Annajanska, the Bolshevik Empress | Page 4

sculpture to design some
wonderful dresses for us. We three unbent as Mrs Siddons, Sir Joshua
Reynolds and Dr Johnson might have unbent, to devise a turn for the
Coliseum variety theatre. Not that we would set down the art of the
variety theatre as something to be condescended to, or our own art as
elephantine. We should rather crave indulgence as three novices fresh
from the awful legitimacy of the highbrow theatre.
Well, Miss McCarthy and Mr Ricketts justified themselves easily in the
glamor of the footlights, to the strains of Tchaikovsky's 1812. I fear I
did not. I have received only one compliment on my share; and that
was from a friend who said, "It is the only one of your works that is not
too long." So I have made it a page or two longer, according to my own
precept: EMBRACE YOUR REPROACHES: THEY ARE OFTEN
GLORIES IN DISGUISE.
Annajanska was first performed at the Coliseum Theatre in London on
the 21st January, 1918, with Lillah McCarthy as the Grand Duchess,
Henry Miller as Schneidekind, and Randle Ayrton as General
Strammfest.

ANNAJANSKA, THE BOLSHEVIK EMPRESS
The General's office in a military station on the east front in Beotia. An
office table with a telephone, writing materials, official papers, etc., is
set across the room. At the end of the table, a comfortable chair for the
General. Behind the chair, a window. Facing it at the other end of the
table, a plain wooden bench. At the side of the table, with its back to
the door, a common chair, with a typewriter before it. Beside the door,
which is opposite the end of the bench, a rack for caps and coats. There
is nobody in the room.
General Strammfest enters, followed by Lieutenant Schneidekind. They

hang up their cloaks and caps. Schneidekind takes a little longer than
Strammfest, who comes to the table.
STRAMMFEST. Schneidekind.
SCHNEIDEKIND. Yes, sir.
STRAMMFEST. Have you sent my report yet to the government? [He
sits down.]
SCHNEIDEKIND [coming to the table]. Not yet, sir. Which
government do you wish it sent to? [He sits down.]
STRAMMFEST. That depends. What's the latest? Which of them do
you think is most likely to be in power tomorrow morning?
SCHNEIDEKIND. Well, the provisional government was going strong
yesterday. But today they say that 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 smile and terrified by his frown. I would have died for
my Panjandrum as my father died for his father. Your toiling millions
were only too honored to receive the toes of our boots in the proper
spot for them when they displeased their betters. And now what is left
in life for me? [He relapses into his chair discouraged.] My Panjandrum
is deposed and transported to herd with convicts. The army, his pride
and glory, is paraded to hear seditious speeches from penniless rebels,
with the colonel actually forced to take the chair and introduce the
speaker. I myself am made Commander-in-Chief by my own solicitor:
a Jew, Schneidekind! a Hebrew Jew! It seems only yesterday that these
things would have been the ravings