When We Dead Awaken 4

	When We Dead Awaken 4

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 fly-trap. PROFESSOR RUBEK. [Looking at her for 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 Visitor's 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 have 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 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 about 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. Those 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 to a high enough 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 at 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]--and awakening to my real life.