AGNES. It was weak enough to believe that.
LUCAS. I couldn't foresee that I was doomed to pay the price all
nervous men pay for success; that the greater my success became, the
more cancer-like grew the fear of never being able to continue it, to
excel it; that the triumph of today was always to be the torture of
tomorrow! Oh, Agnes, the agony of success to a nervous, sensitive man;
the dismal apprehension that fills his life and gives each victory a
voice to cry out "Hear, hear! Bravo, bravo, bravo! But this is to be
your last--you'll never overtop it!" Ha, yes! I soon found out the
weak spot in my armour--the need of constant encouragement, constant
reminder of my powers; [taking her hand] the need of that subtle
sympathy which a sacrificing, unselfish woman alone possesses the
secret of. [Rising.] Well, my very weakness might have been a source of
greatness if, three years ago, it had been to such a woman that I had
bound myself--a woman of your disposition; instead of to--! Ah! [She
lays her hand upon his arm soothingly.]
LUCAS. Yes, yes. [Taking her in his arms.] I know I have such a
companion now.
AGNES. Yes--now--
LUCAS. You must be everything to me, Agnes--a double faculty, as it
were. When my confidence in myself is shaken, you must try to keep the
consciousness of my poor powers alive in me.
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