The Tragedy of Mister Morn Read Online Free PDF

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
    finger back in affectation, when shaking
    off his snot? No, you were mistaken! …
    ELLA:
    Move your head to the right a little … I’ll pull
    the astrakhan fur on for you …
Papa,
    sit down, I beg you … You are dizzying me
    with your movements.
    TREMENS:
You were mistaken!
    Revolts there may have been, Ganus … Time and again,
    in city squares across the ages, have gathered
    low-browed criminality, mediocrity,
    and baseness … Their words I was repeating,
    but I meant something more—and I had thought
    that through those blunt words you felt my true fire,
    and that your fire answered mine. But now,
    your flame has tapered, it has turned to passion
    for a woman … I feel great pity for you.
    GANUS:
    But what is it you want? Ella, don’t get
    in the way while I’m talking …
    TREMENS:
Did you see,
    one windy night, by moonlight, the shadows
    of ruins? That is the ultimate beauty—
    and towards it I lead the world.
    ELLA:
Don’t protest …
    Sit still! … Press your lips together. A little
    touch of arrogance … There. Some carmine
    inside the nostrils—no, don’t sneeze! Passion—
    in the nostrils. Now yours are like those
    of Arabian horses. There we go.
    Please be quiet. After all, my father
    is absolutely right.
    TREMENS:
You say:
    the King is a great sorcerer. Agreed.
    The sun has swollen the taut granaries,
    the wonders of science are accessible to all,
    labour is lightened by the play of hidden forces,
    and the air is clean in the warbling workshops—
    with all this I agree. But why do we
    always want to grow, to climb uphill
    from one to a thousand, when the downward path—
    from one to zero—is faster and sweeter? Life
    itself is the example—itrushes headlong
    into ash, it destroys everything in its way:
    first it gnaws through the umbilical cord,
    then tears up plants and birds into shreds,
    and our heart beats inside us like a greedy hoof,
    till it smashes through our chest … And the poet,
    who breaks up his thoughts into sounds? Or
    the maiden, who prays for the blow of a man’s love?
    Everything, Ganus,is destruction. And
    the faster it is, the sweeter, the sweeter …
    ELLA:
Now
    for the frock-coat, the gloves—and you’re ready!
    Really, Othello, I am pleased with you …
[ declaims ]
    “But yet I fear you; for you are fatal then
    when your eyes roll so: why should I fear I know not,
    since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel fear …”
    Oh, your boots are shabby—well, never mind …
    GANUS:
    Thank you, Desdemona …
[ looking at himself in the mirror ]
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