The Tragedy of Mister Morn by Vladimir Nabokov, Thomas Karshan, Anastasia Tolstoy Page B

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