“The man who hit upon that excuse did a fine day’s work,” said Cordt. “He drove out of the world a great portion of men’s strength to live their lives.”
He threw himself so violently into his chair that Fru Adelheid started. Then he sat long quiet and she was glad that he was silent.
“Why should one not be able to control one’s heart?” he said, at last. “Suppose I have a wife and child; and my wife is she whom I myself chose. Then, one day, I meet another woman, who rouses my desires. I meet her at a party, where there are lights and wine and music ... we are not ourselves, she and I ... we are in another mood than usual ... everything is done to lead us from the way by which we go on ordinary days. But why should I not be able to step aside, in loyal gratitude for that which I possess?”
She opened her eyes at intervals and closed them again. She heard what he said, but did not realize that he was speaking to her.
“Who is it that placed love outside the laws? If I take it into my head to kill a fellow-creature, there is no doubt but that I am indulging a most criminal fancy. If I have given my word and think of breaking it, I am no gentleman. But my heart may do as it pleases.”
“Yes,” said Fru Adelheid.
She was thinking of nothing when she spoke and he did not hear her.
“There are people, we know, who have the right to send thousands to their death,” he said. “There are people whose passion rises skywards in red flames and devours the poor chattels that stand in its way and lights up all the land. Poets sing about it and a wax taper burns before its image in every human heart. But, if a man plays the Napoleon in the Store Bröndstræde, we hang him ... Why should every second woman be entitled to look upon herself as an Héloïse?”
He sank into his chair and stared before him:
“I am not sure either whether the radiance of the one great flame makes up for the thousand tiny lights that are put out. Does any one know, I wonder? Can any one measure it?”