Adolf. Yes—but—but then how can I believe—that we are really on an equality?
Gustav. [Moves away from, and again toward the right.] Sheer hallucination! The fascination of the petticoat. But it is so, perhaps, in fact you have become like each other, the levelling has taken place. But I say.
[He takes out his watch.] We’ve been chatting for quite long enough. Your wife’s bound to be here shortly. Wouldn’t it be better to leave off now, so that you can rest for a little? [He comes nearer and holds out his hand to say good-bye. ADOLF grips his hand all the tighter.]
Adolf. No, don’t leave me. I haven’t got the pluck to be alone.
Gustav. Only for a little while. Your wife will be coming in a minute.
Adolf. Yes, yes—she’s coming. [Pause.] Strange, isn’t it? I long for her and yet I’m frightened of her. She caresses me, she is tender, but her kisses have something in them which smothers one, something which sucks, something which stupefies. It is as though I were the child at the circus whose face the clown is making up in the dressing-room, so that it can appear red-cheeked before the public.
Gustav. [Leaning on the arm of ADOLF’S chair.] I’m sorry for you, old man. Although I’m not a doctor, I am in a position to tell you that you are a dying man. One has only to look at your last pictures to be quite clear on the point.
Adolf. What do you say—what do you mean?
Gustav. Your coloring is so watery, so consumptive and thin, that the yellow of the canvas shines through. It is just as though your hollow, ashen, white cheeks were looking out at me.
Adolf. Ah!
Gustav. Yes, and that’s not only my view. Haven’t you read to-day’s paper?
Adolf. [He starts.] No.
Gustav. It’s before you on the table.
Adolf. [He gropes after the paper without having the courage to take it.] Is it in here?
Gustav. Read it, or shall I read it to you?
Adolf. No.
Gustav. [Turns to leave.] If you prefer it, I’ll go.
Adolf. No, no, no! I don’t know how it is—I think I am beginning to hate you, but all the same I can’t do without your being near me. You have helped to drag me out of the slough which I was in, and, as luck would have it, I just managed to work my way clear and then you knocked me on the head and plunged me in again. As long as I kept my secrets to myself I still had some guts—now I’m empty. There’s a picture by an Italian master that describes a torture scene. The entrails are dragged out of a saint by means of a windlass. The martyr lies there and sees himself getting continually thinner and thinner, but the roll on the windlass always gets perpetually fatter, and so it seems to me that you get stronger since you’ve taken me up. and that you’re taking away now with you, as you go, my innermost essence, the core of my character, and there’s nothing left of me but an empty husk.
Gustav. Oh, what fantastic notions; besides, your wife is coming back with your heart.
Adolf. No; no longer, after you have burnt it for me. You have passed through me, changing everything in your track to ashes—my art, my love, my hope, my faith.
Gustav. [Comes near to him again.] Were you so splendidly off before?
Adolf. No, I wasn’t, but the situation might have been been saved, now it’s too late. Murderer!
Gustav. We’ve wasted a little time. Now we’ll do some sowing in the ashes.
Adolf. I hate you! I curse you!
Gustav. A healthy symptom. You’ve still got some strength, and now I’ll screw up your machinery again. I say. [He goes behind- the square table on the left and comes in front of the sofa.] Will you listen to me and obey me?
Adolf. Do what you will with me, I’ll obey.
Gustav. Look at me.
Adolf. [Looks him in the face.] And now you look at me again with that other expression in those eyes of yours, which draws me to you irresistibly.
Gustav. Now listen to me.
Adolf. Yes, but speak of yourself. Don’t speak any more of me: it’s as though I were wounded, every movement hurts me.
Gustav. Oh, no, there isn’t much to say about me, don’t you know. I’m a private tutor in dead languages and a widower, that’s all. [He goes in front of the table.] Hold my hand. [ADOLF does so.]
Adolf. What awful strength you must have, it seems as though a fellow were catching hold of an electric battery.
Gustav. And just think, I was once quite as weak as you are. [Sternly.] Get up.
Adolf. [Gets up.] I am like a child without any bones, and my brain is empty.
Gustav. Take a walk through the room.
Adolf. I can’t.
Gustav. You must, if you don’t I’ll hit you.
Adolf. [Stands up.] What do you say?
Gustav. I’ve told you—I’ll hit you.
Adolf. [Jumps back to the circular fable on the right, beside himself.] You!
Gustav. [Follows him.] Bravo! That’s driven the blood to your head, and wakened up your self-respect. Now I’ll give you an electric shock. Where’s your wife?
Adolf. Where’s my wife?
Gustav. Yes.
Adolf. At—a meeting.
Gustav. Certain?
Adolf. Absolutely.
Gustav. What kind of a meeting?
Adolf. An orphan association.
Gustav. Did you part friends?
Adolf. [Hesitating.] Not friends.
Gustav. Enemies, then? What did you say to make her angry?
Adolf. You’re terrible. I’m frightened of you. How did you manage to know that?
Gustav. I’ve just got three known quantities, and by their help I work out the unknown. What did you say to her, old chap?
Adolf. I said—only two words—but two awful words. I regret them—I regret them.
Gustav. You shouldn’t do that. Well, speak!