Vladimir Nabokov - The Tragedy of Mister Morn

of my sleepy books there is a smile.

And my blessèd parrot is calm as a vision.

KLIAN:

That bird dazzles my eyes… Please understand,

they will descend upon us now—there is

no way out!…

DANDILIO:

I sense no danger:

a blind rumour blown in from the south,

that the King is alive, has intoxicated

souls with an unheard-of joy; the city is so

tired of executions that, having finished

with Tremens, the chief madman, they will

hardly start searching for his accomplices.

KLIAN:

You think so? Yes, it’s true, the sun is shining…

And the gunshots have died down… Shall I open

the window, shall I look out? Eh?

DANDILIO:

Moreover,

I have this little thing… shall I show you?

Here, in this soft case… My talisman…

Here, look…

KLIAN:

The crown!

DANDILIO:

Wait, you’ll drop it…

KLIAN:

Do you hear?… O, God… Someone… On the stairs…

Ah!

DANDILIO:

I said you’d drop it!

[ Enter TREMENS.]

TREMENS:

Golden thunder!

I’m touched! But in vain were you preparing

to crown me. Congratulate me, Klian: half

a kingdom is promised for my bald pate!…

[ to DANDILIO]

Tell me, blithe old man, when and how

did you come by that piece of lustre?

DANDILIO:

One

of those who searched the palace sold it to me

for a gold coin.

TREMENS:

Well, well… Give it here. It fits.

But I confess, right now, I would prefer

a nightcap. Where is Ella?

DANDILIO:

Nearby. She’s sleeping.

TREMENS:

Ah… good. Klian, why are you whining?

KLIAN:

I can’t… Tremens, Tremens, why did I follow

you? You are death, you are the abyss!

We will both perish.

TREMENS:

You’re absolutely right.

KLIAN:

My friend, my leader… You are the wisest of all.

Save me—and Ella… Teach me—what should

I do?… My Tremens, what should I do?

TREMENS:

What should you do? Sleep. I shiver once more;

once more that naked concubine—fever—

clings to my stomach with her cold thighs,

strokes, strokes my back with her icy palms…

Give me something to throw over my shoulders,

old man. That’s it. Yes, my dear Klian,

I am convinced that our friends were right

when they warned us that… By the way,

I executed all four of them—

they tried to betray me… All I needed!

I am going to sleep. Let the soldiers

find me themselves.

KLIAN: [ cries out ]:

Ah!…

DANDILIO:

Don’t shout…

don’t. There. I knew that would happen.

[ELLA enters from the right .]

TREMENS:

My daughter, Ella, do not fear: all is well!

Klian here is singing his latest poems…

ELLA:

Father, are you wounded? There’s blood.

TREMENS:

No.

ELLA:

Your hand is once more, once more cold…

and your nails, they look as though you’ve eaten

wild strawberries… I will stay here, Dandilio…

I will lie down, give me a pillow… Really

I feel better… All night they fired… My child

cried… But where is your cat, Dandilio? …

DANDILIO:

Some prankster struck it with a stone bottle…

Otherwise I would not have bought the parrot…

ELLA:

Yes, the fiery one… Yes, I do

recall… We drank to its health… Ah!

[ laughs ]

“And yet I fear you… For you are fatal then…”

—where is that from? Where’s it from? No,

I have forgotten.

KLIAN:

Enough… Ella… my love…

close your eyes…

ELLA:

… You are as pale as a fresh

pine-board… and droplets of resin… I don’t

like it… Go away…

KLIAN:

Forgive me… I won’t, I just…

I wanted to fix your pillow… There…

[ He sinks down at her bedside .]

TREMENS:

What was I saying? Yes, they search badly;

there, around the senate, around the palace,

the people crowd about, cleaning the royal

chambers, airing the carpets, and sweeping up

my cigarette butts and Ella’s hairpins…

Very amusing! And what an amusing rumour,

that apparently a burglar—somewhere in the south,

you see—climbed into the house and whacked

the owner on the head—who, in turn,

if you please, turned out to be that very ruler

who abandoned his city half a year ago…

I know, I know, these are all fantasies. But

with just such a fantasy they swept me aside.

There, Ella sleeps. It’s also time for me…

The chill strokes, creeps up my back… But

it’s a shame, Dandilio, that the imaginary

thief did not destroy the made-up king!…

You laugh? Do I joke well?

DANDILIO:

Yes, poor Ganus!

He was unlucky…

TREMENS:

What do you mean—Ganus?

DANDILIO:

Well, he received the letter… Ella told me…

How well the poor girl sleeps… Klian,

cover her feet with something…

TREMENS:

Listen, listen,

Dandilio, perhaps amongst your antique toys,

your dusty knick-knacks, your magic books,

you have half a dozen good warm shirts?

Lend them to me…

DANDILIO:

I would have given them

to you sooner, but they would have been

too small for you… What is it you want to say?

TREMENS:

Once, Dandilio, we were friends, we argued

about art… Then I became a widower…

Then the revolt—the first one—enthralled me,

and we met less frequently… I am not inclined

to idle sentimentality, but in the name

of that distant friendship, I ask you,

tell me clearly, what do you know of the King!…

DANDILIO:

What, have you not understood? It was all

so simple. Once, four years ago, having

come to your house, I lingered in the hall

amongst the coat-hangers, in the rough darkness,

and two people entered; I heard their quick

whispers: “My sovereign, it is dangerous, he is

an unrestrained rebel…” The other laughed

in response and whispered: “You wait downstairs,

I won’t be long.” And again quiet laughter…

I hid. After a minute, he left and, slapping

his glove, ran down the stairs—your carefree guest…

TREMENS:

I recall… of course… How did I not connect…

DANDILIO:

You were immersed in dusky thoughts. I kept

silent. We saw each other rarely: I don’t like

cold and gloomy people. But I remembered…

Four years passed—I still remembered; and then,

when I met Morn at those recent parties,

I recognized the laughter of the King… Then,

when on the day of the duel you substituted…

TREMENS:

Wait, wait, you noticed that too?

DANDILIO:

Yes,

my eyes have grown used to chance details

in diligently tracing the trails of little beetles

and the scratches on the surface of antique

furniture, of peeling paint, the specks of dust

on nameless canvases.

TREMENS:

And you kept silent!

DANDILIO:

Of the two hearts, dearer to me was his

whose passion was keener. There is a third heart:

look—with what sorrow and tenderness,

not characteristic of him, does Klian

gaze on dreaming Ella, as though his fear

has gone to sleep with her…

TREMENS:

O, it amuses me

that, secretly from me, my very thought

and will had been at work, that after all,

I myself, with my own hand, sent death,

albeit an illusive one, to the King!

And secretly, I was not mistaken in Ganus: