BOLLAND. But it's somewhat colored by poetic imagination?

DOBLER. N---o.

BOLLAND. For instance, you have never actually starved?

DOBLER. Oh, yes. There's no imagination in that.

BOLLAND. Just the way you describe it--so that everything turned red?

DOBLER. Everything had a pink color. On one occasion I did not eat anything for four and one-half days.

FRAU BEERMANN [compa.s.sionately]. You poor thing!

FRAU BOLLAND. That's exceedingly interesting!

BOLLAND. Do tell us all about it! Then you saw dancing fires?

DOBLER. Yes. Everything danced before my eyes, and I saw it all through a hazy veil, and towards the end my hearing was affected.

BOLLAND. You don't say so? Your hearing also?

DOBLER. When any one spoke to me it sounded as if he stood a great distance off--a great distance.

FRAU BOLLAND. Our set never dreams of such things.

BEERMANN. How did it all turn out?

DOBLER. What do you mean?

BEERMANN. Well, in the end you got something to eat again?

DOBLER. Finally I fainted; I was found lying in a meadow, and was taken to the hospital.

FRAU BEERMANN [sighing]. Are such things still possible in our day?

FRAU BOLLAND. What can you expect--of these idealists! DR. HAUSER. They deserve nothing better.

BEERMANN. And after you were in the hospital--how did you get out?

DOBLER. As soon as I got stronger. Later on I became a printer--found a position--studied and published my book.

BEERMANN. That's all in your novel, I know. But the part where you describe how you were a tramp--that's not true?

DOBLER. Yes, I "hoboed" almost a whole year.

FRAU BOLLAND. "Hoboed!" Fancy that! How unique!

FRAULEIN KOCH-PINNEBERG. I can just picture it. Tramping along the railroad tracks.

DOBLER. Yes. You folks think you can picture it with four square meals a day. But it's quite different, I a.s.sure you. There were three of us at that time. We worked our way from Basel upwards--sometimes on the left--sometimes on the right bank of the Rhine. In Worms we spent the last of our money and we had to PEDDLE for HAND-OUTS.

FRAU BOLLAND [not understanding him]. "Handouts?" What is that?

DOBLER [with pathos]. To beg for something to eat, gnadige Frau, for our daily bread.

[They all remain silent. Only the voice of the butler who is serving liqueur can be heard.] "Cognac monsieur! Chartreuse! Champagne?"

BEERMANN [taking a gla.s.s]. To a man of refinement, such an existence must have been quite unbearable.

DOBLER [taking a gla.s.s 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 f.a.gged 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 ba.s.s 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?