GUSTAV. No, we were speaking of her.
ADOLPH. Really, I cannot tell now.
GUSTAV. Do you see!
ADOLPH. However--she devoured my faith also, and so I sank further and
further down, until you came along and gave me a new faith.
GUSTAV. [Smiling] In sculpture?
ADOLPH. [Doubtfully] Yes.
GUSTAV. And have you really faith in it? In this abstract, antiquated
art that dates back to the childhood of civilisation? Do you
believe that you can obtain your effect by pure form--by the three
dimensions--tell me? That you can reach the practical mind of our own
day, and convey an illusion to it, without the use of colour--without
colour, mind you--do you really believe that?
ADOLPH. [Crushed] No!
GUSTAV. Well, I don't either.
ADOLPH. Why, then, did you say you did?
GUSTAV. Because I pitied you.
ADOLPH. Yes, I am to be pitied! For now I am bankrupt! Finished!--And
worst of all: not even she is left to me!
GUSTAV. Well, what could you do with her?
ADOLPH. Oh, she would be to me what God was before I became an atheist:
an object that might help me to exercise my sense of veneration.
GUSTAV. Bury your sense of veneration and let something else grow on top
of it. A little wholesome scorn, for instance.