Vladimir Nabokov - The Tragedy of Mister Morn

has its limit… Help him, Klian—he can’t

open the door, he’s pulling at it…

KLIAN:

Here,

let me—towards yourself…

GANUS:

…But perhaps

she’s calling for me! Oh!

[ Throws himself at a table .]

KLIAN:

Wait… Calm down…

Save yourself, Tremens, he’s…

GANUS:

Let go! Just don’t

touch me, do you understand? There’s no need

to touch me… Where’s the basket? Move away!

The basket!…

TREMENS:

He’s mad…

GANUS:

Here… in pieces…

in my palms… silver… Oh, that impetuous

handwriting!

[ reads ]

Here… here… “my fan… send me…

He’s worn me out”… Who’s he? Who’s he? The pieces

are all jumbled up… “Forgive me”… That’s not it.

That’s not it either… Some address… strange…

in the south…

KLIAN:

Shall I call the guard?

GANUS:

Tremens!…

Listen… Tremens! It must be I see things

differently from everyone else… Take a look…

After the words “and I’m unhappy”… That name…

See it? That name there… Can you make it out?

TREMENS:

“Mark is with me”—no, not Mark… “Morn,”

is it? Morn… That sounds familiar… Ah,

I’ve remembered! How glorious! That’s fate

for you! So that buffoon tricked you?

Where are you going? Wait…

GANUS:

Morn lives,

God is dead. That’s all… I go to kill Morn.

TREMENS:

Wait… No, no, don’t pull away…

I’ve had enough… You hear? I talked to you

of chasms, of giants—and you… how dare you

bring in here the spirit of masquerade,

the babble of life, the squeak of mousy passion?

Wait… I am tired of you putting your… anguish—

your heart, that ace of hearts pierced by an arrow,—

above my, my thunderous worlds!

Enough of your living in this anguish!

I am jealous! No, lift up your face!

Look, look into my eyes, as into a grave.

So, you wish to assuage your fate? Stop

pulling away! Listen, do you remember

a certain happy evening? The eight of clubs?

Know, then, that it was I—cursed Tremens—

that your fate…

ELLA [ in the doorway ]:

Father, leave him be!

TREMENS:

…your fate… I pity… Leave. Hey, somebody!

He’s grown faint—take him under the elbows!

GANUS:

Be off, you ravens! The corpse of Morn—is mine!

[ Leaves .]

TREMENS:

Close the door behind him, Klian. Tightly.

There’s a draught.

SECOND REBEL [ quietly ]:

I said there was a lover…

FIRST REBEL:

Quiet, I’m feeling frightened…

THIRD REBEL:

How Tremens frowns.

SECOND REBEL:

Unhappy Ganus…

FOURTH REBEL:

He’s happier than us…

KLIAN [ loudly ]:

My leader! I shall dare to repeat myself.

The people are gathered in the square. They wait

for you.

TREMENS:

I know… Hey, follow me, you sheep!

Why have you gone so quiet? Look lively!

I will give such a speech, that tomorrow

nothing but ashes will remain of the city.

No, Klian, you aren’t to come with us:

your neck hints too much of the gallows.

[TREMENS and the REBELS leave . ELLA and KLIAN remain onstage .]

KLIAN:

Did you hear that? Your father is a splendid

joker. I like it. It’s funny.

[ Pause .]

Ella, you have

a white hat on—are you going somewhere?

ELLA:

Nowhere. I’ve changed my mind…

KLIAN:

My wife

is beautiful. I don’t find time to tell you that

you are beautiful. Only from time to time,

in my poems…

ELLA:

I don’t understand them.

[ Screams are heard offstage .]

KLIAN:

Hark! The howl of the crowd… That welcoming peal!

CURTAIN

A drawing room in a southern villa. A glass door onto a terrace, leading out to a fantastical garden. In the middle of the stage is a table set with three places. A foul spring morning . MIDIA stands with her back to the audience, looking out of the window. Somewhere a servant strikes a gong. The noise dies down . MIDIA doesn’t move . EDMIN enters from the left with the newspapers .

EDMIN:

Again there is no sun… How did you sleep?

MIDIA:

On my back, and on my side, and even

in the foetal position…

EDMIN:

Are we taking

coffee in the drawing room?

MIDIA:

Yes,

as you can see. The dining room is gloomy.

EDMIN:

The news is even more terrible than before…

These are not newspapers, but shrouds

drenched with death, with the dankness of the grave…

MIDIA:

They must have got wet in the postman’s bag.

It has rained since morning, the gravel is dark.

And the palm trees have drooped.

EDMIN:

Here, listen:

the suburbs are ablaze… the crowds have looted

the museums… they light bonfires in the squares…

And drink, and dance… Execution follows

execution… And into the drunken city

has come the plague…

MIDIA:

What do you think, will

the rain stop soon? It’s so dull…

EDMIN:

Meanwhile,

their savage leader… You knew his daughter…

MIDIA:

Yes,

I think so… I don’t remember… What’s death

to me, chaos, blood, when I’m so bored

that I don’t know what to do with myself!

Oh, Edmin, he has given up shaving,

he walks around in his dressing gown,

he’s gloomy, and abrupt, and stubborn…

It’s as though we’ve crossed from a fairy tale

to the most banal reality… He is becoming

duller, has started hunching his shoulders,

ever since we came to live here, in this swamp…

The palm trees, you know, always remind me

of the hallways of rich merchants… Edmin,

leave the newspapers… It’s nonsense… You are

always so reserved with me, as though

I were a whore or a queen…

EDMIN:

Not at all…

I only… You do not know, Midia, what

you are doing!… O, God, what is there

for us to talk about?

MIDIA:

I loved his laughter:

he laughs no longer… While once it seemed

to me that this tall, happy, quick-witted man

must be some kind of artist, a wondrous

genius, concealing his visions for the sake

of my jealous love,—and in not knowing

there lay for me a blissful thrill… Now I

have understood that he is dull and empty,

that my dream does not live in him,

that his light has gone out, he has fallen

out of love with me…

EDMIN:

You mustn’t bewail

things so… Who could fall out of love with you?

You are so… well, enough—come on, smile!

Your smile is the movement of an angel…

I beg you!… Today, even your fingers are

motionless… They too do not smile… Ah, there!…

MIDIA:

Has it been long?

EDMIN:

Has what been long, Midia?

MIDIA:

Well. That’s interesting… I’ve never seen you

like this. No, in fact, I did once ask you

what the point was of your standing guard

in the street…

EDMIN:

I remember, remember

only the curtain in your tormenting window!

You swam past in the embraces of another…

In the snowstorm I cried…