ERNEST.

Oh, I can't eat any more.

HANS.

Just this shining muscatelle!

ERNEST.

My elasticity has its limit.

HANS.

If I bend down the vine, we can sway it from mouth to mouth. Neither of us will have to disturb himself. We can bite off the grapes and let the branches fly back to the trunk.

ERNEST.

One hardly decides upon a thing, when, see, that vanishing power begins to darken.

HANS.

Hence the flaming firmament----and the evening bells----I promise myself little more for the future.

ERNEST.

Sometimes I see myself already as a worthy pastor--with a good-natured little wife, a well-filled library and offices and dignities all about me. For six days one has to think, and on the seventh one opens one's mouth. When out walking, one gives one's hand to the school-girls and boys, and when one comes home the coffee steams, the cookies are brought out and the maids fetch apples through the garden door.----Can you imagine anything more beautiful?

HANS.

I imagine half-closed eyelids, half-open lips and Turkish draperies.----I do not believe in pathos. Our elders show us long faces in order to hide their stupidity. Among themselves they call each other donkeys just as we do. I know that.----When I am a millionaire I'll erect a monument to G.o.d.----Imagine the future as a milkshake with sugar and cinnamon. One fellow upsets it and howls, another stirs it all together and sweats. Why not skim off the cream?----Or don't you believe that one can learn how?

ERNEST.

Let us skim!

HANS.

What remains the hens will eat.----I have pulled my head out of so many traps already----

ERNEST.

Let us skim, Hans!----Why do you laugh?

HANS.

Are you beginning again already?

ERNEST.

But one of us must begin.

HANS.

Thirty years from now, on some evening like to-day, if we recall this one, perhaps it will seem too beautiful for expression.

ERNEST.

And how everything springs from self!

HANS.

Why not?

ERNEST.

If by chance one were alone----one might like to weep!

HANS.

Don't let us be sad! (_He kisses him on the mouth._)

ERNEST.

(_Returning the kiss._)

I left the house with the idea of just speaking to you and turning back again.

HANS.

I waited for you.----Virtue is not a bad garment, but it requires an imposing figure.

ERNEST.

It fits us loosely as yet.----I should not have been content if I had not met you.----I love you, Hans, as I have never loved a soul----

HANS.

Let us not be sad.----If we recall this in thirty years, perhaps we shall make fun of it.----And yet everything is so beautiful. The mountains glow; the grapes hang before our mouths and the evening breeze caresses the rocks like a playful flatterer.----

SCENE SEVENTH.

_A clear November night. The dry foliage of the bushes and trees rustles. Torn clouds chase each other beneath the moon----Melchior clambers over the churchyard wall._

MELCHIOR.

(_Springing down inside._)

The pack won't follow me here.----While they are searching the brothels I can get my breath and discover how much I have accomplished.