Yet unconsciously she dug her nails into the wood of the chair, for she was ashamed of her indecision. What she most wanted to do was to fling everything that oppressed her, now and as quickly and suddenly as possible, into the face of this presumptuous consoler, if he would just finally deign to show himself: That underhanded business with the will—completely unforgivable if considered without defiance. Hagauer’s letters, distorting her image as horribly as a bad mirror, yet still accurate enough so that a resemblance could not be denied. Then too, perhaps, that she had wanted to destroy that man, though without really, actually killing him; and that she had indeed once married him, but also not really, but blindly, blinded by self-contempt. Her life was filled with unusual half measures; but ultimately, the intuition or presage that hovered between herself and Ulrich, unifying everything, would have to be included in her confession, and this was a betrayal she could never commit, under any circumstances! She felt as surly as a child who is constantly expected to perform a task that is too difficult. Why was the light she sometimes saw instantly extinguished, every time, like a lantern swaying through a vast darkness, its glow swallowed up at one moment and set free at the next?! She was robbed of all resolution, and on top of that she remembered Ulrich’s saying once that whoever seeks this light must cross an abyss that has no bottom and no bridge. Did he himself then, deep down, not believe in the possibility of what they were seeking together? That was what she was thinking, and though she did not really dare to doubt, she felt deeply shaken. So no one could help her except the abyss itself! This abyss was God: Oh, what did she know! With aversion and contempt, she surveyed the little bridges that were supposed to lead across: the humbleness of the room, the pictures hung piously on the walls, all those things simulating a confidential relationship with Him. She was as close to humbling herself as she was to running way in horror. Probably what she most wanted to do was run away: but when she remembered that she was always running away, she thought of Ulrich again and seemed to herself a “terrible coward.” Hadn’t the silence at home already been something like a windless calm before a storm? And then she had been propelled over here by the pressure of what was approaching. That was how she saw it now, not without a hint of a smile; and then it was not surprising that something else Ulrich had said should occur to her, for he had said at some time: “A person never finds himself to be a complete coward; because if something frightens him, he’ll run away just far enough to consider himself a hero again!” And so there she sat!

28

A MIGHTY COLLOQUY

At this moment Lindner entered the room, having made up his mind to say just as much as his visitor would; but as soon as they found themselves face-to-face, it all happened differently. Agathe immediately went on the attack with words that to her surprise turned out to be far more ordinary than seemed consonant with the events that had led up to them. “You probably remember my asking you to explain some things to me,” she began. “I am here now. I still have a clear recollection of what you said against my getting a divorce. Maybe I’ve understood it even better since!” They were sitting at a large round table, separated by the entire length of its diameter. By comparison with her last moments by herself, Agathe, at the first moment of this meeting, felt deeply compromised, but then she regained her footing; she had laid out the word “divorce” like a bait, although her curiosity to learn Lindner’s opinion was also sincere.