MARIA: Jan, I can’t believe they failed to recognize you just now. A mother’s bound to recognize her son; it’s the least she can do.
JAN: Perhaps. Still, twenty years’ separation makes a difference. Life has been going on since I left. My mother’s grown old, her sight is failing. I hardly recognized her myself.
MARIA [impatiently]: I know. You came in; you said “Good day”; you sat down. This room wasn’t like the one you remembered.
JAN: Yes, my memory had played me false. They received me without a word. I was given the glass of beer I asked for. I was looked at, but I wasn’t seen. Everything was more difficult than I’d expected.
MARIA: You know quite well it needn’t have been difficult; you had only to speak. On such occasions one says “It’s I,” and then it’s all plain sailing.
JAN: True. But I’d been imagining—all sorts of things. I’d expected a welcome like the prodigal son’s. Actually I was given a glass of beer, against payment. It took the words out of my mouth, and I thought I’d better let things take their course.
MARIA: There was nothing to take its course. It was another of those ideas of yours—and a word would have been enough.
JAN: It wasn’t an idea of mine, Maria; it was the force of things. What’s more, I’m not in such a hurry. I have come here to bring them my money, and if I can, some happiness. When I learned about my father’s death I realized I had duties toward these two women and now, as a result, I’m doing what it’s right for me to do. But evidently it is not so easy as people think, coming back to one’s old home, and it takes time to change a stranger into a son.
MARIA: But why not let them know the truth at once? There are situations in which the normal way of acting is obviously the best. If one wants to be recognized, one starts by telling one’s name; that’s common sense. Otherwise, by pretending to be what one is not, one simply muddles everything. How could you expect not to be treated as a stranger in a house you entered under false colors? No, dear, there’s something … something morbid about the way you’re doing this.
JAN: Oh, come, Maria! It’s not so serious as that. And, mind you, it suits my plan. I shall take this opportunity of seeing them from the outside. Then I’ll have a better notion of what to do to make them happy. Afterwards, I’ll find some way of getting them to recognize me. It’s just a matter of choosing one’s words.
MARIA: No, there’s only one way, and it’s to do what any ordinary mortal would do—to say “It’s I,” and to let one’s heart speak for itself.
JAN: The heart isn’t so simple as all that.
MARIA: But it uses simple words. Surely there was no difficulty in saying: “I’m your son. This is my wife. I’ve been living with her in a country we both love, a land of endless sunshine beside the sea. But something was lacking there to complete my happiness, and now I feel I need you.”
JAN: Don’t be unfair, Maria. I don’t need them; but I realized they may need me, and a man doesn’t live only for himself.
[A short silence. MARIA looks away from him.]
MARIA: Perhaps you are right. I’m sorry for what I said. But I have grown terribly suspicious since coming to this country where I’ve looked in vain for a single happy face. This Europe of yours is so sad. Since we’ve been here, I haven’t once heard you laugh, and, as for me, I feel my nerves on edge all the time. Oh, why did you make me leave my country? Let’s go away, Jan; we shall not find happiness here.
JAN: It’s not happiness we’ve come for. We had happiness already.
MARIA [passionately]: Then why not have been satisfied with it?
JAN: Happiness isn’t everything; there is duty, too. Mine was to come back to my mother and my own country. [MARIA makes a protesting gesture and is about to answer. JAN checks her. Footsteps can be heard.] Someone’s coming. Do please go, Maria.
MARIA: No, I can’t, I can’t! Not yet, anyhow!
JAN [as the footsteps approach]: Go there. [He gently pushes her toward the door at the back. The OLD MANSERVANT crosses the room without seeing MARIA, and goes out by the other door.] Now, leave at once. You see, luck is on my side.
MARIA: Please, let me stay. I promise not to speak a word, only to stay beside you till you’re recognized.
JAN: No. You’d give me away.
[She turns away, then comes back and looks him in the eyes.]
MARIA: Jan, we’ve been married for five years.
JAN: Yes, almost five years.
MARIA [lowering her eyes]: And this will be the first night we spend apart. [He says nothing and she looks up, gazing earnestly at him.] I’ve always loved everything about you, even what I didn’t understand, and I know that really I wouldn’t wish you to be other than you are. I’m not a very troublesome wife, am I? But here I’m scared of the empty bed you are sending me to, and I’m afraid, too, of your forsaking me.
JAN: Surely you can trust my love better than that?
MARIA: I do trust it. But besides your love there are your dreams—or your duties; they’re the same thing. They take you away from me so often, and at those moments it’s as if you were having a holiday from me. But I can’t take a holiday from you, and tonight [She presses herself to him, weeping], this night without you—oh, I shall never be able to bear it!
JAN [clasping her tightly]: But this is childishness, my dear!
MARIA: Of course it’s childish. But … but we were so happy over there, and it’s not my fault if the nights in this country terrify me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.
JAN: But do try to understand, my dear; I’ve a promise to keep, and it’s most important.
MARIA: What promise?
JAN: The one I made to myself on the day I understood my mother needed me.
MARIA: You’ve another promise to keep.
JAN: Yes?
MARIA: The promise you made me on the day you joined your life to mine.
JAN: But surely I can keep both promises. What I’m asking of you is nothing very terrible. Nor is it a mere caprice. Only one evening and one night in which to take my bearings here, get to know better these two women who are dear to me, and to secure their happiness.
MARIA [shaking her head]: A separation always means a lot to people who love each other—with the right kind of love.
JAN: But, you romantic little creature, you know quite well I love you with the right kind of love.
MARIA: No, Jan. Men do not know how real love should be. Nothing they have can ever satisfy them. They’re always dreaming dreams, building up new duties, going to new countries and new homes. Women are different; they know that life is short and one must make haste to love, to share the same bed, embrace the man one loves, and dread every separation. When one loves one has no time for dreams.
JAN: But, really, dear, aren’t you exaggerating? It’s such a simple thing I’m doing; trying to get in touch again with my mother, to help her and bring her happiness. As for my dreams and duties, you’ll have to take them as they are. Without them I’d be a mere shadow of myself; indeed you’d love me less, were I without them.
MARIA [turning her back to him abruptly]: Oh, I know you can talk me round, you can always find good reasons for anything you want to do. But I refuse to listen, I stop my ears when you start speaking in that special voice I know so well. It’s the voice of your loneliness, not of love.
JAN [standing behind her]: Let’s not talk of that now, Maria. All I’m asking is to be left here by myself, so that I can clear up certain things in my mind. Really it’s nothing so very terrible, or extraordinary, my sleeping under the same roof as my mother. God will see to the rest and He knows, too, that in acting thus I’m not forgetting you. Only—no one can be happy in exile or estrangement. One can’t remain a stranger all one’s life. It is quite true that a man needs happiness, but he also needs to find his true place in the world. And I believe that coming back to my country, making happy those I love, will help me to do this. I don’t look any farther.
MARIA: Surely you could do it without all these … these complications? No, Jan, I’m afraid you are going the wrong way about it.
JAN: It’s the right way, because it’s the only way of finding out whether or not I did well to have those dreams.
MARIA: I hope you’ll find that you did well. But I have only one dream—of that country where we were happy together; and only one duty—toward you.
JAN [embracing her]: Let me have my way, dear. I’ll find the things to say that will put everything right.
MARIA [in an access of emotion]: Then follow your dream, dear. Nothing matters, if only I keep your love. Usually I can’t be unhappy when you
