"One always notices that you jump like a cock on to everything. And
more--you always want to paint all the grooves and cracks over with
your own paint. You remember that Andersen says: 'The gilt will
come off and the pig-skin will remain'; just as our peasants say:
'Everything will pass away, the truth alone will remain.' You'd much
better not put the plaster on, for you yourself will suffer for
it later. Again, your language is very skilful, with all kinds of
tricks--that's no good. You ought to write more simply; people speak
simply, even incoherently, and that's good. A peasant doesn't ask: 'Why
is a third more than a fourth, if four is always more than three,' as
one learned young lady asked. No tricks, please."
He spoke irritably; clearly he disliked very much what I had read to
him. And after a silence, looking over my head, he said gloomily:
"Your old man is not sympathetic, one does not believe in his goodness.
The actor is all right, he's good. You know _Fruits of Enlightenment_?
My cook there is rather like your actor. Writing plays is difficult.
But your prostitute also came off well, they must be like that. Have
you known many of them?"
"I used to."
"Yes, one can see that. Truth always shows itself. Most of what you say
comes out of yourself, and therefore you have no characters, and all
your people have the same face. I should think you don't understand
women; they don't come off with you. One does not remember them...."
At this moment A. L.'s wife came in and called us to come to tea, and
he got up and went out very quickly, as if he were glad to end the
conversation.