where all of those who still cling on to life
feast at the funeral with bloodstained hands?
Almighty God, this realm of poster boys
carousing as they eat and drink their fill
is stained blood-red. Their callous song destroys
all empathy and death must foot the bill.
Almighty God, was it at your decree
that vampires haunt us with a cheery face?
Surely the time has come to set me free
from laughing hangmen who defile our race.
Almighty God, please lead us to the land
where money does not poison people’s health
and earthly goods, passing from hand to hand,
perpetuate the shame of unearned wealth!
Almighty God, can’t you devise some means
of passing laws that ban warlike parades
and switching off those programmed man-machines
that churn out dividends and hand grenades.
Almighty God, please spare me from the sight
of bloodstained battlefields. Grant peace, I pray!
Let gentler feelings guide me through the night
and dreams find their reward on Judgment Day!
(Applause, in which the front rows also join.)
MEMBER OF AUDIENCE (to his wife) — There’s something you should know — he wanted to be a journalist once—
(Change of scene.)
Scene 29
Subscriber to the Neue Freie Presse and Patriot in conversation.
SUBSCRIBER Old Biach said up in Kolberg—
PATRIOT Eh? How could he—?
SUBSCRIBER I mean, old Hindenburg — he’s saying in today’s paper what he said in Kolberg: I’ll go to my grave hoping for a better future for the German people.
PATRIOT You’ll go to your grave?
SUBSCRIBER What d’you mean, me? Him!
PATRIOT Ah, the Editor Himself?
SUBSCRIBER No, no — just him! Hindenburg!
PATRIOT If only old Biach could have lived to hear that!
(Long pause, during which they gaze at each other.)
SUBSCRIBER Since Biach died, I keep picking up the wrong vibrations.
PATRIOT Instead of vibrations, we’ve got rumours now — a bad sign!
SUBSCRIBER I’ve a strong hunch — we’re weakening.
PATRIOT (raises his eyes to the heavens in distress) We ain’t seen nothing yet.
(Change of scene.)
Scene 30
Two commercial counsellors emerge from the Imperial Hotel. A one-armed beggar woman with a wooden leg stands in front of them.
FIRST COMMERCIAL COUNSELLOR (looking around) Ain’t there any cabs? Wotta scandal!
BOTH (waving their walking sticks at a passing car) Taxi—!
FIRST (calling after a cabby) Hey, there — are you free?
CABBY (shrugging) I’m booked.
SECOND (as they are surrounded by beggars of every description) At least you can still get summat to eat, that’s the only thing we’ve got left. (A woman collapses from hunger and is carried off) — Wotta scandal! — and on the Ringstrasse, too! — Even young Rothschild’s getting grey hairs—
FIRST No wonder, these days.
SECOND He can only be, at most — wait a minute, how long ago was it that he took over—
FIRST But what’s the use? There’s a weird mood in Vienna — Y’know, since old Biach died—
SECOND The exchange rate’s on the slide—
FIRST If we’d managed to get our money out last week—
SECOND I’d planned to go to the foreign currency exchange tomorrow — but why bother to wangle it when there’s an easier way out.
FIRST (throws down his cigar butt and a 20-heller note in front of a beggar) Summat else has gone up — at New Year, a box at the Tabarin nightclub cost me all of 600—my wife wouldn’t let up — if it goes on like this, it’ll be 1,000 next New Year.
SECOND And why not?
(The Grumbler passes by.)
FIRST (spits) Bad cess to him!
SECOND Hey, if I tell my youngest you said that—
FIRST Why?
SECOND Thinks he’s great. Can’t wait for the next public reading. He’s one of the Grumbler’s greatest fans.
FIRST If it were me, I’d give the boy a clip round the ear.
SECOND Watch out, the way things are now! The boy might even get him to make fun of you in that red rag of his, Die Fackel.
FIRST Y’know, it’s scarcely credible the censor tolerates it, anywhere else they’d have strung him up long ago! Stirring up trouble all the time — against the war, even against the papers! Yelling that the war should stop! — well, the war’s still going on, so he should pipe down.
SECOND A pretty sight, I’d say, peace-mongering in wartime!
FIRST Recently, so they say, at one of his readings he called quite openly for people to refuse to fight and stop buying the papers! If he’s not in the pay of the Entente, then I’m a Dutchman. Hey, look, Baron Wassilko’s coming thisaway with the lovely Gerda Walde. On foot!
SECOND Whichaway?
FIRST (pointing) Thataway.
SECOND The Grumbler’s turned my lad’s head. But I really lost it recently and gave him a piece of my mind, told him there’s no point grousing about the war, but for the war there’d be no war profits, end of story. Well, he got the message. But so what? He still goes to the readings. What about your youngest? Making progress?
FIRST (proudly) I’ll say! He’s out partying with the Sascha Film people!
SECOND Mmm! Quite right too, make the most of it while you’re young. Funny, when I read Die Fackel, I can’t help laughing — what do you say to that piece today about Hirschfeld?
FIRST Brilliant! And the Schalek woman? He even attacks her!
SECOND But say what you like, she’s courageous. Let him try planting himself down in the firing line and writing about it! We got seats to hear Piccaver at the Opera—
FIRST I had to sort my wife out recently, she’s always going on about it — if only the war was over, she feels sorry for the soldiers in the trenches. I keeps tellin ’er, they’ll still get their payoff, their fame in the history books! And watta we get? War-profiteering taxes! That’s what people forget.
SECOND Yes, and the risk of peace—?!
FIRST Don’t even think about it. Y’know — when one of them comes back from the front and starts to tell all — it’s always the same — they’ve had a rough time of it, fair nuff, we knows that! I’ve ’ad an earful, it’s such a bore.
SECOND We’ve had enough of them ’orrors.
(A disabled war veteran limps past.)
BOTH (waving their walking sticks at a passing car) Taxi—!
(Change of scene.)
Scene 31
Optimist and Grumbler in conversation.
GRUMBLER The veterinary clinic was not able to save this horse. It was martyred and had to be put down. It bore the mark of this age of grandeur on its back, a veritable stigma. On both sides, the same fairly regular distinguishing pattern. On its spine you could see the yellow of the bones; also on its haunches. A grazing shot had taken its tail off. Its girth had bitten right into the flesh. The wound had turned green with pus, and looked like a first-degree burn. Diagnosis: a portable artillery piece, strapped on for weeks on end. The load had not been lifted off its back either by day or night.
OPTIMIST Yes, animals have to endure war, too, there’s no escaping it.