ALVA. With the clearest consciousness of my purpose I sought intercourse with people who'd never read a book in their lives. With self-denial, with exaltation, I clung to the elements, that I might be carried to the loftiest heights of poetic fame. The reckoning was false. I am the martyr of my calling. Since the death of my father I have not written a single line!
SCHIGOLCH. If only they haven't stayed together! Nobody but a silly boy will go with two, no matter what.
ALVA. They've not stayed together!
SCHIGOLCH. That's what I hope. If need be, she'll keep the creature off from her with kicks.
ALVA. One, risen from the dregs, is the most celebrated man of his nation; another, born in the purple, lies in the mud and cannot die!
SCHIGOLCH. Here they come!
ALVA. And what blessed hours of mutual joy in creation they had lived thru with each other!
SCHIGOLCH. They can do that now, for the first time rightly.—We must hide again.
ALVA. I stay here.
SCHIGOLCH. Just what do you pity them for?—Who spends his money has his good reasons for it!