The Logical Extreme
George Soule
(The first of a series of three Dramatic Extravaganzas to be called “Plays for Irascibles.”)
General Heinrich von BuhneMarya Rudinoff
A private dining room in the General’s house in Berlin. It is decorated in black and white, and designed to impress one with the luxury of austerity. A chaotic but strong cubist bust in black onyx is at the left. The dining table, right center, is prepared for a meal. The effect of the room is that of a subtle beauty compressed and given terrific force by a military severity. There is a door at the rear and an entrance for servants at the left.
The General enters rear, followed by Marya. He is tall, with a large mustache and gray hair; his face and figure are in striking harmony with the room. A man of high intellectual quality; the lines and angles of his jaw, his mouth, his brows, are almost terrifying in their massiveness. He is in evening dress, and wears a single crimson order. Marya likewise is tall, a young woman with dark hair, and of a tense beauty. She is subtle, yet apparently lacks utterly fear and the softer qualities. She moves about with an unemphasized superiority over her surroundings. She wears a red evening gown, low cut to show her superb shoulders, yet without daring for its own sake. One feels that she would be equally at ease as a nude Greek goddess.
The General seats her at the right of the table, bows, and sits opposite her. Two servants enter with appetizers; they continue serving the dinner as the dialogue progresses.
General von Buhne(lifting his glass). To a good day’s work. (She touches hers to her lips) Fräulein Rudinoff, you are superb! I do not refer to your beauty; any dog could see that. I don’t believe in praise. But as a sculptor to his statue, allow me to say that of the many secret agents I have employed, you are the most subtly efficient—cold as ice and blazing as fire.
Marya.Please, Heinrich! I don’t believe in praise either.
General.Not even when it is for myself? But you are right. Man does not become strong until he ceases to wonder at his strength.
Marya.That is your secret, I believe.
General.My secret, Marya? I do not have secrets. A secret is something guarded, kept. My mystery, perhaps, yes. That is something which the many are incapable of discovering—even when it is flaunted in their faces.
Marya.But we flaunt nothing, you and I.
General.No, we stand for everyone to see. My enemies think you are their spy, and I—know what you are.
Marya.And so, we have them at last where your iron fist can close on them.
General.Yes, I have them, thanks to you. The poor visionary fools shall not assassinate the chancellor and blow up the churches.
Marya.You know, we women are supposed to worship the poets. Well, we do, but we are fascinated and held by men like you. I loved the comrades, but—as you see——
General.You are right, Marya. I love them, too; that is why—I crush them. (He laughs shortly.) And perhaps that is why I dominate you. It is not an effort; it is an instinct. There is something—inevitable—about our love. That, I think, is because I—am inevitable.
Marya.When I first came to you, Heinrich, I hated you. I think I do still, a little. There is always the zest of hate about the greatest love.
General.How you echo me! (A silence) Would it surprise you, my beautiful one, to know that I, like you, was once an anarchist?
Marya.You!
General.Yes, I, the bugaboo of the democrats, the great reactionary, the militarist, the apostle of repression, the fortress of the German Empire. I was once a revolutionist, and I plotted to kill your Czar!
Marya.And yet you failed!
General.I am in a whimsical mood tonight. Shall I explain to you the paradox?
Marya.Tell me!
General.When I was a young chap I was restless, full of that driving spirit all healthy youngsters have. The methodical occupations they gave me in the Fatherland disgusted me. I had money, and I traveled. So I came to Russia and took up with one of your artistic groups in an interior city—I won’t tell you which. Believe me, I was fascinated, lifted out of myself! The great, clean spirit of your intellectual anarchists, the daily dangers they thrived on, the nonchalance with which they met death or exile, their daring minds, which ripped the veil from the future, their beautiful art productions—these things carried meto the height of inspiration. They represented the highest human quality of which it was possible to dream.
Marya(covering her eyes with her hand). You have known that, too!
General.Yes, and love along with it. It was a boy-like worship. And when my beloved one went to the scaffold it burned into me a white-hot scar of fearlessness and severity I shall never lose. The love, I see now, was ephemeral; the scar is eternal.
Marya.And why did you leave them? Why did you leave them?
General.I had heard of America; I wished to go there and study the freedom we desired to create in Russia.
Marya.So you went; what then?
General.I found a country without a hereditary ruler, one rich in opportunity, where all men are theoretically equal before the law. I found a country where even the peasants read and have their magazines, a country without a state church. It was a land won from the wilderness by heroic struggle, whose freedom men had died to create, and whose unity men had died to preserve.
Marya.Did you not breathe more freely there?
General.Ah, Marya, that was the tragedy! I suffocated! For it was also a country without a poet, without a musician, without a sculptor, without a philosopher. The cities were run for loot, and the people, in whose power everything lay, could not seize the reins. And business—business—business, everywhere. As I went along the railroads I saw nothing beside the track but dirty wooden shanties in the cities, nothing in the country but ugly advertising signs. What do you think was the best paid and most highly honored profession? Advertising!
Marya.Are you lying to me!
General.No, it is the truth. Heroism, the love of beauty, the love of truth—except convenient truth—any sort of high endeavor for its own sake, was laughed at and crushed in those people by the dull weight of prosperity. That whole nation was an ugly monument to the triumph of the commonplace, a stone over the grave of godlike aspiration.
Marya.But surely they have improved since then?
General.Do you know why they put up new buildings? Because some millionaire who sells worthless things for five and ten cents wishes to make money renting offices; because some railroad or insurance company wishes to get advertising space in the papers without paying for it. Do you know why the clergymen preach honesty? So that business conditions may not be disturbed! Do you know for what purpose the magazines accept stories and articles? So that they may gain the largest possible public to offer up to their advertising men! Whenever an artist appears, he is either ignored or scoffed at by that bestial monster, themajority! It is like a prehistoric animal taking up the whole earth with his vast bulk, seizing everything beautiful for food with which to stuff his maw, and poisoning the air with the breath of his indigestion. (He rises and goes to the sideboard, where he busies himself selecting a cigar. As his back is turned, Marya quickly empties a powder into his glass. As he comes back and seats himself, she lifts her glass.)
Marya.Then let us toast Russia, General! (They drain their glasses.)
General.Would you mind telling me, Marya, how long I have to live? (He lights his cigar.) You are surprised? But that does not suit you. You should have known me better than to think I did not know what you would do when I turned my back tonight.
Marya(rising, pale): About a minute, General.
General.Then let us use the time well. Now we can be perfectly frank. Why have you—(He waves his hand in the direction of the empty glass.)
Marya.Because I am true to my cause! Because you are the scourge of Germany; you represent everything we hate, every cruelty, every oppression, every evil thing of the past. I have lived for this moment for years!
General.Ah, you are beautiful! In you is my reward! And do you renounce your love, too?
Marya.I have loved you—more than I knew how to bear. Do not think I shall live after you. And yet—I had to kill you!
General.Now I am ready to die. My work is done. I have produced the beauty I desired!
Marya.You? What do you mean?
General.You, who know how to kill what you love, can ask that? To produce the rebellion in Germany, to make heroes with the scourge—that has been my life! I, too, have lived for this moment! To be loved by a woman with a flaming soul, a woman who is greater than her love!
Marya(Springing to him as he weakens): Stay with me! Come back to me! O Heinrich, Heinrich, I have wronged you!
General.No, Marya, you would have wronged me if you had not carried your faith to its end. I—I—am the greatest anarchist of you all! (He dies. She looks at him a moment, puts her arms across her eyes, then rises and speaks levelly to the servant who enters.)
Marya.Peter, I have killed your master. No, do not be afraid, I shall sit here quietly. Lock me in, if you like, and send for the authorities. (The servant stands stupidly staring at her.) Do as I say, at once! (He tumbles out. She sits slowly at her place, her elbows on the table, looking dumbly into the distance.)
Slow curtain