wayfarers 
 have grouped themselves far upon the hillside. T'he 
 holy men are seen divested of their coarse brown 
 cloaksy all clothed in white and shining raiment 
 with halos about their heads. At this transforma- 
 tion even the nobles bow low. 
 
 The Wayfarers {singing) 
 Praise ye the Lord. 
 Sing unto the Lord a new song. 
 
 Praise ye Him all His angels: praise ye Him all His hosts. 
 Praise ye Him sun and moon: praise ye Him all ye stars of 
 light. 
 
 The Metropolitan {singing) 
 
 For He covereth the heaven with clouds 
 
 And He prepareth rain for the earth. 
 
 He maketh the trees to flourish upon the mountains; 
 
 And He causeth peace to dwell within thy borders. 
 
 The Entire Company {singing) 
 He causeth the wind to blow and the grass to grow for the 
 
 cattle, 
 And herbs for the service of man that He may bring forth 
 
 food upon the earth. 
 He sendeth the springs into the valleys which run among 
 
 the hills; 
 He taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that 
 
 hope in His mercy! 
 
 The Wayfarers {singing) 
 
 Praise the Lord with the sound of trumpet 
 Praise Him with psaltery and with harp! 
 
 [66] 
 
The Metropolitan {singing) 
 
 Praise Him with timbrel and with dance; 
 
 Praise Him with stringed instruments and organs! 
 
 The Entire Company {singing) 
 Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord! 
 
 First Wayfarer {singing) 
 In the name of the Father! 
 
 Second Wayfarer {singing) 
 And of the Son! 
 
 Third Wayfarer {singing) 
 And of the Holy Spirit! 
 
 The Metropolitan {singing) 
 
 Through Ages of Ages; 
 
 From everlasting to everlasting: 
 
 The Entire Company {singing) 
 
 Amen 
 
 [Ilya with outstretched arms and a look of ecstacy 
 climbs toward the shining figures ^followed by the 
 court. A blaze oj light illumines the forest. 
 
 [671 
 
SYNOPSIS OF THE MUSIC 
 
 In writing the music for the Bohemian Grove Play of 
 1920, 1 have endeavored to avoid any systematic arrange- 
 ment of a series of songs and choruses. It was rather my 
 intention to write a free, unhampered flow of melody inci- 
 dental to the story, and serving as a musical background, 
 as it were, thus forming a part of the entire atmosphere of 
 the performance. 
 
 The Prelude begins with a virile passage (No. i), inter- 
 
 preted by the violas, cellos, and basses and written in fugue 
 form, creating the impression that something of great 
 dramatic importance is about to happen. In the Diver- 
 tissement of the Fugue, Theme No. 2, which consists of a 
 
 m Cr t 
 
 No. 2 
 
 Russian Dance, is introduced, and after the Stretta of the 
 Fugue the Lament of Ilya (No. 3), sung behind the scenes. 
 
 No. 3 
 
 [69] 
 
is heard. Following the Lament choruses of the peasants 
 come from the distance introducing in fragmentary form 
 
 ^j- / ^ r . r j" j^ ^ n b J J f ri" ^^ -j^ -^ j^ I n p I 
 
 ^^^s^w^^^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 ^ 
 
 s 
 
 
 j i 7- 
 
 I 
 
 *=; 
 
 ^ 
 
 P 
 
 No. 4 
 
 themes Nos. 4 and 2, gradually fading away until they 
 become merged with the first scene of the play. 
 
 Theme No. 5 is the Song of the Peasants written in 6/8 
 
 ^^ 
 
 %»«/^SA*'1 
 
 ^tj. ' M^'VtJ' Ir^Fl^ ^ 
 
 UH4£Hw-i--'^v'A^*^-" ^••- 
 
 /Vl«VH/ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
 ^ 
 
 i^= > ti& 
 
 f 
 
 f 
 
 
 
 »«fc« tAi^c-. 
 
 vWij'V I". 1 ( 
 
 :z=s 
 
 i 
 
 i I]- Ml' 
 
 rt 
 
 £g :'- ' ; ■ J'. : 
 
 No. 5 
 
 time, the second part (No. 6) is written in 3 /4 time and 
 
 
 ^B^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 i5^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 
 
 i'^nn?fTpl 
 
 4- 
 
 m- 
 
 ^(JjJO^W 
 
 No. 6 
 
 [701 
 
after the first eight measures sung by the basses these two 
 themes are combined being rendered simultaneously. 
 
 The Chorus of the Axes consists of the development of 
 Themes Nos. 2 and 4 which were already heard in the 
 Prelude. This chorus is a grand ensemble number of 
 chorus, orchestra and ballet. The finale of this number is 
 a brilliant development of Theme No. 2, 
 
 Theme No. 7 is the Chorus of the Wayfarers and it be- 
 
 ^^' 
 
 
 olaaI iJlc maAAvi 
 
 O^v^CA- tU-l*^**^**^*^ 
 
 o^AHk. JlfJt»iM\ 0-^^>*vtU >rfi(|««i«u.VliU. 
 
 -Uk^ 
 
 aJLk. 
 
 No. 7 
 
 gins with a four-part chorus followed by a tenor solo con- 
 sisting of a Russian melody (No. 8); the chorus is after- 
 
 l^r^d^ t-^-U^rt ^°V^-^ iuiK^^i^4«- 
 
 No. 8 
 
 ward repeated with orchestral accompaniment in a more 
 elaborate form. 
 
 [71] 
 
Immediately after the Interlude between the first and 
 second acts the Nightingale Theme (No. 9), is introduced, 
 
 Mi 
 
 £ 
 
 ^ 
 
 k#^ 
 
 "T^lrff 
 
 t 
 
 No. 9 
 
 and following an intensely dramatic climax the Dance of 
 the Bird Demons (No. 10) begins. 
 
 ^;a/yifc*o 
 
 No. 10 
 
 Theme No. 1 1 portrays Ilya after his miraculous change 
 
 from a cripple to a strong, vigorous youth, and it is there- 
 fore an entirely different theme from No. 3, the Lament, 
 which depicts Ilya in his crippled state. Henceforth the 
 
 [72] 
 
new theme is used as a leading motive to describe each 
 mood of Ilya during the rest of the action. 
 
 ,^^^— 
 
 No. 12 
 
 Theme No. 12 pictures the Love of Zlatigorka. 
 The Prelude to the third act is built around a theme 
 of chimes (No. 13) heard from various directions, and a 
 
 joyful chorus of peasants on the way to church (No. 14) 
 
 No. 14 
 
 is introduced. From the church comes a sacred chorus 
 with organ accompaniment (No. 15) which is written 
 
 [731 
 

 ^^^^^^^^^P^^^^^T^^/^ 
 
 No. 15 
 
 according to the Gregorian school of composition. After 
 this sacred chorus Theme No. 13 brings this Prelude to a 
 thrilling close. This Prelude is an elaboration of the second 
 sketch of the Water Colors Suite. 
 
 The introduction of the Funeral March (No. 16) is 
 
 CUUa^ (Uv^^eXd^ tu^^^^^U^^ 
 
 No. 16 
 
 played by the cellos as a solo, describing the despair and 
 anguish of Ilya after slaying his son. 
 
 [74] 
 
The Finale is architecturally constructed from the 
 daintiest pianissimo of the basses to the most powerful 
 and imposing climax in which orchestra, chorus, organ 
 and soloists combine, and this Finale is developed from 
 the Theme of the Wayfarers (No. 7). The work is scored 
 for two flutes and piccolo, two oboes and English horn, 
 two clarinets, two bassoons and double bassoon, four 
 horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, harp, 
 celesta, glockenspiel, tympani, percussion, strings and 
 
 organ.* 
 
 Ulderico Marcelli. 
 
 Note. This organ is now being introduced for the first time in the 
 history of Grove Plays. 
 
 [75] 
 
251 78 525 
 
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