THE MINISTER. But all this will embroil us with our neighbours. . . . It means new alliances, increased armaments. It may end in a European war .. . .

PROFESSOR.

Unless, Excellency, it be made to coincide

with a European war

...

GENERAL. It is the simplest way of enlarging our military effectives without raising our own conscription to five years. PRELATE. It is the simplest way of giving additional souls to Christ.

IST MANUFACTURER. It is the only way to save the beetroot-sugar industry.

2ND MANUFACTURER. And the iron and steel industry. 3RD MANUFACTURER. And the cotton industry.

THE MINISTER. Not so fast! It isn't my business, you know. I am a man of peace! I can only undertake to lay your suggestions before my colleagues in some future Cabinet Council.

PROFESSOR. Pray remember, Excellency, that these negroes are Brachycephalous, and that their monolithic monuments proclaim them to have originally belonged, if not to our race, at all events to our Stone Age culture.

IST MANUFACTURER. It may be more to the point if your Excellency will lay before your colleagues of the Cabinet that, not only our shareholders have votes, but, thanks to the progress of democracy in our enlightened country, every one of our thousands of operatives enjoys the same privilege. And if our industries, and especially our sugar industry

2ND MANUFACTURER.

3RD MANUFACTURER.

IST MANUFACTURER.

And our steel industry

And our cotton industry

Are not provided with a new

débouché protected by our flag from alien competition, why, all those millions of votes will go to the Socialists!

THE MINISTER (hurriedly). I will give your message, gentlemen. (The band plays.)

The gramophone wheezes.

THE MUSE. De-lightful!

SATAN smiles, and inserts a new disc.

SATAN. I'm so pleased you like it so far. We're now coming to something more mouvementé, as you would say, dear Clio. The cinema represents a palace garden full of allegorical statues and triumphal arches. A Monarch is walking up and down in company with two or three Generals. An Equerry presents a telegram to the Monarch, who, after opening it negligently, gives a tremendous start.

IST VOICE. Good God! Nein! unglaublich! Gentlemen, of what do you think that this despatch acquaints me? My venerable cousin's young cousin, the Heir-Apparent of the most Ancient and most Christian Empire of Felix-Nube, has just been murdered near the railway station of a small town in a disaffected district he was graciously visiting.

SEVERAL VOICES. What! Prince Balthasar-Augustin? The hope of Felix-Nube? Murdered! Dead! Your Majesty does not say so!

IST VOICE (much distressed). Murdered! Shot dead with his-although, of course, only morganatic-Consort. The heir of so great a Monarchy! Good Lord! Good Lord, gentlemen, what-what, I ask you--WHAT is this world coming to?

2ND VOICE (bluntly). Coming to, your Majesty? Why, to the very thing most urgently needed for the world's moral salvation!

3RD VOICE. This truly regrettable and most atrociously criminal event may yet-once we have brought our tribute of tears to the noble and lamented Prince-may yet-I say it

F

subject to the All Highest's correction-turn out the greatest stroke of luck your Empire has had for many years.

IST VOICE (extremely perturbed). Luck? Have you no sense of moral fitness, my dear General? Don't you understand that it is a Prince who has been murdered ?- -a Crown Prince, a member of one of the most august and sacred reigning families, an Heir-Apparent, almost on the steps of a throne. Moreover, my first cousin. Alas, alas! that heaven should have been pleased to send us to live in these godless democratic days!

3RD VOICE. Undoubtedly a dreadful trial for all rightminded and pious men! But your Majesty's grief should not blind the All Highest's perspicacious eyes to the fact that this providentially timed crime affords the opportunity of making an end, once and for always, to all this unmanly and dangerous democratic twaddle.

IST VOICE. General, what do you mean? You seem shockingly insensible to the horror of political assassination.

2ND VOICE (solemnly). The medicine for political assassination, and for all Socialistic and irreligious unrest, your Majesty, is the ancient purge and tonic vouchsafed by Heaven for a sickly world: War!

The gramophone wheezes.

THE MUSE. Capital! First-rate!

The cinema shows a veranda by the riverside. People in flannels at lunch, also ladies.

IST VOICE. I really must tell you and our si spirituelle hostess a very funny thing which occurred this morning. It is really unheard-of and most amusing, and confirms all our opinions of certain persons. Well, then, at ten o'clock, while I was finishing my déjeuner à l'anglaise, who should come but my secretary, with a face a yard long, to tell me that six

months ago you had made a naval engagement with our amiable common neighbours. I told him he must be dreaming, for my Government had never told me a word about it. Or is it possible that my enemies have left me in the dark on purpose? Do tell me!

2ND VOICE (laughing immoderately). That is a good joke! That old story! You are to be congratulated on your secretary, my dear Excellency. Why, it's in Hansard! There was a question in the House, and I duly answered it. Now I want you to try this vulgar beverage which is sacred to riverparties in this country. It is called Shandy-gaff!

IST VOICE. Shandy-gaff! Ah, so! This is Shandy-gaff which I have read about in your great novelist Dickens. Do let me taste it! You know I adore all local customs, everything that has the goût du terroir

...

The gramophone wheezes. The cinema represents an Imperial wardrobe, with rows and rows of different uniforms hanging in open presses. The Monarch is walking up and down, attended by his staff and by an Ambassador in mutton-chop whiskers. The Monarch occasionally stops and pulls out the sleeve or trouser-leg of one of the uniforms and looks at it very gravely.

IST VOICE. Why, I have kept Europe at peace for twentyfive years.

2ND VOICE (THE AMBASSADOR). The very reason, so please your Majesty, for not keeping Europe at peace a twenty-sixth. Let me implore your Majesty not to become imbued with those pacifist illusions which, however creditable to the idealism of your Imperial heart, merely prevent your Majesty seeing the real dangers of the present situation. The great White Bear...

IST VOICE. Dear old Nikky! Now that's a pacifist and idealist, if you like! (Laughs.) There's nothing to fear from his side. His family and mine have always adored each other

au fond; and, after all, we, and of course your venerable Master of Felix-Nube, are the only real Monarchs still left in the world.

2ND VOICE. Your Majesty's dear Nikky may adore you as much as you choose, but it's different with us in Felix-Nube. His entourage is bent upon breaking up our Monarchy for the benefit of his little vassals.

IST VOICE. Allons done! My dear Ambassador! Why, Nikky's entourage is composed of monks and archimandrites.

2ND VOICE. And behind these are his Heads of Police, who know that the only way of staving off a new and final revolution-your Majesty knows there is a general strike threatened in Hyperborea-is to embark upon a Holy War.

IST VOICE. Not a bad idea, either. It might be the way to stop all these confounded Socialists. Though, of course, dear Excellency, I have only to say a word, and all my Socialists will recognize that I represent all that is sane and practical in Socialism. They would all rally round my victorious, and in all essentials eminently modern and progressive, banner.

2ND VOICE. No doubt, no doubt. But if your Majesty will allow me to return to my previous remark, your country and mine are encircled by enemies, and there can be no doubt that the great White Bear . . . Then there is our amiable Cisalpine ally getting a little tired of its famous tour de valse with your Majesty, and making eyes at partners on the other side!

IST VOICE. Yes, the ungrateful little baggage! And we who have given it one province after another and enabled it to have a far better army and navy than it ever wanted! All the same, our dear little Machiavels know which side their bread is buttered, and my Cisalpine cousin has just made me a Colonel of his Hundred Halberdiers. Here, you see, is the uniform, not quite worthy of the ancient artistic fame of that country; when I think what a design for a helmet, real Renaissance, but quite practical, I could have made them!