Генрик Ибсен: When We Dead Awaken

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 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 cozy 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 so short a 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.

[Shortly 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 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 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—