Part 16
[_Untroubled._] Then we two will simply get out of each other’s way—part entirely. I shall always find something new for myself, somewhere in the world. Something free! Free! Free!—No need to be anxious about _that_, Professor Rubek! [_Suddenly points off to the right._] Look _there_! There we have her.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Turning._] Where?
MAIA.
Out on the plain. Striding—like a marble statue. She is coming this way.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Stands gazing with his hand over his eyes._] Does not she look like the Resurrection incarnate? [_To himself._] And _her_ I could displace—and move into the shade! Remodel her—. Fool that I was!
MAIA.
What do you mean by that?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Putting the question aside._] Nothing. Nothing that you would understand.
[_IRENE advances from the right over the upland. The children at their play have already caught sight of her and run to meet her. She is now surrounded by them; some appear confident and at ease, others uneasy and timid. She talks low to them and indicates that they are to go down to the hotel; she herself will rest a little beside the brook. The children run down over the slope to the left, half way to the back. IRENE goes up to the wall of rock, and lets the rillets of the cascade flow over her hands, cooling them._
MAIA.
[_In a low voice._] Go down and speak to her alone, Rubek.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And where will _you_ go in the meantime?
MAIA.
[_Looking significantly at him._] Henceforth I shall go my own ways.
[_She descends from the hillock and leaps over the brook, by aid of her alpenstock. She stops beside IRENE._
MAIA.
Professor Rubek is up there, waiting for you, madam.
IRENE.
What does he want?
MAIA.
He wants you to help him to open a casket that has snapped to.
IRENE.
Can I help him in that?
MAIA.
He says you are the only person that can.
IRENE.
Then I must try.
MAIA.
Yes, you really must, madam.
[_She goes down by the path to the hotel._
[_In a little while PROFESSOR RUBEK comes down to IRENE, but stops with the brook between them._
IRENE.
[_After a short pause._] She—the other one—said that you had been waiting for me.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I have waited for you year after year—without myself knowing it.
IRENE.
I could not come to you, Arnold. I was lying down there, sleeping the long, deep, dreamful sleep.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But now you have awakened, Irene!
IRENE.
[_Shakes her head._] I have the heavy, deep sleep still in my eyes.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
You shall see that day will dawn and lighten for us both.
IRENE.
Do not believe that.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Urgently._] I do believe it! And I know it! Now that I have found you again——
IRENE.
Risen from the grave.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Transfigured!
IRENE.
Only risen, Arnold. Not transfigured.
[_He crosses over to her by means of stepping-stones below the cascade._
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Where have you been all day, Irene?
IRENE.
[_Pointing._] Far, far over there, on the great dead waste——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Turning the conversation._] You have not your—your friend with you to-day, I see.
IRENE.
[_Smiling._] My friend is keeping a close watch on me, none the less.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Can she?
IRENE.
[_Glancing furtively around._] You may be sure she can—wherever I may go. She never loses sight of me—[_Whispering._] Until one fine sunny morning, I shall kill her.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Would you do that?
IRENE.
With the utmost delight—if only I could manage it.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Why do you want to?
IRENE.
Because she deals in witchcraft. [_Mysteriously._] Only think, Arnold—she has changed herself into my shadow.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Trying to calm her._] Well, well, well—a shadow we must all have.
IRENE.
I am my own shadow. [_With an outburst._] Do you not understand that!
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Sadly._] Yes, yes, Irene, I understand it.
[_He seats himself on a stone beside the brook. She stands behind him, leaning against the wall of rock._
IRENE.
[_After a pause._] Why do you sit there turning your eyes away from me?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Softly, shaking his head._] I dare not—I dare not look at you.
IRENE.
Why dare you not look at me any more?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
_You_ have a shadow that tortures me. And _I_ have the crushing weight of my conscience.
IRENE.
[_With a glad cry of deliverance._] At last!
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Springs up._] Irene—what is it!
IRENE.
[_Motioning him off._] Keep still, still, still! [_Draws a deep breath and says, as though relieved of a burden._] There! Now they let me go. For this time.—Now we can sit down and talk as we used to—when I was alive.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Oh, if only we could talk as we used to.
IRENE.
Sit there, where you were sitting. I will sit here beside you.
[_He sits down again. She seats herself on another stone, close to him._
IRENE.
[_After a short interval of silence._] Now I have come back to you from the uttermost regions, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Aye, truly, from an endless journey.
IRENE.
Come home to my lord and master——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
To our home;—to our own home, Irene.
IRENE.
Have you looked for my coming every single day?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
How dared I look for you?
IRENE.
[_With a sidelong glance._] No, I suppose you dared not. For you understood nothing.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Was it really not for the sake of some one else that you all of a sudden disappeared from me in that way?
IRENE.
Might it not quite well be for _your_ sake, Arnold?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Looks doubtfully at her._] I don’t understand you——?
IRENE.
When I had served you with my soul and with my body—when the statue stood there finished—our child as you called it—then I laid at your feet the most precious sacrifice of all—by effacing myself for all time.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Bows his head._] And laying my life waste.
IRENE.
[_Suddenly firing up._] It was just _that_ I wanted! Never, never should you create anything again—after you had created that only child of ours.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Was it jealousy that moved you, then?
IRENE.
[_Coldly._] I think it was rather hatred.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Hatred? Hatred for me?
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.
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.
[_Coldly, as before._] I will tell you one thing, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Well?
IRENE.
I never loved your art, before I met you.—Nor after either.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
But the artist, Irene?
IRENE.
The artist I hate.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
The artist in _me_ too?
IRENE.
In you most of all. When I unclothed myself and stood for you, then I hated you, Arnold——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Warmly._] That you did not, Irene! That is not true!
IRENE.
I hated you, because you could stand there so unmoved——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Laughs._] Unmoved? Do you think so?
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 the wet, living clay, _that_ I loved—as it rose up, a vital human creature, out of those raw, shapeless masses—for _that_ was our creation, _our_ child. Mine and yours.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Sadly._] It was so in spirit and in truth.
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.
[_Suddenly alert._] For the statue’s——?
IRENE.
Call it what you will. I call it our child.
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.
I have heard a sort of legend about it.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
And museums were always a horror to you. You called them grave-vaults——
IRENE.
I will make a pilgrimage to the place where my soul and my child’s soul lie buried.
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.
Perhaps you think it would mean death to me a second time?
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.
It _was_ completed. That was why I could go away from you—and leave you alone.
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.
[_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.
[_Evasively._] Any evil?—How can I be sure what _you_ would call it?
IRENE.
[_Breathless._] Tell me at once: what have you done to the child?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
I will tell you if you will sit and listen quietly to what I say.
IRENE.
[_Hides the knife._] I will listen as quietly as a mother can when she——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Interrupting._] And you must not look at me while I am telling you.
IRENE.
[_Moves to a stone behind his back._] I will sit here, behind you.—Now tell me.
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.
“The Resurrection Day” you called your life-work.—I call it “our child.”
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.
[_Quickly._] Yes—and so I stand there now, in our work?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Hesitating._] Not absolutely and entirely so, Irene.
IRENE.
[_In rising excitement._] Not absolutely—? Do I not stand as I always stood for you?
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.
[_Gropes for her knife, but desists._] What imagery did you add then? Tell me!
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.
[_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.
[_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.
But the joy in the light still transfigures my face?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes, it does, Irene—in a way. A little subdued perhaps—as my altered idea required.
IRENE.
[_Rising noiselessly._] That design expresses the life you now see, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Yes, I suppose it does.
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.
Not a background-figure. Let us say, at most, a figure not quite in the foreground—or something of that sort.
IRENE.
[_Whispers hoarsely._] There you uttered your own doom.
[_On the point of striking._
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Turns and looks up at her._] Doom?
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.
[_Eagerly, taking off his hat and drying the drops of sweat upon his brow._] Yes, but let me tell you, too, how I have placed _myself_ in 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.
[_Hardly and coldly._] Poet!
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Why poet?
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.
[_Defiantly._] I am an artist, Irene. And I take no shame to myself for the frailties that perhaps cling to me. For I was _born_ to be an artist, you see. And, do what I may, I shall never be anything else.
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-aged child,—is it possible that you cannot see _that_!
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Annoyed._] Why do you keep on calling me a poet?
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._] But _I_ was 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._
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.
[_Lost in recollection._] Yet those were beautiful days, Irene. Marvellously beautiful days—as I now look back upon them——
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.
[_Looks inquiringly at her._] Did I say a little word then, which you still remember?
IRENE.
Yes, you did. Can you not recall it?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Shaking his head._] No, I can’t say that I do. Not at the present moment, at any rate.
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.
[_Looks doubtfully at her._] Did I say "episode"? It is not a word I am in the habit of using.
IRENE.
You said “episode.”
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_With assumed cheerfulness._] Well, well—after all, it was in reality an episode.
IRENE.
[_Curtly._] At _that_ word I left you.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
You take everything so painfully to heart, 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.
What birds are they?
IRENE.
Can you not see? Of course they are flamingoes. Are they not rose-red?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Flamingoes do not swim. They only wade.
IRENE.
Then they are not flamingoes. They are sea-gulls.
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.
But there must be no harpoon-men on board.
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.
[_Nods._] On Saturday evenings, yes,—when we had finished our week’s work——
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
—And taken the train out to the lake—to stay there over Sunday——
IRENE.
[_With an evil gleam of hatred in her eyes._] It was an episode, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_As if not hearing._] Then, too, you used to set birds swimming in the brook. They were water-lilies which you——
IRENE.
They were white swans.
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.
And then it turned into Lohengrin’s boat—with the swan yoked to it.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
How fond you were of that game, Irene.
IRENE.
We played it over and over again.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Every single Saturday, I believe,—all the summer through.
IRENE.
You said I was the swan that drew your boat.
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.
[_Laughing._] And all your ships have run ashore.
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.
Have you bought it? You often said you would, if you could afford it.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
The day came when I could afford it easily enough; and so I bought it.
IRENE.
[_With a sidelong look at him._] Then do you live out there now—in our old house?
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.
[_Mastering herself._] So you and—and the other one live out there now?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_With a touch of defiance._] Yes. When my wife and I are not travelling—as we are this year.
IRENE.
[_Looking far before her._] Life was beautiful, beautiful by the Lake of Taunitz.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_As though looking back into himself._] And yet, Irene——
IRENE.
[_Completing his thought_]—yet we two let slip all that life and its beauty.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Softly, urgently._] Does repentance come _too_ late, now?
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.
[_Looks where she is pointing._] It is long since I have seen a sunset in the mountains.
IRENE.
Or a sunrise?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
A sunrise I don’t think I have ever seen.
IRENE.
[_Smiles as though lost in recollection._] _I_ once saw a marvellously lovely sunrise.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Did you? Where was _that_?
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.
If only you—? Well?
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._] _Then_ I saw the sunrise.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Turning the conversation._] Should you not like to come and live with us in the villa down there?
IRENE.
[_Looks at him with a scornful smile._] With you—and the other woman?
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Urgently._] With _me_—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.
[_Shaking her head._] I have no longer the key to you, Arnold.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
You _have_ the key! You and you alone possess it! [_Beseechingly._] Help me—that I may be able to live my life over again!
IRENE.
[_Immovable as before._] Empty dreams! Idle—dead dreams. For the life you and I led there is no resurrection.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Curtly, breaking off._] Then let us go on playing.
IRENE.
Yes, playing, playing—only playing!
[_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 come ULFHEIM and MAIA in hunting costume. After them comes the SERVANT with the leash of dogs, with which he goes out to the right._
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Catching sight of them._] Ah! there is little Maia, going out with the bear-hunter.
IRENE.
Your lady, yes.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Or the other’s.
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.
[_Calls back to her._] What is to be the aim of this adventure?
MAIA.
[_Approaching._] I am going to put life in the place of all the rest.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_Mockingly._] Aha! so _you_ too are going to do that, little 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!
For I believe I have awakened now—at last.
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
It almost seems so.
MAIA.
[_Drawing a deep breath._] Oh—how divinely light one feels on waking!
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
Good-night, Frau Maia—and good luck to——
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.
What will you bring me home from the hunting, Maia?
MAIA.
You shall have a bird of prey to model. I shall wing one for you.
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.
[_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.
[_Jestingly._] Thanks! and all the ill-luck in the world over you and your hunting!
ULFHEIM.
[_Roaring with laughter._] There now, _that_ is a wish worth having!
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._
PROFESSOR RUBEK.
[_After a short pause._] A summer night on the upland! Yes, _that_ would have been life!
IRENE.
[_Suddenly, with a wild expression in her eyes._] _Will_ you spend a summer night on the upland—with me?