Chapter VI: Part 6

_BORKMAN, MRS. BORKMAN and ELLA RENTHEIM are standing upon the steps,
BORKMAN leaning wearily against the wall of the house. He has an
old-fashioned cape thrown over his shoulders, holds a soft grey
felt hat in one hand and a thick knotted stick in the other. ELLA
RENTHEIM carries her cloak over her arm. MRS. BORKMAN’S great
shawl has slipped down over her shoulders, so that her hair is
uncovered._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Barring the way for Mrs. BORKMAN._] Don’t go after him, Gunhild!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_In fear and agitation._] Let me pass, I say! He _must_ not go away from me!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

It is utterly useless, I tell you! You will never overtake him.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Let me go, Ella! I will cry aloud after him all down the road. And he must hear his mother’s cry!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

He _cannot_ hear you. You may be sure he is in the sledge already.

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, no; he can’t be in the sledge yet!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

The doors are closed upon him long ago, believe me.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_In despair._] If he is in the sledge, then he is there with her, with her—her!

BORKMAN.

[_Laughing gloomily._] Then he probably won’t hear his mother’s cry.

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, he will not hear it. [_Listening._] Hark! what is that?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Also listening._] It sounds like sledge-bells.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a suppressed scream._] It is _her_ sledge!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Perhaps it’s another.

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, no, it is Mrs. Wilton’s covered sledge! I know the silver bells! Hark! Now they are driving right past here, at the foot of the hill!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Quickly._] Gunhild, if you want to cry out to him, now is the time! Perhaps after all——! [_The tinkle of the bells sounds close at hand, in the wood._] Make haste, Gunhild! Now they are right under us!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Stands for a moment undecided, then she stiffens and says sternly and coldly._] No. I will not cry out to him. Let Erhart Borkman pass away from me—far, far away—to what he calls life and happiness.

[_The sound dies away in the distance._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_After a moment._] Now the bells are out of hearing.

MRS. BORKMAN.

They sounded like funeral bells.

BORKMAN.

[_With a dry suppressed laugh._] Oho—it is not for me they are ringing to-night!

MRS. BORKMAN.

No, but for me—and for him who has gone from me.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Nodding thoughtfully._] Who knows if, after all, they may not be ringing in life and happiness for him, Gunhild.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With sudden animation, looking hard at her._] Life and happiness, you say!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

For a little while at any rate.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Could you endure to let him know life and happiness, with _her_?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With warmth and feeling._] Indeed I could, with all my heart and soul!

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Coldly._] Then you must be richer than I am in the power of love.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking far away._] Perhaps it is the _lack_ of love that keeps that power alive.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Fixing her eyes on her._] If that is so, then I shall soon be as rich as you, Ella.

[_She turns and goes into the house._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Stands for a time looking with a troubled expression at BORKMAN; then lays her hand cautiously upon his shoulder._] Come, John—you must come in, too.

BORKMAN.

[_As if awakening._] I?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, this winter air is too keen for you; I can see that, John. So come—come in with me—into the house, into the warmth.

BORKMAN.

[_Angrily._] Up to the gallery again, I suppose.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No, rather into the room below.

BORKMAN.

[_His anger-flaming forth._] Never will I set foot under that roof again!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Where will you go then? So late, and in the dark, John?

BORKMAN.

[_Putting on his hat._] First of all, I will go out and see to all my buried treasures.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking anxiously at him._] John—I don’t understand you.

BORKMAN.

[_With laughter, interrupted by coughing._] Oh, it is not hidden plunder I mean; don’t be afraid of that, Ella. [_Stopping, and pointing outwards._] Do you see that man there? Who is it?

[_VILHELM FOLDAL, in an old cape, covered with snow, with his
hat-brim turned down, and a large umbrella in his hand, advances
towards the corner of the house, laboriously stumbling through
the snow. He is noticeably lame in his left foot._

BORKMAN.

Vilhelm! What do you want with me again?

FOLDAL.

[_Looking up._] Good heavens, are you out on the steps, John Gabriel? [_Bowing._] And Mrs. Borkman, too, I see.

BORKMAN.

[_Shortly._] This is not Mrs. Borkman.

FOLDAL.

Oh, I beg pardon. You see, I have lost my spectacles in the snow. But how is it that you, who never put your foot out of doors——?

BORKMAN.

[_Carelessly and gaily._] It is high time I should come out into the open air again, don’t you see? Nearly three years in detention—five years in prison—eight years in the gallery up there——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Distressed._] Borkman, I beg you——

FOLDAL.

Ah yes, yes, yes!

BORKMAN.

But I want to know what has brought you here.

FOLDAL.

[_Still standing at the foot of the steps._] I wanted to come up to you, John Gabriel. I felt I must come to you, in the gallery. Ah me, that gallery——!

BORKMAN.

Did you want to come up to me after I had shown you the door?

FOLDAL.

Oh, I couldn’t let _that_ stand in the way.

BORKMAN.

What have you done to your foot? I see you are limping?

FOLDAL.

Yes, what do you think—I have been run over.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Run over!

FOLDAL.

Yes, by a covered sledge.

BORKMAN.

Oho!

FOLDAL.

With two horses. They came down the hill at a tearing gallop. I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough; and so——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

And so they ran over you?

FOLDAL.

They came right down upon me, madam—or miss. They came right upon me and sent me rolling over and over in the snow—so that I lost my spectacles and got my umbrella broken. [_Rubbing his leg._] And my ankle a little hurt too.

BORKMAN.

[_Laughing inwardly._] Do you know who were in that sledge, Vilhelm?

FOLDAL.

No, how could I see? It was a covered sledge, and the curtains were down. And the driver didn’t stop a moment after he had sent me spinning. But it doesn’t matter a bit, for——[_With an outburst._] Oh, I am so happy, so happy!

BORKMAN.

Happy?

FOLDAL.

Well, I don’t exactly know what to call it. But I think happy is the nearest word. For something so wonderful has happened! And that is why I couldn’t help—I _had_ to come out and share my happiness with you, John Gabriel.

BORKMAN.

[_Harshly._] Well, share away then!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, but first take your friend indoors with you, Borkman.

BORKMAN.

[_Sternly._] I have told you I will not go into the house.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But don’t you hear, he has been run over!

BORKMAN.

Oh, we are all of us run over, sometime or other in life. The thing is to jump up again, and let no one see you are hurt.

FOLDAL.

That is a profound saying, John Gabriel. But I can easily tell you my story out here, in a few words.

BORKMAN.

[_More mildly._] Yes, please do, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.

Well, now you shall hear! Only think, when I got home this evening after I had been with you, what did I find but a letter. Can you guess who it was from?

BORKMAN.

Possibly from your little Frida?

FOLDAL.

Precisely! Think of your hitting on it at once! Yes, it was a long—a pretty long letter from Frida. A footman had brought it. And can you imagine what was in it?

BORKMAN.

Perhaps it was to say good-bye to her mother and you?

FOLDAL.

Exactly! How good you are at guessing, John Gabriel! Yes, she tells me that Mrs. Wilton has taken such a fancy to her, and she is to go abroad with her and study music. And Mrs. Wilton has engaged a first-rate teacher who is to accompany them on the journey—and to read with Frida too. For unfortunately she has been a good deal neglected in some branches, you see.

BORKMAN.

[_Shaken with inward laughter._] Of course, of course—I see it all quite clearly, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.

[_Eagerly continuing._] And only think, she knew nothing about the arrangement until this evening; at that party, you know, h’m! And yet she found time to write to me. And the letter is such a beautiful one—so warm and affectionate, I assure you. There is not a trace of contempt for her father in it. And then what a delicate thought it was to say good-bye to us by letter—before she started. [_Laughing._] But of course I can’t let her go like that.

BORKMAN.

[_Looks inquiringly at him._] How so?

FOLDAL.

She tells me that they start early to-morrow morning; quite early.

BORKMAN.

Oh indeed—to-morrow? Does she tell you that?

FOLDAL.

[_Laughing and rubbing his hands._] Yes; but I know a trick worth two of that, you see! I am going straight up to Mrs. Wilton’s——

BORKMAN.

This evening?

FOLDAL.

Oh, it’s not so very late yet. And even if the house is shut up, I shall ring; without hesitation. For I must and will see Frida before she starts. Good-night, good-night!

[_Makes a movement to go._

BORKMAN.

Stop a moment, my poor Vilhelm; you may spare yourself that heavy bit of road.

FOLDAL.

Oh, you are thinking of my ankle——

BORKMAN.

Yes; and in any case you won’t get in at Mrs. Wilton’s.

FOLDAL.

Yes, indeed I will. I’ll go on ringing and knocking till some one comes and lets me in. For I must and will see Frida.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Your daughter has gone already, Mr. Foldal.

FOLDAL.

[_Stands as though thunderstruck._] Has Frida gone already! Are you quite sure? Who told you?

BORKMAN.

We had it from her future teacher.

FOLDAL.

Indeed? And who is he?

BORKMAN.

A certain Mr. Erhart Borkman.

FOLDAL.

[_Beaming with joy._] Your son, John Gabriel! Is he going with them?

BORKMAN.

Yes; it is he that is to help Mrs. Wilton with little Frida’s education.

FOLDAL.

Oh, Heaven be praised! Then the child is in the best of hands. But is it quite certain that they have started with her already?

BORKMAN.

They took her away in that sledge which ran over you on the road.

FOLDAL.

[_Clasping his hands._] To think that my little Frida was in that magnificent sledge!

BORKMAN.

[_Nodding._] Yes, yes, Vilhelm, your daughter has come to drive in her carriage. And Master Erhart, too. Tell me, did you notice the silver bells?

FOLDAL.

Yes, indeed. Silver bells did you say? Were they silver? Real, genuine silver bells?

BORKMAN.

You may be quite sure of that. Everything was genuine—both outside and in.

FOLDAL.

[_In quiet emotion._] Isn’t it strange how fortune can sometimes befriend one? It is my—my little gift of song that has transmuted itself into music in Frida. So after all, it is not for nothing that I was born a poet. For now she is going forth into the great wide world, that I once yearned so passionately to see. Little Frida sets out in a splendid covered sledge with silver bells on the harness——

BORKMAN.

And runs over her father.

FOLDAL.

[_Happily._] Oh, pooh! What does it matter about me, if only the child——! Well, so I am too late, then, after all. I must just go home again and comfort her mother. I left her crying in the kitchen.

BORKMAN.

Crying?

FOLDAL.

[_Smiling._] Yes, would you believe it, she was crying her eyes out when I came away.

BORKMAN.

And you are laughing, Vilhelm?

FOLDAL.

Yes, _I_ am, of course. But she, poor thing, she doesn’t know any better, you see. Well, good-bye! It’s a good thing I have the tramway so handy. Good-bye, good-bye, John Gabriel. Good-bye, Madam.

[_He bows and limps laboriously out by the way he came._

BORKMAN.

[_Stands silent for a moment, gazing before him._] Good-bye, Vilhelm! It is not the first time in your life that you’ve been run over, old friend.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Looking at him with suppressed anxiety._] You are so pale, John, so very pale.

BORKMAN.

That is the effect of the prison air up yonder.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I have never seen you like this before.

BORKMAN.

No, for I suppose you have never seen an escaped convict before.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, do come into the house with me, John!

BORKMAN.

It is no use trying to lure me in. I have told you——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But when I beg and implore you——? For your own sake——

[_THE MAID opens the door, and stands in the doorway._

THE MAID.

I beg pardon. Mrs. Borkman told me to lock the front door now.

BORKMAN.

[_In a low voice, to ELLA._] You see, they want to lock me up again!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_To the MAID._] Mr. Borkman is not quite well. He wants to have a little fresh air before coming in.

THE MAID.

But Mrs. Borkman told me to——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I shall lock the door. Just leave the key in the lock.

THE MAID.

Oh, very well; I’ll leave it.

[_She goes into the house again._

BORKMAN.

[_Stands silent for a moment, and listens; then goes hastily down the steps and out into the open space._] Now I am outside the walls, Ella! Now they will never get hold of me again!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Who has gone down to him._] But you are a free man in there, too, John. You can come and go just as you please.

BORKMAN.

[_Softly, as though in terror._] Never under a roof again! It is so good to be out here in the night. If I went up into the gallery now, ceiling and walls would shrink together and crush me—crush me flat as a fly.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But where will you go, then?

BORKMAN.

I will simply go on, and on, and on. I will try if I cannot make my way to freedom, and life, and human beings again. Will you go with me, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I? Now?

BORKMAN.

Yes, at once!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

But how far?

BORKMAN.

As far as ever I can.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, but think what you are doing! Out in this raw, cold winter night——

BORKMAN.

[_Speaking very hoarsely._] Oho—my lady is concerned about her health? Yes, yes—I know it is delicate.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

It is your health I am concerned about.

BORKMAN.

Hohoho! A dead man’s health! I can’t help laughing at you, Ella!

[_He moves onwards._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Following him: holding him back._] What did you call yourself?

BORKMAN.

A dead man, I said. Don’t you remember, Gunhild told me to lie quiet where I was?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With resolution, throwing her cloak around her._] I will go with you, John.

BORKMAN.

Yes, we two belong to each other, Ella. [_Advancing._] So come!

[_They have gradually passed into the low wood on the left. It
conceals them little by little, until they are quite lost to
sight. The house and the open space disappear. The landscape,
consisting of wooded slopes and ridges, slowly changes and grows
wilder and wilder._

ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE.

[_Is heard in the wood to the right._] Where are we going, John? I don’t recognise this place.

BORKMAN’S VOICE.

[_Higher up._] Just follow my footprints in the snow!

ELLA RENTHEIM’S VOICE.

But why need we climb so high?

BORKMAN’S VOICE.

[_Nearer at hand._] We must go up the winding path.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Still hidden._] Oh, but I can’t go much further.

BORKMAN.

[_On the verge of the wood to the right._] Come, come! We are not far from the view now. There used to be a seat there.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Appearing among the trees._] Do you remember it?

BORKMAN.

You can rest there.

[_They have emerged upon a small high-lying, open plateau in the
wood. The mountain rises abruptly behind them. To the left, far
below, an extensive fiord landscape, with high ranges in the
distance, towering one above the other. On the plateau, to the
left, a dead fir-tree with a bench under it. The snow lies deep
upon the terrace._

[_BORKMAN and, after him, ELLA RENTHEIM enter from the right and
wade with difficulty through the snow._

BORKMAN.

[_Stopping at the verge of the steep declivity on the left._] Come here, Ella, and you shall see.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Coming up to him._] What do you want to show me, John?

BORKMAN.

[_Pointing outwards._] Do you see how free and open the country lies before us—away to the far horizon?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

We have often sat on this bench before, and looked out into a much, much further distance.

BORKMAN.

It was a dreamland we then looked out over.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Nodding sadly._] It was the dreamland of our life, yes. And now that land is buried in snow. And the old tree is dead.

BORKMAN.

[_Not listening to her._] Can you see the smoke of the great steamships out on the fiord?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No.

BORKMAN.

I can. They come and they go. They weave a network of fellowship all round the world. They shed light and warmth over the souls of men in many thousands of homes. That was what I dreamed of doing.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Softly._] And it remained a dream.

BORKMAN.

It remained a dream, yes. [_Listening._] And hark, down by the river, dear! The factories are working! _My_ factories! All those that I would have created! Listen! Do you hear them humming? The night shift is on—so they are working night and day. Hark! hark! the wheels are whirling and the bands are flashing—round and round and round. Can’t you hear, Ella?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No.

BORKMAN.

I can hear it.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Anxiously._] I think you are mistaken, John.

BORKMAN.

[_More and more fired._] Oh, but all these—they are only like the outworks around the kingdom, I tell you!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

The kingdom, you say? What kingdom?

BORKMAN.

My kingdom, of course! The kingdom I was on the point of conquering when I—when I died.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Shaken, in a low voice._] Oh, John, John!

BORKMAN.

And now there it lies—defenceless, masterless—exposed to all the robbers and plunderers. Ella, do you see the mountain chains there—far away? They soar, they tower aloft, one behind the other! That is my vast, my infinite, inexhaustible kingdom!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Oh, but there comes an icy blast from that kingdom, John!

BORKMAN.

That blast is the breath of life to me. That blast comes to me like a greeting from subject spirits. I seem to touch them, the prisoned millions; I can see the veins of metal stretch out their winding, branching, luring arms to me. I saw them before my eyes like living shapes, that night when I stood in the strong-room with the candle in my hand. You begged to be liberated, and I tried to free you. But my strength failed me; and the treasure sank back into the deep again. [_With outstretched hands._] But I will whisper it to you here in the stillness of the night: I love you, as you lie there spell-bound in the deeps and the darkness! I love you, unborn treasures, yearning for the light! I love you, with all your shining train of power and glory! I love you, love you, love you!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_In suppressed but rising agitation._] Yes, your love is still down there, John. It has always been rooted there. But here, in the light of day, here there was a living, warm, human heart that throbbed and glowed for you. And this heart you crushed. Oh worse than that! Ten times worse! You sold it for—for——

BORKMAN.

[_Trembles; a cold shudder seems to go through him._] For the kingdom—and the power—and the glory—you mean?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

Yes, that’s what I mean. I have said it once before to-night: you have murdered the love-life in the woman who loved you. And whom you loved in return, so far as you _could_ love any one. [_With uplifted arm._] And therefore I prophesy to you, John Gabriel Borkman—you will never touch the price you demanded for the murder. You will never enter in triumph into your cold, dark kingdom!

BORKMAN.

[_Staggers to the bench and seats himself heavily._] I almost fear your prophecy will come true, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Going up to him._] You must not fear it, John. That is the best thing that can happen to you.

BORKMAN.

[_With a shriek; clutching at his breast._] Ah——! [_Feebly._] Now it let me go again.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Shaking him._] What was it, John?

BORKMAN.

[_Sinking down against the back of the seat._] It was a hand of ice that clutched at my heart.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

John! Did you feel the ice-hand again!

BORKMAN.

[_Murmurs._] No. No ice-hand. It was a metal hand.

[_He sinks right down upon the bench._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Tears off her cloak and throws it over him._] Lie still where you are! I will go and bring help for you.

[_She goes a step or two towards the right; then she stops, returns,
and carefully feels his pulse and touches his face._

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Softly and firmly._] No. It is best so, John Borkman. Best so for you.

[_She spreads the cloak closer around him, and sinks down in the
snow in front of the bench. A short silence._

[_MRS. BORKMAN, wrapped in a mantle, comes through the wood on the
right. THE MAID goes before her carrying a lantern._

THE MAID.

[_Throwing the light upon the snow._] Yes, yes, ma’am, here are their tracks.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Peering around._] Yes, here they are! They are sitting there on the bench. [_Calls._] Ella!

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Rising._] Are you looking for us?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Sternly._] Yes, you see I have to.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Pointing._] Look, there he lies, Gunhild.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Sleeping?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

A long, deep sleep, I think.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With an outburst._] Ella! [_Controls herself and asks in a low voice._] Did he do it—of his own accord?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Relieved._] Not by his own hand then?

ELLA RENTHEIM.

No. It was an ice-cold metal hand that gripped him by the heart.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_To THE MAID._] Go for help. Get the men to come up from the farm.

THE MAID.

Yes, I will, ma’am. [_To herself._] Lord save us!

[_She goes out through the wood to the right._

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Standing behind the bench._] So the night air has killed him——

ELLA RENTHEIM.

So it appears.

MRS. BORKMAN.

——strong man that he was.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Coming in front of the bench._] Will you not look at him, Gunhild?

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_With a gesture of repulsion._] No, no, no. [_Lowering her voice._] He was a miner’s son, John Gabriel Borkman. He could not live in the fresh air.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

It was rather the cold that killed him.

MRS. BORKMAN.

[_Shakes her head._] The cold, you say? The cold—that had killed him long ago.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_Nodding to her._] Yes—and changed us two into shadows.

MRS. BORKMAN.

You are right there.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

[_With a painful smile._] A dead man and two shadows—_that_ is what the cold has made of us.

MRS. BORKMAN.

Yes, the coldness of heart.—And now I think we two may hold out our hands to each other, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

I think we may, now.

MRS. BORKMAN.

We twin sisters—over him we have both loved.

ELLA RENTHEIM.

We two shadows—over the dead man.

[_MRS. BORKMAN behind the bench, and ELLA RENTHEIM in front of it,
take each other’s hand._

WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN

(1899)

CHARACTERS.

PROFESSOR ARNOLD RUBEK, _a sculptor_. MRS. MAIA RUBEK, _his wife_. The INSPECTOR at the Baths. ULFHEIM, _a landed proprietor_. A STRANGER LADY. A SISTER OF MERCY.

_Servants, Visitors to the Baths, and Children._

[_The First Act passes at a bathing establishment on the coast; the
Second and Third Acts in the neighbourhood of a health resort
high in the mountains._]

WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN
A DRAMATIC EPILOGUE

ACT FIRST

_Outside the Bath Hotel. A portion of the main building can be seen to
the right. An open, park-like place with a fountain, groups of
fine old trees, and shrubbery. To the left, a little pavilion
almost covered with ivy and Virginia creeper. A table and chair
outside it. At the back a view over the fjord, right out to sea,
with headlands and small islands in the distance. It is a calm,
warm and sunny summer morning._

_PROFESSOR RUBEK and MRS. MAIA RUBEK are sitting in basket chairs beside
a covered table on the lawn outside the hotel, having just
breakfasted. They have champagne and seltzer-water on the table,
and each has a newspaper. PROFESSOR RUBEK is an elderly man of
distinguished appearance, wearing a black velvet jacket, and
otherwise in light summer attire. MAIA is quite young, with a
vivacious expression and lively, mocking eyes, yet with a
suggestion of fatigue. She wears an elegant travelling dress._

MAIA.

[_Sits for some time as though waiting for the PROFESSOR to say something, then lets her paper drop with a deep sigh._] Oh dear, dear, dear——!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Looks up from his paper._] Well, Maia? What is the matter with you?

MAIA.

Just listen how silent it is here.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Smiles indulgently._] And you can hear that?

MAIA.

What?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

The silence?

MAIA.

Yes, indeed I can.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Well, perhaps you are right, _mein Kind_. One can really hear the silence.

MAIA.

Heaven knows you can—when it’s so absolutely overpowering as it is here——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Here at the Baths, you mean?

MAIA.

Wherever you go at home here, it seems to me. Of course there was noise and bustle enough in the town. But I don’t know how it is—even the noise and bustle seemed to have something dead about it.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With a searching glance._] You don’t seem particularly glad to be at home again, Maia?

MAIA.

[_Looks at him._] Are _you_ glad?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Evasively._] I——?

MAIA.

Yes, you, who have been so much, much further away than I. Are _you_ entirely happy, now that you are at home again?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

No—to be quite candid—perhaps not entirely happy——

MAIA.

[_With animation._] There, you see! Didn’t I know it!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I have perhaps been too long abroad. I have drifted quite away from all this—this home life.

MAIA.

[_Eagerly, drawing her chair nearer him._] There, you see, Rubek! We had much better get away again! As quickly as ever we can.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Somewhat impatiently._] Well, well, that is what we intend to do, my dear Maia. You know that.

MAIA.

But why not now—at once? Only think how cosy and comfortable we could be down there, in our lovely new house——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Smiles indulgently._] We ought by rights to say: our lovely new _home_.

MAIA.

[_Shortly._] I prefer to say _house_—let us keep to that.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_His eyes dwelling on her._] You are really a strange little person.

MAIA.

Am I so strange?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, I think so.

MAIA.

But why, pray? Perhaps because I’m not desperately in love with mooning about up here——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Which of us was it that was absolutely bent on our coming north this summer?

MAIA.

I admit, it was I.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

It was certainly not I, at any rate.

MAIA.

But good heavens, who could have dreamt that everything would have altered so terribly at home here? And in such a short time, too! Why, it is only just four years since I went away——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Since you were married, yes.

MAIA.

Married? What has _that_ to do with the matter?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Continuing_]—since you became the Frau Professor, and found yourself mistress of a charming home—I beg your pardon—a very handsome house, I ought to say. And a villa on the Lake of Taunitz, just at the point that has become most fashionable, too—. In fact it is all very handsome and distinguished, Maia, there’s no denying that. And spacious too. We need not always be getting in each other’s way——

MAIA.

[_Lightly._] No, no, no—there’s certainly no lack of house-room, and that sort of thing——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Remember, too, that you have been living in altogether more spacious and distinguished surroundings—in more polished society than you were accustomed to at home.

MAIA.

[_Looking at him._] Ah, so you think it is _I_ that have changed?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Indeed I do, Maia.

MAIA.

I alone? Not the people here?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Oh yes, they too—a little, perhaps. And not at all in the direction of amiability. That I readily admit.

MAIA.

I should think you must admit it, indeed.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Changing the subject._] Do you know how it affects me when I look at the life of the people around us here?

MAIA.

No. Tell me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

It makes me think of that night we spent in the train, when we were coming up here——

MAIA.

Why, you were sound asleep all the time.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Not quite. I noticed how silent it became at all the little roadside stations. I _heard_ the silence—like you, Maia——

MAIA.

H’m,—like me, yes.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

—and that assured me that we had crossed the frontier—that we were really at home. For the train stopped at all the little stations—although there was nothing doing at all.

MAIA.

Then why did it stop—though there was nothing to be done?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Can’t say. No one got out or in; but all the same the train stopped a long, endless time. And at every station I could make out that there were two railway men walking up and down the platform—one with a lantern in his hand—and they said things to each other in the night, low, and toneless, and meaningless.

MAIA.

Yes, that is quite true. There are always two men walking up and down, and talking——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

—of nothing. [_Changing to a livelier tone._] But just wait till to-morrow. Then we shall have the great luxurious steamer lying in the harbour. We’ll go on board her, and sail all round the coast—northward ho!—right to the polar sea.

MAIA.

Yes, but then you will see nothing of the country—and of the people. And that was what you particularly wanted.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Short and snappishly._] I have seen more than enough.

MAIA.

Do you think a sea voyage will be better for you?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

It is always a change.

MAIA.

Well well, if only it is the right thing for _you_——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

For me? The right thing? There is nothing in the world the matter with me.

MAIA.

[_Rises and goes up to him._] Yes, there is, Rubek. I am sure you must feel it yourself.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Why, my dearest Maia—what should be amiss with me?

MAIA.

[_Behind him, bending over the back of his chair._] That _you_ must tell me. You have begun to wander about without a moment’s peace. You cannot rest anywhere—neither at home nor abroad. You have become quite misanthropic of late.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With a touch of sarcasm._] Dear me—have _you_ noticed _that_?

MAIA.

No one that knows you can help noticing it. And then it seems to me so sad that you have lost all pleasure in your work.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

That too, eh?

MAIA.

You that used to be so indefatigable—working from morning to night!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Gloomily._] _Used_ to be, yes——

MAIA.

But ever since you got your great masterpiece out of hand——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Nods thoughtfully._] "The Resurrection Day"——

MAIA.

—the masterpiece that has gone round the whole world, and made you so famous——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Perhaps that is just the misfortune, Maia.

MAIA.

How so?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

When I had finished this masterpiece of mine—[_Makes a passionate movement with his hand_]—for “The Resurrection Day” is a masterpiece! Or _was_ one in the beginning. No, it is one still. It _must_, _must_, _must_ be a masterpiece!

MAIA.

[_Looks at him in astonishment._] Why, Rubek—all the world knows _that_.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Short, repellently._] All the world knows nothing! Understands nothing!

MAIA.

Well, at any rate it can divine something——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Something that isn’t there at all, yes. Something that never was in my mind. Ah yes, _that_ they can all go into ecstasies over! [_Growling to himself._] What is the good of working oneself to death for the mob and the masses—for "all the world"!

MAIA.

Do you think it is better, then—do you think it is worthy of _you_, to do nothing at all but a portrait-bust now and then?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With a sly smile._] They are not exactly portrait-busts that I turn out, Maia.

MAIA.

Yes, indeed they are—for the last two or three years—ever since you finished your great group and got it out of the house——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

All the same, they are no mere _portrait_-busts, I assure you.

MAIA.

What are they, then?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

There is something equivocal, something cryptic, lurking in and behind these busts—a secret something, that the people themselves cannot see——

MAIA.

Indeed?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Decisively._] I alone can see it. And it amuses me unspeakably.—On the surface I give them the “striking likeness,” as they call it, that they all stand and gape at in astonishment—[_Lowers his voice_]—but at bottom they are all respectable, pompous horse-faces, and self-opinionated donkey-muzzles, and lop-eared, low-browed dog-skulls, and fatted swine-snouts—and sometimes dull, brutal bull-fronts as well——

MAIA.

[_Indifferently._] All the dear domestic animals, in fact.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Simply the dear domestic animals, Maia. All the animals which men have bedevilled in their own image—and which have bedevilled men in return. [_Empties his champagne-glass and laughs._] And it is these double-faced works of art that our excellent plutocrats come and order -----File: 367.png--------------------------------------------------------- of me. And pay for in all good faith—and in good round figures too—almost their weight in gold, as the saying goes.

MAIA.

[_Fills his glass._] Come, Rubek! Drink and be happy.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Passes his hand several times across his forehead and leans back in his chair._] I _am_ happy, Maia. Really happy—in a way. [_Short silence._] For after all there is a certain happiness in feeling oneself free and independent on every hand—in having at one’s command everything one can possibly wish for—all outward things, that is to say. Do you not agree with me, Maia?

MAIA.

Oh yes, I agree. All that is well enough in its way. [_Looking at him._] But do you remember what you promised me the day we came to an understanding on—on that troublesome point——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Nods_]—on the subject of our marriage, yes. It was no easy matter for you, Maia.

MAIA.

[_Continuing unruffled_]—and agreed that I was to go abroad with you, and live there for good and all—and enjoy myself.—Do you remember what you promised me that day?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Shaking his head._] No, I can’t say that I do. Well, what did I promise?

MAIA.

You said you would take me up to a high mountain and show me all the glory of the world.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With a slight start._] Did I promise _you_ that, too?

MAIA.

Me too? Who else, pray?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Indifferently._] No, no, I only meant did I promise to show you——?

MAIA.

—all the glory of the world? Yes, you did. And all that glory should be mine, you said.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

That is a sort of figure of speech that I was in the habit of using once upon a time.

MAIA.

Only a figure of speech?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, a schoolboy phrase—the sort of thing I used to say when I wanted to lure the neighbours’ children out to play with me, in the woods and on the mountains.

MAIA.

[_Looking hard at him._] Perhaps you only wanted to lure _me_ out to play, as well?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Passing it off as a jest._] Well, has it not been a tolerably amusing game, Maia?

MAIA.

[_Coldly._] I did not go with you only to play.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

No, no, I daresay not.

MAIA.

And you never took me up with you to any high mountain, or showed me——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With irritation_]—all the glory of the world? No, I did not. For, let me tell you something: you are not really born to be a mountain-climber, little Maia.

MAIA.

[_Trying to control herself._] Yet at one time you seemed to think I was.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Four or five years ago, yes. [_Stretching himself in his chair._] Four or five years—it’s a long, long time, Maia.

MAIA.

[_Looking at him with a bitter expression._] Has the time seemed so very long to you, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I am beginning now to find it a trifle long. [_Yawning._] Now and then, you know.

MAIA.

[_Returning to her place._] I shall not bore you any longer.

[_She resumes her seat, takes up the newspaper, and begins turning
over the leaves. Silence on both sides._

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Leaning on his elbows across the table, and looking at her teasingly._] Is the Frau Professor offended?

MAIA.

[_Coldly, without looking up._] No, not at all.

[_Visitors to the baths, most of them ladies, begin to pass, singly
and in groups, through the park from the right, and out to the
left._

[_WAITERS bring refreshments from the hotel, and go off behind the
pavilion._

[_The INSPECTOR, wearing gloves and carrying a stick, comes from his
rounds in the park, meets visitors, bows politely, and exchanges
a few words with some of them._

THE INSPECTOR.

[_Advancing to PROFESSOR RUBEK’S table and politely taking off his hat._] I have the honour to wish you good morning, Mrs. Rubek.—Good morning, Professor Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Good morning, good morning, Inspector.

THE INSPECTOR.

[_Addressing himself to MRS. RUBEK._] May I venture to ask if you have slept well?

MAIA.

Yes, thank you; excellently—for _my_ part. I always sleep like a stone.

THE INSPECTOR.

I am delighted to hear it. The first night in a strange place is often rather trying.—And the Professor——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Oh, _my_ night’s rest is never much to boast of—especially of late.

THE INSPECTOR.

[_With a show of sympathy._] Oh—that is a pity. But after a few weeks’ stay at the Baths—you will quite get over _that_.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Looking up at him._] Tell me, Inspector—are any of your patients in the habit of taking baths during the night?

THE INSPECTOR.

[_Astonished._] During the night? No, I have never heard of such a thing.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Have you not?

THE INSPECTOR.

No, I don’t know of any one so ill as to require such treatment.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Well, at any rate there is some one who is in the habit of walking about the park by night?

THE INSPECTOR.

[_Smiling and shaking his head._] No, Professor—that would be against the rules.

MAIA.

[_Impatiently._] Good Heavens, Rubek, I told you so this morning—you must have dreamt it.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Drily._] Indeed? Must I? Thank you! [_Turning to the INSPECTOR._] The fact is, I got up last night—I couldn’t sleep—and I wanted to see what sort of night it was——

THE INSPECTOR.

[_Attentively._] To be sure—and then——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I looked out at the window—and caught sight of a white figure in there among the trees.

MAIA.

[_Smiling to the INSPECTOR._] And the Professor declares that the figure was dressed in a bathing costume——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

—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.