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.
[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——!
[Looks up from his paper.] Well, Maia? What is the matter with you?
Just listen how silent it is here.
[Smiles indulgently.] And you can hear that?
What?
The silence?
Yes, indeed I can.
Well, perhaps you are right, mein Kind. One can really hear the silence.
Heaven knows you can—when it’s so absolutely overpowering as it is here——
Here at the Baths, you mean?
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.
[With a searching glance.] You don’t seem particularly glad to be at home again, Maia?
[Looks at him.] Are you glad?
[Evasively.] I——?
Yes, you, who have been so much, much further away than I. Are you entirely happy, now that you are at home again?
No—to be quite candid—perhaps not entirely happy——
[With animation.] There, you see! Didn’t I know it!
I have perhaps been too long abroad. I have drifted quite away from all this—this home life.
[Eagerly, drawing her chair nearer him.] There, you see, Rubek! We had much better get away again! As quickly as ever we can.
[Somewhat impatiently.] Well, well, that is what we intend to do, my dear Maia. You know that.
But why not now—at once? Only think how cosy and comfortable we could be down there, in our lovely new house——
[Smiles indulgently.] We ought by rights to say: our lovely new home.
[Shortly.] I prefer to say house—let us keep to that.
[His eyes dwelling on her.] You are really a strange little person.
Am I so strange?
Yes, I think so.
But why, pray? Perhaps because I’m not desperately in love with mooning about up here——?
Which of us was it that was absolutely bent on our coming north this summer?
I admit, it was I.
It was certainly not I, at any rate.
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——
Since you were married, yes.
Married? What has that to do with the matter?
[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——
[Lightly.] No, no, no—there’s certainly no lack of house-room, and that sort of thing——
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.
[Looking at him.] Ah, so you think it is I that have changed?
Indeed I do, Maia.
I alone? Not the people here?
Oh yes, they too—a little, perhaps. And not at all in the direction of amiability. That I readily admit.
I should think you must admit it, indeed.
[Changing the subject.] Do you know how it affects me when I look at the life of the people around us here?
No. Tell me.
It makes me think of that night we spent in the train, when we were coming up here——
Why, you were sound asleep all the time.
Not quite. I noticed how silent it became at all the little roadside stations. I heard the silence—like you, Maia——
H’m,—like me, yes.
—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.
Then why did it stop—though there was nothing to be done?
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.
Yes, that is quite true. There are always two men walking up and down, and talking——
—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.
Yes, but then you will see nothing of the country—and of the people. And that was what you particularly wanted.
[Short and snappishly.] I have seen more than enough.
Do you think a sea voyage will be better for you?
It is always a change.
Well well, if only it is the right thing for you——
For me? The right thing? There is nothing in the world the matter with me.
[Rises and goes up to him.] Yes, there is, Rubek. I am sure you must feel it yourself.
Why, my dearest Maia—what should be amiss with me?
[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.
[With a touch of sarcasm.] Dear me—have you noticed that?
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.
That too, eh?
You that used to be so indefatigable—working from morning to night!
[Gloomily.] Used to be, yes——
But ever since you got your great masterpiece out of hand——
[Nods thoughtfully.] "The Resurrection Day"——
—the masterpiece that has gone round the whole world, and made you so famous——
Perhaps that is just the misfortune, Maia.
How so?
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!
[Looks at him in astonishment.] Why, Rubek—all the world knows that.
[Short, repellently.] All the world knows nothing! Understands nothing!
Well, at any rate it can divine something——
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"!
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?
[With a sly smile.] They are not exactly portrait-busts that I turn out, 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——
All the same, they are no mere portraitportrait-busts, I assure you.
What are they, then?
There is something equivocal, something cryptic, lurking in and behind these busts—a secret something, that the people themselves cannot see——
Indeed?
[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——
[Indifferently.] All the dear domestic animals, in fact.
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.
[Fills his glass.] Come, Rubek! Drink and be happy.
[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?
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——
[Nods]—on the subject of our marriage, yes. It was no easy matter for you, 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?
[Shaking his head.] No, I can’t say that I do. Well, what did I promise?
You said you would take me up to a high mountain and show me all the glory of the world.
[With a slight start.] Did I promise you that, too?
Me too? Who else, pray?
[Indifferently.] No, no, I only meant did I promise to show you——?
—all the glory of the world? Yes, you did. And all that glory should be mine, you said.
That is a sort of figure of speech that I was in the habit of using once upon a time.
Only a figure of speech?
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.
[Looking hard at him.] Perhaps you only wanted to lure me out to play, as well?
[Passing it off as a jest.] Well, has it not been a tolerably amusing game, Maia?
[Coldly.] I did not go with you only to play.
No, no, I daresay not.
And you never took me up with you to any high mountain, or showed me——
[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.
[Trying to control herself.] Yet at one time you seemed to think I was.
Four or five years ago, yes. [Stretching himself in his chair.] Four or five years—it’s a long, long time, Maia.
[Looking at him with a bitter expression.] Has the time seemed so very long to you, Rubek?
I am beginning now to find it a trifle long. [Yawning.] Now and then, you know.
[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.
[Leaning on his elbows across the table, and looking at her teasingly.] Is the Frau Professor offended?
[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.
[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.
Good morning, good morning, Inspector.
[Addressing himself to Mrs. Rubek.] May I venture to ask if you have slept well?
Yes, thank you; excellently—for my part. I always sleep like a stone.
I am delighted to hear it. The first night in a strange place is often rather trying.—And the Professor——?
Oh, my night’s rest is never much to boast of—especially of late.
[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.
[Looking up at him.] Tell me, Inspector—are any of your patients in the habit of taking baths during the night?
[Astonished.] During the night? No, I have never heard of such a thing.
Have you not?
No, I don’t know of any one so ill as to require such treatment.
Well, at any rate there is some one who is in the habit of walking about the park by night?
[Smiling and shaking his head.] No, Professor—that would be against the rules.
[Impatiently.] Good Heavens, Rubek, I told you so this morning—you must have dreamt it.
[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——
[Attentively.] To be sure—and then——?
I looked out at the window—and caught sight of a white figure in there among the trees.
[Smiling to the Inspector.] And the Professor declares that the figure was dressed in a bathing costume——
—or something like it, I said. Couldn’t distinguish very clearly. But I am sure it was something white.
Most remarkable. Was it a gentleman or a lady?
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——
[Starting.] A dark one? Quite black, perhaps?
Yes, I should almost have said so.
[A light breaking in upon him.] And behind the white figure? Following close upon her——?
Yes—at a little distance——
Aha! Then I think I can explain the mystery, Professor.
Well, what was it then?
[Simultaneously.] Was the Professor really not dreaming?
[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.
[Has risen slowly and involuntarily, and stands staring at the closed door of the pavilion.] Who was that lady?
She is a stranger who has rented the little pavilion there.
A foreigner?
Presumably. At any rate they both came from abroad—about a week ago. They have never been here before.
[Decidedly; looking at him.] It was she I saw in the park last night.