Larenopfer

The Mother

69 tHE MotHEr Loudly roll rich carriages, when trotting up the theatre ramp. Aside, alone and sullen crouches an old lady by a squalid lamp. The poor thing startles suddenly, because a stallion pulls away. But no one in the crowd would see the beggar in the corner stay. The diva wins the audience, all converse enthused about her power. rumours of a count the guests enthral, because his wealth brought her to flower. Later follow storms of wild applause, those final trumpets like no other . . . But outside a solemn silence draws: She prays for her sick child, the mother. ...