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 of a madman: today they are
the commonplaces of the gutter press. I live now for three
objects only: to defeat the enemy, to restore the Panjandrum, and