ACT SECOND

[She seats herself again.]

Professor Rubek.

[After a pause.] In all this, do you holdmeguilty?

Irene.

Yes.

Professor Rubek.

Guilty ofthat—your death, as you call it.

Irene.

Guilty of the fact that I had to die. [Changing her tone to one of indifference.] Why don’t you sit down, Arnold?

Professor Rubek.

May I?

Irene.

Yes.—You need not be afraid of being frozen. I don’t think I am quite turned to ice yet.

Professor Rubek.

[Moves a chair and seats himself at her table.] There, Irene. Now we two are sitting together as in the old days.

Irene.

At a little way from each other—also as in the old days.

Professor Rubek.

[Moving nearer.] It had to be so, then.

Irene.

Had it?

Professor Rubek.

[Decisively.] Therehadto be a distance between us——

Irene.

Was it absolutely necessary, Arnold?

Professor Rubek.

[Continuing.] Do you remember what you answered when I asked if you would go with me out into the wide world?

Irene.

I held up three fingers in the air and swore that I would go with you to the world’s end and to the end of life. And that I would serve you in all things——

Professor Rubek.

As the model for my art——

Irene.

—in frank, utter nakedness——

Professor Rubek.

[With emotion.] And you did serve me, Irene—so bravely—so gladly and ungrudgingly.

Irene.

Yes, with all the pulsing blood of my youth, I served you!

Professor Rubek.

[Nodding, with a look of gratitude.] That you have every right to say.

Irene.

I fell down at your feet and served you, Arnold! [Holding her clenched hand towards him.] But you, you,—you—!

Professor Rubek.

[Defensively.] I never did you any wrong! Never, Irene!

Irene.

Yes, you did! You did wrong to my innermost, inborn nature——

Professor Rubek.

[Starting back.] I—!

Irene.

Yes,you! I exposed myself wholly and unreservedly to your gaze—[More softly.] And never once did you touch me.

Professor Rubek.

Irene, did you not understand that many a time I was almost beside myself under the spell of all your loveliness?

Irene.

[Continuing undisturbed.] And yet—if youhadtouched me, I think I should have killed you on the spot. For I had a sharp needle always upon me—hidden in my hair—[Strokes her forehead meditatively.] But after all—after all—that you could——

Professor Rubek.

[Looks impressively at her.] I was an artist, Irene.

Irene.

[Darkly.] That is just it. That is just it.

Professor Rubek.

An artist first of all. And I was sick with the desire to achieve the great work of my life. [Losing himself in recollection.] It was to be called "The Resurrection Day"—figured in the likeness of a young woman, awakening from the sleep of death——

Irene.

Our child, yes——

Professor Rubek.

[Continuing.] It was to be the awakening of the noblest, purest, most ideal woman theworld ever saw. Then I foundyou. You were what I required in every respect. And you consented so willingly—so gladly. You renounced home and kindred—and went with me.

Irene.

To go with you meant for me the resurrection of my childhood.

Professor Rubek.

That was just why I found in you all that I required—in you and in no one else. I came to look on you as a thing hallowed, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts. In those days I was still young, Irene. And the superstition took hold of me that if I touched you, if I desired you with my senses, my soul would be profaned, so that I should be unable to accomplish what I was striving for.—And I still think there was some truth in that.

Irene.

[Nods with a touch of scorn.] The work of art first—then the human being.

Professor Rubek.

You must judge me as you will; but at that time I was utterly dominated by my great task—and exultantly happy in it.

Irene.

And you achieved your great task, Arnold.

Professor Rubek.

Thanks and praise be to you, I achieved my great task. I wanted to embody the pure woman as I saw her awakening on the Resurrection Day. Not marvelling at anything new and unknown and undivined; but filled with a sacred joy at finding herself unchanged—she, the woman of earth—in the higher, freer, happier region—after the long, dreamless sleep of death. [More softly.] Thus did I fashion her.—I fashioned her inyourimage, Irene.

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.

Howcanyou 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.

Youwere 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.] Areyougoing 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——!

[Maiaenters, 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 ofIrene]—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, butIam 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.

Whyhe—that horrid bear-killer. Oh you cannot conceive all the marvellous 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.MayI, 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 onmyaccount!

Professor Rubek.

Iwantto 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 Mercystands 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 time when 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 thanthatI gave you—spendthrift 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 wasthat?

Irene.

I gave you my young, living soul. And that gift left me empty within—soulless. [Looking at him with a fixed stare.] It wasthatI died of, Arnold.

[TheSister of Mercyopens 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 health 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 Rubekis sitting on the bench, with a plaid over his shoulders, and looking down at the children’s play.

PresentlyMaiacomes 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 ofRubekand 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 flytrap.

Professor Rubek.

[Looking at her for a 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 abouthim.

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 domesuch 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 Iwantto 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 wasIto guess that she was in this country?

Maia.

Oh, you might have seen her name in a Visitors’ 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. Andthatis what we must sooner or later have a clear explanation about.

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