armies of Europe. A compromise, grotesque to
the expert, would be better here than a misleading realism._

MAKERS OF MADNESS

SCENE I

_A room in the Ministry of War in the capital of Iberia._

_Evening._

_The_ MINISTER OF WAR, _a tall, stern, bearded man with
deep-set eyes and many furrows, is sitting at a large, mahogany
desk-table, Left._

_The_ CHIEF OF STAFF, _silent, motionless and watchful, stands
beside him with his hands resting on the table-top. He is thin, old and
emaciated, clean-shaven, firm-lipped, and looks startlingly like a bird
of prey. Right, stands a group of generals and other officers._

MINISTER OF WAR

[_Rising and speaking in a sharp, crisp bass voice._

I can only repeat, gentlemen, what his Excellency, the Chief of Staff,
has already made clear to you. Nothing has been decided. You have your
orders in your pockets. There may be war and there may not be war. I
understand, gentlemen, your natural impatience once more to draw the
naked steel for the glory of our country, and you may rest assured that
his gracious majesty, the King, will not forget that his fame and the
happiness of his people rests ultimately in your hands. Personally, as a
man of family and as a Christian, I hope to God that peace may be
preserved. But if God wills that our enemy, by his insolence, forces us
to draw the sword, I know that you will wield it with honor and will not
sheathe it until our enemy is crushed, root and branch, stock and
barrel, and brought so low that he will never raise his head again in
dishonorable defiance of our holy rights.

[_The_ OFFICERS _shout with enthusiasm, lifting their helmets
in air. The_ MINISTER OF WAR _sits down again._

That is all, gentlemen.

[_With a grim smile._

But I recommend that you do not send your service uniforms to the tailor
tonight. You may have need of them.

[_There is another cheer. The_ OFFICERS _stand about in groups
a minute or so, then file out through the double-door in the centre of
the rear wall. One elderly general, only, comes up quickly to the desk._

GENERAL

[_In a rasping voice, to the_ CHIEF OF STAFF.

Delay again? Aren't we ever going to get at their throats?

CHIEF OF STAFF

We are ready. But the King!

[_He shrugs his shoulders._

The peace propagandists are after him. Mediation is the magic word.
Mediation--by which the neutral nations block our legitimate road to
victory for their own benefit, in the name