take the place of the organ.  If I want to feel my heart exalted, I must hear the heavy, iron doors of the church close behind me and think to myself that they are the doors of the world.  The dismal high walls with their narrow windows, that admit but a dim remnant of the bold garish daylight as if they were sifting it, must surround me on all sides.  And in the distance I must be able to see the charnel-house, with its death-head cut in the wall.  Oh well, better is better.

LEONARD.

You are too particular about it!

ANTONY.

Of course!  Of course!  And today, as an honest man, I must confess that what I have been saying did not hold good; for I lost my reverent mood in church, being annoyed by the vacant seat beside me, and found it again under the pear-tree in my garden.  You are astonished?  But look!  I went sadly and dejectedly home, like one whose harvest has been ruined by hail; for children are like fields—­we sow good corn in them and weeds sprout up.  Under the pear-tree, which the caterpillars have half eaten up, I stood still.  “Yes,” I thought, “the boy is like this tree, empty and barren.”  Then I suddenly imagined that I was very thirsty, and absolutely had to go over to the tavern.  I deceived myself—­it wasn’t to get a glass of beer that I wanted to go; it was to seek out the young man and take him to task in the tavern, where I knew he was sure to be.  I was just about to start, when the sensible old tree let fall a juicy pear right at my feet, as if to say:  Take that for your thirst, and for slandering me by comparing me with that good-for-nothing son of yours.  I deliberated a moment, took a bite of it, and went into the house.

LEONARD.

Do you know that the apothecary is on the verge of bankruptcy?

ANTONY.

What do I care?

LEONARD.

Don’t you care at all

ANTONY.

Surely!  I am a Christian—­the man has several children!

LEONARD.

And still more creditors.  The children, too, are creditors in a way.

ANTONY.

Happy is he who is neither the one nor the other!

LEONARD.

I thought you yourself—­

ANTONY.

That was settled up long ago.

LEONARD.

You are a prudent man; of course you immediately demanded your money when you saw that the green-grocer was about to fail.

ANTONY.

Yes, I need not tremble any more with the fear of losing it—­it was lost long ago!

LEONARD.

You are joking!

ANTONY.

In all seriousness!

CLARA (looks in at the door).

Did you call, father?

ANTONY.

Are your ears beginning to ring already?  We had not talked about you yet!

CLARA.

The weekly paper!

LEONARD.

You are a philosopher!

ANTONY.