How It Strikes a Contemporary
(On 28 June 1914, in the Balkan town of Sarajevo,
an attempt to assassinate a royal Austrian duke
failed miserably ... or did it? Gabriel Princips, one
of the plotters, stopped for a coffee and by chance
saw the duke, sitting in a stalled car, and shot him
dead. This triggered the First World War. Here,
the cafe owner fails to grasp the significance of
what is unfolding.)
Komm hier, Nannerl. Put down that tray. Observe.
It's thus we take the skin off warmed-up milk,
just so. But where's that little fellow gone?
The one stood there. This is his coffee. Look.
The small one, dark and oval in the face,
with piercing eyes ... I know - but will he pay?
One coffee and a madeleine he had,
and looked the type to linger for an hour.
How strange! Go, look. He might be on the street.
Some twenty years, a feeble black moustache.
No, not the corner door - look out the side.
A Slav, of course a Slav! No manly Teuton
would leave by side-street exit. Go and see!
It's typical of them. I know them well.
My name's not Moritz Schiller if I lie.
They're children - so impulsive, petulant -
incapable of seeing anything through.
That's why they need us. Isn't it obvious?
We're like the English, it's our Ireland,
we're here to civilize them. At what cost?
I'd rather train a cat. They're sulky, dull,
perpetually ungrateful ... what was that?
Good God, such noise! You'd think a war was starting,
or the crack of Judgement Day. Nannerl, was gibt?
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