The Tragedy of Mister Morn (14 page)

it is wonderful; a beautiful day! A pigeon

flew by there … Brightness, dampness … wonderful!

A workman forgot his spade … Somehow she lives

out there, at her sister’s, in that distant place …

Does she know of his death? … Begone, you

cunning devil! Because of you, I destroyed

my homeland … Enough! I hate this woman …

Come back to me, O music of repentance!

Prayers, prayers … I am free, I am free …

[
Slowly
TREMENS
and the four
REBELS
return, with
KLIAN
behind them
.]

FIRST REBEL:

Be more careful, Tremens, don’t be angry,

understand, you must be more careful!

It’s a dangerous path … You yourself have

heard: under torture they sang of the King …

ever more finely, ever more blissfully …

The King is a dream … The King has not died

in their souls, merely grown quiet … the dream

folded its wings—a moment—and now extends them …

KLIAN:

My leader, it’s gone eight; the city is awake,

it stirs … The people call you to the square …

TREMENS:

Coming, coming …

[
to the
FIRST REBEL
]

So what are you saying?

FIRST REBEL:

I’m saying that a winged legend flies,

turning in the sun! Mothers whisper

the fairy tale to their children … Beggars

speak of the King over home-brewed beer …

How can you outlaw the wind itself?

You are too angry, too merciless.

It’s a dangerous path! Be more careful,

we ask, there’s nothing stronger than a dream! …

TREMENS:

I’ll break its neck! You dare to teach me? I’ll break it!

Or, perhaps, the dream is dear to you?

SECOND REBEL:

You have misunderstood us, Tremens,

we wanted to warn you …

KLIAN:

The King is nothing but

a straw scarecrow …

TREMENS:

Enough! Leave me, you

woeful cowards! Ganus, well then, have you …

decided?

GANUS:

Tremens, truly, do not torment me …

You know yourself. I want only prayer,

only prayer …

TREMENS:

Leave, and quickly!

I have suffered you too long … Everything

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