ALICE. For his own glory.
CURT. Exactly! He is actually the most conceited person I have ever met. "I am; consequently God must be."
ALICE. You have become aware of it? Look at those boots. With those he would have trampled the earth flat, had he been allowed to do so. With those he has trampled down other people's fields and gardens. With those he has trampled on some people's toes and other people's heads—Man-eater, you have got your bullet at last!
CURT. He would be comical were he not so tragical; and there are traces of greatness in all his narrow-mindedness—Have you not a single good word to say about him?
ALICE. [Sitting down] Yes, if he only does not hear it; for if he hears a single word of praise he develops megalomania on the spot.
CURT. He can hear nothing now, for he has had a dose of morphine.
ALICE. Born in a poor home, with many brothers and sisters, Edgar very early had to support the family by giving lessons, as the father was a ne'er-do-well if nothing worse. It must be hard for a young man to give up all the pleasures of youth in order to slave for a bunch of thankless children whom he has not brought into the world. I was a little girl when I saw him, as a young man, going without an overcoat in the winter while the mercury stood at fifteen below zero—his little sisters wore kersey coats—it was fine, and I admired him, but his ugliness repelled me. Is he not unusually ugly?
CURT. Yes, and his ugliness has a touch of the monstrous at times. Whenever we fell out, I noticed it particularly. And when, at such times, he went away, his image assumed enormous forms and proportions, and he literally haunted me.
ALICE. Think of me then! However, his earlier years as an officer were undoubtedly a martyrdom. But now and then he was helped by rich people. This he will never admit, and whatever has come to him in that way he has accepted as a due tribute, without giving thanks for it.
CURT. We were to speak well of him.