your exploding head; until I deafen your soul
with the thunders of my devastating dream!…
I am tormented by idleness, and yet I know
that my stifled will is like the water, which,
falling drop after drop upon the head
of a condemned man, gives birth to madness,
gnawing his skull and eating through his reason;
like water, which, seeping drop after drop
through stone, into the fiery bowels of the earth,
provokes the eruption of a volcano—
the madness of the earth… Non-existence…
Though I have fallen in love with twilight,
I must live on and suffer the stings of life,
that I may give the people the joy of eternal
death—yet my steadfast soul does not cry out,
crucified though it be on the bone cross
of the human skeleton, on the black thunderous
Golgotha of existence… You are pale, Ganus…
Stop laying out those cards, stop ruffling your
wild hair and glancing at the face of the clock…
What’s there to fear?
GANUS:
Be quiet, I beg you! It’s quarter to…
This is unbearable! The clock-hands move
like hunchbacks; like a widow and an orphan
behind a catafalque…
TREMENS:
Ella! My medicine!
GANUS:
Tremens… No, don’t let her come in!
O, God!
[ELLA enters lazily, dragging her shawl behind her.]
ELLA:
It’s cold in here… I’m not sure
that clock is right…
[Looks at the wall-clock.]
TREMENS:
What’s it to you?
ELLA:
Nothing.
Strange: the fire is lit, but it’s cold…
TREMENS:
… My cold,
Ella, it’s my cold! I feel the chill of life,
but wait—soon I will let loose such fire…
GANUS:
This is unbearable! Ella, you’re jangling
the glass bottles… for God’s sake, don’t…
What was I about to say? Oh, yes:
the other day you promised to give me
an envelope and a stamp…
TREMENS:
… With a masked man…
ELLA:
I’ll fetch them. It’s cold here… Maybe I am
imagining it. I keep yawning all day…
[Leaves.]
GANUS:
What did you say?
TREMENS:
I said that the stamp
depicts our noble…
GANUS:
Tremens, Tremens, O,
if you only knew! Not that. Listen, I
deliberately asked Ella… You must send
her away, somewhere, for an hour… They are
coming now: we decided on ten o’clock,
you checked the cartel yourself… I beg you,
give her an errand…
TREMENS:
On the contrary, Ganus.
Let her learn. Let her see fear and courage.
Death is a spectacle worthy of the gods.
GANUS:
You are a monster, Tremens! How can I,
under the gaze of her child-like eyes… O
Tremens, I beg you!…
TREMENS:
Enough. It’s part of my plan.
Today I shall unleash my monstrous carnival.
Your opponent—now what’s his name? I have
forgotten…
GANUS:
Tremens! My friend! Six minutes remain!
I implore you! They’re coming now… It’s Ella
I pity!
TREMENS:
… your opponent is just some flitting,
flashy buffoon; but if he should draw death
from the fist by its little white ear, I would be
content: one less soul on this earth… Oh, how
I long to sleep…
GANUS:
Five, five minutes left!…
TREMENS:
Yes: this is the hour I go to bed…
[ELLA returns.]
ELLA:
Here, take them. I could barely find them…
My face drifts up out of the semi-darkness
to meet me, like a murky jellyfish, and
the mirror is like black water… And my hair
is tired and dishevelled… And I—a bride.
I—a bride… Ganus, are you happy for me? …
GANUS:
I don’t know… Yes, of course I’m happy…
ELLA:
After all, he’s a poet, he’s a genius,
unlike you…
GANUS:
soon the clock will strike… strike through my soul…
Oh, what does it matter!…
ELLA:
Can I ask you
something? You have told me nothing, Ganus—
what happened there when we left? Ganus!
Well, then—he’s silent… Are you really angry
with me? Truly, I did not know that our
little masquerade would not come off…
How can I help? Perhaps there are some words—
they flower in the shadows of high songs,—
I’ll find them. What a foolish, sulking man,
he bites his lips, and doesn’t want to know me…
I will be understanding… Look at me…
It is sinful to be silent with me. What else
is there for me to say?
GANUS:
What, Ella, what
do you want from me? You want to talk?
Oh, let’s, let’s talk! About anything you want!
About unfaithful women, about poets,
about spirits, about the blind gut and its
missing glasses, about fashion, about the planets—
whisper, roar with laughter, chatter over
one another, chatter ceaselessly! Well,
what then? I’m having fun!… O, God!…
ELLA:
Don’t!…
You’re hurting me… You cannot understand.
Don’t. Ah! It’s striking ten…
GANUS:
Ella—look—
I’ll tell you… I must ask you to… Listen…
ELLA:
What card is that? Even?
GANUS:
Yes, it’s even—
what difference does it make… Listen…
ELLA:
An eight.
I’ve thought of a number. Klian will be waiting
at ten. When I go—it will all be over. The card
says—to stay…
GANUS:
No—go! Please, go!
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 br
and, 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.
TREMENS:
Quick, which suit?
MORN:
Well, I love the colour
red—life, and roses, and sunrises…
TREMENS: