Part 14
—or something like it, I said. Couldn’t distinguish very clearly. But I am sure it was something white.
THE INSPECTOR.
Most remarkable. Was it a gentleman or a lady?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I could almost have sworn it was a lady. But then after it came another figure. And that one was quite dark—like a shadow——
THE INSPECTOR.
[_Starting._] A dark one? Quite black, perhaps?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes, I should almost have said so.
THE INSPECTOR.
[_A light breaking in upon him._] And behind the white figure? Following close upon her——?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes—at a little distance——
THE INSPECTOR.
Aha! Then I think I can explain the mystery, Professor.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Well, what was it then?
MAIA.
[_Simultaneously._] Was the Professor really not dreaming?
THE INSPECTOR.
[_Suddenly whispering, as he directs their attention towards the background on the right._] Hush, if you please! Look there—Don’t speak loud for a moment.
[_A slender lady, dressed in fine, cream-white cashmere, and followed by a SISTER OF MERCY in black, with a silver cross hanging by a chain on her breast, comes forward from behind the hotel and crosses the park towards the pavilion in front on the left. Her face is pale, and its lines seem to have stiffened; the eyelids are drooped and the eyes appear as though they saw nothing. Her dress comes down to her feet and clings to the body in perpendicular folds. Over her head, neck, breast, shoulders and arms she wears a large shawl of white crape. She keeps her arms crossed upon her breast. She carries her body immovably, and her steps are stiff and measured. The SISTER’S bearing is also measured, and she has the air of a servant. She keeps her brown piercing eyes incessantly fixed upon the lady. WAITERS, with napkins on their arms, come forward in the hotel doorway, and cast curious glances at the strangers, who take no notice of anything, and, without looking round, enter the pavilion._
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Has risen slowly and involuntarily, and stands staring at the closed door of the pavilion._] Who was that lady?
THE INSPECTOR.
She is a stranger who has rented the little pavilion there.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
A foreigner?
THE INSPECTOR.
Presumably. At any rate they both came from abroad—about a week ago. They have never been here before.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Decidedly; looking at him._] It was she I saw in the park last night.
THE INSPECTOR.
No doubt it must have been. I thought so from the first.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
What is this lady’s name, Inspector?
THE INSPECTOR.
She has registered herself as “Madame de Satow, with companion.” We know nothing more.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Reflecting._] Satow? Satow——?
MAIA.
[_Laughing mockingly._] Do you know any one of that name, Rubek? Eh?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Shaking his head._] No, no one.—Satow? It sounds Russian—or at all events Slavonic. [_To the INSPECTOR._] What language does she speak?
THE INSPECTOR.
When the two ladies talk to each other, it is in a language I cannot make out at all. But at other times she speaks Norwegian like a native.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Exclaims with a start._] Norwegian? You are sure you are not mistaken?
THE INSPECTOR.
No, how could I be mistaken in that?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Looks at him with eager interest._] You have heard her yourself?
THE INSPECTOR.
Yes. I myself have spoken to her—several times.—Only a few words, however; she is far from communicative. But——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But Norwegian it was?
THE INSPECTOR.
Thoroughly good Norwegian—perhaps with a little north-country accent.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Gazing straight before him in amazement, Whispers._] _That_ too!
MAIA.
[_A little hurt and jarred._] Perhaps this lady has been one of your models, Rubek? Search your memory.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Looks cuttingly at her._] My models!
MAIA.
[_With a provoking smile._] In your younger days, I mean. You are said to have had such innumerable models—long ago, of course.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_In the same tone._] Oh no, little Frau Maia. I have in reality had only one single model. One and one only—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 practically 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 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, though. 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 it up in its lair.
MAIA.
Are you going up into the forests now to hunt?
ULFHEIM.
I am going right up into the high mountains.—I suppose you have never been in the high mountains, 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 mountains—away, clean away, from the trail and taint of men. You can’t 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 one 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.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_More softly, with emotion._] It is to you I owe everything, everything, Irene—and I thank you.
IRENE.
[_Lost in thought for a moment._] If I had then done what I had a right to do, Arnold——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Well? What then?
IRENE.
I should have killed that child.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Killed it, you say?
IRENE.
[_Whispering._] Killed it—before I went away from you. Crushed it—crushed it to dust.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Shakes his head reproachfully._] You would never have been able to, Irene. You had not the heart to do it.
IRENE.
No, in those days I had not that sort of heart.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But since then? Afterwards?
IRENE.
Since then I have killed it innumerable times. By daylight and in the dark. Killed it in hatred—and in revenge—and in anguish.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Goes close up to the table and asks softly._] Irene—tell me now at last—after all these years—why did you go away from me? You disappeared so utterly—left not a trace behind——
IRENE.
[_Shaking her head slowly._] Oh Arnold—why should I tell you that now—from the world beyond the grave.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Was there some one else whom you had come to love?
IRENE.
There was one who had no longer any use for my love—any use for my life.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Changing the subject._] H’m—don’t let us talk any more of the past——
IRENE.
No, no—by all means let us not talk of what is beyond the grave—what is now beyond the grave for _me_.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Where have you been, Irene? All my inquiries were fruitless—you seemed to have vanished away.
IRENE.
I went into the darkness—when the child stood transfigured in the light.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Have you travelled much about the world?
IRENE.
Yes. Travelled in many lands.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Looks compassionately at her._] And what have you found to do, Irene?
IRENE.
[_Turning her eyes upon him._] Wait a moment; let me see—. Yes, now I have it. I have posed on the turntable in variety-shows. Posed as a naked statue in living pictures. Raked in heaps of money. That was more than I could do with you; for you had none.—And then I turned the heads of all sorts of men. That, too, was more than I could do with you, Arnold. You kept yourself better in hand.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Hastening to pass the subject by._] And then you have married, too?
IRENE.
Yes; I married one of them.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Who is your husband?
IRENE.
He was a South American. A distinguished diplomatist. [_Looks straight in front of her with a stony smile._] Him I managed to drive quite out of his mind; mad—incurably mad; inexorably mad.—It was great sport, I can tell you—while it was in the doing. I could have laughed within me all the time—if I _had_ anything within me.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And where is he now?
IRENE.
Oh, in a churchyard somewhere or other. With a fine handsome monument over him. And with a bullet rattling in his skull.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Did he kill himself?
IRENE.
Yes, he was good enough to take that off my hands.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Do you not lament his loss, Irene?
IRENE.
[_Not understanding._] Lament? What loss?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Why, the loss of Herr von Satow, of course.
IRENE.
His name was not Satow.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Was it not?
IRENE.
My second husband is called Satow. He is a Russian——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And where is _he_?
IRENE.
Far away in the Ural Mountains. Among all his gold-mines.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
So he lives _there_?
IRENE.
[_Shrugs her shoulders._] Lives? Lives? In reality I have killed him——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Starts._] Killed——!
IRENE.
Killed him with a fine sharp dagger which I always have with me in bed——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Vehemently._] I don’t believe you, Irene!
IRENE.
[_With a gentle smile._] Indeed you may believe it, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Looks compassionately at her._] Have you never had a child?
IRENE.
Yes, I have had many children.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And where are your children now?
IRENE.
I killed them.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Severely._] Now you are telling me lies again!
IRENE.
I have killed them, I tell you—murdered them pitilessly. As soon as ever they came into the world. Oh, long, long before. One after the other.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Sadly and earnestly._] There is something hidden behind everything you say.
IRENE.
How can I help that? Every word I say is whispered into my ear.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I believe I am the only one that can divine your meaning.
IRENE.
Surely you ought to be the only one.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Rests his hands on the table and looks intently at her._] Some of the strings of your nature have broken.
IRENE.
[_Gently._] Does not that always happen when a young warm-blooded woman dies?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Oh Irene, have done with these wild imaginings—! You are living! Living—living!
IRENE.
[_Rises slowly from her chair and says, quivering._] I was dead for many years. They came and bound me—laced my arms together behind my back—. Then they lowered me into a grave-vault, with iron bars before the loop-hole. And with padded walls—so that no one on the earth above could hear the grave-shrieks—. But now I am beginning, in a way, to rise from the dead.
[_She seats herself again._]
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_After a pause._] In all this, do you hold _me_ guilty?
IRENE.
Yes.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Guilty of _that_—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._] There _had_ to 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 you _had_ touched 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 the world ever saw. Then I found _you_. 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 in _your_ image, 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.
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.