Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (330 page)

IRENE.
[Laying her hands flat upon the table and leaning against the back of her chair.]
And then you were done with me —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Reproachfully.]
Irene!

IRENE.
You had no longer any use for me —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
How can you say that!

IRENE. — and began to look about you for other ideals —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I found none, none after you.

IRENE.
And no other models, Arnold?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
You were no model to me. You were the fountainhead of my achievement.

IRENE.
[Is silent for a short time.]
What poems have you made since? In marble I mean. Since the day I left you.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I have made no poems since that day — only frittered away my life in modelling.

IRENE.
And that woman, whom you are now living with — ?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Interrupting vehemently.]
Do not speak of her now! It makes me tingle with shame.

IRENE.
Where are you thinking of going with her?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Slack and weary.]
Oh, on a tedious coasting-voyage to the North, I suppose.

IRENE.
[Looks at him, smiles almost imperceptibly, and whispers.]
You should rather go high up into the mountains. As high as ever you can. Higher, higher, — always higher, Arnold.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[With eager expectation.]
Are you going up there?

IRENE.
Have you the courage to meet me once again?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Struggling with himself, uncertainly.]
If we could — oh, if only we could — !

IRENE.
Why can we not do what we will?
[Looks at him and whispers beseechingly with folded hands.]
Come, come, Arnold! Oh, come up to me — !
[MAIA enters, glowing with pleasure, from behind the hotel, and goes quickly up to the table where they were previously sitting.]

MAIA.
[Still at the corner of the hotel, without looking around.]
Oh, you may say what you please, Rubek, but —
[Stops, as she catches sight of IRENE]
— Oh, I beg your pardon — I see you have made an acquaintance.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Curtly.]
Renewed an acquaintance.
[Rises.]
What was it you wanted with me?

MAIA.
I only wanted to say this: you may do whatever you please, but
I
am not going with you on that disgusting steamboat.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Why not?

MAIA.
Because I want to go up on the mountains and into the forests — that’s what I want.
[Coaxingly.]
Oh, you must let me do it, Rubek. — I shall be so good, so good afterwards!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Who is it that has put these ideas into your head?

MAIA.
Why he — that horrid bear-killer. Oh you cannot conceive all the marvelous things he has to tell about the mountains. And about life up there! They’re ugly, horrid, repulsive, most of the yarns he spins — for I almost believe he’s lying — but wonderfully alluring all the same. Oh, won’t you let me go with him? Only to see if what he says is true, you understand. May I, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes, I have not the slightest objection. Off you go to the mountains — as far and as long as you please. I shall perhaps be going the same way myself.

MAIA.
[Quickly.]
No, no, no, you needn’t do that! Not on my account!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I want to go to the mountains. I have made up my mind to go.

MAIA.
Oh thanks, thanks! May I tell the bear-killer at once?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Tell the bear-killer whatever you please.

MAIA.
Oh thanks, thanks, thanks!
[Is about to take his hand; he repels the movement.]
Oh, how dear and good you are to-day, Rubek! [She runs into the hotel.

[At the same time the door of the pavilion is softly and noiselessly set ajar. The SISTER OF MERCY stands in the opening, intently on the watch. No one sees her.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Decidedly, turning to IRENE.]
Shall we meet up there then?

IRENE.
[Rising slowly.]
Yes, we shall certainly meet. — I have sought for you so long.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
When did you begin to seek for me, Irene?

IRENE.
[With a touch of jesting bitterness.]
From the moment I realised that I had given away to you something rather indispensable, Arnold. Something one ought never to part with.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Bowing his head.]
Yes, that is bitterly true. You gave me three or four years of your youth.

IRENE.
More, more than that I gave you — spend-thrift as I then was.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes, you were prodigal, Irene. You gave me all your naked loveliness —

IRENE. — to gaze upon —

PROFESSOR RUBEK. — and to glorify —

IRENE.
Yes, for your own glorification. — And the child’s.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And yours too, Irene.

IRENE.
But you have forgotten the most precious gift.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
The most precious — ? What gift was that?

IRENE.
I gave you my young, living soul. And that gift left me empty within — soulless.
[Looking at him with a fixed stare.]
It was that I died of, Arnold. [The SISTER OF MERCY opens the door wide and makes room for her. She goes into the pavilion.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Stands and looks after her; then whispers.]
Irene!

ACT SECOND
.

[Near a mountain resort. The landscape stretches, in the form of an immense treeless upland, towards a long mountain lake. Beyond the lake rises a range of peaks with blue-white snow in the clefts. In the foreground on the left a purling brook falls in severed streamlets down a steep wall of rock, and thence flows smoothly over the upland until it disappears to the right. Dwarf trees, plants, and stones along the course of the brook. In the foreground on the right a hillock, with a stone bench on the top of it. It is a summer afternoon, towards sunset.

[At some distance over the upland, on the other side of the brook, a troop of children is singing, dancing, and playing. Some are dressed in peasant costume, others in town-made clothes. Their happy laughter is heard, softened by distance, during the following.

[PROFESSOR RUBEK is sitting on the bench, with a plaid over his shoulders, and looking down at the children’s play.

[Presently, MAIA comes forward from among some bushes on the upland to the left, well back, and scans the prospect with her hand shading her eyes. She wears a flat tourist cap, a short skirt, kilted up, reaching only midway between ankle and knee, and high, stout lace-boots. She has in her hand a long alpenstock.

MAIA.
[At last catches sight of RUBEK and calls.]
Hallo! [She advances over the upland, jumps over the brook, with the aid of her alpenstock, and climbs up the hillock.

MAIA.
[Panting.]
Oh, how I have been rushing around looking for you, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Nods indifferently and asks.]
Have you just come from the hotel?

MAIA.
Yes, that was the last place I tried — that fly-trap.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Looking at her for moment.]
I noticed that you were not at the dinner-table.

MAIA.
No, we had our dinner in the open air, we two.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
“We two”? What two?

MAIA.
Why, I and that horrid bear-killer, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Oh, he.

MAIA.
Yes. And first thing to-morrow morning we are going off again.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
After bears?

MAIA.
Yes. Off to kill a brown-boy.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Have you found the tracks of any?

MAIA.
[With superiority.]
You don’t suppose that bears are to be found in the naked mountains, do you?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Where, then?

MAIA.
Far beneath. On the lower slopes; in the thickest parts of the forest. Places your ordinary town-folk could never get through —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And you two are going down there to-morrow?

MAIA.
[Throwing herself down among the heather.]
Yes, so we have arranged. — Or perhaps we may start this evening. — If you have no objection, that’s to say?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I? Far be it from me to —

MAIA.
[Quickly.]
Of course Lars goes with us — with the dogs.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I feel no curiosity as to the movements of Mr. Lars and his dogs.
[Changing the subject.]
Would you not rather sit properly on the seat?

MAIA.
[Drowsily.]
No, thank you. I’m lying so delightfully in the soft heather.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I can see that you are tired.

MAIA.
[Yawning.]
I almost think I’m beginning to feel tired.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
You don’t notice it till afterwards — when the excitement is over —

MAIA.
[In a drowsy tone.]
Just so. I will lie and close my eyes. [A short pause.

MAIA.
[With sudden impatience.]
Ugh, Rubek — how can you endure to sit there listening to these children’s screams! And to watch all the capers they are cutting, too!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
There is something harmonious — almost like music — in their movements, now and then; amid all the clumsiness. And it amuses me to sit and watch for these isolated moments — when they come.

MAIA.
[With a somewhat scornful laugh.]
Yes, you are always, always an artist.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And I propose to remain one.

MAIA.
[Lying on her side, so that her back is turned to him.]
There’s not a bit of the artist about him.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[With attention.]
Who is it that’s not an artist?

MAIA.
[Again in a sleepy tone.]
Why, he — the other one, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
The bear-hunter, you mean?

MAIA.
Yes. There’s not a bit of the artist about him — not the least little bit.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Smiling.]
No, I believe there’s no doubt about that.

MAIA.
[Vehemently, without moving.]
And so ugly as he is!
[Plucks up a tuft of heather and throws it away.]
So ugly, so ugly! Isch!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Is that why you are so ready to set off with him — out into the wilds?

MAIA.
[Curtly.]
I don’t know.
[Turning towards him.]
You are ugly, too, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Have you only just discovered it?

MAIA.
No, I have seen it for long.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Shrugging his shoulders.]
One doesn’t grow younger. One doesn’t grow younger, Frau Maia.

MAIA.
It’s not that sort of ugliness that I mean at all. But there has come to be such an expression of fatigue, of utter weariness, in your eyes — when you deign, once in a while, to cast a glance at me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Have you noticed that?

MAIA.
[Nods.]
Little by little this evil look has come into your eyes. It seems almost as though you were nursing some dark plot against me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Indeed?
[In a friendly but earnest tone.]
Come here and sit beside me, Maia; and let us talk a little.

MAIA.
[Half rising.]
Then will you let me sit upon your knee? As I used to in the early days?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
No, you mustn’t — people can see us from the hotel.
[Moves a little.]
But you can sit here on the bench — at my side.

MAIA.
No, thank you; in that case I’d rather lie here, where I am. I can hear you quite well here.
[Looks inquiringly at him.]
Well, what is it you want to say to me?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Begins slowly.]
What do you think was my real reason for agreeing to make this tour?

MAIA.
Well — I remember you declared, among other things, that it was going to do me such a tremendous lot of good. But — but —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But — ?

MAIA.
But now I don’t believe the least little bit that that was the reason —

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Then what is your theory about it now?

MAIA.
I think now that it was on account of that pale lady.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Madame von Satow — !

MAIA.
Yes, she who is always hanging at our heels. Yesterday evening she made her appearance up here too.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But what in all the world — !

MAIA.
Oh, I know you knew her very well indeed — long before you knew me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And had forgotten her, too — long before I knew you.

MAIA.
[Sitting upright.]
Can you forget so easily, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Curtly.]
Yes, very easily indeed.
[Adds harshly.]
When I want to forget.

MAIA.
Even a woman who has been a model to you?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
When I have no more use for her —

MAIA.
One who has stood to you undressed?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
That means nothing — nothing for us artists.
[With a change of tone.]
And then — may I venture to ask — how was I to guess that she was in this country?

MAIA.
Oh, you might have seen her name in a Visitor’s List — in one of the newspapers.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But I had no idea of the name she now goes by. I had never heard of any Herr von Satow.

MAIA.
[Affecting weariness.]
Oh well then, I suppose it must have been for some other reason that you were so set upon this journey.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Seriously.]
Yes, Maia — it was for another reason. A quite different reason. And that is what we must sooner or later have a clear explanation about.

MAIA.
[In a fit of suppressed laughter.]
Heavens, how solemn you look!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[Suspiciously scrutinising her.]
Yes, perhaps a little more solemn than necessary.

MAIA.
How so — ?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And that is a very good thing for us both.

MAIA.
You begin to make me feel curious, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Only curious? Not a little bit uneasy.

MAIA.
[Shaking her head.]
Not in the least.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Good. Then listen. — You said that day down at the Baths that it seemed to you I had become very nervous of late —

MAIA.
Yes, and you really have.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And what do you think can be the reason of that?

MAIA.
How can I tell — ?
[Quickly.]
Perhaps you have grown weary of this constant companionship with me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Constant — ? Why not say “everlasting”?

MAIA.
Daily companionship, then. Here have we two solitary people lived down there for four or five mortal years, and scarcely have an hour away from each other. — We two all by ourselves.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[With interest.]
Well? And then — ?

MAIA.
[A little oppressed.]
You are not a particularly sociable man, Rubek. You like to keep to yourself and think your own thoughts. And of course I can’t talk properly to you about your affairs. I know nothing about art and that sort of thing —
[With an impatient gesture.]
And care very little either, for that matter!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Well, well; and that’s why we generally sit by the fireside, and chat about your affairs.

MAIA.
Oh, good gracious — I have no affairs to chat about.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Well, they are trifles, perhaps; but at any rate the time passes for us in that way as well as another, Maia.