Chapter VII: Part 7

[_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.

[_Is silent for a short time._] What poems have you made since? In marble I mean. Since the day I left you.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I have made no poems since that day—only frittered away my life in modelling.

IRENE.

And that woman, whom you are now living with——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Interrupting vehemently._] Do not speak of her now! It makes me tingle with shame.

IRENE.

Where are you thinking of going with her?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Slack and weary._] Oh, on a tedious coasting-voyage to the North, I suppose.

IRENE.

[_Looks at him, smiles almost imperceptibly, and whispers._] You should rather go high up into the mountains. As high as ever you can. Higher, higher,—always higher, Arnold.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With eager expectation._] Are _you_ going up there?

IRENE.

Have you the courage to meet me once again?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Struggling with himself, uncertainly._] If we could—oh, if only we could——!

IRENE.

Why can we not do what we will? [_Looks at him and whispers beseechingly with folded hands._] Come, come, Arnold! Oh, come up to me——!

[_MAIA enters, glowing with pleasure, from behind the hotel, and
goes quickly up to the table where they were previously
sitting._]

MAIA.

[_Still at the corner of the hotel, without looking around._] Oh, you may say what you please, Rubek, but—[_Stops, as she catches sight of IRENE_]—Oh, I beg your pardon—I see you have made an acquaintance.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Curtly._] Renewed an acquaintance. [_Rises._] What was it you wanted with me?

MAIA.

I only wanted to say this: you may do whatever you please, but _I_ am not going with you on that disgusting steamboat.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Why not?

MAIA.

Because I want to go up on the mountains and into the forests—that’s what I want. [_Coaxingly._] Oh, you must let me do it, Rubek.—I shall be so good, so good afterwards!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Who is it that has put these ideas into your head?

MAIA.

Why _he_—that horrid bear-killer. Oh you cannot conceive all the marvellous things he has to tell about the mountains. And about life up there! They’re ugly, horrid, repulsive, most of the yarns he spins—for I almost believe he’s lying—but wonderfully alluring all the same. Oh, won’t you let me go with him? Only to see if what he says is true, you understand. _May_ I, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, I have not the slightest objection. Off you go to the mountains—as far and as long as you please. I shall perhaps be going the same way myself.

MAIA.

[_Quickly._] No, no, no, you needn’t do that! Not on _my_ account!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I _want_ to go to the mountains. I have made up my mind to go.

MAIA.

Oh thanks, thanks! May I tell the bear-killer at once?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Tell the bear-killer whatever you please.

MAIA.

Oh thanks, thanks, thanks! [_Is about to take his hand; he repels the movement._] Oh, how dear and good you are to-day, Rubek!

[_She runs into the hotel._

[_At the same time the door of the pavilion is softly and
noiselessly set ajar. THE SISTER OF MERCY stands in the opening,
intently on the watch. No one sees her._

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Decidedly, turning to Irene._] Shall we meet up there then?

IRENE.

[_Rising slowly._] Yes, we shall certainly meet.—I have sought for you so long.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

When did you begin to seek for me, Irene?

IRENE.

[_With a touch of jesting bitterness._] From the time when I realised that I had given away to you something rather indispensable, Arnold. Something one ought never to part with.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Bowing his head._] Yes, that is bitterly true. You gave me three or four years of your youth.

IRENE.

More, more than _that_ I gave you—spendthrift as I then was.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, you were prodigal, Irene. You gave me all your naked loveliness——

IRENE.

—to gaze upon——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

—and to glorify——

IRENE.

Yes, for your own glorification.—And the child’s.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And yours too, Irene.

IRENE.

But you have forgotten the most precious gift.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

The most precious—? What gift was _that_?

IRENE.

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

[_The SISTER OF MERCY opens the door wide and makes room for her.
She goes into the pavilion._

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Stands and looks after her; then whispers._] Irene!

ACT SECOND

_Near a mountain health resort. The landscape stretches in the form of
an immense treeless upland towards a long mountain lake. Beyond
the lake rises a range of peaks with blue-white snow in the
clefts. In the foreground on the left a purling brook falls in
severed streamlets down a steep wall of rock, and thence flows
smoothly over the upland until it disappears to the right. Dwarf
trees, plants, and stones along the course of the brook. In the
foreground on the right a hillock, with a stone bench on the top
of it. It is a summer afternoon, towards sunset._

_At some distance over the upland, on the other side of the brook, a
troop of children is singing, dancing, and playing. Some are
dressed in peasant costume, others in town-made clothes. Their
happy laughter is heard, softened by distance, during the
following._

_PROFESSOR RUBEK is sitting on the bench, with a plaid over his
shoulders, and looking down at the children’s play._

_Presently MAIA comes forward from among some bushes on the upland to
the left, well back, and scans the prospect with her hand shading
her eyes. She wears a flat tourist cap, a short skirt, kilted up,
reaching only midway between ankle and knee, and high, stout
lace-boots. She has in her hand a long alpenstock._

MAIA.

[_At last catches sight of RUBEK and calls._] Hallo!

[_She advances over the upland, jumps over the brook, with the aid
of her alpenstock, and climbs up the hillock._

MAIA.

[_Panting._] Oh, how I have been rushing around looking for you, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Nods indifferently and asks._] Have you just come from the hotel?

MAIA.

Yes, that was the last place I tried—that flytrap.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Looking at her for a moment._] I noticed that you were not at the dinner-table.

MAIA.

No, we had our dinner in the open air, we two.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

"We two"? What two?

MAIA.

Why, I and that horrid bear-killer, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Oh, he.

MAIA.

Yes. And first thing to-morrow morning we are going off again.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

After bears?

MAIA.

Yes. Off to kill a brown-boy.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Have you found the tracks of any?

MAIA.

[_With superiority._] You don’t suppose that bears are to be found in the naked mountains, do you?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Where, then?

MAIA.

Far beneath. On the lower slopes; in the thickest parts of the forest. Places your ordinary town-folk could never get through——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And you two are going down there to-morrow?

MAIA.

[_Throwing herself down among the heather._] Yes, so we have arranged.—Or perhaps we may start this evening.—If you have no objection, that’s to say?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I? Far be it from me to——

MAIA.

[_Quickly._] Of course Lars goes with us—with the dogs.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I feel no curiosity as to the movements of Mr. Lars and his dogs. [_Changing the subject._] Would you not rather sit properly on the seat?

MAIA.

[_Drowsily._] No, thank you. I’m lying so delightfully in the soft heather.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I can see that you are tired.

MAIA.

[_Yawning._] I almost think I’m beginning to feel tired.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

You don’t notice it till afterwards—when the excitement is over——

MAIA.

[_In a drowsy tone._] Just so. I will lie and close my eyes.

[_A short pause._

MAIA.

[_With sudden impatience._] Ugh, Rubek—how can you endure to sit there listening to these children’s screams! And to watch all the capers they are cutting, too!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

There is something harmonious—almost like music—in their movements, now and then; amid all the clumsiness. And it amuses me to sit and watch for these isolated moments—when they come.

MAIA.

[_With a somewhat scornful laugh._] Yes, you are always, always an artist.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And I propose to remain one.

MAIA.

[_Lying on her side, so that her back is turned to him._] There’s not a bit of the artist about _him_.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With attention._] Who is it that’s not an artist?

MAIA.

[_Again in a sleepy tone._] Why, he—the other one, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

The bear-hunter, you mean?

MAIA.

Yes. There’s not a bit of the artist about him—not the least little bit.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Smiling._] No, I believe there’s no doubt about that.

MAIA.

[_Vehemently, without moving._] And so ugly as he is! [_Plucks up a tuft of heather and throws it away._] So ugly, so ugly! Isch!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Is that why you are so ready to set off with him—out into the wilds?

MAIA.

[_Curtly._] I don’t know. [_Turning towards him._] You are ugly, too, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Have you only just discovered it?

MAIA.

No, I have seen it for long.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Shrugging his shoulders._] One doesn’t grow younger. One doesn’t grow younger, Frau Maia.

MAIA.

It’s not that sort of ugliness that I mean at all. But there has come to be such an expression of fatigue, of utter weariness, in your eyes—when you deign, once in a while, to cast a glance at me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Have you noticed that?

MAIA.

[_Nods._] Little by little this evil look has come into your eyes. It seems almost as though you were nursing some dark plot against me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Indeed? [_In a friendly but earnest tone._] Come here and sit beside me, Maia; and let us talk a little.

MAIA.

[_Half rising._] Then will you let me sit upon your knee? As I used to in the early days?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

No, you mustn’t—people can see us from the hotel. [_Moves a little._] But you can sit here on the bench—at my side.

MAIA.

No, thank you; in that case I’d rather lie here, where I am. I can hear you quite well here. [_Looks inquiringly at him._] Well, what is it you want to say to me?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Begins slowly._] What do you think was my real reason for agreeing to make this tour?

MAIA.

Well—I remember you declared, among other things, that it was going to do _me_ such a tremendous lot of good. But—but——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

But——?

MAIA.

But now I don’t believe the least little bit that that was the reason——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Then what is your theory about it now?

MAIA.

I think now that it was on account of that pale lady.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Madame von Satow——!

MAIA.

Yes, she who is always hanging at our heels. Yesterday evening she made her appearance up here too.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

But what in all the world——!

MAIA.

Oh, I know you knew her very well indeed—long before you knew me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And had forgotten her, too—long before I knew you.

MAIA.

[_Sitting upright._] Can you forget so easily, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Curtly._] Yes, very easily indeed. [_Adds harshly._] When I _want_ to forget.

MAIA.

Even a woman who has been a model to you?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

When I have no more use for her——

MAIA.

One who has stood to you undressed?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

That means nothing—nothing for us artists. [_With a change of tone._] And then—may I venture to ask—how was _I_ to guess that she was in this country?

MAIA.

Oh, you might have seen her name in a Visitors’ List—in one of the newspapers.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

But I had no idea of the name she now goes by. I had never heard of any Herr von Satow.

MAIA.

[_Affecting weariness._] Oh well then, I suppose it must have been for some other reason that you were so set upon this journey.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Seriously._] Yes, Maia—it was for another reason. A quite different reason. And _that_ is what we must sooner or later have a clear explanation about.

MAIA.

[_In a fit of suppressed laughter._] Heavens, how solemn you look!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Suspiciously scrutinising her._] Yes, perhaps a little more solemn than necessary.

MAIA.

How so——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And _that_ is a very good thing for us both.

MAIA.

You begin to make me feel curious, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Only curious? Not a little bit uneasy.

MAIA.

[_Shaking her head._] Not in the least.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Good. Then listen.—You said that day down at the Baths that it seemed to you I had become very nervous of late——

MAIA.

Yes, and you really have.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And what do you think can be the reason of _that_?

MAIA.

How can I tell——? [_Quickly._] Perhaps you have grown weary of this constant companionship with me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Constant—? Why not say "everlasting"?

MAIA.

Daily companionship, then. Here have we two solitary people lived down there for four or five mortal years, and scarcely been an hour away from each other.—We two all by ourselves.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With interest._] Well? And then——?

MAIA.

[_A little oppressed._] You are not a particularly sociable man, Rubek. You like to keep yourself to yourself and think your own thoughts. And of course I can’t talk properly to _you_ about _your_ affairs. I know nothing about art and that sort of thing—[_With an impatient gesture._] And care very little either, for that matter!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Well, well; and that’s why we generally sit by the fireside, and chat of _your_ affairs.

MAIA.

Oh, good gracious—I have no affairs to chat about.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Well, they are trifles, perhaps; but at any rate the time passes for us in that way as well as another, Maia.

MAIA.

Yes, you are right. Time passes. It is passing away from you, Rubek.—And I suppose it is really _that_ that makes you so uneasy——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Nods vehemently._] And so restless! [_Writhing in his seat._] No, I shall soon not be able to endure this pitiful life any longer.

MAIA.

[_Rises and stands for a moment looking at him._] If you want to get rid of me, you have only to say so.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Why _will_ you use such phrases? Get rid of you?

MAIA.

Yes, if you want to have done with me, please say so right out. And I will go that instant.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With an almost imperceptible smile._] Do you intend that as a threat, Maia?

MAIA.

There can be no threat for you in what I said.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Rising._] No, I confess you are right there. [_Adds after a pause._] You and I cannot possibly go on living together like this——

MAIA.

Well? And then——?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

There is no “then” about it. [_With emphasis on his words._] Because we two cannot go on living together _alone_—it does not necessarily follow that we must part.

MAIA.

[_Smiles scornfully._] Only draw away from each other a little, you mean?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Shakes his head._] Even that is not necessary.

MAIA.

Well then? Come out with what you want to do with me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With some hesitation._] What I now feel so keenly—and so painfully—that I require, is to have some one about me who really and truly stands close to me——

MAIA.

[_Interrupts him anxiously._] Don’t _I_ do that, Rubek?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Waving her aside._] Not in that sense. What I need is the companionship of another person who can, as it were, complete me—supply what is wanting in me—be _one_ with me in all my striving.

MAIA.

[_Slowly._] It’s true that things like that are a great deal too hard for me.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Oh no, they are not at all in your line, Maia.

MAIA.

[_With an outburst._] And heaven knows I don’t want them to be, either!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I know that very well.—And it was with no idea of finding any such help in my life-work that I married you.

MAIA.

[_Observing him closely._] I can see in your face that you are thinking of some one else.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Indeed? I have never noticed before that you were a thought-reader. But you can see _that_, can you?

MAIA.

Yes, I can. Oh, I know you so well, so well, Rubek.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Then perhaps you can also see _who_ it is I am thinking of?

MAIA.

Yes, indeed I can.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Well? Have the goodness to——?

MAIA.

You are thinking of that—that model you once used for—[_Suddenly letting slip the train of thought._] Do you know, the people down at the hotel think she’s mad.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Indeed? And pray what do the people down at the hotel think of you and the bear-killer?

MAIA.

That has nothing to do with the matter. [_Continuing the former train of thought._] But it was this pale lady you were thinking of.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Calmly._] Precisely, of her.—When I had no more use for her—and when, besides, she went away from me—vanished without a word——

MAIA.

Then you accepted me as a sort of makeshift, I suppose?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_More unfeelingly._] Something of the sort, to tell the truth, little Maia. For a year or a year and a half I had lived there lonely and brooding, and had put the last touch—the very last touch, to my work. “The Resurrection Day” went out over the world and brought me fame—and everything else that heart could desire. [_With greater warmth._] But I no longer loved my own work. Men’s laurels and incense nauseated me, till I could have rushed away in despair and hidden myself in the depths of the woods. [_Looking at her._] You, who are a thought-reader—can you guess what then occurred to me?

MAIA.

[_Lightly._] Yes, it occurred to you to make portrait-busts of gentlemen and ladies.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Nods._] To order, yes. With animals’ faces behind the masks. _These_ I threw in gratis—into the bargain, you understand. [_Smiling._] But that was not precisely what I had in my mind.

MAIA.

What, then?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Again serious._] It was _this_, that all the talk about the artist’s vocation and the artist’s mission, and so forth, began to strike me as being very empty, and hollow, and meaningless at bottom.

MAIA.

Then what would you put in its place?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Life, Maia.

MAIA.

Life?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, is not life in sunshine and in beauty a hundred times better worth while than to hang about to the end of your days in a raw, damp hole, and wear yourself out in a perpetual struggle with lumps of clay and blocks of stone?

MAIA.

[_With a little sigh._] Yes, I have always thought so, certainly.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And then I had become rich enough to live in luxury and in indolent, quivering sunshine. I was able to build myself the villa on the Lake of Taunitz, and the palazzo in the capital,—and all the rest of it.

MAIA.

[_Taking up his tone._] And last but not least, you could afford to treat yourself to me, too. And you gave me leave to share in all your treasures.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Jesting, so as to turn the conversation._] Did I not promise to take you up with me to a high mountain and show you all the glory of the world?

MAIA.

[_With a gentle expression._] You have perhaps taken me up with you to a high enough mountain, Rubek—but you have not shown me all the glory of the world.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_With a laugh of irritation._] How insatiable you are, Maia! Absolutely insatiable! [_With a vehement outburst._] But do you know what is the most hopeless thing of all, Maia? Can you guess that?

MAIA.

[_With quiet defiance._] Yes, I suppose it is that you have gone and tied yourself to me—for life.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I would not have expressed myself so heartlessly.

MAIA.

But you would have meant it just as heartlessly.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

You have no clear idea of the inner workings of an artist’s nature.

MAIA.

[_Smiling and shaking her head._] Good heavens, I haven’t even a clear idea of the inner workings of my own nature.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Continuing undisturbed._] I live at such high speed, Maia. We live so, we artists. I, for my part, have lived through a whole lifetime in the few years we two have known each other. I have come to realise that I am not at all adapted for seeking happiness in indolent enjoyment. Life does not shape itself that way for me and those like me. I must go on working—producing one work after another—right up to my dying day. [_Forcing himself to continue._] That is why I cannot get on with you any longer, Maia—not with you alone.

MAIA.

[_Quietly._] Does that mean, in plain language, that you have grown tired of me?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Bursts forth._] Yes, that is what it means! I have grown tired—intolerably tired and fretted and unstrung—in this life with you! Now you know it. [_Controlling himself._] These are hard, ugly words I am using. I know that very well. And you are not all to blame in this matter;—that I willingly admit. It is simply and solely I myself, who have once more undergone a revolution—[_Half to himself_]—an awakening to my real life.

MAIA.

[_Involuntarily folding her hands._] Why in all the world should we not part then?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Looks at her in astonishment._] Should you be willing to?

MAIA.

[_Shrugging her shoulders._] Oh yes—if there’s nothing else for it, then——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Eagerly._] But there is something else for it. There _is_ an alternative——

MAIA.

[_Holding up her forefinger._] Now you are thinking of the pale lady again!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Yes, to tell the truth, I cannot help constantly thinking of her. Ever since I met her again. [_A step nearer her._] For now I will tell you a secret, Maia.

MAIA.

Well?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Touching his own breast._] In here, you see—in here I have a little bramah-locked casket. And in that casket all my sculptor’s visions are stored up. But when she disappeared and left no trace, the lock of the casket snapped to. And she had the key—and she took it away with her.—You, little Maia, you had no key; so all that the casket contains must lie unused. And the years pass! And I have no means of getting at the treasure.

MAIA.

[_Trying to repress a subtle smile._] Then get her to turn the key for you again——

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Not understanding._] Maia——?

MAIA.

—for here she is, you see. And no doubt it’s on account of this casket that she has come.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I have not said a single word to her on this subject!

MAIA.

[_Looks innocently at him._] My dear Rubek—is it worth while to make all this fuss and commotion about so simple a matter?

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Do you think this matter is so absolutely simple?

MAIA.

Yes, certainly I think so. Do you attach yourself to whoever you most require. [_Nods to him._] I shall always manage to find a place for myself.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

Where do you mean?

MAIA.

[_Unconcerned, evasively._] Well—I need only take myself off to the villa, if it should be necessary. But it won’t be; for in town—in all that great house of ours—there must surely, with a little good will, be room enough for three.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[_Uncertainly._] And do you think _that_ would work in the long run?

MAIA.

[_In a light tone._] Very well, then—if it won’t work, it won’t. It is no good talking about it.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And what shall we do then, Maia—if it does _not_ work?

MAIA.

[_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.