The General's office in a military station on the east front in Beotia.
An office table with a telephone, writing materials, official papers,
etc., is set across the room. At the end of the table, a comfortable
chair for the General. Behind the chair, a window. Facing it at the
other end of the table, a plain wooden bench. At the side of the table,
with its back to the door, a common chair, with a typewriter before it.
Beside the door, which is opposite the end of the bench, a rack for caps
and coats. There is nobody in the room.
General Strammfest enters, followed by Lieutenant Schneidekind. They
hang up their cloaks and caps. Schneidekind takes a little longer than
Strammfest, who comes to the table.
STRAMMFEST. Schneidekind.
SCHNEIDEKIND. Yes, sir.
STRAMMFEST. Have you sent my report yet to the government? [He sits
down.]
SCHNEIDEKIND [coming to the table]. Not yet, sir. Which government do
you wish it sent to? [He sits down.]
STRAMMFEST. That depends. What's the latest? Which of them do you think
is most likely to be in power tomorrow morning?
SCHNEIDEKIND. Well, the provisional government was going strong
yesterday. But today they say that the Prime Minister has shot himself,
and that the extreme left fellow has shot all the others.
STRAMMFEST. Yes: that's all very well; but these fellows always shoot
themselves with blank cartridge.
SCHNEIDEKIND. Still, even the blank cartridge means backing down. I
should send the report to the Maximilianists.
STRAMMFEST. They're no stronger than the Oppidoshavians; and in my own
opinion the Moderate Red Revolutionaries are as likely to come out on
top as either of them.
SCHNEIDEKIND. I can easily put a few carbon sheets in the typewriter and
send a copy each to the lot.
STRAMMFEST. Waste of paper. You might as well send reports to an infant
school. [He throws his head on the table with a groan.]
SCHNEIDEKIND. Tired out, Sir?
STRAMMFEST. O Schneidekind, Schneidekind, how can you bear to live?
SCHNEIDEKIND. At my age, sir, I ask myself how can I bear to die?
STRAMMFEST. You are young, young and heartless. You are excited by the
revolution: you are attached to abstract things like liberty. But
my family has served the Panjandrums of Beotia faithfully for seven
centuries. The Panjandrums have kept our place for us at their courts,
honored us, promoted us, shed their glory on us, made us what we
are. When I hear you young men declaring that you are fighting for
civilization, for democracy, for the overthrow of militarism, I ask
myself how can a man shed his blood for empty words used by vulgar
tradesmen and common laborers: mere wind and stink. [He rises, exalted
by his theme.] A king is a splendid reality, a man raised above us like
a god. You can see him; you can kiss his hand; you can be cheered by his
smile and terrified by his frown. I would have died for my Panjandrum
as my father died for his father. Your toiling millions were only too
honored to receive the toes of our boots in the proper spot for them
when they displeased their betters. And now what is left in life for me?
[He relapses into his chair discouraged.] My Panjandrum is deposed and
transported to herd with convicts. The army, his pride and glory, is
paraded to hear seditious speeches from penniless rebels, with the
colonel actually forced to take the chair and introduce the speaker.
I myself am made Commander-in-Chief by my own solicitor: a Jew,
Schneidekind! a Hebrew Jew! It seems only yesterday that these things
would have been the ravings of a madman: today they are the commonplaces
of the gutter press. I live now for three objects only: to defeat the
enemy, to restore the Panjandrum, and to hang my solicitor.
SCHNEIDEKIND. Be careful, sir: these are dangerous views to utter
nowadays. What if I were to betray you?
STRAMMFEST. What!
SCHNEIDEKIND. I won't, of course: my own father goes on just like that;
but suppose I did?
STRAMMFEST [chuckling]. I should accuse you of treason to the
Revolution, my lad; and they would immediately shoot you, unless you
cried and asked to see your mother before you died, when they would
probably change their minds and make you a brigadier. Enough. [He rises
and expands his chest.] I feel the better for letting myself go. To
business. [He takes up a telegram: opens it: and is thunderstruck by its
contents.] Great heaven! [He collapses into his chair.] This is the worst
blow of all.
SCHNEIDEKIND. What has happened? Are we beaten?
STRAMMFEST. Man, do you think that a mere defeat could strike me down as
this news does: I, who have been defeated thirteen times since the war
began? O, my master, my master, my Panjandrum! [he is convulsed with
sobs.]
SCHNEIDEKIND. They have killed him?