Read Online The Tragedy of Mister Morn by Vladimir Nabokov, Thomas Karshan, Anastasia Tolstoy - Free Book Online Page B
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serenity … You understand?
EDMIN:
I’ll do it all …
MORN:
One thing more: today,
in a meditative hour, I wrote a childish,
but to me necessary, edict—that anyone
who is successful in escaping exile
will be pardoned for his courage …
EDMIN:
I’ll do it all.
And if you would only hint, with one
movement of your eyelids, that I should
accompany you into unknown eternity …
MORN:
… Light these candles too. Let the mirrors
be filled with visions, with winds … I shall return
shortly. I am going to the chamber where
for four years now my fiery crown has burned
and breathed in its velvet nest; let it squeeze
my head with its diamond pain, let it roll
off my head when I fall backwards …
EDMIN:
My sovereign,
my precious friend …
MORN:
… Not a shot, no, not
a shot! A musical explosion! As though
for a moment a door opens to the heavens …
While here—how the strings will prolong
the sound! What a fairy tale shall I leave
to the people! … You know, in the dark I hit
my knee upon the chair. It hurts.
[ Leaves .]
EDMIN [ alone ]:
O, I am like wax! … The chronicles will not
forget this weakness of mine … I am to blame …
Why do I not rush to save him? … Rise up,
rise up, my soul! No, heavy drowsiness …
I could with prayers, persuasions—I know
that such exist—stop him … why not, then?
As a man in his dreams cannot move his arm—
so I have not the strength even to contemplate
what is about to happen … This is—retribution! …
When once, in childhood, I was forbidden to go
to the apiary, I for a moment held
in my mind the thought of my mother’s death, and how,
unsupervised, I would eat the clear honey,—
though I loved my mother to tears, with trembling
heart … This is—retribution. Now, once more
I’m stuck to the sweet honeycombs. One thing
alone I see, one thing burns in the twilight:
come morning I will bear news of his infidelity!
Like some criminal, befogged by wine, I’ll enter,
I’ll speak, Midia will cry … and not hearing
my own words, and trembling, and with tender,
hypocritical consolation, touching her
imperceptibly, I will lie to her, so as
to take the place of someone else. Yes,
lie, tell her—about what?—the supposed
unfaithfulness of him, before whom we two—
are dust! If he had lived I would have kept
silent till the end … But now my god will leave …
I’ll be alone, weak and greedy … Death is better!
O, if only he would order me to die!
Burn, weak-willed wax … Breathe, mirrors,
with a funereal flame …
[ He lights the candles. There are many of them . MORN re-enters .]
MORN:
Here’s the crown.
My crown. Droplets of waterfalls on spikes …
Edmin, it’s time. Tomorrow you shall call
the senate together … announce … secretly …
Farewell then … it’s time … Before my eyes
pillars of fire surge past … Yes, listen—
one last thing … go to Midia, tell her
that Morn is the King … no, not the King,
not that. You’ll say: Morn is dead … wait …
no … say: he’s left … no, I don’t know!
It’s better you make something up,—but
it shouldn’t be about the King … And say it
very quietly, and very softly, as is your way.
Why are you crying like that? Don’t … Get up
off your knees, get up … your shoulder blades
are shaking like a woman’s … Don’t cry, dear friend …
Go … into the other room: when you hear
the gunshot—come back in … Enough, I die
merrily … Farewell … Go … wait! Do you
remember how once we stole in darkness
from the palace, and a sentry fired at me,
and shot through my collar? … How we laughed
then … Edmin? He’s gone … I am alone,
and all around are flaming candles, mirrors,
and a frosty night … Brightness and terror …
I am alone with my conscience. So, here’s
the pistol … an antique … six rounds … I need
but
EDMIN:
I’ll do it all …
MORN:
One thing more: today,
in a meditative hour, I wrote a childish,
but to me necessary, edict—that anyone
who is successful in escaping exile
will be pardoned for his courage …
EDMIN:
I’ll do it all.
And if you would only hint, with one
movement of your eyelids, that I should
accompany you into unknown eternity …
MORN:
… Light these candles too. Let the mirrors
be filled with visions, with winds … I shall return
shortly. I am going to the chamber where
for four years now my fiery crown has burned
and breathed in its velvet nest; let it squeeze
my head with its diamond pain, let it roll
off my head when I fall backwards …
EDMIN:
My sovereign,
my precious friend …
MORN:
… Not a shot, no, not
a shot! A musical explosion! As though
for a moment a door opens to the heavens …
While here—how the strings will prolong
the sound! What a fairy tale shall I leave
to the people! … You know, in the dark I hit
my knee upon the chair. It hurts.
[ Leaves .]
EDMIN [ alone ]:
O, I am like wax! … The chronicles will not
forget this weakness of mine … I am to blame …
Why do I not rush to save him? … Rise up,
rise up, my soul! No, heavy drowsiness …
I could with prayers, persuasions—I know
that such exist—stop him … why not, then?
As a man in his dreams cannot move his arm—
so I have not the strength even to contemplate
what is about to happen … This is—retribution! …
When once, in childhood, I was forbidden to go
to the apiary, I for a moment held
in my mind the thought of my mother’s death, and how,
unsupervised, I would eat the clear honey,—
though I loved my mother to tears, with trembling
heart … This is—retribution. Now, once more
I’m stuck to the sweet honeycombs. One thing
alone I see, one thing burns in the twilight:
come morning I will bear news of his infidelity!
Like some criminal, befogged by wine, I’ll enter,
I’ll speak, Midia will cry … and not hearing
my own words, and trembling, and with tender,
hypocritical consolation, touching her
imperceptibly, I will lie to her, so as
to take the place of someone else. Yes,
lie, tell her—about what?—the supposed
unfaithfulness of him, before whom we two—
are dust! If he had lived I would have kept
silent till the end … But now my god will leave …
I’ll be alone, weak and greedy … Death is better!
O, if only he would order me to die!
Burn, weak-willed wax … Breathe, mirrors,
with a funereal flame …
[ He lights the candles. There are many of them . MORN re-enters .]
MORN:
Here’s the crown.
My crown. Droplets of waterfalls on spikes …
Edmin, it’s time. Tomorrow you shall call
the senate together … announce … secretly …
Farewell then … it’s time … Before my eyes
pillars of fire surge past … Yes, listen—
one last thing … go to Midia, tell her
that Morn is the King … no, not the King,
not that. You’ll say: Morn is dead … wait …
no … say: he’s left … no, I don’t know!
It’s better you make something up,—but
it shouldn’t be about the King … And say it
very quietly, and very softly, as is your way.
Why are you crying like that? Don’t … Get up
off your knees, get up … your shoulder blades
are shaking like a woman’s … Don’t cry, dear friend …
Go … into the other room: when you hear
the gunshot—come back in … Enough, I die
merrily … Farewell … Go … wait! Do you
remember how once we stole in darkness
from the palace, and a sentry fired at me,
and shot through my collar? … How we laughed
then … Edmin? He’s gone … I am alone,
and all around are flaming candles, mirrors,
and a frosty night … Brightness and terror …
I am alone with my conscience. So, here’s
the pistol … an antique … six rounds … I need
but
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