Now, what a wonderful man the doctor was! Nobody else, in these parts, would have thought Of buying a gramophone. Let's open it. BETTINE. Yes! Yes! And we'll give father a surprise! It shall be playing a tune when he comes in! He won't be angry, will he, mumsy dear? (_BRANDER opens the package. NANKO rubs his hands in delight. They get the gramophone ready._) NANKO. Oh, this will be a merry Christmas Eve. There now--just see how this kind gentleman Has opened the package for us. Now you see The good of war. It benefits the health. Sets a man up. Look at old Peter's legs, He's a disgrace to the village, a disgrace! Nobody shoots him either, so he spoils Everything; for you know, you must admit, Bettine, that war means natural selection-- Survival of the fittest, don't you see? For instance, _I_ survive, and _you_ survive: Don't we? So Peter shouldn't spoil it all. They say that all the tall young men in France Were killed in the Napoleonic wars, So that most Frenchmen at the present day Are short and fat. Isn't that funny, Bettine? (_She laughs._) Which shows us that tall men are not required To-day. So nobody knows. Perhaps thin legs Like Peter's _may_ be useful, after all, In aeroplanes, or something. Every ounce Makes a great difference there. Nobody knows. It's natural selection. See, Bettine? Ah, now the gramophone's ready. Make it play A Christmas tune. That's what the churches do On Christmas Eve: for all the churches now, And all the tall cathedrals with their choirs, What do you think they are, Bettine? I'll tell you. I'll whisper it. _They're great big gramophones!_ (_She laughs._) Now for a Christmas tune! TARRASCH (_adjusting a record_). There's irony In your idea, my friend, that would delight The ghost of Nietzsche! Certainly, it shall play A Christmas tune. Here is the very thing. (_There is an uproar of drunken shouts in the distance._ BRANDER _locks the outer door._) BETTINE. The inn is full of drunken men to-night, Mother. D' you hear them? Mother, was it an inn Like that--the one that's in my Christmas piece? BRANDER (_to TARRASCH_). Don't do it, we've had irony enough. Don't start it playing, if you want to keep This Christmas party to ourselves, my boy. The men are mad with drink, and--other things. Look here, Tarrasch, what are we going to do About this youngster, eh? TARRASCH. Better keep quiet Till morning. When the men have slept it off They'll stand a better chance of slipping away. They're all drunk, officers and men as well. BRANDER. That's the most merciful thing that one can say. NANKO.