possibly. But I disclaim any other acquaintance with you.

Brendel. All right, all right! Nach Belieben, Mr. Kroll. I dare say I shall get over it. Ulrik Brendel will still be himself in spite of it.

Rebecca. Are you on your way to the town, Mr. Brendel?

Brendel. You have hit the nail on the head, ma'am. At certain intervals I am obliged to do something for my living. I do not do it willingly—but, enfin—when needs must—

Rosmer. My dear Mr. Brendel, will you not let me be of assistance to you? In some way or another, I mean—

Brendel. Ah, what a proposal to come from you! Could you wish to soil the tie that binds us together? Never, John—never!

Rosmer. But what do you propose to do in the town, then? I assure you, you won't find it so easy—

Brendel. Leave that to me, my boy. The die is cast. The unworthy individual who stands before you is started on an extensive campaign—more extensive than all his former excursions put together. (To KROLL.) May I venture to ask you, Professor—unter uns—are there in your esteemed town any fairly decent, respectable and spacious assembly-rooms?

Kroll. The most spacious is the hall belonging to the Working Men's Association.

Brendel. May I ask, sir, if you have any special influence with that no doubt most useful Association?

Kroll. I have nothing whatever to do with it.

Rebecca (to BRENDEL). You ought to apply to Peter Mortensgaard.

Brendel. Pardon, madame—what sort of an idiot is he?

Rosmer. Why do you make up your mind he is an idiot?

Brendel. Do you suppose I can't tell, from the sound of the name, that it belongs to a plebeian?

Kroll. I did not expect that answer.

Brendel. But I will conquer my prejudices. There is nothing else for it. When a man stands at a turning-point in his life—as I do—. That is settled. I shall, put myself into communication with this person—commence direct negotiations.

Rosmer. Are you in earnest when you say you are standing at a turning-point in your life?

Brendel. Does my own boy not know that wherever Ulrik Brendel stands he is always in earnest about it? Look here, I mean to become a new man now—to emerge from the cloak of reserve in which I have hitherto shrouded myself.

Rosmer. In what way?

Brendel. I mean to take an active part in life—to step forward—to look higher. The atmosphere we breathe is heavy with storms. I want now to offer my mite upon the altar of emancipation.

Kroll. You too?

Brendel (to them all). Has your public here any intimate acquaintance with my scattered writings?

Kroll. No, I must candidly confess that—

Rebecca. I have read several of them. My foster-father had them.

Brendel. My dear lady, then you have wasted your time. They are simply trash, allow me to tell you.

Rebecca. Really?

Brendel. Those you have read, yes. My really important works no man or woman knows anything about. No one—except myself.

Rebecca. How is that?

Brendel. Because they are not yet written.

Rosmer. But, my dear Mr. Brendel—

Brendel. You know, my dear John, that I am a bit of a sybarite—a gourmet. I have always been so. I have a taste for solitary enjoyment, because in that way my enjoyment is twice—ten times—as keen. It is, like this. When I have been wrapped in a haze of golden dreams that have descended on me—when new, intoxicating, momentous thoughts have had their birth in my mind, and I have been fanned by the beat of their wings as they bore me aloft—at such moments I have transformed them into poetry, into visions, into pictures. In general outlines, that is to say.

Rosmer. Quite so.

Brendel. You cannot imagine the luxury of enjoyment I have experienced! The mysterious rapture of creation!—in, general outlines, as I said. Applause, gratitude, eulogies, crowns of laurel!—all these I have culled with full hands trembling with joy. In my secret ecstasies I have steeped myself in a happiness so, intoxicating—

Kroll. Ahem!

Rosmer. But you have never written anything of it down?

Brendel. Not a word. The thought of the dull clerk's work that it would mean has always moved me to a nauseating sense of disgust. Besides, why should I profane my own ideals when I could enjoy them, in all their purity, by myself? But now they shall be sacrificed. Honestly, I feel as a mother must do when she entrusts her young daughter to the arms of a husband. But I am going to, sacrifice them nevertheless—sacrifice them on the altar of emancipation. A series of carefully thought-out lectures, to be delivered all over the country!

Rebecca (impetuously). That is splendid of you, Mr. Brendel! You are giving up the most precious thing you possess.

Rosmer. The only thing.

Rebecca (looking meaningly at ROSMER). I wonder how many there are who would do as much—who dare do it?

Rosmer (returning her look). Who knows?

Brendel. My audience is moved. That refreshes my heart and strengthens my will—and now I shall proceed upon my task forthwith. There is one other point, though. (To KROLL.) Can you inform me, sir, whether there is an Abstainers' Society in the town? A Total Abstainers' Society? I feel sure there must be.

Kroll. There is one, at your service. I am the president.

Brendel. I could tell that as soon as I saw you! Well, it is not at all impossible that I may come to you and become a member for a week.

Kroll. Excuse me—we do not accept weekly members.

Brendel. A la bonne heure, my good sir. Ulrik Brendel has never been in the habit of forcing himself upon societies of that kind. (Turns to go) But I must not prolong my stay in this house, rich as it is in memories. I must go into the town and find some suitable lodging. I shall find a decent hotel of some kind there, I hope?

Rebecca. Will you not have something hot to drink before you go?

Brendel. Of what nature, dear lady?

Rebecca. A cup of tea, or—

Brendel. A thousand thanks to the most generous of hostesses!—but I do not like trespassing on private hospitality. (Waves his hand.) Good-bye to you all! (Goes to the door, but turns back.) Oh, by the way—John—Mr. Rosmer—will you do your former tutor a service for old friendship's sake?

Rosmer. With the greatest of pleasure.

Brendel. Good. Well, then, lend me—just for a day or two—a starched shirt.

Rosmer. Nothing more than that!

Brendel. Because, you see, I am travelling on foot—on this occasion. My trunk is being sent after me.

Rosmer. Quite so. But, in that case, isn't there anything else?

Brendel. Well, I will tell you what—perhaps you have an old, worn-out summer coat that you could spare?

Rosmer. Certainly I have.

Brendel. And if there happened to be a pair of presentable shoes that would go with the coat.

Rosmer. I am sure we can manage that, too. As soon as you let us know your address, we will send the things to you.

Brendel. Please don't think of it! No one must be put to any inconvenience on my account! I will take the trifles with me.