“Until now it was all a mere preparation,” Christian said more calmly. “Closely looked upon, it was nothing; it was something only as measured by my powers and ability. I still cling too much to the surface. My character has been against me; I do not succeed in breaking the crust that separates me from the depth. The depth—ah, what is that really? It is impossible to discuss it; every word is forwardness and falsehood. I wish to perform no works, to accomplish nothing good or useful or great. I want to sink, to steep, to hide, to bury myself in the life of man. I care nothing for myself, I would know nothing of myself. But I would know everything about human beings, for they, you see, they are the mystery and the terror, and all that torments and affrights and causes suffering.... To go to one, always to a single one, then to the next, and to the third, and know and learn and reveal and take his suffering from him, as one takes out the vitals of a fowl.... But it is impossible to talk about it; it is too terrible. The great thing is to guard against weariness of the heart. The heart must not grow weary—that is the supreme matter. And what I shall do first of all you know,” he ended with a winning, boyish smile, “I shall vanish.”
“It would be a kind of death,” said the Privy Councillor.
“Or another kind of life,” Christian replied. “Yes, that is quite the right name for it and also its purpose—to create another kind of life. For this,” he arose, and his eyes burned, “this way of life is unendurable. Yours is unendurable.”
The Privy Councillor came closer. “And surely, surely you will go on living? That anxiety need not torment me too, need it?”
“Oh,” Christian said, vividly and serenely, “I must. What are you thinking of? I must live!”
“You speak of it with a cheerfulness, and I ... and we ... Christian!” the Privy Councillor cried in his despair. “I had none but you! Do you not know it? Did you not? I have no one but you. What is to happen now, and what is to be done?”
Christian stretched out his hand toward his father, who took it with the gesture of a broken man. With a mighty effort he controlled himself. “If it be inevitable, let us not drag it out,” he said. “God guard you, Christian. In reality I never knew you; I do not now. It is hard to be forced to say: ‘I had a firstborn son; he lives and has died to me.’ But I shall submit. I see that there is something in you to which one must submit. But perhaps the day will come when that something within you will not utterly suffice; perhaps you will demand something more. Well, I am sixty-two; it would avail me little. God guard you, Christian.”
Restrained, erect, he turned to go.