MARRIED LADY: [Without looking up.] Not working anymore?
HUSBAND: No. I'm too tired. And besides . . .
MARRIED LADY: What?
HUSBAND: I suddenly felt so lonely sitting at my desk. I had a longing for you.
MARRIED LADY: [Looking up.] Really?
HUSBAND: [Sitting on the edge of the bed.] Don't read any more. You'll ruin your eyes.
MARRIED LADY: [Closing the book.] Is anything wrong with you?
HUSBAND: Nothing, dear. I'm just in love with you. You must know that!
MARRIED LADY: There are times when one might forget it.
HUSBAND: There are times when one should forget it.
MARRIED LADY: Why?
HUSBAND: Because otherwise marriage would be an imperfect thing. It would-- . . . how shall I put it . . . it would lose its sacredness.
MARRIED LADY: Oh . . .
HUSBAND: Believe me . . . that's true. If we hadn't sometimes forgotten . . . during the five years we've been married . . . that we were in love with each other--we certainly wouldn't be now.
MARRIED LADY: That's over my head.
HUSBAND: It's perfectly simple: we've had about ten or twelve love episodes together up to now, haven't we?
MARRIED LADY: I haven't counted!
HUSBAND: If we'd drained the first one to the last drop, if I'd surrendered completely to my passion for you right at the start, the same thing that happens to millions of other loving couples would have happened to us. We'd be through with each other.
MARRIED LADY: Oh . . . that's what you mean!
HUSBAND: Believe me, Emma--in the first days of our marriage I was afraid it would happen.
MARRIED LADY: So was I.
HUSBAND: You see? Wasn't I right? That's why it's such a wise thing from time to time to live together like good friends.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, yes.
HUSBAND: And that's why we're always able to live through our honeymoon days again, just because I never allow them to . . .
MARRIED LADY: Drag into months.
HUSBAND: Quite so.
MARRIED LADY: And now . . . another period of friendship has apparently run its course.
HUSBAND: [Pressing her to him tenderly.] So it seems.
MARRIED LADY: But what if . . . if I feel differently?
HUSBAND: You don't feel differently. You're the wisest and most adorable creature that ever lived. I'm very happy that I've found you.
MARRIED LADY: It's charming the way you can woo . . . in sections.
HUSBAND: [Slipping into bed.] To a man who's looked about the world a bit--come, lay your head on my shoulder--who's seen a bit of life, marriage seems much more mysterious, as a matter of fact, than it does to you girls of good family. You come to us pure . . . and, up to a certain point, ignorant, and that's why you really have a much clearer insight into the way of love than we have.
MARRIED LADY: [Laughing.] Oh!
HUSBAND: Certainly. Because all the varied experiences that we necessarily must pass through before marriage have confused and unsettled us. You've heard a lot and know a lot and have probably read a lot, but you have actually no conception of what we men have to live through. What is commonly called Love eventually becomes a thing utterly repellent to us; which is hardly surprising when you think of the creatures we have to turn to!
MARRIED LADY: Tell me, what kind of creatures?
HUSBAND: [Kissing her forehead.] Be thankful, my dear, that you've never had a glimpse of these conditions. Besides, most of these creatures are greatly to be pitied. We mustn't cast stones at them.
MARRIED LADY: I think this pity of yours is a bit misplaced.
HUSBAND: [With noble compassion.] They deserve it. You girls of refinement and good family, you who wait quietly under the protection of your parents for the honorable man who is to lead you into the bonds of matrimony--how can you know the misery that hounds these poor creatures into the arms of Sin?
MARRIED LADY: But do they all sell themselves?
HUSBAND: I wouldn't go so far as to say that. And I don't only mean material misery. There is also--I might say--a misery that is moral; an inability to grasp what is permissible, and more specifically, what is noble.
MARRIED LADY: But why are they to be pitied? They get along quite well!
HUSBAND: You have strange ideas, my dear. You mustn't forget that these creatures are destined by nature to sink lower and lower. There are no half-way stops for them.
MARRIED LADY: [Cuddling up to him.] The sinking seems to be rather pleasurable.
HUSBAND: [Pained.] How can you say things like that, Emma? I've always thought that nothing could be more repulsive to respectable women like you than those who are not respectable.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, of course, Karl, of course. I was only talking. Go on, tell me some more. It's so nice when you speak like that. Tell me things.
HUSBAND: What about?
MARRIED LADY: Well--about these creatures.
HUSBAND: Why on earth should I?
MARRIED LADY: Look, Karl, don't you remember, I begged you right from the beginning, many times, to tell me things about your youth.
HUSBAND: But why should that interest you?
MARRIED LADY: Well, aren't you my husband? And isn't it unfair, my not knowing anything about your past?--
HUSBAND: You surely don't expect me to be so tasteless as to--but enough, Emma . . . that would be sacrilege.
MARRIED LADY: And yet . . . you must have held heaven knows how many other women in your arms like this.
HUSBAND: Don't say "Women." You're the only "woman," to me.
MARRIED LADY: But there's one question you've got to answer . . . otherwise . . . otherwise . . . the honeymoon is out.
HUSBAND: You certainly have a strange way of speaking . . . remember that you're a mother . . . that our little girl is sleeping right in there . . .
MARRIED LADY: [Cuddling again.] I'd like a little boy too.
HUSBAND: Emma!
MARRIED LADY: Oh, don't act like that . . . certainly I'm your wife . . . but I'd like to be your sweetheart too . . . just a weeny bit.
HUSBAND: Would you really?
MARRIED LADY: Well--answer my question first.
HUSBAND: Well?
MARRIED LADY: Was ther . . . a married woman . . . among them?
HUSBAND: What do you mean? What are you driving at?
MARRIED LADY: You know perfectly well.
HUSBAND: [Slightly disturbed.] What makes you ask that?
MARRIED LADY: I'd like to know whether . . . that is, I know there are women like that . . . but I want to know whether you . . .
HUSBAND: [Serious.] Do you know a woman like that?
MARRIED LADY: Well, I can't tell.
HUSBAND: Do you suppose there's a woman like that among your friends?
MARRIED LADY: How could I say, with certainty--or deny it?
HUSBAND: Has one of your friends ever . . . after all, when women are together they talk quite freely . . . has one of them ever confessed . . . ?
MARRIED LADY: [Wavering.] No.
HUSBAND: Have you ever suspected one of your friends of . . .
MARRIED LADY: Suspect . . . Oh . . . suspect . . .
HUSBAND: You seem to have.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, no, Karl, absolutely not. When I think it over, I really couldn't imagine it of any one.
HUSBAND: No one?
MARRIED LADY: No one of my friends.
HUSBAND: Promise me something, Emma.
MARRIED LADY: Well?
HUSBAND: That you'll never have anything to do with a woman who's the least bit under suspicion of not . . . not leading a quite spotless life.
MARRIED LADY: And I've got to promise you that now?
HUSBAND: Of course I know that you won't try to associate with women like that. But it might just happen that you'd . . . as a matter of fact, it occurs very often that just such women of doubtful reputation attach themselves to the society of decent women, partly to give themselves a foil, partly . . . how shall I put it . . . partly out of a sort of craving for virtue.
MARRIED LADY: I see.
HUSBAND: Yes, I think I hit the nail on the head. Craving for virtue. For you may be sure that these women are all very unhappy.
MARRIED LADY: Why?
HUSBAND: You ask that, Emma?-- How can you? Just imagine the kind of life these women lead! Full of lies, tricks, meanness, full of danger.
MARRIED LADY: Yes, I suppose you're right.
HUSBAND: Truly--they pay dearly for their crumb of happiness . . . their crumb of . . .
MARRIED LADY: Pleasure.
HUSBAND: Why pleasure? What makes you call that pleasure?
MARRIED LADY: Well--there must be some--! Otherwise they wouldn't do it.
HUSBAND: It's nothing at all . . . just an intoxication.
MARRIED LADY: [Reflectively.] An intoxication.
HUSBAND: No, it isn't even intoxication. But whatever it is--it's dearly paid for, that's sure!
MARRIED LADY: So you've . . . you've been through it all once . . . haven't you?
HUSBAND: Yes, Emma. It's my saddest memory.
MARRIED LADY: Who was it? Tell me! Do I know her?
HUSBAND: Are you mad?
MARRIED LADY: Was it long ago? Was it long before you married me?
HUSBAND: Don't ask. I beg of you not to ask.
MARRIED LADY: But, Karl!
HUSBAND: She is dead.
MARRIED LADY: You mean that?
HUSBAND: It may sound a little ridiculous, but it strikes me that all these women die young.
MARRIED LADY: Did you love her very much?
HUSBAND: One doesn't love liars.
MARRIED LADY: Then why . . .
HUSBAND: Intoxication.
MARRIED LADY: So it is that, after all?
HUSBAND: Don't talk about it any more, please. All that is long past. There's only one I've ever loved--and that's you. One can only love where one finds purity and truth.
MARRIED LADY: Karl!
HUSBAND: Oh, how safe, how wonderful one feels in arms like yours. Why didn't I know you when you were a child? Then I think I wouldn't even have looked at other women.
MARRIED LADY: Karl!
HUSBAND: How beautiful you are! Beautiful! Oh, come . . . [Turns out the light.]
* * *
MARRIED LADY: Do you know what this reminds me of?
HUSBAND: What, my darling?
MARRIED LADY: Of . . . of . . . of Venice.
HUSBAND: The first night . . .
MARRIED LADY: Yes . . . you . . .
HUSBAND: What? Come, tell me!
MARRIED LADY: You--you're just as in love.
HUSBAND: Yes.
MARRIED LADY: Oh . . . if only you'd always . . .
HUSBAND: [In her arms.] If what?
MARRIED LADY: My own Karl!
HUSBAND: What did you mean, if only I'd always . . . ?
MARRIED LADY: Oh, well . . .
HUSBAND: Come, what was that, if only I'd always . . .
MARRIED LADY: Well then, I'd always know that you loved me.
HUSBAND: You should know that anyway. One can't always be the lover, one has to enter the battle of life now and then, to fight and struggle! Don't ever forget that, my dear. There's time for everything in married life--that's the beautiful part of it. There aren't many who--after five years--can still remember Venice.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, no!
HUSBAND: And now . . . good night, my dearest!
MARRIED LADY: Good night!
