“Yes, yes ... that I would.”
He laid his head back and listened to the gale whistling in the chimney:
“Now just look, Adelheid, at two people thrown into each other’s arms by the strongest power on earth. For them there exists neither day nor night, neither time nor place. The whole earth is fragrant with violets. Their joy is terror and their terror is full of exultant gladness. Then a child lies in her lap and the light in her eyes is deeper than before. And then the years go by ... there are fewer violets on the earth as the years go by, Adelheid. She bears her children in pain. And the pain sears her cheek. The children have sucked her breast dry; her eyes are weary with the night-watches. The stranger who passes the house sees only the faded woman. But he who drank intoxication from her young eyes and kissed the strength of her bosom ... he does not see it. He has grown accustomed to that woman. She has quenched the longing of his youth and given him peaceful happiness instead.”
He was silent for a while. Then he turned his face towards her:
“He does not live in his first eager longing for the trysting-hour, but confidently seeks his accustomed couch by her side. Custom has gently bound the two people into one family. Is that not beautiful, Adelheid? And good?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is beautiful, as you tell it. But it is not youth.”
“Then what is youth, Adelheid?”
“Youth is not rest.”
“Then one should not marry before one is old,” said Cordt. “For marriage is rest. Deep, powerful, happy ... generating rest.”
“No more one should,” replied Fru Adelheid. “And that is why I could wish I were your mistress.”