Vladimir Nabokov - The Tragedy of Mister Morn

his hazy face. “Yes…” the messenger

continued, theatrically slapping his glove,

“you are a clever conspirator, while the King

punishes only the foolish; from this follows

a conclusion, a challenge: walk free, magnet,

and gather up, magnet, the scattered needles,

the revolutionary souls, and when you gather them,

we’ll sweep them up, and start again; so walk free,

shine on, attract…” Ganus, you are not listening…

GANUS:

On the contrary, my friend, on the contrary…

What happened next?

TREMENS:

Nothing. He left,

calmly bowing… For a long time after, I stared

at the door. Since then, I rage in passionate

idleness… Since then I wait; I stubbornly await

a blunder from the strained powers that be,

so I can make a move… Four years I wait.

I dream enormous dreams… Listen, the time

is near! Listen, you living piece of steel,

will you be drawn to me again? …

GANUS:

I don’t know…

I don’t think so… You see, I… But Tremens,

you haven’t told me about my Midia!

What does she do?

TREMENS:

Her? She strays.

GANUS:

How dare you, Tremens! I must confess

I am unused to your blaspheming words—

and I will not tolerate…

[ELLA has appeared, unnoticed, in the doorway .]

TREMENS:

…in other times

you would have laughed… My right-hand man—

hard, clear, and free—has become tender,

like an ageing maid…

GANUS:

Tremens, forgive me,

if I misunderstood your joke, but you

do not know, you do not know… I have

suffered greatly… The wind in the reeds

whispered to me of adultery. I prayed. I bribed

my creeping doubts with forced memories,

with the most winged, the most sacred ones,

which lose their colour as they fly into words,

and now, suddenly…

ELLA [ approaching ]:

Of course he was joking!

TREMENS:

Eavesdropping, eh?

ELLA:

No. I’ve long known—

you love equivocating little words,

riddles, that’s all…

TREMENS [to ganus]:

Do you recognize my daughter?

GANUS:

What, surely it can’t be—Ella? That girl

who always lay spread out with a book, here

on this fur, while we reduced worlds to ashes? …

ELLA:

And you would blaze louder than the rest,

and smoke so much, sometimes, it seemed there were

not people but ghosts dancing in the grey-blue

waves… But how did you return?

GANUS:

I stunned

two sentries with a log and wandered lost

for half a year… And now, having finally

arrived, the fugitive dares not enter

his own home…

ELLA:

I go there often.

GANUS:

How nice…

ELLA:

Yes, I am very friendly with your wife.

Many a time in your dark drawing room

have we spoken of your bitter fate. In truth,

sometimes it was hard for me: for no one

knows that my father…

GANUS:

I understand…

ELLA:

Often,

in soundless splendour, she cried, as you know

Midia cries—silently and without blinking…

In the summer, we strolled in the city outskirts,

where you had strolled with her… Recently,

she told your fortune by looking at the moon

through a glass of wine… I’ll tell you more:

this very evening I’m going to a party

at her house—there will be dancing, poets…

[ points to TREMENS]

Look, he has dozed off…

GANUS:

A party—

but without me…

ELLA:

Without you?

GANUS:

I am

an outlaw: if they catch me, I’m done for…

Listen, I’ll write a note—you can give it

to her, and I’ll wait downstairs for an answer…

ELLA [ twirling around ]:

I’ve got it! I’ve got it! How splendid!

You see, I study at a theatre school,

I have paints and pomades here in seven

different colours… I’ll smear your face in such

a way that God himself, on Judgement Day,

won’t recognize you! Well, do you want to?

GANUS:

Yes… It’s just that…

ELLA:

I’ll simply say

that you’re an actor, an acquaintance of mine,

and haven’t taken off your make-up—

because it was so good… Perfect! It’s not

up for discussion! Sit down here, closer

to the light. That’s good. You shall be Othello—

the curly-haired, old, dark-skinned Moor.

I’ll also give you my father’s frock-coat

and black gloves…

GANUS:

How amusing: Othello

in a frock-coat!…

ELLA:

Sit still.

TREMENS [ grimacing, he wakes up ]:

Oh… I think

I fell asleep… Have you both lost your minds?

ELLA:

He cannot see his wife otherwise.

There will be guests there after all.

TREMENS:

Strange:

I dreamt that the King was being strangled

by a colossal negro…

ELLA:

I think our chance

remarks seeped into your dream, got mixed up

with your thoughts…

TREMENS:

Ganus, what do you suppose,

will it be long?… will it be long? …

GANUS:

What? …

ELLA:

Don’t move your lips, talk of the King can

wait a little…

TREMENS:

The King, the King, the King!

Everything is full of him: the people’s souls,

the air, and it is said that in the clouds

at sunrise, it is his coat-of-arms that shines,

and not the dawn. Meanwhile, no one knows

what he looks like. On coins he wears a mask.

They say, he walks amongst the crowds, sharp-sighted

and unrecognized, throughout the city,

in the market places.

ELLA:

I’ve seen him ride

to the senate, accompanied by horsemen.

The carriage gleams all over in blue lacquer.

On the door there is a crown, and in

the window the blind is lowered…

TREMENS:

… and, I think,

inside there’s no one. Our King walks

on foot… And the blue lustre and the black steeds

are for show. He is a fraud, our King!

He should be…

GANUS:

Stop, Ella, you have

put paint in my eye… May I speak…

ELLA:

Yes,

you may. I will look for a wig…

GANUS:

Tell me, Tremens,

I don’t understand: what do you want?

While wandering through the country I have

noticed that in four years of radiant peace—

after wars and revolutions—the country

has grown wonderfully strong. And the King

alone achieved all this. What then do you want?

New upheavals? But why? The power of the King

is living and harmonious, it moves me now

like music… I too find it strange, but I

have understood that to rebel is criminal.

TREMENS [ rising slowly ]:

What did you say? Did I mishear? Ganus,

you… repent, regret, and practically

give thanks for your punishment!

GANUS:

No.

For the sorrows of my heart, for the tears

of my Midia, I will never forgive the King.

But, consider: while we were declaiming

grand words—on the oppressed, on poverty

and the suffering of the people—the King

himself was already acting in our stead…

TREMENS [ walks heavily around the room, drumming his fingers on the furniture as he passes ]:

Hang on, hang on! Did you really think

that I worked with such determination

for the good of an imaginary “people”?

So that every manure-filled soul, some

drunken goldsmith or another, some gnarled

stable-boy could polish his dainty nails

up to a mirror sheen, and bend his little