GUSTAV [_walks up and down on the right, smoking a cigar_]. Oh, nonsense. ADOLF. Indeed, I have. Why, the first day after my wife went away, I lay on my sofa like a cripple and gave myself up to my depression; it was as though she had taken my crutches, and I couldn't move from the spot. A few days went by, and I cheered up and began to pull myself together. The delirious nightmares which my brain had produced, went away. My head became cooler and cooler. A thought which I once had came to the surface again. My desire to work, my impulse to create, woke up. My eye got back again its capacity for sound sharp observation. You came, old man. GUSTAV. Yes, you were in pretty low water, old man, when I came across you, and you went about on crutches. Of course, that doesn't prove that it was simply my presence that helped so much to your recovery: you needed quiet, and you wanted masculine companionship. ADOLF. You're right in that, as you are in everything else you say. I used to have it in the old days. But after my marriage it seemed unnecessary. I was satisfied with the friend of my heart whom I had chosen. All the same I soon got into fresh sets, and made many new acquaintances. But then my wife got jealous. She wanted to have me quite to herself; but much worse than that, my friends wanted to have her quite to themselves--and so I was left out in the cold with my jealousy. GUSTAV. You were predisposed to this illness, you know that. [_He passes on the left behind the square table and comes to Adolf's left._] ADOLF. I was afraid of losing her--and tried to prevent it. Are you surprised at it? I was never afraid for a moment that she'd be unfaithful to me. GUSTAV. What husband ever was afraid? ADOLF. Strange, isn't it? All I troubled about was simply this--about friends getting influence over her and so being able indirectly to acquire power over me--and I couldn't bear that at all. GUSTAV. So you and your wife didn't have quite identical views? ADOLF. I've told you so much, you may as well know everything---my wife is an independent character. [_Gustav laughs._] What are you laughing at, old man? GUSTAV. Go on, go on. She's an independent character, is she? ADOLF. She won't take anything from me. GUSTAV. But she does from everybody else? ADOLF [_after a pause_]. Yes. And I've felt about all this, that the only reason why my views were so awfully repugnant to her, was because they were mine, not because they appeared absurd on their intrinsic merits. For it often happened that she'd trot out my old ideas, and champion them with gusto as her own. Why, it even came about that one of my friends gave her ideas which he had borrowed direct from me. She found them delightful; she found everything delightful that didn't come from me. GUSTAV. In other words, you're not truly happy. ADOLF. Oh yes, I am. The woman whom I desired is mine, and I never wished for any other. GUSTAV. Do you never wish to be free either?