_Coelestin_. I feel as though the earth itself did sway, as though my poor old head would burst in pieces. Now falls the Fatherland, which, kingless, thought it might escape from rapine; yet all the while in its own breast there stood the powerfullest of robbers. Here where a continual harvest of peace once smiled, where inborn modesty of soul once paired joyously with ingrown habit and youth grew guiltless to maturity, the ruthless hand of tyranny will henceforth rest choking on our necks, and-- [_Blows sound on the door to the right._] Who blusters at the door? Go look. _Page_ [_looking through the peep-hole_]. I see a spear-shaft glitter. [_Calling._] What wilt thou without there? _Hans Lorbass's Voice_. Open the door! _Page_ [_calling_]. Why didst thou come up the steps? The entrance is there below. _Hans Lorbass's Voice_. I know that already. I did not care to sweat there in the crowd. Open the door. _Page_. What shall I do? _Coelestin_. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way. [_The_ Page _opens the door_, Hans Lorbass _enters._] _Coelestin_. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak! _Hans_. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now entered your kingdom, and crave for God's love, if not a refuge, at least a resting place. _Coelestin_. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!... nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear. _Hans_. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [_He goes to the door and motions below_. Coelestin _and the_ Page _look out from behind him._] _Skoell_ [_dreaming_]. Hans Lorbass--seize him! [Prince Witte _enters._] _Coelestin_. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul. _Prince_. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee? _Coelestin_. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so. _Hans_. Whither then? _Coelestin_. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee. _Prince_. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a festival? _Coelestin_. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ... they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet-- _Prince_. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly.