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 glass]. To a man of refinement, such an
existence must have been quite unbearable.
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.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25