_Hans Lorbass_. Thou lookest toward the south,--what seekest thou there? Hast thou not known it all long since? That sunny land, those blue, flower-sown havens, whither thy hasting step once fled? Thou knowest they are full of stench and lamentation. Those beauteous women, fairest of the fair,--or passing as the fairest,--to bow in whose impious slavery once compassed all thy thoughts? Thou knowest they are all as empty as drained-out casks. And so, because the desire was lacking in thee to fill them with thy own soul, thou hast sourly turned away and sought perfection farther on. Thou hast come hither over lands and seas, and climbest up into the star-teeming void. Yet thou wilt never, never reach thy star. And that vailed enchanting distance itself, if it would once unmask and let thee reach it, how miserable it would look! Every conflict there would seem only a wrangle, every woman but a doll! Come now, lay aside thy shoulder-belt stretch thyself out and eat thy supper. _King_. Let be, old grumbler! I seek naught in the distance.... But near by, floating in the haze of the spring evening, I think I see a dim shape of white battlements. _Hans Lorbass_. It may well be. The town is only three miles farther on, and the air is clear. Still I advise thee, do not think upon the past. _King_. Why? _Hans Lorbass_. It was an evil-omened year. The worst of all, I think. It taught thy wild untrammeled spirit to circle-hopping in a cage, to limp instead of fly. _King_. Thou art wrong, my friend. Something wakes in me at sight of those roofs.... There the wings of happiness once grazed my cheek, there, though in the midst of torture joy ripened to summer in my heart. Let me gaze on the place where imploring trustfulness once confessed itself to me by joyous sacrifice, and the purest of womankind yielded herself up in sweet urgency, and an oppressed country confided in me as a master; where even victory surrendered me her standard; let me gaze upon the spot, and then, instead of stretching forth my kingly hand in love and gratitude, I must slip past it outlawed, like a beggar or a thief. I stand here now and gaze through tears at that white glow of light, and gnaw my lips to bleeding. _Hans Lorbass_. Master! _King_. It is nothing,--nothing! All I have ever desired, all my soul's treasure, all I could not attain, can be spoken in one word. And that I may not speak. In silence I decide, and put it from me. I tear it from my breast, where it has clung so long; and with it all my longing pain blows like a faded leaf a world away.--Now I will lie down and sleep; for I am weary. _Hans Lorbass_. And do thy pains and desires all come to an end thus? Look! Above there, where the sandy turf broadens among frozen clods past the sun-pierced snow. The wisest of womankind has prepared a bed for pilgrims such as we. Look! _King_ [_going toward the open grave_]. I see. It is just suited to a guest like me. Here, where--[_He starts back in alarm._] Hans!