I have sated myself, in my secret thoughts, with a rapture—oh! so intense, so inebriating!
Kroll. H'm.
Rosmer.
But you have written nothing down?
Brendel.
Not a word. The soulless toil of the scrivener has always aroused a sickening aversion in me. And besides, why should I profane my own ideals, when I could enjoy them in their purity by myself? But now they shall be offered up. I assure you I feel like a mother who delivers her tender daughters into their bridegrooms' arms. But I will offer them up, none the less. I will sacrifice them on the altar of Emancipation. A series of carefully elaborated lectures—over the whole country!
Rebecca.
[With animation.] This is noble of you, Mr. Brendel! You are yielding up the dearest thing you possess.
Rosmer.
The only thing.
Rebecca.
[Looking significantly at Rosmer.] How many are there who do as much—who dare do as much?
Rosmer. [Returning the look.] Who knows?
Brendel. My audience is touched. That does my heart
