NOTE: The play Sylvia und Sybille is based on parts 4: IV, 4: V, 4: VII, 4: IX.

Lela has crumpled the programme on her lap. She holds it tightly in her hot hands. Fräulein von Helling next to her is wearing her "best," a black taffeta dress. She sits next to a lady whom she knows well, and both are engrossed in their reviews of the performances. Lela opens the programme once again. True, the next number is: Violin solo-Friedrich Lennartz. When she imagined Fritz standing all alone on the high, wide lstage, and the many, many people down here would be looking at him, at him all alone, she was overcome by a trembling fear, as if it were she herself who had to stand up there, and she-helpless in her poor little dress-would have a violin thrust into her hand and everybody would be shouted at her out of expectant silence," Play, play, play!"

Then light fell against the dark curtain, and silence came. The curtain flew apart. There was a large, black grand piano and a chair stood in front of it. Fritz stepped out from the small side door. The violin under his left arm, he stopped in the middle and bowed. He didn't show if he were afraid. It seemed very simple to him, as if he had never done anything other than this, let himself be stared at and bow.

Lela's fear subsided now that he was there. She let out a small sigh of relief, which Helling noticed. She and her neighbor watched unsuspecting Lela. Today Helling was determined to represent "Mother's place," as she called it. And to save the poor child from wrong thoughts by watching her keenly.

Lela knew nothing of all this. She had eyes only for Fritz, who now turned to the side where a young blonde woman was sitting at the grand piano looking up at him. When Lela saw this new face, something froze inside of her. Involuntarily, she moved forward a little in her chair to get a closer look. What was that? This woman had Fritz's faceonly more beautiful, softer, more lovely, and now she smiled at him encouragingly, and he smiled back with a brief nod of his head. The two understood each other, and now Lela suddenly knew why Fritz was not afraid. Of course, she was there, and when she wyayyys there, everything was all right.

She spread the sheet music once more, and Fritz-with an almost haughty look-turned to the audience and let the two white hands on the grand piano to sweep the prelude down into the hall in front of him; until he started with a jerk that messed up his hair. From now on, it was he who led, and the piano playing accompanied him: up, down, waiting, striking a theme that he continued, and both the woman and Fritz had the same movements of the heads. A curl fell on her forehead, which she quickly brushed back in order to be able to see the notes, but she did not succeed, not even he when he threw his head back. There was no time, one had to go on and up and forward, and the prisms on the chandelier trembled and made chirping sounds, and the people remained dead silent, as if holding their breath.

Lela's mouth remained open, her eyes were fixed on the stage. She didn't know that she had grasped the back of the chair in front of her. Lela's ears turned red, her face became pale. Her mouth dried up, her palms became moist. What was it, what? It hurt, hurt terribly, and again it didn't. The two up there were one. Melted into one, and were considered one, and loved the same, and felt the same, and were inseparable. Fritz had melted, he was no longer there, he was only a part, and yet he was there again as he hadn't been before. For he filled the hall completely, and he was all alone in the room, but he was led, carried by her, and without her he couldn't have been there and neither the music. Then something grabbed and shook the people and usurped them, and they were all patient and let themselves be usurped. And then something laughed at them and was kind again and caressed and calmed them, and then it was as if everybody was singing together, everybody and Lela were in the middle of it and a part of it. That was the end. For a moment, the audience had to recover from the surprise. It remained silent. Fritz had time to put his violin on the grand piano and the woman to stand up. Only then applause broke out. As if the people needed to shout and make noise; because otherwise they would have suffocated, they clamoured. With a soft step, the young woman approached Fritz and put her arm around his shoulders. Fritz was not at all embarrassed; he looked her in the face, beaming, and bowed thankfully towards the hall. Again and again he pulled his Mother by the hand in front of the ramp. There was noise and shouting. His mother. He has a Mother! Lela thought.

She pushed herself forward, but Fräulein von Helling grabbed her,

"You're to stay there."

Lela turned around and looked into a strange, evil, envious face.

"Girls don't run after boys. It's inappropriate."

An ice-cold hand laid on Lela's heart. Mechanically, she turned around and went to her seat.

Suddenly, it became dark again in the hall, and people had to sit down. There was a disorder, and next to Lela, a few chairs remained empty up to the aisle. Now the actual Christmas play should follow. Lela followed it by her eyes, but she did not grasp the meaning of the storyline. People walked, people spoke, went off the stage. Children, adults. The audience coughed here and there and nibbled at chocolate. A chair moved, people whispered and tried to find out something about the next number in the programme.

All of a sudden, Lela noticed Fritz slowly pushing his way along the wall and coming towards her. He squeezed through the row of chairs without making a sound and sat down next to her.

Lela didn't know what one needed to say when someone had played well, and she looked up at him anxiously. He seemed to understand and smiled encouragingly at her, as if to comfort her. He took her hand in his, as if to say, "No, I'm not that bad."

Then they had to be silent. Her hand remained where he had put it, on his knee, and he placed his one protectively over it.

"How do you like my mother?" he asked softly in her ear. And Lela-without looking at him- answered,

"She's wonder- wonderful."

For nothing in the World she could say more; otherwise she would have cried. She fought and fought a lump in her throat, blinking her eyes rapidly to tame the tears that stood quite stupid, ridiculous and uncalled for in her eyes. She swallowed as best she could, and Fritz came very close to her ear, so that she felt his hair.

"I'll take you to her later, she wants to see you!" Lela bit her lips with excitement. Her mouth turned red and dark. She had pushed back the tears, but a shine remained. Her hair was parted and fell to her shoulders. Her arms were naked, skinny, and helpless. She was ashamed of her arms. Fritz's mother had soft, white arms and beautiful hands-more beautiful than Fritz. Fritz's hand began to hurt her. It was bony. His mother's hands were certainly very soft and delicate to the touch; one could see that when she played. And she had very small feet. Fritz had big feet.

Now the stage became as bright as day, even brighter still, and even brighter. A high staircase led up to heaven, carried entirely by angels. An organ played, and the many, many angels sang a Christmas carol.

"Now she's coming!" Fritz said.

It was no longer necessarily to say who. Fritz knew that Lela was thinking about his Mother. At the top, something glittering stepped onto the stairs. It was so dazzling that at first one couldn't see who it was. A very soft music began and a wonderfully victorious voice began to sing the angel's tidings. A finely pleated, long skirt fell away from a tight-fitting, silver shirt that also hugged her arms tightly. Only the neck was free, the blond hair was loose, and a silver helmet sat firmly around the young face. The blue eyes reflected all the lights of the headlights.

Confident, clear and pure, the voice conquered the room. The voice made one good, the voice made one happy, it pulled one there, up there. Lela held tightly to her chair as if in defence. Fritz had forgotten his neighbour. Spellbound and lost, he stared up there. No one was as beautiful as his Mother, he felt, no one.

"And peace on Earth and goodwill toward men!" was shouted from up there. The angels joined in, the orchestra, trumpets boomed and took the voice with them, ". . . goodwill toward men!" and the dark curtain rustled shut.