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. Much later.