(Laughs.) Did Pavlik’s criticism affect you to that degree?
Dušek.—Don’t remind me that they’re tearing me to pieces in the papers!
Hlaváček.—Well, that’s happened to bigger fish than you.
Dušek.—But they’re right—I myself feel how my brains and colors are drying up—and that’s what gnaws me and urges me to pull myself together.
Hlaváček.—O thunder! So you also believe things are going to the bad with you. (He pauses a while then speaks with comic gravity.) Come, old chap! Retire within yourself and remain there! But don’t torment your comrades. (He laughs.)
Dušek (Impatiently).—You haven’t a bit of feeling, Hlaváček. (Warningly.) Just wait till that kind of stagnancy seizes upon you!
Hlaváček.—Well, it isn’t to be cured by trifles like this scene here.
Dušek (Peevishly).—What’s the use of talking?
Hlaváček.—You’re right! (Gazes at his large picture.) Hurry up and finish this canvas, but don’t mix with those curs and geese. They will bark and sting you to death.
Dušek (Surprised).—Is that so? So that’s how you interpret my “Psyche?”
Hlaváček.—How else should I interpret it?
Dušek (Stops in front of his picture and looks at it intently).—The idea! I meant it in an altogether different way. Those dogs and geese we have also with us, Láda
Hlaváček (Laughs).
Dušek.—And they’re with us more than elsewhere, my friend. That’s what all the triviality of our sort of life—all the hatred of anything else is, believe me! (Fervently.) Only to escape from it, only to escape! To tear to pieces the ropes with which you have tied yourself down to this, to cut to pieces the roots in the soil—(waves his hand). Bah, what’s the use—in short, I’m thoroughly sick of it all and I want to emancipate myself! (Sits down again to his portrait and draws. A pause.)
Hlaváček (Rolls over on the divan and whistles).
Dušek (After a while).—Again?
Hlaváček.—Am I bothering you? Don’t let yourself be interrupted! Your sketching doesn’t trouble me in the least when I whistle.
Dušek.—But your whistling bothers me!
