Gustav. Viewing the matter broadly, that seems quite plausible.
Adolf. Nonsense. An independent person like she is, with such a tremendous lot of personal views, and when I met her, what was I then? Nothing. An artistic child which she brought up.
Gustav. But afterwards you developed her intellect and educated her, didn't you?
Adolf. No; her growth remained stationary, and I shot up.
Gustav. Yes; it's really remarkable, but her literary talent already began to deteriorate after her first book, or, to put it as charitably as possible, it didn't develop any further. [He sits down opposite Adolf on the sofa on the left.] Of course she then had the most promising subject-matter—for of course she drew the portrait of her first husband—you never knew him, old man? He must have been an unmitigated ass.
Adolf. I've never seen him. He was away for more than six months, but the good fellow must have been as perfect an ass as they're made, judging by her description—you can take it from me, old man, that her description wasn't exaggerated.
Gustav. Quite; but why did she marry him?
Adolf. She didn't know him then. People only get to know one another afterwards, don't you know.
Gustav. But, according to that, people have no business to marry until—Well, the man was a tyrant, obviously.
Adolf. Obviously?