MORITZ--We can do everything. Give me your hand! We can be sorry for the young, for the way they take their timidity for idealism, and the old, whose stoical superiority comes near to breaking their hearts. We see the Kaiser shake for dread of a street-song, and the beggar for dread of the trump of doom. We look straight thru the actor’s make-up, and see the poet in the dark don his. We behold the contented man in his beggary, and in the weariness of his burdened soul the capitalist. We observe people in love, and see them blush before each other in the presentiment that they are frauds defrauded. Parents we see bringing children into the world in order that they may call to them “How fortunate you are to have such parents!”--and we see the children go forth and do the like. We can eavesdrop on the innocent in their lonely cravings, and the five-groschen drab at her reading of Schiller.... God and the devil we see making fools of themselves before each other, and cherish in our hearts the unshakable conviction that both are drunk.... A quiet--a content--Melchior!--You need only reach me your little finger.--You may get to be snow-white before such a favorable moment appears to you again. MELCHIOR--If I shake hands on it, Moritz, it will be from self-contempt. I see myself proscribed. What lent me courage, lies in the grave. I can no longer think myself worthy of noble impulses--and perceive nothing, nothing, that might yet stand in the way of my descent.--I am, in my own opinion, the most detestable creature in the universe.... MORITZ--What are you waiting for? [A MUFFLED GENTLEMAN _enters, and addresses_ MELCHIOR.] THE MUFFLED GENTLEMAN--The fact is, you’re shivering with hunger. You’re in no sort of condition to decide.--[_To_ MORITZ.] Go. MELCHIOR--Who are you? THE MUFFLED GENTLEMAN--That will come out.--[_To_ MORITZ.] Vanish!--What have you here to do?--Why haven’t you got your head on? MORITZ--I shot myself. THE MUFFLED GENTLEMAN--Then stay where you belong! You’re altogether done with. Don’t bother us here with your charnel stench. Inconceivable--why, just look at your fingers! Pah, what the devil! they’re crumbling down already! MORITZ--Don’t send me away, please!... MELCHIOR--Who are you, good sir? MORITZ--Don’t send me away, I beg you! Let me take part in things here a little while yet. I will not oppose you in anything.--It’s so chilly down there! THE MUFFLED GENTLEMAN--Then why do you brag about =sublimity=?--You know well enough that that’s humbug--sour grapes! Why do you wilfully =lie=, you coinage of the brain?--If you value the favor so highly, stay for all of me; but look out for any more hot-air boasting, my friend, and kindly keep your rotting hand out of the game! MELCHIOR--Are you going to tell me who you are, or not? THE MUFFLED GENTLEMAN--No.--I propose that you entrust yourself to me. First, I should see to your getting away. MELCHIOR--You are--my father?!