SCENE 6

CLARA (_alone_).

Close, close, my heart! Crush in upon thyself. Let not a drop of blood escape, to fire anew the waning life in my veins. There again something like a hope arose in thee. I realise it now. I thought (_laughing_)--“That’s too much for any man.” And if--isn’t it too much for you? Would you have courage to seize a hand that----? No, no, you would not have such base courage. You would have to bolt yourself into your prison, if they tried to open the gate from without. For ever--Oh, why does it stop, why doesn’t it go on grinding for ever, why is there a pause now and then? That’s why it seems so long. The tortured one thinks he is having a rest because the torturer has to stop and take breath; you breathe again, like a drowning man in the waves, when the whirlpool that is sucking him down, throws him up again, only to lay hold of him afresh. All he gains from it is a redoubled death-struggle.

“Well, Clara.” Yes, father, I’ll go, I’ll go! Your daughter won’t drive you to suicide. I shall soon be his wife, or--O God, no! I’m not begging for happiness, I’m begging for misery, the deepest misery--surely you’ll grant me my misery. Away!--where is the letter? (_Taking it._) There are three wells on the road to him. Let me stop at none of them. You have no right to, yet. (_Goes out._)