Vladimir Nabokov - The Tragedy of Mister Morn

a portrait of her family, of someone else,

cards, some kind of jewellery box…

She took everything… And, as in the song—

I have been left with only these roses here:

their crumpled edges slightly touched with

tender mildew, and in the tall vase the water

smells of rot, of death, as it does

under ancient bridges. I am stirred, roses,

by your honeyed decay… You need fresh water.

[ Goes out by the door on the right. The stage is empty for some time. Then—quick, pale, in tattered clothes —GANUS enters from the terrace .]

GANUS:

Morn… Morn… where’s Morn? By a stony path,

through bushes… some kind of garden… and now—

I’m in his drawing room… This is a dream,

but before I wake up… It’s quiet here…

Can he have left? What should I do? Wait?

Lord, Lord, Lord, allow me to meet

with him alone!… I will take aim and fire…

And it will be over!… Who is that?… Oh,

only the reflection of a ragged fellow…

I am afraid of mirrors… What shall I do

next? My hand trembles,—it was unwise

to drink wine there, in that tavern,

beneath the hill… And there’s a din in my ears.

But, perhaps? Yes, definitely! The rustle

of footsteps… Now quick… Where should I…

[ And he hides to the left, behind the corner of a cupboard, having pulled out his pistol . MORN returns. He fusses over the flowers on the table, with his back to GANUS. GANUS, stepping forward, aims with a trembling hand .]

MORN:

Oh, you poor things… breathe, flame up…

You resemble love. You were made

for similes; it is not for nothing that from

the first days of the universe there has flowed

through your petals the blood of Apollo… An ant…

Funny: he runs, like a man amidst a fire…

[GANUS takes aim .]

CURTAIN

Old DANDILIO ’s room. A cage with a parrot, books, porcelain. Through the windows—a sunny summer’s day . KLIAN charges around the room. In the distance gunshots can be heard .

KLIAN:

It seems to be getting quieter… All the same,

I’m doomed! The lead will strike into my brain

like a stone into glistening mud—an instant—

and my thoughts will splatter out! If only

it were possible to juicily belch up the life

one’s lived, chew it anew and gulp it down,

and then once more to roll it with a fat,

ox-like tongue, to squeeze from its eternal

dregs the former sweetness of crisp grass,

drunk with the morning dew and the bitterness

of lilac leaves! O, God, if only one could

always feel deathly terror! That, God,

would be bliss! Every terror signifies

“I am,” and there’s no higher bliss! Terror—

but not the stillness of the grave! The groans

of suffering—but not the silence of the corpse!

This is wisdom, there can be no other!

I am prepared, having strummed my lyre,

to break it, to give up my melodious gift,

to become a leper, to weaken, to grow deaf,—

if only to remember some little thing, be it

the rustle of nails scratching a sore,—to me

that is sweeter than the songs of the otherworld!

I’m frightened, death nears… My taut heart

lurches heavily, like a sack in a cart, clattering

downhill, towards a cliff, towards an abyss!

It can’t be stopped! Death!

[DANDILIO enters from a door on the right .]

DANDILIO:

Hush, hush, hush…

Ella has only just fallen asleep in there;

the poor thing lost a lot of blood; the child

is dead and the mother has lost her second

soul—the dearer one. But she seems better…

Only, you know, I am no doctor—I used

what books I had, but still…

KLIAN:

Dandilio!

My dear Dandilio! My wonderful, my radiant

Dandilio!… I cannot, I cannot…

for they will catch me here! I am doomed!

DANDILIO:

I must confess, I was not expecting such

guests; you could have warned me yesterday:

I would have decorated the parrot’s cage—

he’s very gloomy for some reason. Tell me,

Klian—I was busy with Ella, I didn’t fully

understand—how was it that you escaped

with her?

KLIAN:

I am doomed! How awful…

What a night! They forced their way… Ella

kept asking where the child was… The crowds

broke into the palace… We were overcome:

for five terrifying days we fought against

the hurricane that was the people’s dream;

last night all fell to ruins: they hunted us

through the palace—myself and Tremens,

others too… I ran, with Ella in my arms,

from hall to hall, through inner galleries,

and back again, and up and down, and heard

the howls, the shots, and once or twice Tremens’s

cold laugh… How Ella moaned, how she moaned!

Suddenly—a scrap of curtain, a chink behind it,—

I tugged: a passage! You understand—a secret

passage…

DANDILIO:

Of course I understand… It was,

I should think, needed by the King,

so he could fly away unnoticed—and,

then, after his winged adventures, return

to his labours…

KLIAN:

…and so I stumbled

in the sepulchral darkness, and walked and walked…

Suddenly—a wall: I pushed—and found myself

miraculously in an empty alley!

Only a gunshot sounded from time to time

and tore the air at its seam… I remembered

you live nearby—and so… we came to you…

But what shall we do next? To stay with you

would be madness! They will find me! Indeed,

the whole city knows you were once friendly

with mad Tremens, and christened his daughter!…

DANDILIO:

She is weak: she won’t survive another

such excursion. But where is Tremens?

KLIAN:

He fights…

I don’t know where… He himself advised me,

the day before, that I bring my sick Ella

to you… but it is dangerous here, I

am doomed! Understand,—I don’t know how,

I don’t know how to die, and it’s too late—

I won’t learn now, there is no time! They’re

coming for me now!…

DANDILIO:

Flee alone.

You still have time. I’ll give you a false

beard and glasses and you’ll be on your way.

KLIAN:

You think so?

DANDILIO:

Or if you want, I have the masks

that people used to wear on Shrovetide

in bygone days…

KLIAN:

…Yes, you may mock!

You know yourself that I will never abandon

my weak Ella… That’s where the horror lies—

not in death, no,—but in the fact that some

sort of whimpering feeling has inhabited

my blood, a mixture of untold jealousy

and shunned desire, and such tenderness

that all sunsets are but puddles of paint

beside it—such is my tenderness!

No one knew! I am a coward, a viper,

a flatterer, but here, in this…

DANDILIO:

Enough, friend…

Calm down…

KLIAN:

Love has squeezed my heart

in its palms… holds it… won’t let it go…

If I pull it—it contracts… But death

is near… yet how can I tear myself

from my own heart? I’m not a lizard, I can’t

grow it back…

DANDILIO:

You’re rambling, calm down:

it’s safe here… The street is sunny and deserted…

Where is death to be seen? On the spines