eing at the door stared at the invaders. Not a
ray of hope enlivened the dead expression. No doubt the man had long
ceased to expect amelioration of his needs from his fellow beings. The
figure was covered with rags, and what rags! Not the kind of rags, that
tramps wear and which they throw off when luck strikes them, but eternal
rags, that seemed to have grown to the skin, to have mingled with it so
long that they had become part of it,--disgustingly filthy, but the only
cover he had and that he could not throw away.

The man, about fifty years of age, was silent and led us through a
dirty, cold gray entry into a room. In front of the loom we observed the
drooping figure of a woman, a cold oven, four dirty, wet walls, at one
of them a wooden bunk also covered with rags that served as bedding;
nothing else. The man murmured something to the woman, she rose; both
had inflamed eyes, water dripping from them with the same monotony as
from the walls.

Hauptmann began to speak hesitatingly, depressed by the sight of such
misery. He received a few harsh replies. The last piece of cloth had
been delivered some time since; there was neither bread, flour,
potatoes, coal nor wood in the house; in fact, no food or fuel of any
sort. This was said in a subdued, fearful voice, as if they expected
severe censure or punishment. Hauptmann gave the woman some money. The
thought of going without leaving sufficient for a supply of food at
least for the next few days, was agony.

On the widening of the road stood the village inn. The guest room showed
little comfort, the innkeeper looked worn and in bad spirits. No trade.
Innkeepers of factory towns are better off. They can afford guest rooms
of a higher order, since they enjoy the patronage of bookkeepers, clerks
and teachers. In Steinseifersdorf one had to depend on the weavers, and
that did not bring enough for a square meal, especially in the winter.
The wife of the innkeeper assured us that the misery in Kaschbach, a
neighboring village, was even greater, even more awful. It was getting
late, so we decided to go there the following day.

Our conversation on our ride homeward dwelt on the fate of these
unfortunates, condemned by modern industrialism to a life of the
Inferno. I asked Hauptmann what an effect an artistic, dramatic
representation of such a fate could possibly have. He replied that his
inclinations were more for summernight's dreams toward sunny vistas, but
that an impe