Ancient hall of the manor. Broad and spacious. Low ceiling. In the rear wall, toward the garden, the bare trees of which are visible, three wide windows with white crossbars. Chair at both ends of each window. A folding card table between the chairs of the middle window. An Empire commode in each space between the windows. In the centre of the two lateral walls, folding doors, the one at the left leading into another room, the one at the right into the vestibule. On the left, in the foreground, a sofa which is well preserved and gives evidence of former elegance, and similar chairs with stiff backs and light variegated covers, grouped around a large oval table. Opposite this in the foreground at the right, an old-fashioned fireplace, before which three similar chairs are placed. In the background at the right, near the window, a spinet with a chair before it. In the corresponding place on the left near the window a tall, gilt framed mirror resting on a cabinet base. An old fashioned chandelier, ornate with gilt and glass, is suspended in the centre of the hall. A number of pictures, men and women in the fashions of the last one hundred years, cover the walls. Painted board floor. Rugs only before sofa and spinet. Furniture in light mahogany. Wall paper of gilt design. Solid, but faded finery of the twenties and thirties of the nineteenth century with a few more recent additions. The general character of the hall is bright and inviting, nevertheless serious and somewhat shut in by the low ceiling, giving the large room an air of emptiness, for the scant furniture along the walls seems to be lost. A mixture of a dancing hall and an ancestral portrait gallery. At present it looks gloomy, almost spectral. It is an early morning near the end of December. As yet not a ray of sunlight comes in through the heart-shaped apertures of the shutters, which are hung on the outside and are fastened on the inside by means of thumbscrews. A lamp stands at the extreme end of the room on one of the commodes. Beyond its radius deep shadows gather on every side. In the foreground logs are burning brightly in the fireplace. An indistinct light falls past the chairs over the foreground. From the other side, the light of a candle falls upon the sofa table which is covered with a white cloth. It also illumines only the immediate vicinity. Dusk predominates in the spacious hall. At every passing and repassing great shadows flit back and forth.

Aunt Clara stands on a chair under the chandelier and slowly revolves it, scrutinizing it, and causing the glass prisms to tinkle.

Inspector Zindel in a fur coat and cap stands at the door on the right and is about to go out.

Aunt Clara (with a heavy gray cloth wrapped about her head, speaks down from the chair). Yes, just go and see, Zindel, whether they are coming; see whether you can hear anything.

Inspector Zindel. Just so, Miss. I shall be back right off. (He opens the door and runs into Lene, who is about to enter with a tray full of dishes for the morning coffee.) Whoa! Look out! Don't knock anything over! (Partly to himself.) Or the old man will play us the trick and wake up again. (He goes out, and closes the door behind him.)

Aunt Clara (speaking down from the chair). Is it you, Lene?

Lene (has come forward with the dishes, shrinks so that the tray and dishes clatter). Heavens and all the saints! Why, I didn't see you at all, Miss! Why, I was so frightened! (She draws several deep breaths, places the tray beside the candle on the white cloth of the sofa table, and begins to arrange the cups.)

Aunt Clara (as before). Why in the world are you frightened? You see, don't you, that I am attending to the chandelier, am doing your work again?

Lene (busy at the table). Expect a person not to get scared, when all of a sudden a voice like that comes out of the dark, when, on top of it all, a dead man's in the house. As a rule I'm not afraid, but I won't dare to go to the back part of the house alone any more, it's just as if Mr. Warkentin would turn up right before you.

Aunt Clara. Stuff and nonsense, I suppose you kept the candle burning the whole night in your room again? I am likely to come and get your candle one of these days.

Lene. Why Miss Clara is afeared herself. She won't go a step without a light. Ain't it true, Miss Clara, you're a little afeared too. You only won't let on.

Aunt Clara. I shall afear your back before long! I have closed the eyes of many in my day. That's nothing new to me.

Lene (interested). But all of a sudden, like Mr. Warkentin?

Aunt Clara. When they get to be about seventy, one knows how it goes, old widower Fritz in Kobieken went that way too. Fell over and was gone, it's the best kind of a death. That comes just as it comes.... Have you arranged the cups?

Lene. Everything in order. (Counting.) The young master, the lady (correcting herself), no, the lady on the sofa and the young master here (points to a chair), Miss Clara here and the fourth cup ... I suppose some one else is coming with the young master?

Aunt Clara. Yes, and don't ask so many questions! Come here and hold the light, I want to light the chandelier.

Lene (comes with the candle). Light the chandelier? Why, it's almost daytime.

Aunt Clara. Do as I say. When the young master arrives, it will still be dark.

Lene (hands the candle up to her). Wonder whether the young master'll stay long?

Aunt Clara (has lighted the lights of the chandelier, one after another). Wait and see. (About to get down.)

Lene (extends her hand to her). Now don't you fall, Miss!

Aunt Clara (gets down from the chair carefully). Now then!... One does realize, after all, that the years are coming on! When I was of your age, I jumped from the straw stack. You girls of today! you have no sap, no vim! A girl as strong as a bear, and afraid of going to pieces.

Lene (admiring the chandelier). Oh my, but now it's beautiful, Miss Clara! The young master will be pleased when he comes.

[Aunt Clara stands before the chandelier with folded hands, engrossed in thought. The hall is now brightly illumined. Only the remotest corners remain in a shadow.]

Inspector Zindel (comes in again from the right with a lighted lantern, stops in astonishment). The deuce, Miss Clara! You're up to the business. I do say, the world must come to an end, in grand style! (He puts down the lantern beside the fireplace.)

Lene. Anything else to do, Miss?

Aunt Clara (absent-minded). You may go now. If I need you I'll call.

Lene (departing). All right, Miss, the water's been put on for the coffee. (Goes off to the right.)

Inspector Zindel. I was out on the road. Miss. Not a sound yet.

Aunt Clara (starts from her dreams and points to the chandelier). For ten years it has not been lighted, Zindel! Ever since Paul has been gone!

Inspector Zindel (approaching from the fireplace, mysteriously). Do you know, Miss Clara?

Aunt Clara (with a start). Goodness!... What is it?

Inspector Zindel. I say, Miss Clara? You'll put in a good word for me with the young master? A fellow does want to know where he's at.

Aunt Clara. Yes, yes. (Listens toward the outside.)

Inspector Zindel. Especially now that the old master is dead, and the young master doesn't know about things, all of the work is on a fellow's shoulders, you see.

Aunt Clara (still listening). Don't you hear something, Zindel? It seems to me?

Inspector Zindel (is startled and listens also). Where, pray tell?...

[Brief silence.]

Aunt Clara (taking her hand from her ear). No, nothing. It only seemed to me....

Inspector Zindel. Heavens, Miss Clara!... Where was it—? (He walks up and down restlessly.)

Aunt Clara (has sat down in a chair at the table before the sofa). Now they may be here at any time. What time is it, Zindel?

Inspector Zindel. Almost seven. Miss. The Berlin train arrives at ten minutes after six.

Aunt Clara. You were outside, Zindel, weren't you; didn't you hear a carriage on the road?

Inspector Zindel (warms his hands at the fireplace). The wind's from the other way, Miss. One can hear nothing. And it's cold as the deuce! They'll be nice and cold on the way.

Aunt Clara. I do not know how it comes, but the day seems unwilling to break this morning. How does it look outside?

Inspector Zindel. Dark, pitch dark. Not a star, nothing. Only over toward the Sobbowitz woods, it's beginning to dawn a bit.

Aunt Clara (yawning). Of course, that's where the sun must rise.

Inspector Zindel (also yawning). We'll not get much of a peep at it today. It's going to be a gloomy day.

Aunt Clara. Possibly it will snow.

Inspector Zindel. May be, why it's time. Christmas without snow, I can't remember such a thing for the last few years.

Aunt Clara. No night has ever turned out as long as the present one for me. I haven't closed an eye. I heard the clock strike every time. And all the things that I saw and heard!

Inspector Zindel. (approaching again). Don't tell it, Miss!

Aunt Clara. I continually saw the dead man, but he was alive and opened the door and came toward me. And yet I knew he was dead. And when I was about to scream, the clock struck and all was gone.

[Outside a clock strikes. It has the silvery sound of old chimes. Both are startled.]

Inspector Zindel. Thunderation! You can put it over a fellow. (He goes back to the fireplace.)

Aunt Clara (counts the strokes, first in an undertone, then louder, and meanwhile rises). Five ... six ... seven ... It has struck seven, Zindel. They will surely be here any moment. (She listens again.) I believe I hear something now.

Inspector Zindel (at the fireplace, seizes the lantern). Here they are. You can hear the carriage on the road.

Aunt Clara (busily). After all they came sooner than we expected! Hurry, Zindel, they are driving up now.

Inspector Zindel (already at the door on the right, swinging the lantern). This minute, Miss Clara ...!

[Goes off.]

Aunt Clara (also on the way to the door, stops a moment and folds her hands). If he really is here, praise and thanks to God!

Lene (appears in the door at the right). They are coming, Miss Clara, they are coming!

Aunt Clara (busy again). Why are you still there? Out with you and help the guests take off their wraps!

Lene. Why, I'm doing that very thing, Miss!

[Goes off.]

Aunt Clara (calling after her). And keep the coffee in readiness, when I ring.

[She also goes out at the right, leaves the door slightly open behind her. Voices are heard outside. Brief silence. Then the door is opened wide. Paul, Hella, von Glyszinski, Aunt Clara appear in the door. Paul has taken off his coat and hat outside. Hella wears a fur coat and toque. Glyszinski wears a hat and heavy winter overcoat, turned up over his ears.]

Glyszinski Well, if it's all right with you, I prefer to go to my room for the present.

Paul. As you please. Aunt Clara will show you the way upstairs. Won't you, Auntie?

Aunt Clara. Yes, I'll be glad to show the gentleman up.

Paul (smiling). Or aren't the guest-rooms upstairs any more?

Aunt Clara (reproachfully). Why, my boy, we should certainly not think of changing the rooms around. They are very satisfactory and then they've been there so long.

Paul (as before). Why, of course. They have been there so long!

Glyszinski. Shall we go?

Aunt Clara (places her hand on Paul's shoulder). You will find, Paul, everything here is pretty much as of old. Just make yourself comfortable! I shall be back directly. (To Glyszinski. ) Please, will you come this way? (She points toward the outside. The two go out. The door is closed behind them.)

Paul (who, until now, has not faced the hall, remains standing in astonishment). Well, the chandelier in full splendor. (Meditating.) The old chandelier. Heavens, how sacred it was to me when I was a boy. It was fine of Aunt Clara to light the chandelier.

Hella (meanwhile has slowly walked through the hall, scrutinizing various things, sits down on the arm of a chair near the sofa, still wearing her cloak and toque and keeping her muff in her hand as if she were on the point of departing again at once. She smiles a trifle sarcastically). Yes, for a bright morning, the chandelier suggests this, that and what not.

Paul (fixing his eyes upon her calmly). To me the morning seemed pretty dark, as we were riding along. Didn't it to you?

Hella. Oh yes, you are right. It was even disagreeably dark. I kept on fearing we should fall into the ditch. I don't like to ride in a strange region by night.

[Brief silence.]

Paul (facing Hella, shaking his head). I do not see what objections you can have to the chandelier.

Hella (meeting his eye calmly). None whatever, Paul.

Paul. Aunt Clara's intentions were certainly good. One does realize that one was expected. (He turns away and takes several steps through the hall.)

Hella. But you know that I do not like such occasions. That is simply my disposition. I cannot make myself over.

Paul. I certainly do not demand that. (Turns on his heel and approaches again.) Or have I not always allowed you to have your own way!

Hella (also compromising). Certainly, certainly, up to the present we have agreed on this point.

Paul. And shall continue in the future. (He extends his right hand to Hella. )

Hella (grasps his hand and looks into his face squarely). I am true to my old self, Paul, remain so too.

Paul. Simply because each one of us has freely gone his own way, nothing has been able to separate us. That is the reason why we have kept together so firmly, all of these years. Don't you think so too?

Hella. It seems to me that I held that point of view long before we were acquainted.

Paul (seriously) Rather say, with that point of view, we found each other. For this point of view, I sacrificed my home, Hella!

Hella. Yes, therefore it surprises me all the more, that you suddenly seem to be forgetting all about that ...

Paul. In what respect?

Hella (continuing). That you behave like a school boy who is coining home for his vacation.

Paul (is silent for a moment, then continues). Hella!... My father is lying there on his bier. (He points toward the right.) I did not see him again!

Hella. Was it your fault? He forbade you his house! This house!

Paul (without listening to her). I have not been able to come to an understanding with him. I shall never come to an understanding with him! Do you realize what that means? (He turns away.)

[Hella shrugs her shoulders and remains silent. Pause.]

Paul (has walked through the hall with heavy steps, then becomes composed and speaks in a more unconcerned manner). Will you take off your things, Hella? (rises, wavering). I don't know, I am cold.

Paul (near her). But how can you be cold. The fire is roaring in the fireplace. Our good aunt has made such perfect preparations. Who knows when she got up in order that we might be comfortable. (He goes to the fireplace and throws wood into it.) (leaning on the chair, taciturnly). It is probably due to the night ride.

Paul (approaches her). Well, come along! I'll help you!... You will surely not remain in your furs. (He helps her. She takes off her hat and cloak and goes to the fireplace not without hesitation.)

Paul (following her with his eyes, gloomily). You are acting as if you preferred to leave again at once? (turning fully toward him). Frankly, Paul, that is what I should like to do.

Paul (flaring up). Hella! (Calm again, coldly.) I simply do not understand you! (has sat down at the fireplace, holds her feet up to the fire). I do not understand you, and you do not understand me! That is as broad as it is long.

Paul (shrugging his shoulders). I don't know how you can think of going away under the present circumstances.

Hella. Quite simple. I do not demand that you shall go with me. You can remain here as long as you are needed, order your affairs, look about for a purchaser of the estate, and when good luck favors you in finding him, you can come on. For the present I may as well precede you to Berlin. You know that editing cannot be put off, the next number must be out in a week. Both of us can not be absent. At least I am indispensable.

Paul. And for this purpose you made a trip of eight hours from Berlin to this place? Hella! (He places his hand on her shoulder.)

Hella. Yes, this unfortunate trip!

Paul (with a deep breath). Unfortunate trip, yes indeed!

Hella. For I must tell you, Paul ...

Paul. Yes?

Hella. I have a feeling that I am not quite suited to this place.

Paul (bitterly). Aha! That is at the bottom of this insistence about the new number of Women's Rights, which is all but complete even now.

Hella (unswervingly). I have a feeling that I am not adapted to this environment, and my feelings have rarely deceived me.

Paul. Oh, your feelings, Hella! Your feelings! If you had only followed them solely, many matters would stand better today! Believe me.

Hella. I follow my feelings entirely too much, or I should have remained in Berlin and should not sit here in the presence of peasants where I have nothing at stake.

Paul. But I have, Hella! I have very much at stake here. After all a man does not abandon his inheritance point blank. Do not forget that.

Hella (straightening up). Of what concern is that to me! Sell it, why don't you! It's nothing but a dead weight to you anyhow.

Paul. Why, I agree with you, Hella. And I am in favor of selling the estate. But not today nor tomorrow. Such things call for deliberation.

Hella. But I simply cannot wait that long. Just confess it, Paul, my place is in the world. You surely don't expect me to desert my post. Our whole cause is hazarded, if I throw up the game now. Particularly at this moment. You are demanding too much!... Do you expect me to give up my life work, simply because you cannot break away from your clod, on account of a stupid loyalty?

Paul (controlling himself). It seems to me, Hella, that we have a career in common. You are acting as if you alone had a career.

Hella. We have had, up to this day. You are the one who is retreating! Not I!

Paul (becoming excited). Hella! You have been my friend! My comrade in stress and tribulation, I may say. We have builded our life on our own resources, our new life, when the old life had renounced us. We have stood together in the combat, for ten years! Are you willing to forget that now? (Has stepped up to her and seized both of her hands.)

Hella (tries to disengage herself). Goodness, Paul ...

Paul (fixing his eyes upon her). For years you have come to me with your wishes. Now I am coming to you! Now your friendship is to assert itself. Answer me!

Hella (convinced against her will, is forced to smile). Do not fall into tragedy, Paul!

Paul (unswervingly). You are to tell me whether you can leave me alone at this time, whether you can bring yourself to that point. Only a word!

Hella. Am I not here? What else do you expect? And I shall remain here. At least for the immediate present.

Paul (shaking her hands vigorously). Oh, then all will turn out well! You will remain here! Thank you for that! (Breaking out in joy.) Now everything may turn out well after all. (He walks to and fro in suppressed excitement.) Mad as it may sound, Hella, under these circumstances. (He stops, facing her.) I am almost merry! (He continues to pace up and down.)

Hella (scrutinizes him and shakes her head). Paul! Paul! Childishness! From one extreme to the other! When will you come to reason. Take an example in me!

Paul (stopping in the centre of the hall, sweeping his hand around). Hella!... This is the soil which nurtured my youth. Do you expect me not be happy?

Aunt Clara (enters again from the right. She has taken off her head-cloth and wears a black dress). Now then, Paul, here I am again. Have you made yourself at home? Is it warm enough in the hall for both of you? You probably got good and cold on the way. You had the wind to face, didn't you?

Paul (reflecting). Yes, pretty much! I think it was from the east.

Aunt Clara. It did take me rather a long while, didn't it, Paul?

Paul. You probably had some other matters that required attention? (Now that she stands directly before him he looks at her more closely.) And how Aunt Clara has dressed up! (He shakes his finger at her.) Well, well, Auntie. Still so vain, in your years?

Aunt Clara. Why, Paul, this old dress! (She strokes her skirt with her hands.) I have worn it so many years. Don't you remember at all?

Paul. Yes, yes, now ... (Meditates a moment.)

Aunt Clara. I was wearing it when your mother died. That is the time I had it made.

Paul (abruptly). Oh yes. That has been a long time, to be sure!

Aunt Clara. In waiting for you, I had quite forgotten that I still had on my morning dress. So I quickly put on something else.

Hella. That is exactly what I intend to do, dear Miss Clara. (She approaches the two.)

Paul. Yes, Auntie, you see, I don't even know where you have quartered us? Possibly you would show Hella ...?

Aunt Clara. Right next door, dear Mrs. ... Mrs. —— Doctor!

Hella (nodding to her to desist). Well then, please do not go to any trouble.

Paul (to Hella, who has picked up her things). May I relieve you of something? Or can I help you in any other way? Unlock the trunk, for instance?

Hella (refusing). Do drop these courtesies, Paul! That kind of thing is certainly not in vogue with us.

Paul (curtly). As you please!

[Hella goes out with her things through the open door on the left, closing it behind her.]

Paul (to Aunt Clara, who has been listening in amazement). So you have lodged us next door? (Hesitating as he points to the right.) Over there, I suppose ...?

Aunt Clara (nodding). Yes, over there, Paul, there ... the body lies.

Paul (gloomily). Shall we not go in. Aunt Clara?

Aunt Clara. Why, not at once, my boy! You certainly must have something to eat first! Refresh yourself a little. I'll just call Lene, and have her bring the coffee! (Starts for the bell-pull.)

Paul (restraining her). I think we had better wait until Hella and the gentleman are ready.

Aunt Clara (looking at him tenderly). Now you're not cold at all, Paul?

Paul (significantly). No, Auntie, I am not cold here. (With less constraint.) Just look at the fine fire in the fireplace, how it flickers and crackles! I believe it too is glad that I am here again. But who is gladdest of all, well, Auntie, just guess who that may be?

Aunt Clara (shaking her head). Why, I can't know that. I can't guess any more with this old head of mine.

Paul (slyly). That she doesn't know! Oh Auntie, Auntie! Why, you yourself, you good old soul!

Aunt Clara (unaffectedly). I did light the chandelier for you, Paul.

Paul. Of course, the chandelier! Do you suppose I did not notice that you were at the bottom of that, Auntie? Come give me your hand; thank you very much, Auntie!

Aunt Clara (putting her arms around him). I'm going to give you a kiss, my boy. Your wife will take no offense at that. (She kisses him.)

Paul. Oh my wife! That needn't ... (He gently disengages himself from his aunt's embrace and goes to and fro meditating.)

Aunt Clara (following him with her eyes). Do you still remember, Paul, how I would hold you on my knees and rock you when you were a little fellow?

Paul (paces to and fro again). Yes, yes, how all of that comes back again! How it is resurrected from its sleep!... (He sits down before the fireplace in deep thought and stares into the fire.)

Aunt Clara (also goes to the fireplace). Right there, where you are sitting now, my boy, you often read fairy tales to me, about Snow-White and Cinderella and about the wolf and the old grandmother ...

Paul (dreaming). Fairy tales, yes indeed!

Aunt Clara. You sat here, and I here, and you held up your fairy tale book and acted as if you were grown up ...

Paul (smiling). I suppose that's the way one felt too!

Aunt Clara. And papa and mamma were out in society or in the city ...

Paul. Yes, quite so, that's it. For, on the whole, as I remember, I was not in this hall frequently. There was always a little fear mixed up with it. Quite natural! The pictures, the spaciousness, the emptiness and all that! Later that did disappear. The last time that I was in this room, when may it have been ...? (He leans his head on his hand in meditation.)

Aunt Clara. It was Christmas Eve, ten years ago, Paul.

Paul. Christmas Eve ten years ago! You may be right. I remember it was a short time before I had ... the crash with father. I had come home at Christmas just because I imagined that that was the best time to come to an understanding with father about all of those matters, my future and other affairs, and I also recall that I wanted to allow the holidays to pass before I dared to come out with my projects, the founding of my journal and my marriage and all the beautiful surprises! Oh it was postponed as long as possible. One did have an inkling of what it would lead to. Of course no one had an idea how it would really turn out!

Aunt Clara. No, Paul, no one had an idea that that would be the last Christmas Eve that we should celebrate together. Your father least of all. All of us were as merry as ever. There stood the tree and the chandelier was lighted ...

Paul. Correct, correct! And Antoinette ... wasn't Antoinette present too? Why of course? That's what complicated the matter so terribly for me. There she sits, my father has invited her, I know that he intends her for me, I am to marry her, I'm to become engaged to her right under the Christmas-tree, as nearly as I can tell. The word is expected from me. All of you are waiting, and I ... why I simply can't. I simply cannot, because I have forged quite different plans for my future, because I too have obligations, in short, simply because it is impossible. (He gets up in excitement.) Because it was impossible, Aunt Clara! Because I imagined I could not stand it in the country, was destined for something better than a sturdy estate owner and family father, simply because Hella was putting such bees in my bonnet and because, in my stupidity, I believed it all! Just as if the world had been waiting for me to come and set it right! Ridiculous! But at that time I was convinced of it. At that time I had to make a clean breast of it or it would have cost me my life. But, oh, how I did suffer in those days!

Aunt Clara. If you had only told me about it, Paul! But I didn't know a thing about it. Not until it was too late ...

Paul (breathing deeply). Yes, then it came quickly. I could not conceal it any longer. It simply burst forth. It can have been only a few days later ...

Aunt Clara. Three days, my boy ...

Paul. Three days, yes, very likely. To me, to be sure, they seemed like eternity. And strangely enough: terrible as the clash with father was, when he found out what intentions I had and that I did not want to remain with him and marry Antoinette and take over the estate some day. Believe me.

Aunt Clara, it was a relief in a sense, after all, when it had been said, and father had forbidden me the house and I sat in the carriage and drove away and was free for good. Yes for good! That is what I made myself believe at the time and I fairly breathed with relief and imbibed the crisp air! That must have been approximately this time of the year. Why, certainly! Just about. It was at Christmas.

Aunt Clara. Third holiday is when it was, Paul. I can still see you get into the carriage. It gave me such a shock. I thought I'd fall over.

Paul (caressing her). Good soul that you are! Yes you always took my part ... (Interrupting himself.) Third holiday, you say, it took place? (Striking his forehead.) Why that is today. Ten years ago today!

Aunt Clara. This very day!

Paul (goes back and forth excitedly). I say ... I say ... Ten years! Horrible!

Aunt Clara. And you see, my boy, all this time these candles have not been lighted! (She points to the chandelier.) Just as they were put out on Christmas Eve, they are in their places today.

Paul (gloomily). So that is why you lighted the chandelier, Auntie?

Aunt Clara. Yes, now that you are here again, it occurred to me that the candles ought to be lighted again.

Paul. I think we shall let that suffice. Broad daylight is already peering through the shutters. (He points to the background where broad daylight comes in through the heart-shaped apertures of the shutters, then slowly puts out the candles, one by one.) Now then, let us put them out!

Aunt Clara (goes to the background and unscrews the shutters, opens them, letting the daylight stream in, and puts out the lamp on the commode). Praise the Lord! After all it has become daylight once more.

Paul (has put out the candles and looks over at her). What do you mean by that. Aunt Clara?

Aunt Clara (having opened the shutters, comes forward again and whispers). I was forced to think so much, because it was the first night that your father has been dead and has been lying there in the corner room.

Paul (with suppressed feeling, after a short struggle). Will you not tell me how father died?

Aunt Clara. Oh, Paul what is there to tell about that? Didn't I telegraph to you? Heart failure, is what Doctor Bodenstein said. He went to bed at ten o'clock that night, as always; it was night before last, the first holiday.

Paul. Didn't he call at all? Did he not succeed in making himself heard at all?

Aunt Clara. Not a word! From that time on, no mortal heard another sound from him.

Paul (covers his face with his hands, then hesitatingly). Do you think he still thought of me?

Aunt Clara. The departed thought of you very often especially lately when thoughts of death were coming to him, I am certain of that.

Paul. And did he not want to see me once more?

Aunt Clara. He said nothing about that.

Paul. Nothing, Aunt Clara? Nothing? Think!

Aunt Clara. He said nothing.

Paul (excited). But he thought it. And did not have time to do it! Now he is taking it down into his grave with him.

[Pause.]

Aunt Clara. I was going to ask you, Paul ...?

Paul. Well? (He stands before her at the fireplace.)

Aunt Clara. What kind of a man can that be who came with you?

Paul. Glyszinski?

Aunt Clara. Why yes, the one I took up stairs, the young man?

Paul. Heavens, he is a friend of ours. Particularly of Hella.

Aunt Clara. Of your wife? Why, Paul!

Paul (smiling). Oh, Auntie! There is no danger in him. You need not have any scruples about that. Hella indeed crams her head with thoughts quite distinct from love. She never did suffer from that.

Aunt Clara. But to think that he just came along? Did you invite him?

Paul (shrugging his shoulders). Well, what is a man to do? He lives with us.

Aunt Clara (more and more astonished). He lives with you?

Paul. We keep house together, yes. And so he wanted to come with us, and Hella was also of the opinion that we could not exactly desert him. He is likely to do some fool thing. You know he is always doing fool things ... It wasn't very agreeable to me, I must confess. But it would not do to leave him at home. When Hella takes a thing like that into her head ...

Aunt Clara. Don't be offended, Paul, I can't get that through my head ... Aren't you the master of your house?

Paul (smiling). Master of my house?... No, Auntie, Hella would never put up with that and on that point I am forced to agree with her.

Aunt Clara. The things that one does get to hear in one's old age! I'm too dense for that.

Paul. Well you see. Aunt Clara, these are views that are not exactly understood in the country. One has to work up to that gradually.

Aunt Clara. Are you really happy with them, Paul?

Paul. Why I have fought almost fifteen years for these views! Surely a man will not do a thing like that without serious consideration.

Aunt Clara. So you held those very views at the time when you had your quarrel with your father, who is now dead and gone?

Paul. That's the very reason I went away, Auntie. Do you understand now why it was impossible for me to remain?

Aunt Clara. (after a short silence, significantly). And do you sometimes still think of Antonie, Paul?

Paul (meditating). Antoinette?... Oh yes, sometimes.

Aunt Clara. Now do be frank, Paul! Has the thought never come to you that you would really like to have Antonie?

Paul (absent-minded). Who? I have her?

Aunt Clara. Why Paul? You have her and she have you! Didn't you really care for each other a bit?

Max_Halbe

Paul (as before, supporting his head on his hand). Do you think so? That is so long ago? Possibly. What do I know about it? (He sits up.)

Aunt Clara. We were always in the habit of saying they'll make a fine couple when they are big, you and Antonie.

Paul (almost painfully). You see, Auntie, what mistakes one can make. Nothing can be determined beforehand. But I almost think you are right. I liked her quite well, once upon a time. Something like that begins to dawn on me. A big, stupid, love-sick lubber. That's me. And she ... What was she? (With the suggestion of a smile.) A remarkably beautiful, sweet young thing with ashy-blond braids. Yes, yes, something like that dawns upon me. She did have splendid ashy-blond hair and dark eyes. (He leans his head on his hand.)

Aunt Clara. How well you still remember that.

Paul (collects himself again). Yes, strange, as it comes to me now. But at that time, you know, when I came back as a student, the aforesaid Christmas, it was all gone, as if obliterated, not a trace of it left. Then my head was filled with things of quite another nature. My home had become strange to me, that is it, Auntie. Hella was in my mind. For that reason nothing could come of it, the match between Antoinette and me. (Glyszinski enters from the right, followed by Lene. )

Lene (remaining at the door). Shall I bring the coffee. Miss Clara?

Aunt Clara (has also stepped to the door). Yes, and don't forget the pound-cake!... But no, wait, I'll get it myself. Just a moment, Paul! (She motions to him and goes out at the right with Lene. )

Glyszinski (has stepped to the center of the room. He is faultlessly clad in a black suit, spick and span from top to toe). Here I am! (He looks about.)

Paul (approaches Glyszinski). Yes, here you are!... You have spent much time on your toilet.

Glyszinski. Why, not more than usual.

Paul. To be sure! That's correct. (Looking at him with a bitter senile.) Well it did pay for the trouble. You are fit for a ball.

Glyszinski(looks around again). Where is your wife?

Paul. Also busy with her toilet. But will surely be here directly. It doesn't take her half as long as it does you. Meanwhile, sit down! (He invites him to sit down on a chair by the sofa.)

Glyszinski (sits down on the chair at the right of the sofa, keeping his eye on the door at the left.) Ah, here comes madam! (He gets up to meet Hella, who is just entering the door on the left, clad in a pleated blouse and a plain skirt.) May I conduct you to the table, madam? (He offers her his arm.)

Hella (places her arm on his and looks over at the table). Why, is it time?

Glyszinski (leads Hella to the sofa). Please, here in the place of honor.

Hella. Is it absolutely required that I should occupy the sofa? Will you not sit here, Paul? (She stands at the sofa hesitating.)

Glyszinski (with the tips of his fingers placed together). Please, please, madam. You are to preside!

Paul (walks through the hall with his hands on his back and speaks over his shoulder). Don't be embarrassed!

Hella. I am not particularly in love with this old uncomfortable furniture. I distinctly prefer a pretty modern fauteuil. (She sits down).

Lene (comes in at the right with the coffee service, places the tray containing the coffee-pot, cream-pitcher and cake on the table between the cups. Addresses Hella). Miss Clara will bring the pound-cake directly. Shall I fill the cups?

Hella. You may go. We shall attend to that.

[Lene casts a curious glance at the two, then at Paul, and goes out at the right.]

Hella (in an undertone to Glyszinski). Seems to be a regular country hussy. Did you notice the stupid expression?

Glyszinski (quoting with dignity). Upon her brow the Lord did nail a brazen slab!

Hella (to Paul, who is still walking about). Paul, can't you stop that everlasting marching?

Paul. I find it agreeable after the night's travel. Have you any objections?

Hella. Yes, it makes me nervous, especially here in this awful hall, where every step reverberates ten times over, because you do not even have the proper carpets. Isn't there another room, where one can sit with some comfort. (See pours out her coffee.)

Paul (with restrained asperity). No, not at present!

Hella. Then at least do me the favor to sit down, your coffee is getting cold, anyhow. (She pours out Paul's coffee.)

Paul (approaching). Very well! I shall sit down then.

Glyszinski (raising his cup). And I, madam? Am I to have none?

Hella (decisively). Have you forgotten our household regulations, dear sir?

Glyszinski (grumbling). But he got some, didn't he?

Hella. I have allowed an exception in Paul's case today. Just take the pot and help yourself.

Glyszinski (shaking his head). Too bad! Too bad! (He pours out his coffee.)

Aunt Clara (has entered from the right carrying a platter with a large pound-cake). Children, here comes the pound-cake! Fresh from the oven. It's fairly steaming still. (She cuts the cake.) You surely haven't taken your coffee already?

Hella (very courteously). You are really going to too much trouble, dear Miss Clara.

Aunt Clara. Trouble, well, well. But now do help yourself! (She puts a large piece of cake on each plate.)

Paul, (smiling). Do you know, Hella, I do almost feel as I did as a schoolboy, when I came home for the Christmas vacation. In those days we would also sit in the hall and over there the fire would burn and the pound-cake would stand on the table exactly as today. Only that my mother had done the baking.

Aunt Clara (in the chair opposite the fireplace). Now you must imagine: I am your mother, Paul. (She has also poured out her coffee and begins to drink it.) How do you like it?

Paul. Just as much as in the old days. It seems to me as if it were today.

Aunt Clara. Then eat away, my boy!

Hella. You have really had very good luck with this pound-cake, my dear Miss Clara. Accept my compliments.

Glyszinski (consumes his piece with great satisfaction). Delicious! A work of art!

Paul. You may well feel set up about that, Auntie. Glyszinski knows all about cake.

Glyszinski. Yes in such matters we Poles are connoisseurs.

Hella. Their whole nourishment is made up of desserts.

Glyszinski. I consider sweets a thousand times more elegant than that brutal alcohol, which deadens all finer instincts.

Aunt Clara. I suppose the gentleman was also born in this region.

Glyszinski. Yes, mademoiselle, I am a Pole.

Paul. A Pole, and attended the gymnasium in Berlin!

Glyszinski. Unfortunately I got away too early. Nevertheless I shall remain what I always was.

Aunt Clara. Do you remember Laskowski, Paul?

Paul. From Klonowken?

Aunt Clara. Yes, quite nearby! He owns the neighboring estate.

Paul. Why, of course! He is even a relative in a sense. What makes you think of him. Aunt Clara?

Aunt Clara. It just occurred to me, simply because he is also a Polander and gets along with his German so well.

Paul. Why, I even attended school with him for a while. He was a fox if there ever was one.

Aunt Clara (in a searching manner). Aren't you glad, Paul, that your father held on to Ellernhof for you?

Paul. How so? Why?

Aunt Clara. He might have sold the estate to Laskowski or some one else.

Hella (who has been leaning back and playing the part of the silent but attentive listener, takes a hand). I cannot see in what sense that would have been a misfortune.

Paul. If Ellernhof had gone over into the hands of strangers? You are simply judging from your point of view. Then I should never have seen my childhood home again.

Hella (forcibly). But what are we to do with it. We have it on our hands and can't help but be glad to get rid of it at any price.

Aunt Clara (with growing uneasiness, to Paul). What is your wife saying? You intend to go away, intend to sell?

Hella. Why, certainly! As soon as possible! What else is there for us to do?

Aunt Clara. You intend to sell the estate that has been in the family over two hundred years?

Hella. That can be of no possible advantage to us. Do you expect us to settle down here? Do you suppose I have the least inclination to degenerate out here in the country?

Aunt Clara. And you, Paul, what have you to say to that?

Hella. Paul fully agrees with me.

Paul (gets up, distressed). Don't torment me with that now, good people, I beg of you. I am really not in the proper mood. There is certainly no hurry about that matter.

Aunt Clara. Don't you realize that you will commit a sin, if you sell the fine estate that your father maintained for you?

Hella. Oh sin! Sin! Do you not, from your point of view, consider the manner in which Paul's father behaved toward us a sin? I am unable to see any difference. There was no compunction about locking the door upon us. I was treated as a nondescript, bringing disgrace to the family! As if my family could not match up with the Warkentins any day! After all, I am the daughter of a university professor, my dear Miss Clara. You possibly fail to appreciate that a bit. Therefore I repeat to you, Paul hasn't the slightest reason to be ashamed of me! And he hasn't been. But Paul's father was. He forced us to earn our daily bread! And now that we have been successful, now that we have won a place for ourselves, now they begin to think of us, simply because they need us. Now they are becoming sentimental. No, dearest! You did not concern yourselves about us! Now we shall not concern ourselves about you! Now we shall simply pay it all back! That's the sin that you were talking about. Ellernhof has no claims upon us, (She breathes deeply and leans back on the sofa.)

Glyszinski (has hung upon her lips, enthusiastically). Madam, your hand! (He extends his hand.)

Hella (curtly). Oh do let us dispense with that for the present, doctor!

Paul (has been listening from the fireplace and now approaches). That is quite correct, Hella, but there is one thing that you must not forget. I really did provoke my father at the time. I was young and inexperienced. I felt compelled to tell him at the outset, even before I went to the university, that I did not believe that I should be able to endure life in the country later on.

Hella. And the fact that he expected you to marry any woman that suited him; you don't seem to think of that at all.

Paul. Yes, yes, you are right ...

Aunt Clara. Tell me, Paul?

Paul. Yes, Auntie.

Aunt Clara. What in the world have you to do in Berlin that prevents you from staying here?

Paul. Oh, Aunt Clara, that is a difficult matter! I publish a journal.

Aunt Clara. A journal? Hm!

Hella. We publish a feminist journal which we ourselves have founded and simply cannot desert.

Aunt Clara (naÏvely). Well is that so very necessary, Paul?

Hella. Is it necessary?

Paul (dubiously). Oh Hella! (Shrugs his shoulders.)

Hella. Yes it is necessary. If you are able to forget it, I am not!

Paul. I shall not quarrel now, the hour does not seem fitting to me. I want to go in. (He makes a significant gesture to the right.) Would you care to go with me?

Hella. You want to see him?

Paul. Yes, I want to see him.

Hella (gets up and steps up to Paul). Excuse me, Paul! I am really not in the frame of mind.

Paul. As you think best.

Hella. You know very well that I spare myself the sight of the dead, whenever I can. I did not even see my father.

Aunt Clara (has risen). I'll go with you, my boy, brace up!

Paul (nods to her, choking down his words). I'm all right. (The two slowly go out at the right.) [Short silence.]

Hella (stands at the chair, clenches her fist, stamps her foot, in a burst of passion). I cannot look at the man who has forbidden me his house! Never!

Glyszinski (has also risen, steps up to Hella). How I admired you, madam!

Hella (still struggling). I cannot bring myself to that!

Glyszinski (sentimentally). How you sat there! How you spoke! Every word a blow! No evasion! No retreat! Mind triumphing over matter! The first time I ever had this impression of you, Hella, do you recall, the large meeting when you stood on the stage and your eye controlled thousands? Then and there my soul rushed out to you! Now you possess it.

Hella (stands erect, resolutely and deliberately). If I really possess your soul, dear doctor, listen to my request.

Glyszinski. I am your slave, command me!

Hella. It concerns Paul. You see how matters stand with him.

Glyszinski (gloomily). Paul is not a modern man. I knew that long ago.

Hella. Let us avoid all digressions now! (With unflinching emphasis.) Paul must ... not ... remain here! Do you understand?

Glyszinski. What can I do in the matter?

Hella (taps her finger on his chest). You must help me get him away from here as soon as possible!

Glyszinski. And you would ask me to do that?

Hella. Why shouldn't I?

Glyszinski. Expect me to help reestablish the bond between you? Don't be inhuman, Hella!

Hella. But you surely realize the relations that obtain between you and me, doctor. You are my co-worker, my friend!

Glyszinski. Is that all, Hella?

Hella. Why, do you demand more? Beyond friendship I can give you nothing! No, it will be better for you to help me plan how we can get him away most readily. Rather today than tomorrow.

Glyszinski. Even if I were willing; why he pays no attention to me. Sometimes he strikes the pose of the man of thirty and treats me like a schoolboy. If it were not for you, Hella!

Hella (goes back and forth in intense excitement). I see it coming! I see it coming! Irresistible! I have been watching it for a year. Something is working on him. The old spirits have been revived in him. They are restless to assert themselves. That calls for prompt action. He must not remain here. He must absolutely not remain in this atmosphere, which unsettles the mind, this funereal atmosphere. Oh! I can't stand it! Come on, doctor, I must have some fresh air! Get my things!

Glyszinski. I am on the wing! (About to start in some direction or other.)

Hella (restrains him). But no, wait a moment! We can go right through our rooms. A door leads to the garden from there. (She listens.) Isn't that Paul, now? Do you hear?

Glyszinski. It seems to be.

Hella (hurriedly). Quickly! I do not care to see him now! I don't want to hear about the dead man. I can't endure it. Do hurry! (She draws him along out toward the left.)

[Paul and Aunt Clara come in again from the right. Paul walks slowly through the hall with his head bowed. For a moment he remains standing before the chair near the sofa, then suddenly sits down and presses his face into his hands. Aunt Clara has slowly followed him, stands before him, and looks at him lovingly and sadly. Brief silence.]

Aunt Clara (puts her hand on his head). Compose yourself, Paul! What's the good of it! Your father is past all trouble.

Paul (without raising his head). Yes, he's beyond it all.

Aunt Clara. All of us may be glad when we are that far along.

Paul (between his teeth). When we are that far along, yes, yes, Aunt Clara! When we are all through with it, this incomprehensible, senseless force! (He leans back in the chair and folds his hands over his head.)

Aunt Clara. Your dead father enjoys the best lot after all. It's not at all an occasion for weeping, Paul.

Paul (nods his head mechanically). You caught the meaning, Auntie.

Aunt Clara. I am old, my boy. I know what is back of life. Nothing.

Paul. You have caught the meaning.

Aunt Clara. When you are as far along as I am, you will think so too.

Paul (throws his head back on his chair, yielding to his pain). I am tired, Aunt Clara! Tired enough to die!

Aunt Clara. That is due to the journey, Paul.

Paul (repeats mechanically). That is due to the journey. (Waking up.) You are right, Aunt Clara. To the long journey and the long, long way.

Aunt Clara. Now you will take a rest, my boy.

Paul. That's what I should like to do, Aunt Clara. Take a real rest after all of the wild years! And they do say the best rest is to be found at home.

Aunt Clara. Do you see how good it is for you to be at home again.

Paul (absorbed). How calmly he lay there. How great and serene! Not the vestige of a doubt left! Everything overcome. All the questions solved!... (Lamenting.) Father, father, if I were only in your place! (He presses his head in his hands.)

Aunt Clara (worried). Paul, what's the matter!

Paul. Nothing, Aunt Clara, it's over now.

Aunt Clara. No, no, my boy, there's something wrong with you. You needn't tell me. I know well enough.

Paul (controlling himself). You know nothing at all.

Aunt Clara. And you can't talk me out of it. It's your wife. What I know, I know. Your wife is to blame! And if you do say no ten times over!

Paul (gets up, with a firm voice). I repeat, Aunt Clara, you know nothing about it! I do not want to hear one word about that, please remember. (With marked emphasis.) I do not want to hear of it! (Walks up and down in excitement.)

Aunt Clara. Paul, Paul, if you had only taken Antonie!

Paul (sits down in the chair at the fireplace, restraining his pain). Be quiet, Aunt Clara!... Do you want to make me even more miserable than I am?

Aunt Clara (gets up, steps up to him and lays her hand on his head). My poor, poor boy!