You said you have a son, now. Doesn't he look like me?
Don't you know that widows or divorced women often have children by the new husband, which resemble the old one? This misfortune did not befall you? [_Laughs._] And your book, too, is a big success, I hear.
[_Laughing_]: What a restless, touchy faker you are! Please sit still; be quiet. It is the custom here to speak this way. Why were you trying to find me?
You have no conscience. Or were you afraid that you hadn't robbed me of _everything_ I possessed, and you came for the rest? But what more could you take from me now? My fool's cap with its bells? You wouldn't take it. It's too big for your bald head! Crawl back, you book-worm!
You cannot forgive the fact that your wife....
To the devil with my wife! [_The gentleman is startled and raises his eyebrows. HE laughs._]
I don't know.... But such language! I confess I find difficulty in expressing my thoughts in such an atmosphere, but if you are so ... indifferent to your wife, who, I shall allow myself to emphasize the fact, loved you and thought you were a saint---- [_HE laughs._] Then _what_ brought you to such a ... step? Or is it that you cannot forgive me my success? A success, it is true, not entirely deserved. And now you want to take vengeance, with your humbleness, on those who misunderstood you. But you always were so indifferent to glory. Or your indifference was only hypocrisy. And when I, a more lucky rival ...
[_With a burst of laughter_]: Rival! You--a rival!
You are talking to me about _your_ book? To me? [_The gentleman is very pale. HE looks at him with curiosity and mockery._]
[_Raising his eyes_]: I am a very unhappy man.
I am a very unhappy man. You must forgive me. I am deeply, irreparably, and infinitely unhappy.
But why? Explain it to me. [_Starts walking up and down._] You say yourself that your book is a tremendous success, you are famous, you have glory; there is not a yellow newspaper in which _you_ and _your_ thoughts are not mentioned. Who knows _me_? Who cares about my heavy abstractions, from which it was difficult for them to derive a single thought? You--you are the great vulgarizer! You have made my thoughts comprehensible even to horses! With the art of a great vulgarizer, a tailor of ideas, you dressed my Apollo in a barber's jacket, you handed my Venus a yellow ticket, and to my bright hero you gave the ears of an ass. And then your career is made, as Jackson says. And wherever I go, the whole street looks at me with thousands of faces, in which--what mockery--I recognize the traits of my own children. Oh! How ugly your son must be, if he resembles me! Why then are you unhappy, you poor devil? [_The gentleman bows his head, plucking at his gloves._] The police haven't caught you, as yet. What am I talking about? Is it possible to catch you? You always keep within the limits of the law. You have been torturing yourself up to now because you are not married to my wife. A notary public is always present at your thefts. What is the use of this self-torture, my friend? Get married. I died. You are not satisfied with having taken only my wife? Let my glory remain in your possession. It is yours. Accept my ideas. Assume all the rights, my most lawful heir! I died! And when I was dying [_making a stupidly pious face_] I forgave thee! [_Bursts out laughing. The gentleman raises his head, and bending forward, looks straight into HE's eyes._]