— No! That can’t be true!
GRUMBLER Why ever not?
OPTIMIST (casts another glance at the paper and says) The public cheered the heroes to the rafters — which they gratefully acknowledged, standing to attention and saluting. (Pause. He stares at the Grumbler.) That can’t be true! What — is heroic glory, then?
GRUMBLER A piece of theatre, a play. Or again: a mouldering hill with weeds shooting up like red fire — as a Chinese war poet says. A German door-to-door salesman has much less defeatist thoughts.
OPTIMIST How do you mean? You shouldn’t talk about these things like that. Heroic glory is not something hawked door to door.
GRUMBLER Yes, it is. Just read this extract from a specialist journal someone sent me.
OPTIMIST (reads)
Important announcement for door-to-door salesmen! If you are interested in a splendid article, selling at 1 Mark, we recommend our patriotic commemorative print: He died a hero’s death for the Fatherland. The picture measures 44 cm × 60 cm. It takes the form of a highly artistic, imitation copperplate engraving, a fitting wall decoration for any family that has lost one of its dear ones on the field of honour. Beside gripping battle scenes with all kinds of armaments, it depicts a peaceful soldier’s grave, with space underneath for the name of the dead and where he fell to be entered. His photograph, framed by a garland of oak leaves, is attached to the centre of the print and glorified by the rays of the Iron Cross above it, while the Goddess of Peace bestows on him the laurel crown of victory. His Majesty the Kaiser can be seen, uttering the memorable words to representatives of the people: “I no longer recognize political parties, I recognize only Germans”, and from the clouds shine forth the faces, transfigured, of the founders of the German Reich — Kaiser Wilhelm I., Bismarck, and Moltke. A commemorative print so noble and gripping that rich and poor alike will want it. It far surpasses all that has appeared so far in the genre! Special price for agencies—
— That can’t be true! — Tell me, it’s — your invention — that it’s all your fantasy!
GRUMBLER (presses his hand) Thanks for the compliment, but don’t you remember? My most lurid fantasies are quotations!
(Change of scene.)
Scene 45
Innsbruck. Maria Theresienstrasse. Midnight. Deserted. Enter a girl holding a sabre in her right hand and waving it about. From the other side, a butcher’s boy.
BUTCHER’S BOY Wot’s that? (He recognizes her.) Oi — (he grabs the sabre.)
GIRL WITH SABRE Lego — lego, I’m tell’n’ya—!
BUTCHER’S BOY You’re a protestute! You were trying to soilisit me last week! You’ve no right to have no sabre! (He wrenches the sabre from her.) How did someone like you get hold of a sabre with a war going on—
(Three officers appear running, one without a sabre.)
OFFICER WITHOUT SABRE (staggering) Ah! Who’s that with my sabre, then? Give it here, at once! (He tries to wrench the sabre from the butcher’s boy.)
BUTCHER’S BOY Sorry, Lieutenant, but this lady is well known to me — she’s a — she’s a protestute — so I’m duty-bound — I’ve got to bring the sabre to the police station — isn’t that right? How did someone like her get hold of a sabre?
OFFICER WITHOUT SABRE (becoming more forceful) You, fellow, give it here, or — (he makes to draw out his sabre from where it normally is.)
BUTCHER’S BOY There’s no way someone like her should have a sabre. I have to report it!
SECOND OFFICER (draws his sabre) We don’t want any commotion! You rascal, give it back this minute—
THIRD OFFICER (holding him back) No commotion! Weber, be sensible! They’re all drunk!
BUTCHER’S BOY (waves the sabre around) Wot? Drunk? Look at this, Lieutenant, I’ve got a sabre too!
OFFICER WITHOUT SABRE (grabs his arm) Scoundrel!
GIRL WITHOUT SABRE C’m’on, Pipsi, leave ’im alone — he’s only a syphilian!
BUTCHER’S BOY Police! Police! We’ll see about that!
(Two policemen appear. Everyone talks to them at once.)
FIRST POLICEMAN Please! Calm down, please! No bloodshed, Lieutenant — now there’s a war on!
THIRD OFFICER Y’hear, no bloodshed, be sensible!
SECOND POLICEMAN Let’s all go down to the main police station in the City Hall, we’ll get to the bottom of it there.
(A military inspector appears. Everyone talks to him at once.)
INSPECTOR What’s up? Every night there’s something. Aha, her I recognize. Run off with your sabre, eh? You’re not the first. Take it! (He takes the sabre from the butcher’s boy and hands it to the lieutenant, who drops it. His comrades come to his aid.) So what’s up with this girl?
BUTCHER’S BOY She tried to soilisit me last week! She’s a protestute — she is!
BOTH POLICEMEN (to girl without sabre) It seems to me you’re not registered!
INSPECTOR (to lieutenant) Say, Pöffl, how far did you go with her?
BOTH POLICEMEN (to girl without sabre) You’re leading a disorderly life, without authorization!
FIRST POLICEMAN On suspicion of venereal disease—
SECOND POLICEMAN —and unregistered prostitution—
BOTH —you’ll come with us down to the station!