The King. And yet it came into my mind as unconsciously as you broke off that twig just now. If I do not get what I lack, nothing can be accomplished—there can be no explosion! I shall abandon the whole thing and let myself go under.
Clara. Go under?
The King. Well, not like the hero of a sensational novel—not straight to the bottom like a stone—but like a dreamer carried off by pixies in a wood, with one name ever upon my lips! And the world would have to look after itself.
Clara. But that is sheer recklessness.
The King. I know it is; but I am reckless. I stake everything upon one throw! (A pause.)
Clara. Heaven send you may win.
The King. At least I am daring enough to hope that I may—and there are moments when I almost feel certain of victory!
Clara (embarrassed). It is a lovely morning—
The King.—for the time of year; yes. And it is lovelier here than it is anywhere else!
Clara. I cannot really understand a course of action which implies a want of all sense of responsibility—