Генрик Ибсен: When We Dead Awaken

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.