LANDLORD You’re right there!
PROFITEER Where would it lead to? Can we risk a military setback? Attack is the best defence! Look over there — that’s how you get respect!
LANDLORD Wait, I’m going to give them a cheer — Long live our brave boys in field-grey!
(Enter a German and an Austrian soldier, shoulder to shoulder.)
SERGEANT WAGENKNECHT So there we were all assembled, and our Lance-Bombardier says: If you’re in the mood, lads, once more into the breach!
SERGEANT SEDLATSCHEK (close beside him, looks up, startled) No—!
WAGENKNECHT Do you mind, you’re leaning on my shoulder.
SEDLATSCHEK Oh, sorry — (steps back.)
WAGENKNECHT All right, that’s better. So, just imagine, the Lance-Bombardier left it to us—
SEDLATSCHEK Look at that department store: “You can’t beat our loss leaders!”—(points to a shop window.)
WAGENKNECHT Lost leaders? — oh, I see — I thought you meant — now listen — (he presses against Sedlatschek, who staggers back.)
SEDLATSCHEK Oh, you’re hurting my shoulder!
WAGENKNECHT Sorry. Now listen, the Lance-Bombardier—
SEDLATSCHEK Sorry to interrupt, but I don’t quite follow.
WAGENKNECHT What?
SEDLATSCHEK Sorry — but you said the Lance-Bombardier gave the order. But surely you were all bombarding with lances, so who gave the order?
WAGENKNECHT I don’t understand why you’re confused, listen — and pay close attention — the Lance-Bombardier—
SEDLATSCHEK Yes, but — don’t you “bombard with lances” too? Doesn’t that make you a Lance-Bombardier as well?
WAGENKNECHT How come? Now listen—
SEDLATSCHEK No, you listen — the Lance-Bombardier is — someone who — throws lances over — isn’t he?
WAGENKNECHT Throws lances over? What do you mean?
SEDLATSCHEK (mimes throwing) Look — don’t you understand — throws lances — from here — look — on to the people over there.
WAGENKNECHT Ah, now I understand — no, no, my lad, that’s priceless — a real hoot — killingly funny! — No, that’s not what I meant. We’re using not lances but bombs!
SEDLATSCHEK (stares at him blankly) What? — So is that a — Bomb-Lancer?
WAGENKNECHT No, no — there’s no such thing! Heavens above! Now listen closely. What I mean is: the Bombardier throws the bomb at the target. But the Lance-Bombardier—
SEDLATSCHEK But the Lance-Bombardier — does what?
WAGENKNECHT He’s in charge of the trainee Bombardiers, of course, that’s why he’s called Lance-Bombardier — how can I make you understand, for example — ah yes, of course — in a restaurant you talk about the Master Chef or the Headwaiter, don’t you—
SEDLATSCHEK Ah, now I understand you. So: just as the Headwaiter is in charge of the kitchen — no, wait — just as the Master Chef is in charge of the waiters — no, hang on—
WAGENKNECHT Look, in that case we simply say Chef — You there, Chef, come over here a minute.
SEDLATSCHEK (startled, turns and salutes) Did you just call the Sergeant-Major?
WAGENKNECHT Good Lord, no! If I had, I wouldn’t say Chef, would I? Look, if you’re in a restaurant, you simply leave out their rank, and just say Waiter, thus: “Wai-ter!”—
SEDLATSCHEK Wait ’ere? But I am waiting ’ere!
WAGENKNECHT You’re missing the point again. I was only trying to say: overfamiliarity isn’t acceptable with anyone else in charge, for instance, you can’t say: You there, Sub! to a sub-lieutenant — that would be an insult. And it’s the same with a Lance-Bombardier.
SEDLATSCHEK I understand — so you have to say: Dear Mr. Lance-Bombardier, please bring me a bomb — to throw over now?
WAGENKNECHT Why not, if it makes you happy — you Austrians are a bunch of weirdos! Excuse me for a minute, I must just make a call. (He goes towards a public convenience. As he is about to enter, Hans Müller comes out, goes up to the German sergeant, and kisses him.)
WAGENKNECHT Well, blow me down! Look here, it’s very kind of you — what a charming breed you are, you Viennese — but still—
HANS MÜLLER Hurray! Not a day passes but I’m reminded of Bismarck’s words: “Our boys, don’t you just want to kiss them!” And so I do! My goodness, yes! I can do no other, when I catch sight of such a brave lad. I was proceeding on my melancholy way, meditating on those valiant sons now occupying so many an honest mother’s heart, when you crossed my path — it was a sign, a corroboration of the most sublime alliance ever forged between two peoples — and if you don’t find it irksome, cousin, I would gladly crack a bottle in your august company. Behold yonder, at no great distance, a hostelry known as the Bristol, since we love things foreign, where a fine table is set for us and enticing victuals beckon. There, though the gravity of the hour must remain foremost in our thoughts, time shall fly past in lively conversation. With this trusty walking stick, look, I can keep up with the best. So let us repair thither and make merry, will you come? I have a not inconsiderable desire to imbibe, comrade, so let us each raise a red rummer in a toast to the sun, what do you say? Or could you do more justice to a flagon of barley beer, that most wholesome Bohemian brew? It won’t cost you a penny! And you shall sample the finest Virginia that an uncle of mine, who fairly reeks of the weed, has sent from over the ocean. Yes indeed, the two of us shall puff away, and as the wisps of smoke curl up, it may be that many a fraternal greeting shall likewise waft its way to those brave souls defending our hearths by showing the evil enemy a bold face, far away though they be since Italy picked a quarrel with us. And you yourself — were you in hospital, too? Are you an invalid? Or even wounded? So be it! So come, drink and refresh yourself to your heart’s content! But we must also attend to our edification, that through contemplation we may savour this hour of reflection so fortuitously bestowed upon us, as truly befits a horrific conflict that holds out the promise of radiant, verdant happiness! But I see you hesitate? You’re unwilling? You’re a defeatist even? Stuff and nonsense! Cast off this morose display, discard it in the darkest corner, with the other piles of junk, useless when it’s time to celebrate! Agreed? Shake on it! Take hold of a brotherly hand and let all the good spirits of your zest for life make merry! What’s this? Still sulking and turning your back on a blue sky? Begone, such foolish thoughts! Growling morosely like a bear with a sore head, only a fool would cast doubt on the word of a friend, only a rascal would start rumours about his comrades. The devil take all scandalmongers! Everyone knows this is no time to be pulling a long face. You’re no fool. You may not be a deep thinker either, but the two of us would get along well enough. Come on, stop being such a boor! (A cab pulls up in front of the Hotel Bristol. A voice can be heard: “In wartime the fare is double!”) What, are you surprised? Don’t take it amiss, it’s the custom here, the waggoner shows no respect, and he’s an arch-villain into the bargain—
WAGENKNECHT Do you mean me?
HANS MÜLLER Don’t hold it against him, he’s eager to secure his monetary reward, for his reward in heaven counts for little. There’s no limit to what travelling journeymen of that ilk can demand, their guiding principle is egoism pure and simple. It’s just an everyday altercation, not a serious dispute, praise be — he claims the other should know the right fare anyway, the foreigner replies that he doesn’t but would like the cabby to be so kind as to inform him, he declares that he is only asking for the going rate according to statute, the foreigner innocently asks what that is, he cheekily suggests the other pay what he usually pays, and gives fulsome expression to the hard times, for at feeding time he’s as restless as his horse. The lively exchanges continue for some time, but the cabby won’t yield and rejects any appeal to an officer of the law. And behold, the blunt exchange is brought to a peaceful conclusion, the other pays double, the cabby, still riled, extracts a further 10 percent tip for good measure, the other pays, the cabby spurs his speedy steed and departs, cursing his fare as a miserable skinflint. So be it! We must each seize the opportunity when it presents itself on a plate, and clever Prudence is the best guide. We are fools to Dame Fortune, and simpletons if we do not follow the wise ways of the world. That holds for you, too. If you had an ounce of common sense and a ready tongue, then slowly but surely everything would turn out to your advantage. (A prostitute passes by and says: “Come with me, professor, let me give you a good time.”) Nay, I don’t have time for that. (To Wagenknecht) Oh, you’re surprised? Why don’t you step in then, and let her gratify your every whim? She’s a comely wench who will keep you entertained, for her free-lance profession is devoted to giving pleasure. The devil take all moaning minnies, and of course you must use your own discretion, yet I cannot but feel that associating with that sort of person is unworthy of the gravity of the times. Have the courage to be yourself, even if you are unskilled in courtly speech, unversed in the arts and sciences of the law, ignorant of all erudite treatises, don’t worry, for a good honest trade pays dividends, and with me there is no need for you to watch your tongue. If it’s a matter of some trinket you promised to bring back for your beloved, some winsome little cousin or pretty little thing you don’t necessarily want to tie the knot with — you can speak quite frankly. You shall have it, even if it were a golden ring for her finger, it won’t be the end of the world. Never fear! I know just the man for you, a merchant who from the goodness of his heart has seen many a valiant German warrior march off home to the flatlands, laden with precious gifts. Be not anxious on that account! Gold is a truly devilish substance that needs looking after, and there my good friend Traugott Feitel will bend over backwards to help you. (Mendel Singer passes by. Müller greets him.) What, you didn’t recognize him? Ye gods! That was Meister Mendel of the venerable Singer family, and genial counsellor to the Emperor! But now it is surely time for you and me to repair forthwith to the hostelry. Mine host will welcome you with open arms and you shall relish the food and drink provided to tickle your palate. Come, my fainthearted friend, abandon the bane of doubt, put those melancholy blue devils to flight! They’re after you with every trap and snare imaginable and will even saddle you with the gout. They wear all sorts of disguises and they’ll catch you unawares and torment you. So, still at a loss, are you, standing there gawping? Do I look like a crank? Nay, you surmise my purse is empty? The theatre has brought me many a pretty penny, and I have earned an honest crust with songs about the war! I’m no killjoy, I only wish you well and was anxious to see you entertained, lest you were feeling down in broad daylight. Do you, a warrior, scorn the company of a poor wretch who has stayed behind? But that doesn’t signify, for I’m no skulking malingerer! I can regale you with many a rousing refrain to stiffen the sinews, straining for the start. (Sieghart passes by. Müller greets him.) What, you didn’t recognize him? Ye gods! That was Meister Sieghart, one of the best, supplies armaments and takes his cut — but say no more! So be it! Only a rogue gives more than he has, but I’ve dozens of juicy stories like that in my old kit bag. Hmm. Do you think I’ve some plot or intrigue in mind? Or that I’m a down-and-out villain up to some monkey business, a worthless coxcomb only good for idle chatter and gossip, who’ll end up deceiving you? Pshaw! What a monstrous accusation! Completely untrue! I’ve never in all my life been hypocritical or mealy mouthed, and never mischievous. I’m neither a callow youth exactly, nor a pauper, but someone with his heart in the right place, someone who makes the most of life and lets tomorrow take care of itself. For I am valiant, I can change horses in midstream, and I’m a bright young lad! (A man bends down to pick up a cigar end.) Hello there, old fellow, hope you enjoy your smoke. (Continuing) Moreover, “Loyal and upright is ever my course”, to the last breath of man and horse. Don’t contradict me, there’s no point! Let me but get a word in, and I shall sing you an air of my own making that you’ll swear was set for a fiddle. Behold, the sun is already sinking o’er the fields, its last rays greeting the toil-worn reapers plodding their weary way, or many a happy homebound hunter with his bloodied kill, each and every one with eyes fixed on his tranquil goal, the peace of home and his own fireside, where waits his faithful loving spouse and swarm of happy children. Many a wife has sat there sewing till her fingers bled, piously pondering the while on her warrior’s woes as the cold wind blows, and relieved of the duty of setting a richly laden table for him, she lovingly provides for the wider clan of his compatriots. Women and maidens of Vienna, on the banks of the ancestral river of the Nibelungs, I salute you!