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The Tragedy of Mister Morn

Page 6

by Vladimir Nabokov


  your exploding head; until I deafen your soul

  with the thunders of my devastating dream!…

  I am tormented by idleness, and yet I know

  that my stifled will is like the water, which,

  falling drop after drop upon the head

  of a condemned man, gives birth to madness,

  gnawing his skull and eating through his reason;

  like water, which, seeping drop after drop

  through stone, into the fiery bowels of the earth,

  provokes the eruption of a volcano—

  the madness of the earth… Non-existence…

  Though I have fallen in love with twilight,

  I must live on and suffer the stings of life,

  that I may give the people the joy of eternal

  death—yet my steadfast soul does not cry out,

  crucified though it be on the bone cross

  of the human skeleton, on the black thunderous

  Golgotha of existence… You are pale, Ganus…

  Stop laying out those cards, stop ruffling your

  wild hair and glancing at the face of the clock…

  What’s there to fear?

  GANUS:

  Be quiet, I beg you! It’s quarter to…

  This is unbearable! The clock-hands move

  like hunchbacks; like a widow and an orphan

  behind a catafalque…

  TREMENS:

  Ella! My medicine!

  GANUS:

  Tremens… No, don’t let her come in!

  O, God!

  [ELLA enters lazily, dragging her shawl behind her.]

  ELLA:

  It’s cold in here… I’m not sure

  that clock is right…

  [Looks at the wall-clock.]

  TREMENS:

  What’s it to you?

  ELLA:

  Nothing.

  Strange: the fire is lit, but it’s cold…

  TREMENS:

  … My cold,

  Ella, it’s my cold! I feel the chill of life,

  but wait—soon I will let loose such fire…

  GANUS:

  This is unbearable! Ella, you’re jangling

  the glass bottles… for God’s sake, don’t…

  What was I about to say? Oh, yes:

  the other day you promised to give me

  an envelope and a stamp…

  TREMENS:

  … With a masked man…

  ELLA:

  I’ll fetch them. It’s cold here… Maybe I am

  imagining it. I keep yawning all day…

  [Leaves.]

  GANUS:

  What did you say?

  TREMENS:

  I said that the stamp

  depicts our noble…

  GANUS:

  Tremens, Tremens, O,

  if you only knew! Not that. Listen, I

  deliberately asked Ella… You must send

  her away, somewhere, for an hour… They are

  coming now: we decided on ten o’clock,

  you checked the cartel yourself… I beg you,

  give her an errand…

  TREMENS:

  On the contrary, Ganus.

  Let her learn. Let her see fear and courage.

  Death is a spectacle worthy of the gods.

  GANUS:

  You are a monster, Tremens! How can I,

  under the gaze of her child-like eyes… O

  Tremens, I beg you!…

  TREMENS:

  Enough. It’s part of my plan.

  Today I shall unleash my monstrous carnival.

  Your opponent—now what’s his name? I have

  forgotten…

  GANUS:

  Tremens! My friend! Six minutes remain!

  I implore you! They’re coming now… It’s Ella

  I pity!

  TREMENS:

  … your opponent is just some flitting,

  flashy buffoon; but if he should draw death

  from the fist by its little white ear, I would be

  content: one less soul on this earth… Oh, how

  I long to sleep…

  GANUS:

  Five, five minutes left!…

  TREMENS:

  Yes: this is the hour I go to bed…

  [ELLA returns.]

  ELLA:

  Here, take them. I could barely find them…

  My face drifts up out of the semi-darkness

  to meet me, like a murky jellyfish, and

  the mirror is like black water… And my hair

  is tired and dishevelled… And I—a bride.

  I—a bride… Ganus, are you happy for me? …

  GANUS:

  I don’t know… Yes, of course I’m happy…

  ELLA:

  After all, he’s a poet, he’s a genius,

  unlike you…

  GANUS:

  Yes, Ella… Well, well…

  soon the clock will strike… strike through my soul…

  Oh, what does it matter!…

  ELLA:

  Can I ask you

  something? You have told me nothing, Ganus—

  what happened there when we left? Ganus!

  Well, then—he’s silent… Are you really angry

  with me? Truly, I did not know that our

  little masquerade would not come off…

  How can I help? Perhaps there are some words—

  they flower in the shadows of high songs,—

  I’ll find them. What a foolish, sulking man,

  he bites his lips, and doesn’t want to know me…

  I will be understanding… Look at me…

  It is sinful to be silent with me. What else

  is there for me to say?

  GANUS:

  What, Ella, what

  do you want from me? You want to talk?

  Oh, let’s, let’s talk! About anything you want!

  About unfaithful women, about poets,

  about spirits, about the blind gut and its

  missing glasses, about fashion, about the planets—

  whisper, roar with laughter, chatter over

  one another, chatter ceaselessly! Well,

  what then? I’m having fun!… O, God!…

  ELLA:

  Don’t!…

  You’re hurting me… You cannot understand.

  Don’t. Ah! It’s striking ten…

  GANUS:

  Ella—look—

  I’ll tell you… I must ask you to… Listen…

  ELLA:

  What card is that? Even?

  GANUS:

  Yes, it’s even—

  what difference does it make… Listen…

  ELLA:

  An eight.

  I’ve thought of a number. Klian will be waiting

  at ten. When I go—it will all be over. The card

  says—to stay…

  GANUS:

  No—go! Please, go!

  It is meant to be! Believe me! I know—

  love does not wait!…

  ELLA:

  Listless languor

  and a slight chill… Is that really love?

  In any case, I shall do as you tell me…

  GANUS:

  Go, quickly, quickly!—before he wakes up…

  ELLA:

  No, but why? He will allow me to go…

  Father, wake up. I’m leaving.

  TREMENS:

  Oh… the pain…

  Where are you going so late? No, stay,

  I need you.

  ELLA [to GANUS]:

  Shall I stay?

  GANUS [quietly]:

  No, no, no…

  I beg you, I beg you!…

  ELLA:

  You… You… are

  pitiful.

  [She goes out, throwing on a fur wrap.]

  TREMENS:

  Ella! Wait! Damn her…

  GANUS:

  She’s gone, gone… The door downstairs crashed


  like glassy thunder… I feel relieved now…

  [Pause.]

  It’s after ten… I don’t understand…

  TREMENS:

  To be late is duelling etiquette. Or maybe

  he’s lost his nerve.

  GANUS:

  There is another rule

  as well: not to insult someone else’s

  opponent…

  TREMENS:

  And I will tell you this: the soul

  must fear death as a maiden fears love. Ganus,

  what do you feel?

  GANUS:

  The fire and cold of revenge,

  and I stare steadily into the cat-like eyes

  of steely fear: the animal tamer knows

  that he need only turn away—the beast

  will spring. But, fear apart, there is another

  feeling, gloomily watching over me…

  TREMENS [yawns]:

  Damned drowsiness…

  GANUS:

  This feeling is the worst

  of all… Here, Tremens, a business letter—

  send it by post; here, a letter to my wife—

  give it to her yourself… Oh, how it sticks

  in the throat, oh, how it sticks!… Stay calm…

  TREMENS:

  So.

  Did you look at the stamp? I can always feel

  that taut neck under my fingers… You must

  help me, Ganus, if death spares you… Help me…

  We’ll find some savage mercenaries… We’ll

  penetrate the gloomy palace…

  GANUS:

  Don’t

  distract me with your mad drowsy muttering.

  For me, Tremens, this is very hard…

  TREMENS:

  Sweet sleep…

  Everlasting sleep… My lashes stick together.

  Wake me…

  GANUS:

  He sleeps. He sleeps… fiery and blind!

  Shall I reveal it to you, shall I? Oh, how

  late they are! The anticipation will kill me…

  O, God! Shall I reveal it? It’s all so simple:

  not a meeting, not a duel, but a trap…

  one short gunshot… Tremens himself will do it,

  not I, and he will say that I have placed

  higher than honour the cold duty of a rebel,

  and he’ll give thanks to me… Away, away,

  trembling temptation! There is but one reply,

  but one reply to you,—the disdainful one—

  it is ignoble. Ah, here—they come… Oh,

  that carefree laugh behind the door… Tremens!

  Wake up! It’s time!

  TREMENS:

  What! Oh! They’ve come?

  Who is that laughing there? A familiar lilt? …

  [MORN and EDMIN enter.]

  EDMIN:

  Allow me to introduce Mister Morn.

  TREMENS:

  Delighted to be at your service. Have we met?

  MORN [laughs]:

  I don’t recall.

  TREMENS:

  In my half-sleep it seemed…

  But it doesn’t matter… Where is the arbiter?

  That sprightly old man—Ella’s godfather—

  what’s his name… oh, my memory!

  EDMIN:

  Dandilio

  will be here shortly. He doesn’t know anything.

  It’s better that way.

  TREMENS:

  Yes, fate is blind. That’s

  an old joke. Sleep overcomes me. Forgive me,

  I am unwell.

  [Two groups: to the right, by the fire, TREMENS and GANUS; to the left, on the darker side of the room, MORN and EDMIN.]

  GANUS:

  Waiting… more waiting…

  I’m getting weak, I cannot bear this…

  TREMENS:

  Oh,

  Ganus, poor Ganus! You are the mirror

  of suffering; oh, to breathe some warmth

  into you to cloud the glass! Look, for instance:

  a kind of warm shadow swathes your opponent.

  He gazes at my paintings, whistles quietly…

  I cannot see, but it seems his face is calm…

  MORN [to EDMIN]:

  Look: a green meadow, and there, beyond it,

  a forest of firs in black oils, a pair

  of clouds pierced by slanting golden light…

  the time is nearly evening… and in the air,

  perhaps, a church bell… the midges swarm…

  Ah, to go there, to go into that picture,

  into the reverie of its green, airy colours…

  EDMIN:

  Your calm is a pledge of immortality.

  You are magnificent.

  MORN:

  You know, it amuses me:

  I have been here before. It amuses me,

  I keep wanting to laugh… My unhappy

  opponent dares not look me in the eye.

  I repeat that you were wrong to tell him…

  EDMIN:

  But I wanted to save half the world!…

  TREMENS [from his chair]:

  Which is the picture you like? I can’t see—

  is it the birches over a backwater?

  MORN:

  No,—

  evening, a green meadow… Who painted it?

  TREMENS:

  He is dead. Only his cold bones remain.

  Something is crucified on them—rags, a soul…

  Oh, I really don’t know why I keep

  these paintings. Leave them, you mustn’t

  look at them!

  GANUS:

  Ah! A knock at the door! No,

  it’s someone with a tray. Tremens, Tremens,

  do not laugh at me!…

  TREMENS [to the SERVANT]:

  Put it here.

  Here, drink this, Ganus.

  GANUS:

  I don’t want it.

  TREMENS:

  As you wish. My dear sirs, I pray do not

  refuse.

  MORN:

  Thank you. But tell us, Tremens, when

  was it that you stopped painting?

  TREMENS:

  When I became

  a widower.

  MORN:

  And are you now not tempted

  to put your thumb through the palette once more?

  TREMENS:

  Listen, we’ve gathered to decide on death,—

  a question of high importance; this is no place

  for small talk. Let us talk of death. You laugh?

  So much the better; but let us talk of death.

  What is the ecstasy of death? It is a pain,

  like lightning. The soul is like a tooth, God

  wrenches out the soul—crunch!—and it is over…

  What comes next? Unthinkable nausea and then—

  the void, spirals of madness—and the feeling of being

  a swirling spermatozoid—and then darkness,

  darkness—the velvety abyss of the grave,

  and in that abyss…

  EDMIN:

  Enough! This is worse

  than talking about a bad painting! Here.

  Finally.

  [The SERVANT shows in DANDILIO.]

  DANDILIO:

  Good evening! Ooph, how hot it is

  in here! It’s been a while, Tremens, since

  we’ve seen each other—you live like a hermit.

  I was astounded by your invitation:

  but the wise man, they say, invites the moth.

  For Ella—here—a box of glossy sugar plums—

  she loves them. Greetings, Morn! Edmin,

  you must be sleeping badly. You are as pale

  as a lily of the valley… Ah—can it really

  be Ganus? We once were well acquainted. It

  is a secret, is it not, that you have returned

  to us? When last night you and I… how did

  I know? Well, by the br
and, by the blue number—

  here—above your wrist: you wrung your hands

  and the number was revealed. I noticed it,

  and, as I recall, I said that in Desdemona…

  TREMENS:

  Here, have some wine, biscuits. Soon Ella

  will be back… You see, I live quietly,

  but happily. Pour some for me. By the way,

  there’s been a disagreement here: these

  gentlemen here want to decide which

  of them shall pay for a dinner… in honour

  of some fashionable dancer. If you could

  just…

  DANDILIO:

  Of course! I’ll pay with pleasure!

  TREMENS:

  No, no,

  not that… clasp the handkerchief and let out

  two ends—one with a knot.

  MORN:

  Which can’t be seen,

  of course. Really, he’s a child—one must explain

  everything! Do you recall, you carefree dandelion,

  how one night I planted you atop a street lamp:

  the light shone through your grey tufts,

  and you were trying to pull a shaggy top hat

  over the moon and smacked your lips so happily…

  DANDILIO:

  And after that, the top hat smelled of milk.

  You prankster, I forgive you!

  GANUS:

  Hurry… We asked you…

  This must be resolved…

  DANDILIO:

  Come, come, my friend—

  patience… Here is my handkerchief. Not

  a handkerchief but a multicoloured flag.

  Forgive me. I’ll turn my back to you… Ready!

  TREMENS:

  He who pulls out the knot shall pay. Ganus,

  pull.

  GANUS:

  No knot!

  MORN:

  You are lucky, as always…

  GANUS:

  I can’t… what have I done! I shouldn’t have…

  TREMENS:

  He clutches his head, mutters—but it’s not you—

  he’s the one who’s lost.

  DANDILIO:

  Forgive me, what’s this…

  I have made a mistake… There is no knot,

  I didn’t tie one, look—what a miracle!

  EDMIN:

  Fate, fate, fate decided thus! Listen

  to fate. That’s the outcome! I beseech

  you—beseech you—to be reconciled!

  All is well!

  DANDILIO [taking snuff]:

  And I shall pay for the dinner…

  TREMENS:

  The art connoisseur looks worried… Enough

  jesting with fate: give me that handkerchief!

  DANDILIO:

  What do you mean—give it to you? I need it—

  I sneeze,—it’s covered in tobacco, it’s damp;

  and what is more—I have a cold.

  TREMENS:

  We’ll make it

  simpler, then! Here, with cards…

  GANUS [mumbling]:

  I can’t.

  TREMENS:

  Quick, which suit?

  MORN:

  Well, I love the colour

  red—life, and roses, and sunrises…

  TREMENS:

 

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