Amour fou

- Good dog.

- Vogel!

My little dove.

Are we expecting guests?

Indeed we are.

Even a famous poet.

Wonderful.

What does he write?

He has written

about a marquise

who, while unconscious,

is impregnated by an unknown man

and then discovers

that the unknown man

is the man she thought

she was in love with.

And consequently she

can no longer love him.

That sounds rather strange.

Incidents of that kind rarely happen.

Yet I find the fate of

the marquise moving.

As if I were her.

Well then, he must be

a truly outstanding poet,

if his writings give you

such a curious idea!

A violet in the meadow stood

With humble brow,

demure and good

It was the sweetest violet

There came along

a shepherdess

With youthful step

and happiness

Who sang

Who sang along the way

This song

Oh!

Thought the violet

How I pine for nature's

beauty to be mine

If only for a moment

For then my love

might notice me

And on her bosom fasten me

Oh, I wish

Oh, I wish if only

for a moment long

But, cruel fate!

The maiden came

Without a glance

or care for it

She trampled

down the violet

It sank

And died

But happily

And so I die then

let me die for her

For her

Beneath her darling feet

Poor little violet

It was the sweetest violet

Simply to die for!

- She is an admirer of your marquise.

- Really?

Oh, I wouldn't

call it admiration.

Which woman has

experienced such a fate?

That is what makes

the story so appealing.

To read something one would

never wish to experience,

and yet, bizarrely,

one yearns to imagine it all the same.

I try to describe

what engenders fear,

but perhaps also desire.

Desire?

I would say one has

to accept one's fate.

- No matter how cruel it may be.

- But you said it yourself.

The marquise is appealing.

Yes.

That may often be the case.

You say one thing but

also feel another.

Yes, this may often

be the case.

You think you want to live,

but in fact you want to die.

The poor thing.

Who?

Frau von Krahl.

I feel sorry for her.

Why is that?

It must be terrible to be

such a famous singer,

being exposed to the

opinion of the public.

What if she made a mistake?

It would be so embarrassing.

But everybody admires her.

Yes, but if she makes a mistake,

she will be despised.

People can be so cruel.

But she is famous,

respected.

She has achieved a position.

All by herself.

Nevertheless...

I may have achieved nothing in life

except to take care of you and Pauline.

But that's enough for me.

That's just the way I am.

And how did you

find our poet?

Oh, him.

He seems to have a rather

melancholic disposition.

He depresses me.

But he appears to like you.

Certainly not.

My soul is in such

a precarious state

that when I stick my

nose out of the window

the daylight pains me with

its constant shimmering.

Some people would consider

this an illness or excess tension.

But not you.

You have the ability to see the world

from a perspective other than your own.

I have become so sensitive

that even the smallest of onslaughts

to which my feelings are exposed

causes me the

greatest of suffering.

You are indeed melancholic today.

Perhaps it is your gall that

troubles your soul? Or...

My dearest friend,

it is not my gall,

but the world itself

that troubles my soul.

I know a doctor who understands

the soul thoroughly.

He healed a woman who was blinded

by a shock and now she can see again.

Nothing upon this

earth can help me.

The present has no

appeal for me at all,

and as for the future,

I can only think of the mortifying fact

that it will end one day.

However, what I long for is that you,

Marie, can understand me.

But I do understand you,

you dear and sensitive man.

- Then may I ask something of you?

- Of course.

Would you care

to die with me?

Of course not.

But with pistols it

can be very quick.

First I'd shoot you,

and then myself.

You would make me very,

very happy.

I'm very fond of you,

as you know, my dear.

But now you really

are going too far.

- But I love you, Marie.

- And I love you too, my dear.

Then please do consider my request,

my dearest Marie!

Because I love you.

And if you love me too, really love me,

you will do this for me.

Because nothing in life should be

more important to you than this love.

Not even life itself.

I'm afraid Pauline has

a piano lesson on Tuesday.

I therefore cannot

go for a walk with you.

On Wednesday Vogel has a free afternoon,

so we shall spend the time together.

But if you are

available on Friday,

I would be glad if you would

join us for a musical evening,

at about seven o'clock.

Whatever you wanted

to tell me face to face

can surely be revealed in

the company of others after all.

Tell me, my dear friend,

for surely you know.

It would interest me:

The new tax...

Must absolutely

everybody pay it?

Yes.

- Including the aristocracy?

- Yes.

But also the townsman,

the peasant and the beggar.

The new tax applies to everybody.

That's what's new about it.

And that is why the peasant is to be freed?

Merely so he can pay taxes?

- How unjust.

- But still, it is a rather nice idea.

Freedom and equality

for all before the law.

That is French, is it not?

I believe the peasants would

rather remain in bondage

than be free like their masters

just so they can pay taxes.

That is an undesirable freedom,

which nobody would want.

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