Dobler [taking a glass of cognac from the butler].  Unpleasant. [Drinking.] But you lose your sensitiveness.  At first it is hard—­ but one learns.  In one hot day on the road ... when you get fagged out—­and with every stone hurting your feet—­you’ll learn.  The dust blinds you—­but you’ve got to go on just the same.  In the evening you come to a small hamlet with smoke curling above the house-tops and the houses themselves look cozy—­then you have to hold your hat in your hand and beg for a plate of warm soup. [A short pause.]

Dr. Wasner [deep bass voice].  Home sweet home!

Bolland.  The story reminds me exactly of my late father.

Frau Bolland.  But, Adolph!

Bolland.  Indeed, I say it does!

Frau Bolland.  How can you draw such a comparison?  Herr Dobler has become a celebrated poet.

Bolland.  My father also achieved something in life.  At his funeral four hundred employees followed the coffin.

Frau Bolland [impatiently].  We’ve heard that before ...  Herr
Dobler, did you write poetry in those days?

Dobler.  No, Frau Bolland.  Much later.

Frau Bolland.  I’ll have to read your novel all over again, now that I know it is all autobiographical.

Frau Beermann [to Dr. Wasner].  You were going to sing, Herr
Professor?

Dr. Wasner.  I promised ...

Frau Beermann.  Yes, do, Effie will accompany you.

Dr. Wasner.  If Fraulein will be so kind ... but I don’t know how my voice is to-day ...

Frau Bolland.  You sing so beauti-ful-ly.

Dr. Wasner.  So much campaign work.  Politics corrupts even the voice.

Fraulein Koch-Pinneberg.  Do oblige us.

[Frau Bolland, Frau Beermann, Dr. Wasner, Fraulein Koch, Effie go out into the music room.]

Beermann.  It’s a pity that the professor is going to sing.  We could have started a game of skat.  Have some more cognac?

Dr. Hauser.  No, thanks.

Dobler.  Thanks.  No more for me.

[Bolland seats himself on sofa; Dr. Hauser and Dobler sit in chairs; Beermann lights a fresh cigar.  The butler goes into the music room and as he opens the door, the sound of the piano is heard.]

Bolland.  As I said before Herr Dobler, your story reminded me very much of my late father.

Dr. Hauser.  Of the well known Kommerzienrat Bolland?

Bolland [sinks deep into chair; crosses legs].  Never mind he was not always a wealthy Kommerzienrat. [Turning to Dobler.] Picture to yourself a winter landscape—­it’s bitter cold—­a gray sky—­it is snowing and everything is wrapped in snow.  Through all this we see a youth walking—­rather staggering—­along the forest road from Perleberg.  A half starved young man. [He pauses and brushes ashes from his cigar.  The butler enters from the music room to get a glass of water; then he goes out again.  While the door is open, the trembling bass baritone voice of Prof.  Wasner is heard.]