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his fine deep voice. It was nonsense and obscene nonsense.
He forced himself to sit the play out, but he did not know
whether he was more bored or nauseated. If that was what
the theatre was coming to, then it was high time the police
stepped in and closed the playhouses. He was no prude and
could laugh as well as anyone at the witty immorality of
a farce at the Palais Royal, but here was nothing but filth.
With an emphatic gesture he held his nose and whistled
through his teeth. It was the ruin of the family, the uproot-
ing of morals, the destruction of Germany.
‘Aber, Adolf,’ said the Frau Professor from the other end
of the table. ‘Calm yourself.’
He shook his fist at her. He was the mildest of creatures
and ventured upon no action of his life without consulting
her.
‘No, Helene, I tell you this,’ he shouted. ‘I would sooner
my daughters were lying dead at my feet than see them lis-
tening to the garbage of that shameless fellow.’
The play was The Doll’s House and the author was Hen-
rik Ibsen.
Professor Erlin classed him with Richard Wagner, but
of him he spoke not with anger but with good-humoured
laughter. He was a charlatan but a successful charlatan, and
in that was always something for the comic spirit to rejoice
in.
‘Verruckter Kerl! A madman!’ he said.
He had seen Lohengrin and that passed muster. It was
dull but no worse. But Siegfried! When he mentioned it
Professor Erlin leaned his head on his hand and bellowed

1 Of Human Bondage