Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Suddenly firing up.] It was justthatI wanted! Never, never should you create anything again—after you had created that only child of ours.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Was it jealousy that moved you, then?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Coldly.] I think it was rather hatred.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Hatred? Hatred for me?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Again vehemently.] Yes, for you—for the artist who had so lightly and carelessly taken a warm-blooded body, a young human life, and worn the soul out of it—because you needed it for a work of art.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
And you can say that—you who threw yourself into my work with such saint-like passion and such ardent joy?—that work for which we two met together every morning, as for an act of worship.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Coldly, as before.] I will tell you one thing, Arnold.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Well?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
I never loved your art, before I met you.—Nor after either.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
But the artist, Irene?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
The artist I hate.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
The artist inmetoo?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
In you most of all. When I unclothed myself and stood for you, then I hated you, Arnold——
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Warmly.] That you did not, Irene! That is not true!
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
I hated you, because you could stand there so unmoved——
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Laughs.] Unmoved? Do you think so?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
—at any rate so intolerably self-controlled. And because you were an artist and an artist only—not a man! [Changing to a tone full of warmth and feeling.] But that statue in thewet, living clay,thatI loved—as it rose up, a vital human creature, out of those raw, shapeless masses—forthatwas our creation,ourchild. Mine and yours.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Sadly.] It was so in spirit and in truth.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Let me tell you, Arnold—it is for the sake of this child of ours that I have undertaken this long pilgrimage.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Suddenly alert.] For the statue’s——?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Call it what you will. I call it our child.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
And now you want to see it? Finished? In marble, which you always thought so cold? [Eagerly.] You do not know, perhaps, that it is installed in a great museum somewhere—far out in the world?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
I have heard a sort of legend about it.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
And museums were always a horror to you. You called them grave-vaults——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
I will make a pilgrimage to the place where my soul and my child’s soul lie buried.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Uneasy and alarmed.] You must never see that statue again! Do you hear, Irene! I implore you—! Never, never see it again!
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Perhaps you think it would mean death to me a second time?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Clenching his hands together.] Oh, I don’t know what I think.—But how could I ever imagine that you would fix your mind so immovably on that statue? You, who went away from me—before it was completed.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Itwascompleted. That was why I could go away from you—and leave you alone.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Sits with his elbows upon his knees rocking his head from side to side, with his hands before his eyes.] It was not what it afterwards became.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Quietly but quick as lightning, half-unsheathes a narrow-bladed sharp knife which she carries in her breast, and asks in a hoarse whisper.]Arnold—have you done any evil to our child?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Evasively.] Any evil?—How can I be sure whatyouwould call it?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Breathless.] Tell me at once: what have you done to the child?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
I will tell you if you will sit and listen quietly to what I say.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Hides the knife.] I will listen as quietly as a mother can when she——
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Interrupting.] And you must not look at me while I am telling you.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Moves to a stone behind his back.] I will sit here, behind you.—Now tell me.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Takes his hands from before his eyes and gazes straight in front of him.] When I had found you, I knew at once how I should make use of you for my life-work.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
“The Resurrection Day” you called your life-work.—I call it “our child.”
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
I was young then—with no experience of life. The Resurrection, I thought, would be most beautifully and exquisitely figured as a young unsullied woman—with none of a life’s experiences—awakening to light and glory without having to put away from her anything ugly and impure.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Quickly.] Yes—and so I stand there now, in our work?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Hesitating.] Not absolutely and entirely so, Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[In rising excitement.] Not absolutely—? Do I not stand as I always stood for you?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Without answering.] I learned worldly wisdom in the years that followed, Irene. “The Resurrection Day” became in my mind’s eye something more and something—something more complex. The little round plinth on which your figure stood erect and solitary—it no longer afforded room for all the imagery I now wanted to add——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Gropes for her knife, but desists.] What imagery did you add then? Tell me!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
I imaged that which I saw with my eyes around me in the world. I had to include it—I could not help it, Irene. I expanded the plinth—made it wide and spacious. And on it I placed a segment of the curving, bursting earth. And up from the fissures of the soil there now swarm men and women with dimly-suggested animal-faces. Women and men—as I knew them in real life.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[In breathless suspense.] But in the middle of the rout there stands the young woman radiant with the joy of light?—Do I not stand so, Arnold?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Evasively.] Not quite in the middle. I had unfortunately to move that figure a little back. For the sake of the general effect, you understand. Otherwise it would have dominated the whole too much.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
But the joy in the light still transfigures my face?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Yes, it does, Irene—in a way. A little subdued perhaps—as my altered idea required.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Rising noiselessly.] That design expresses the life you now see, Arnold.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Yes, I suppose it does.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
And in that design you have shifted me back, a little toned down—to serve as a background-figure—in a group.
[She draws the knife.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Not a background-figure. Let us say, at most, a figure not quite in the foreground—or something of that sort.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Whispers hoarsely.] There you uttered your own doom.
[On the point of striking.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Turns and looks up at her.] Doom?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Hastily hides the knife, and says as though choked with agony.] My whole soul—you and I—we, we, we and our child were in that solitary figure.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Eagerly, taking off his hat and drying the drops of sweat upon his brow.] Yes, but let me tell you, too, how I have placedmyselfin the group. In front, beside a fountain—as it were here—sits a man weighed down with guilt, who cannot quite free himself from the earth-crust.I call him remorse for a forfeited life. He sits there and dips his fingers in the purling stream—to wash them clean—and he is gnawed and tortured by the thought that never, never will he succeed. Never in all eternity will he attain to freedom and the new life. He will remain for ever prisoned in his hell.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Hardly and coldly.] Poet!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Why poet?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Because you are nerveless and sluggish and full of forgiveness for all the sins of your life, in thought and in act. You have killed my soul—so you model yourself in remorse, and self-accusation, and penance—[Smiling.]—and with that you think your account is cleared.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Defiantly.] I am an artist, Irene. And I take no shame to myself for the frailties that perhaps cling to me. For I wasbornto be an artist, you see. And, do what I may, I shall never be anything else.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Looks at him with a lurking evil smile, and says gently and softly.] You are a poet, Arnold. [Softly strokes his hair.] You dear, great, middle-agedchild,—is it possible that you cannot seethat!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Annoyed.] Why do you keep on calling me a poet?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[With malign eyes.] Because there is something apologetic in the word, my friend. Something that suggests forgiveness of sins—and spreads a cloak over all frailty. [With a sudden change of tone.] ButIwas a human being—then! And I, too, had a life to live,—and a human destiny to fulfil. And all that, look you, I let slip—gave it all up in order to make myself your bondwoman.—Oh, it was self-murder—a deadly sin against myself! [Half whispering.] And that sin I can never expiate!
[She seats herself near him beside the brook, keeps close, though unnoticed, watch upon him, and, as though in absence of mind, plucks some flowers from the shrubs around them.
[She seats herself near him beside the brook, keeps close, though unnoticed, watch upon him, and, as though in absence of mind, plucks some flowers from the shrubs around them.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[With apparent self-control.] I should have borne children into the world—many children—real children—not such children as are hidden away in grave-vaults. That was my vocation. I ought never to have served you—poet.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Lost in recollection.] Yet those were beautiful days, Irene. Marvellously beautiful days—as I now look back upon them——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Looking at him with a soft expression.] Can you remember a little word that you said—when you had finished—finished with me and with our child? [Nods to him.] Can you remember that little word, Arnold?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Looks inquiringly at her.] Did I say a little word then, which you still remember?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Yes, you did. Can you not recall it?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Shaking his head.] No, I can’t say that I do. Not at the present moment, at any rate.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
You took both my hands and pressed them warmly. And I stood there in breathless expectation. And then you said: “So now, Irene, I thank you from my heart. This,” you said, “has been a priceless episode for me.”
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Looks doubtfully at her.] Did I say "episode"? It is not a word I am in the habit of using.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
You said “episode.”
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[With assumed cheerfulness.] Well, well—after all, it was in reality an episode.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Curtly.] Atthatword I left you.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
You take everything so painfully to heart, Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Drawing her hand over her forehead.] Perhaps you are right. Let us shake off all the hard things that go to the heart. [Plucks off the leaves of a mountain rose and strews them on the brook.] Look there, Arnold. There are our birds swimming.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
What birds are they?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Can you not see? Of course they are flamingoes. Are they not rose-red?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Flamingoes do not swim. They only wade.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Then they are not flamingoes. They are sea-gulls.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
They may be sea-gulls with red bills, yes. [Plucks broad green leaves and throws them into the brook.] Now I send out my ships after them.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
But there must be no harpoon-men on board.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
No, there shall be no harpoon-men. [Smiles to her.] Can you remember the summer when we used to sit like this outside the little peasant hut on the Lake of Taunitz?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Nods.] On Saturday evenings, yes,—when we had finished our week’s work——
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
—And taken the train out to the lake—to stay there over Sunday——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[With an evil gleam of hatred in her eyes.] It was an episode, Arnold.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[As if not hearing.] Then, too, you used to set birds swimming in the brook. They were water-lilies which you——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
They were white swans.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
I meant swans, yes. And I remember that I fastened a great furry leaf to one of the swans. It looked like a burdock-leaf——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
And then it turned into Lohengrin’s boat—with the swan yoked to it.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
How fond you were of that game, Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
We played it over and over again.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Every single Saturday, I believe,—all the summer through.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
You said I was the swan that drew your boat.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Did I say so? Yes, I daresay I did. [Absorbed in the game.] Just see how the sea-gulls are swimming down the stream!
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Laughing.] And all your ships have run ashore.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Throwing more leaves into the brook.] I have ships enough in reserve. [Follows the leaves with his eyes, throws more into the brook, and says after a pause.] Irene,—I have bought the little peasant hut beside the Lake of Taunitz.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Have you bought it? You often said you would, if you could afford it.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
The day came when I could afford it easily enough; and so I bought it.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[With a sidelong look at him.] Then do you live out there now—in our old house?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
No, I have had it pulled down long ago. And I have built myself a great, handsome, comfortable villa on the site—with a park around it. It is there that we—[Stops and corrects himself.]—there that I usually live during the summer.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Mastering herself.] So you and—and the other one live out there now?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[With a touch of defiance.] Yes. When my wife and I are not travelling—as we are this year.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Looking far before her.] Life was beautiful, beautiful by the Lake of Taunitz.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[As though looking back into himself.] And yet, Irene——
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Completing his thought]—yet we two let slip all that life and its beauty.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Softly, urgently.] Does repentance cometoolate, now?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Does not answer, but sits silent for a moment; then she points over the upland.] Look there, Arnold,—now the sun is going down behind the peaks. See what a red glow the level rays cast over all the heathery knolls out yonder.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Looks where she is pointing.] It is long since I have seen a sunset in the mountains.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Or a sunrise?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
A sunrise I don’t think I have ever seen.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Smiles as though lost in recollection.]Ionce saw a marvellously lovely sunrise.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Did you? Where wasthat?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
High, high up on a dizzy mountain-top.—You beguiled me up there by promising that I should see all the glory of the world if only I——
[She stops suddenly.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
If only you—? Well?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
I did as you told me—went with you up to the heights. And there I fell upon my knees, and worshipped you, and served you. [Is silent for a moment; then says softly.]ThenI saw the sunrise.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Turning the conversation.] Should you not like to come and live with us in the villa down there?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Looks at him with a scornful smile.] With you—and the other woman?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Urgently.] Withme—as in our days of creation. You could open all that is locked up in me. Can you not find it in your heart, Irene?
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Shaking her head.] I have no longer the key to you, Arnold.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Youhavethe key! You and you alone possess it! [Beseechingly.] Help me—that I may be able to live my life over again!
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Immovable as before.] Empty dreams! Idle—dead dreams. For the life you and I led there is no resurrection.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Curtly, breaking off.] Then let us go on playing.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Yes, playing, playing—only playing!
[They sit and strew leaves and petals over the brook, where they float and sail away.
[They sit and strew leaves and petals over the brook, where they float and sail away.
[Up the slope to the left at the back comeUlfheimandMaiain hunting costume. After them comes theServantwith the leash of dogs, with which he goes out to the right.
[Up the slope to the left at the back comeUlfheimandMaiain hunting costume. After them comes theServantwith the leash of dogs, with which he goes out to the right.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Catching sight of them.] Ah! there is little Maia, going out with the bear-hunter.
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
Your lady, yes.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Or the other’s.
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
[Looks around as she is crossing the upland, sees the two sitting by the brook, and calls out.] Good-night, Professor! Dream of me. Now I am going off on my adventures!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Calls back to her.] What is to be the aim of this adventure?
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
[Approaching.] I am going to put life in the place of all the rest.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Mockingly.] Aha! soyoutoo are going to do that, little Maia?
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
Yes. And I’ve made a verse about it, and this is how it goes:
[Sings triumphantly]
I am free! I am free! I am free!No more life in the prison for me!I am free as a bird! I am free!
I am free! I am free! I am free!No more life in the prison for me!I am free as a bird! I am free!
I am free! I am free! I am free!No more life in the prison for me!I am free as a bird! I am free!
I am free! I am free! I am free!
No more life in the prison for me!
I am free as a bird! I am free!
For I believe I have awakened now—at last.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
It almost seems so.
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
[Drawing a deep breath.] Oh—how divinely light one feels on waking!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Good-night, Frau Maia—and good luck to——
Ulfheim.
Ulfheim.
Ulfheim.
[Calls out, interposing.] Hush, hush!—for the devil’s sake let’s have none of your wizard wishes. Don’t you see that we are going out to shoot——
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
What will you bring me home from the hunting, Maia?
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
You shall have a bird of prey to model. I shall wing one for you.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Laughs mockingly and bitterly.] Yes, to wing things—without knowing what you are doing—that has long been quite in your way.
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
[Tossing her head.] Oh, just let me take care of myself for the future, and then—! [Nods and laughs roguishly.] Good-bye—and a good, peaceful summer night on the upland!
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Jestingly.] Thanks! and all the ill-luck in the world over you and your hunting!
Ulfheim.
Ulfheim.
Ulfheim.
[Roaring with laughter.] There now,thatis a wish worth having!
Maia.
Maia.
Maia.
[Laughing.] Thanks, thanks, thanks, Professor!
[They have both crossed the visible portion of the upland, and go out through the bushes to the right.
[They have both crossed the visible portion of the upland, and go out through the bushes to the right.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[After a short pause.] A summer night on the upland! Yes,thatwould have been life!
Irene.
Irene.
Irene.
[Suddenly, with a wild expression in her eyes.]Willyou spend a summer night on the upland—with me?
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
Professor Rubek.
[Stretching his arms wide.] Yes, yes,—come!