without end, is the play of the cognitive forces.' What! 'The play of cognitive … the play' … If it were play I should understand it. 'Conscience of this internal causality is what constitutes æsthetic pleasure.' If I continue I shall have congestion. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Only think that Lázaro understands the finality without end, the causality and the play of the cognitive forces. Heavens! what a fellow! [Reads again.] 'The principle of the methodical conformity of nature is the transcendental principle of the strength of judgment.' [Strikes the table.] I should lose myself if I read more. But what a fellow, who can read such stuff and keep sane!
Lázaro. Does it interest you?
Don Juan. Immensely. What depth! [Aside.] I am five minutes falling into it and haven't yet reached the bottom. I should think it did interest me indeed. But, frankly, I prefer
Lázaro. Hegel?
Don Juan. Just so (Nana).
After talk of Lázaro's health and engagement, Don Juan, learning that the young man is pensive or preoccupied, solely because he is projecting a drama, says he will leave him to thought. Glancing into Kant, he mutters, 'The—the—cognitive forces—the—the—finality,—yes, the finality.' 'Work, my son, work. Above all, write nothing immoral.' He drinks off a glass of sherry, and regretfully remarks that this finality has an end; then marches away with the bottle, Gil Blas, and Nana to study in solitude.
This is the sole touch of comedy in a play of ever increasing gloom, pervaded by the stupor of the hero and the cough of the heroine. 'My father loves me dearly,
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