I
THE POTENTATE[1]
SCENE. A tent (interior). The POTENTATE is sitting at a table listening to his COURT CHAPLAIN.
COURT CHAPLAIN (concluding his remarks). Where can we look for the Kingdom of God, Sire, if not among the German people? Consider your foes. The English are Pharisees, hypocrites. Woe to them, saith the Lord. The French are atheists. The Belgians are ignorant and priest-ridden. The Russians are sunk in mediæval superstition. As for the Italians, half are atheists and the other half idolators. Only in Germany do you find a reasonable and progressive faith, devoid of superstition, abreast of scientific thought, and of the highest ethical value. Germany then, Sire, is the Kingdom of God on earth. The Germans are the chosen people, the heirs of the promise, and let their enemies be scattered!
(The POTENTATE rises, leans forward with his hands on the table, and an expression of extreme gratification, while the CHAPLAIN stands with a smug and respectful smile on his white face.)
POTENTATE. You are right, my dear Clericus, abundantly right. Very well put indeed! Yes, Germany is the Kingdom of God, and I (drawing himself up to his full height)—I am Germany! The strength of the Lord is in my right arm, and He teaches it terrible things for the unbeliever and the hypocrite. With God I conquer! Good-night, my dear Clericus, good-night.
(CLERICUS departs with a low bow, and the POTENTATE sinks into his chair with a gesture of fatigue. Enter a GENERAL of the Headquarters Staff with telegrams.)
POTENTATE (brightening). Ha, my dear General, you have news?
GENERAL. Excellent news, Sire! On the Eastern front the Russians continue to give way. In the West a French attack has been repulsed with heavy loss, and our gallant Prussians have driven the British out of half a mile of trenches.
(At this last bit of news the POTENTATE springs to his feet with a look of joy.)
POTENTATE. A sign! My God, a sign! Pardon, General, I was thinking of a conversation that I have just had with Dr. Clericus. Come now, show me where these trenches are.
(The GENERAL produces a map, over which they pore together.)
POTENTATE. Excellent, excellent! A most valuable capture. Our losses were ...?
GENERAL. Slight, Sire.
POTENTATE. Better and better. I cannot afford to lose my good Prussians, my heroic, my invincible Prussians. To what do you attribute the success?
GENERAL. The success was due in a large measure to the perfection of the apparatus suggested a week ago by your Majesty's scientific adviser.
POTENTATE (blanching a little). Ah, then it was not a charge, eh?
GENERAL. The charge followed, Sire; but the work was already done. The defenders of the trench were already dead or dying before our heroes reached it.
POTENTATE (sinking back in his chair with his finger to his lips, and a slight frown). Thank you, General, your news is of the best. I will detain you no longer. (The GENERAL bows.) Stay! Has a counterattack been launched yet?
GENERAL. Not yet, Sire. No doubt one will be attempted to-night. Our men are prepared.
POTENTATE. Good. Bring me fresh news as soon as it arrives. Good-night, General, good-night.
(Exit GENERAL.)
(The POTENTATE sits musing for a considerable time. A slight cough is heard, and he raises his head.)
POTENTATE (slowly). Enter!
(Enter a tall figure in a long black academic gown and black clothes.)
POTENTATE (with an attempt at gaiety). Come in, my dear Sage, come in. You are welcome. (A little anxiously) You have the crystal? Good. How is the Master? Still busy devising new means of victory?
THE SAGE. My master's poor skill is always at your service, Sire. You have only to command.
POTENTATE. I know it. Now let me have the crystal. I would see if possible the scene of to-day's victory in Flanders.
(The SAGE hands him the crystal with a low bow. The POTENTATE seizes it eagerly, and gazes into it. A pause.)
POTENTATE (raising his head suddenly). Horrible, horrible!
SAGE. Sire?
POTENTATE. This last invention of your master's is inhuman!
SAGE. War is inhuman, Sire. Where a speedy end is desired, is it not kindest to be cruel?
(The POTENTATE gazes again into the crystal, but starts up immediately with a gasp of horror.)
POTENTATE. Again the same vision! Always after my victories the vision of the Crucified, with the stern reproachful eyes! Am I not the Lord's appointed instrument? What means it? Tell your master that I will have no more of his inventions. They are too diabolical! They imperil my cause!
SAGE (pointing to the crystal). Look again, Sire.
POTENTATE (gazing into the crystal, and in a low and agonized voice). Time with his scythe raised menacingly against me. (Abruptly) This is a trickery, Sirrah! Have a care! But I will not be tricked. Are my troops not brave? Are they not invincible? Can they not win by their proven valour? Who can stand against them, for the strength of the Lord is in their right hands?
(Enter GENERAL hastily)
GENERAL. Sire.... (He starts, and stops short).
POTENTATE (testily). Go on, go on. What is it?
GENERAL. Sire, the English counterattack has for the moment succeeded. Infuriated by their defeat they fought so that no man could resist them. They have regained the trenches they had lost, but we hope to attack again to-morrow, when—
POTENTATE. Enough! Leave me!
(The GENERAL withdraws, and the POTENTATE leans forward with his head on his hands.)
SAGE (commiseratingly). Apparently other troops are brave besides your own, Sire!
POTENTATE (brokenly). The cowards! The cowards! Five nations against three! Alas, my poor Prussians!
SAGE. If you will look once more into the crystal, Sire, I think you will see something that will interest you.
(The POTENTATE takes the crystal again, but without confidence.)
POTENTATE (in a slow recitative). A stricken field by night. The dead lie everywhere, German and English, side by side. But all are not dead. Some are but wounded. They help one another. Prussian and Briton help one another, with painful smiles on their white faces. What? Have they forgotten their hate? My Prussians! Can you so soon forget? I mourn for you! But who are these? White figures, vague, elusive! See, they seem to come down from above. They are carrying away the souls of my Prussians! And of the accursed English! What! One Paradise for both! Impossible! And who is that watching? He who with a smile so loving, and yet so stern ... Ah!... My God ... no!... not I....
(The POTENTATE rises with a strangled cry, and sinks into his chair a nerveless wreck. The SAGE watches coolly, with a cynical smile.)
SAGE. So, Sire, you must find room for the English in that kingdom of yours and God's! Perchance it is more catholic than we had thought!
(The POTENTATE groans.)
SAGE. Sire, you have seen some truth to-night. Is courage, is God, all on your side? Is Time on your side? Shall I go back to my master and tell him that you need no more of his inventions?
(He pauses, and glances at the POTENTATE with a look of contempt, and then turns to go. The POTENTATE looks round him with a ghastly stare.)
POTENTATE (feebly). No ... the Crucified ... Time ... Stay, stay!
(The SAGE turns with a gesture of triumph.)
(Curtain.)
Footnote 1: [(return)]
It is necessary to state that The Potentate was written before Sir James Barrie's play Der Tag appeared.