The Tragedy of Mister Morn (10 page)

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 brand, 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.