Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (328 page)

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[In the same tone.]
Oh no, little Frau Maia. I have in reality had only one single model. One and only one — for everything I have done.

THE INSPECTOR.
[Who has turned away and stands looking out to the left.]
If you’ll excuse me, I think I will take my leave. I see some one coming whom it is not particularly agreeable to meet. Especially in the presence of ladies.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Looking in the same direction.]
That sportsman there? Who is it?

THE INSPECTOR.
It is a certain Mr. Ulfheim, from —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Oh, Mr. Ulfheim —

THE INSPECTOR. — the bear-killer, as they call him —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I know him.

THE INSPECTOR.
Who does not know him?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Very slightly, however. Is he on your list of patients — at last?

THE INSPECTOR.
No, strangely enough — not as yet. He comes here only once a year — on his way up to his hunting-grounds. — Excuse me for the moment — [Makes a movement to go into the hotel.

ULFHEIM’s VOICE.
[Heard outside.]
Stop a moment, man! Devil take it all, can’t you stop? Why do you always scuttle away from me?

THE INSPECTOR.
[Stops.]
I am not scuttling at all, Mr. Ulfheim. [ULFHEIM enters from the left followed by a servant with a couple of sporting dogs in leash. ULFHEIM is in shooting costume, with high boots and a felt hat with a feather in it. He is a long, lank, sinewy personage, with matted hair and beard, and a loud voice. His appearance gives no precise clue to his age, but he is no longer young.]

ULFHEIM.
[Pounces upon the INSPECTOR.]
Is this a way to receive strangers, hey? You scamper away with your tail between your legs — as if you had the devil at your heels.

THE INSPECTOR.
[Calmly, without answering him.]
Has Mr. Ulfheim arrived by the steamer?

ULFHEIM.
[Growls.]
Haven’t had the honour of seeing any steamer.
[With his arms akimbo.]
Don’t you know that I sail my own cutter?
[To the SERVANT.]
Look well after your fellow-creatures, Lars. But take care you keep them ravenous, all the same. Fresh meat-bones — but not too much meat on them, do you hear? And be sure it’s reeking raw, and bloody. And get something in your own belly while you’re about it.
[Aiming a kick at him.]
Now then, go to hell with you!
[The SERVANT goes out with the dogs, behind the corner of the hotel.]

THE INSPECTOR.
Would not Mr. Ulfheim like to go into the dining-room in the meantime?

ULFHEIM.
In among all the half-dead flies and people? No, thank you a thousand times, Mr. Inspector.

THE INSPECTOR.
Well, well, as you please.

ULFHEIM.
But get the housekeeper to prepare a hamper for me as usual. There must be plenty of provender in it — and lots of brandy — ! You can tell her that I or Lars will come and play Old Harry with her if she doesn’t —

THE INSPECTOR.
[Interrupting.]
We know your ways of old.
[Turning.]
Can I give the waiter any orders, Professor? Can I send Mrs. Rubek anything?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
No thank you; nothing for me.

MAIA.
Nor for me. [The INSPECTOR goes into the hotel.

ULFHEIM.
[Stares at them for a moment; then lifts his hat.]
Why, blast me if here isn’t a country tyke that has strayed into regular tip-top society.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Looking up.]
What do you mean by that, Mr. Ulfheim?

ULFHEIM.
[More quietly and politely.]
I believe I have the honour of addressing no less a person than the great Sculptor Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Nods.]
I remember meeting you once or twice — the autumn when I was last at home.

ULFHEIM.
That’s many years ago, now. And then you weren’t so illustrious as I hear you’ve since become. At that time even a dirty bear-hunter might venture to come near you.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Smiling.]
I don’t bite even now.

MAIA.
[Looks with interest at ULFHEIM.]
Are you really and truly a bear-hunter?

ULFHEIM.
[Seating himself at the next table, nearer the hotel.]
A bear-hunter when I have the chance, madam. But I make the best of any sort of game that comes in my way — eagles, and wolves, and women, and elks, and reindeer — if only it’s fresh and juicy and has plenty of blood in it. [Drinks from his pocket-flask.

MAIA.
[Regarding him fixedly.]
But you like bear-hunting best?

ULFHEIM.
I like it best, yes. For then one can have the knife handy at a pinch.
[With a slight smile.]
We both work in a hard material, madam — both your husband and I. He struggles with his marble blocks, I daresay; and I struggle with tense and quivering bear-sinews. And we both of us win the fight in the end — subdue and master our material. We never rest till we’ve got the upper hand of it, though it fight never so hard.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Deep in thought.]
There’s a great deal of truth in what you say.

ULFHEIM.
Yes, for I take it the stone has something to fight for too. It is dead, and determined by no manner of means to let itself be hammered into life. Just like the bear when you come and prod him up in his lair.

MAIA.
Are you going up into the forests now to hunt?

ULFHEIM.
I am going right up into the high mountain. — I suppose you have never been in the high mountain, madam?

MAIA.
No, never.

ULFHEIM.
Confound it all then, you must be sure and come up there this very summer! I’ll take you with me — both you and the Professor, with pleasure.

MAIA.
Thanks. But Rubek is thinking of taking a sea trip this summer.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Round the coast — through the island channels.

ULFHEIM.
Ugh — what the devil would you do in those damnable sickly gutters — floundering about in the brackish ditchwater? Dishwater I should rather call it.

MAIA.
There, you hear, Rubek!

ULFHEIM.
No, much better come up with me to the mountain — away, clean away, from the trail and taint of men. You cant’ think what that means for me. But such a little lady — [He stops.

[The SISTER OF MERCY comes out of the pavilion and goes into the hotel.

ULFHEIM.
[Following her with his eyes.]
Just look at her, do! That night-crow there! — Who is it that’s to be buried?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I have not heard of any one —

ULFHEIM.
Well, there’s some one on the point of giving up the ghost, then — in on corner or another. — People that are sickly and rickety should have the goodness to see about getting themselves buried — the sooner the better.

MAIA.
Have you ever been ill yourself, Mr. Ulfheim.

ULFHEIM.
Never. If I had, I shouldn’t be here. — But my nearest friends — they have been ill, poor things.

MAIA.
And what did you do for your nearest friends?

ULFHEIM.
Shot them, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Looking at him.]
Shot them?

MAIA.
[Moving her chair back.]
Shot them dead?

ULFHEIM.
[Nods.]
I never miss, madam.

MAIA.
But how can you possibly shoot people!

ULFHEIM.
I am not speaking of people —

MAIA.
You said your nearest friends —

ULFHEIM.
Well, who should they be but my dogs?

MAIA.
Are your dogs your nearest friends?

ULFHEIM.
I have none nearer. My honest, trusty, absolutely loyal comrades — . When one of them turns sick and miserable — bang! — and there’s my friend sent packing — to the other world. [The SISTER OF MERCY comes out of the hotel with a tray on which is bread and milk. She places it on the table outside the pavilion, which she enters.

ULFHEIM.
[Laughs scornfully.]
That stuff there — is that what you call food for human beings! Milk and water and soft, clammy bread. Ah, you should see my comrades feeding. Should you like to see it?

MAIA.
[Smiling across to the PROFESSOR and rising.]
Yes, very much.

ULFHEIM.
[Also rising.]
Spoken like a woman of spirit, madam! Come with me, then! They swallow whole great thumping meat-bones — gulp them up and then gulp them down again. Oh, it’s a regular treat to see them. Come along and I’ll show you — and while we’re about it, we can talk over this trip to the mountains — [He goes out by the corner of the hotel, MAIA following him.

[Almost at the same moment the STRANGE LADY comes out of the pavilion and seats herself at the table.

[The LADY raises her glass of milk and is about to drink, but stops and looks across at RUBEK with vacant, expressionless eyes.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Remains sitting at his table and gazes fixedly and earnestly at her. At last he rises, goes some steps towards her, stops, and says in a low voice.]
I know you quite well, Irene.

THE LADY.
[In a toneless voice, setting down her glass.]
You can guess who I am, Arnold?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Without answering.]
And you recognise me, too, I see.

THE LADY.
With you it is quite another matter.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
With me? — How so?

THE LADY.
Oh, you are still alive.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Not understanding.]
Alive — ?

THE LADY.
[After a short pause.]
Who was the other? The woman you had with you — there at the table?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[A little reluctantly.]
She? That was my — my wife.

THE LADY.
[Nods slowly.]
Indeed. That is well, Arnold. Some one, then, who does not concern me —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Nods.]
No, of course not —

THE LADY. — one whom you have taken to you after my lifetime.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Suddenly looking hard at her.]
After your — ? What do you mean by that, Irene?

IRENE.
[Without answering.]
And the child? I hear the child is prospering too. Our child survives me — and has come to honour and glory.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Smiles as at a far-off recollection.]
Our child? Yes, we called it so — then.

IRENE.
In my lifetime, yes.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Trying to take a lighter tone.]
Yes, Irene. — I can assure you “our child” has become famous all the wide world over. I suppose you have read about it.

IRENE.
[Nods.]
And has made its father famous too. — That was your dream.