creativeness. So towards
you, for example, I have only the choice of regarding you
artistically or of loving you.

LULU. (_In a fairy-story tone._) I used to dream every other night
that I'd fallen into the hands of a sadic.... Come, give me a kiss!

ALVA. It's shining in your eyes like the water in a deep well one has
just thrown a stone into.

LULU. Come!

ALVA. (_Kisses her._) Your lips have got pretty thin, anyway.

LULU. Come! (_Pushes him into a chair and seats herself on his
knee._) Do you shudder at me?--In Hotel Ox-butter we all got a
luke-warm bath every four weeks. The wardresses took that opportunity
to search our pockets as soon as we were in the water. (_She kisses
him passionately._)

ALVA. Oh, oh!

LULU. You're afraid that when I'm away you couldn't write any more
poems about me?

ALVA. On the contrary, I shall write a dithyramb upon thy glory.

LULU. I'm only sore about the hideous shoes I'm wearing.

ALVA. They do not encroach upon your charms. Let us be thankful for
the favor of this moment.

LULU. I don't feel at all like that to-day.--Do you remember the
costume ball where I was dressed like a knight's squire? How those
wine-full women ran after me that time? Geschwitz crawled round,
round my feet, and begged me to step on her face with my cloth shoes.

ALVA. Come, dear heart!

LULU. (_In the tone with which one quiets a restless child._)
Quietly! I shot your father.

ALVA. I do not love thee less for that. One kiss!

LULU. Bend your head back. (_She kisses him with deliberation._)

ALVA. You hold back the fire of my soul with the most dexterous art.
And your breast breathes so virginly too. Yet if it weren't for your
two great, dark, childish eyes, I must needs have thought you the
cunningest whore that ever hurled a man to destruction.

LULU. (_In high spirits._) Would God I were! Come over the border
with us to-day! Then we can see each other as often as we will, and
we'll get more pleasure from each other than now.

ALVA. Through this dress I feel your body like a symphony. These
slender ankles, this cantabile. This rapturous crescendo. And these
knees, this capriccio. And the powerful andante of lust!--How
peacefully these two slim rivals press against each other in the
consciousness that neither equals the other in beauty--till their
capricious mistress wakes up and the rival lovers separate like the
two hostile poles. I shall sing your praises so that your senses
sha