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
