Died.
YOUNG EDWARD kneeling:
God grant us mercy at this hour
That our house pay not these sins.
And God grant us too
Our house be not tainted
From its mother’s womb.
A Respectable Wedding
Translator: JEAN BENEDETTI
Characters
The bride’s father ‧ The bridegroom’s mother ‧ The bride ‧ Her sister ‧ The bridegroom ‧ His friend ‧ The wife ‧ Her husband ‧ The young man
A whitewashed room with a large rectangular table in the middle. A red paper lantern over it. Nine plain, wide wooden armchairs. Against the back wall, right, a sofa. Left, a cupboard. A curtained door between them. Upstage left, a low coffee table and two chairs. Left, a door; right, a window. Tables, chairs, and cupboard are in unpolished natural wood. It is evening. The red lamp is alight. The wedding guests are at the table, eating.
MOTHER serving: Here comes the cod.
Murmurs of approval.
FATHER: That reminds me of a story.
BRIDE: Eat up, Dad. You always come off worst.
FATHER: Just you wait for it. Your poor old uncle – the one who was at my confirmation; but never mind, that’s another story – anyway, there we all were, eating fish, when he suddenly choked – you have to look out for those damned bones, you know – anyway, he choked and started floundering about and flapping his feet and hands all over the place.
MOTHER: Take the tail, Jacob.
FATHER: Floundering about and going blue in the face like a carp; and then he knocked over a wineglass and scared the wits out of us; so we thumped him on the back and pummelled him this way and that way, and he spat the whole lot out all over the table. Nobody could eat any more after that – which was fine for us; we ate it up outside later; it was my confirmation after all – anyway, he spat the whole lot out over the table, and when we’d got him straightened up again he said in his splendid deep voice – he had a good bass voice, belonged to a choral society – anyway, he said …
MOTHER: Well, how’s the fish? Can’t somebody say something?
FATHER: Excellent. Anyway, he said …
MOTHER: You haven’t had any yet.
T
FATHER: I’m eating it now. Anyway, he said …
MOTHER: Take some more, Jacob.
BRIDE: Mother, Father’s telling a story.
FATHER: No, thanks. Anyway, to get back to the cod, well, he said: I nearly choked that time, kids. And it quite spoiled the meal.
Laughter.
GROOM: Damn good.
YOUNG MAN: He knows how to tell a story all right.
SISTER: Yes, and now I can’t eat any more fish.
GROOM: Cows don’t eat fish; they’re vegetarian.
WIFE: I say, isn’t the lamp ready yet?
BRIDE: You don’t use a knife for fish, you know, Ina.
HUSBAND: Lamps are vulgar. I like it like this.
SISTER: It gives a more romantic light.
WIFE: Yes, but there isn’t any.
FRIEND: It’s a good light for cod.
YOUNG MAN to sister: Would you say so? Are you romantically inclined?
SISTER: Oh yes, very. I do so love Heine. He has such a sweet face.
FATHER: Died of consumption of the spine.
YOUNG MAN: That’s a terrible illness to have.
FATHER: Old Weber’s uncle’s brother had it. It was frightening to hear him talk about it. Kept you awake at night. For instance, he told us …
BRIDE: Really, Father, it’s too nasty.
FATHER: What?
BRIDE: Consumption of the spine.
MOTHER: Is that all right for you, Jacob?
WIFE: And on the one night you don’t want to be kept awake!
FRIEND to groom: Cheers, old chap.
GROOM: Cheers, everyone.
They drink.
SISTER to young man, sot to voce: What a time to pick.
YOUNG MAN: Do you feel it’s not fitting? They talk quietly together.
WIFE: Smells nice in here.
FRIEND: Out of this world.
MOTHER: The groom stood us half a bottle of eau-de-Cologne.
YOUNG MAN: Smashing smell. Talks quietly to the girl.
WIFE: Did you really make all the furniture yourself, the cupboard and all?
BRIDE: Every bit. My husband planned it, made the drawings, bought the wood, planed it all down, and glued it together, and it really looks quite nice.
FRIEND: It looks marvellous. I only wonder how you found the time.
GROOM: Evenings, quite often in the lunch hour, but mostly first thing in the morning.
BRIDE: He got up at five every day. And worked.
FATHER: It’s a good bit of work. I always said I’d set them up with furniture. But he wouldn’t have it. It was the same story with Johnny Segmuller. You know; he had …
BRIDE: He wanted to do the whole thing himself. Later on we’ll show you the rest of the furniture.
WIFE: Let’s hope it’ll last.
BRIDE: Longer than you or any of us lot. When you think what went into it. He even made his own glue.
GROOM: You can’t trust that rubbish you get in the shops.
HUSBAND: It’s a very good idea. Things become part of you then. You take better care of them. To his wife: A pity you couldn’t have made ours.
WIFE: Me, of course; not you. That’s him all over.
HUSBAND: I didn’t mean it that way. And you know it.
FATHER: That story about Johnny Segmuller is pretty funny.
BRIDE: I can never see anything funny in your stories.
SISTER: Don’t be so rude, Maria.
GROOM: I think Father tells a wonderful story.
FRIEND: First-rate. Specially the way you make sure we don’t miss the point.
BRIDE: They’re too long.
GROOM: Rubbish.
FRIEND: Concise. Simple. Artistic.
WIFE: And anyway, there’s plenty of time.
MOTHER enters: Here’s the sweet.
FATHER: I could tell it you quite quickly, in just a few words, six or seven sentences perhaps, not more …
FRIEND: Smells like ambrosia.
MOTHER: It’s pudding with whipped cream.
FRIEND: I’ve about got to my limit.
MOTHER: That’s your one, Jacob. Don’t take too much cream, though. There’s not quite enough to go round. I hope you all like it.
SISTER: I’m mad about whipped cream.
YOUNG MAN: Really?
SISTER: Yes. What you have to do is cram your mouth full of it. Makes you feel as if you hadn’t any teeth.
GROOM: More cream, Father?
FATHER: Go easy. You know, Johnny Segmuller always used to say …
BRIDE: Cream’s good. Mother, you must let me have the recipe.
GROOM: She’ll never cook as well as you, Mother.
MOTHER: It’s got three eggs in it.
BRIDE: Oh well, if you’re going to be extravagant.
SISTER: Of course you must. And beat them stiff. Or nothing’ll come of it.
WIFE: Must be stiff.
FRIEND giggles and chokes: Stiff, ha ha ha, that’s, ha ha ha, very good … Must be stiff, excellent … otherwise, ha ha ha, nothing’ll come, ha ha ha, really excellent… ha ha ha. As nobody else laughs he stops suddenly and quickly falls on his food.
GROOM thumping him on the back: Hey, what’s the matter with you?
SISTER: They must be stiff.
FRIEND starts up again: Very good! Excellent! I won’t hear a word against being stiff.
FATHER: Eggs, yes. Your poor old mother once gave me one for a journey. I asked her if it was hard-boiled. ‘As a rock,’ she said. Well, I took her word for it and packed the egg. I wasn’t even …
BRIDE: Cream please, Father.
FATHER: There you are. I wasn’t even …
WIFE archly: Did you make the beds yourself too?
GROOM: Y
es. I used walnut.
BRIDE: They look very nice.
SISTER: A bit on the wide side, I’d say.
WIFE: That comes of making them yourself.
HUSBAND: You haven’t even seen them.
FATHER: I’d got some good beds I was going to let you have.
Heirlooms, they are. Valuable antiques. Solidly made too.
FRIEND: Ah, people knew what they were up to in those days.
YOUNG MAN: Yes, but they weren’t the same people.
FATHER: Other heads, other beds, as Fritz Forst used to say, and he was a funny chap if you like. For instance, he came into church once just as the parson was …
MOTHER enters: Now for the cake. Maria, you’ll have to help me fetch the wine.
GROOM: And we’ll sluice it all down.
FATHER: Wait a minute; there’s a story about flush lavatories. I must just tell you that. When they were first brought in …
GROOM: Have a sup of wine first, Father. It oils the tongue.
The wine is poured.
FRIEND: Fine colour; you only have to see it. And the bouquet!
MOTHER: You two seem to have a lot to say to each other.
SISTER starting back: What, us? Oh, nothing special. He was just saying …
HUSBAND to young man: Why do you keep treading on my foot? You’ve been doing it for the last three minutes. What do you take me for, a harmonium?
YOUNG MAN: I’m sorry. I thought …
HUSBAND: Oh yes, you thought. Thinking’s all very well. But you don’t think with your feet.
MOTHER: Where’s your glass, Jacob?
WIFE: Better have a drink instead of uttering your pearls of wisdom. Wisdom, my God! You usually drink like a fish. Silence.
FRIEND: You were telling us about those heirlooms when you were interrupted.
FATHER: Oh yes, the beds. Thank you. Thank you very much. More than one member of the family has died in them, Maria.
GROOM: Just now, Father, we’d like to toast the living. Cheers.
ALL: Cheers.
HUSBAND gets to his feet: My dear friends.
WIFE: If you want them to stay your friends you’d better sit down.
The husband sits.
FRIEND: Go on. Your wife was only joking.
WIFE: He wouldn’t know a joke if he saw one.
HUSBAND: I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.
The young man gets to his feet.
WIFE: Pssst!
MOTHER: Jacob, do up your waistcoat. Where are your manners? At this moment the church bells outside start ringing.
SISTER: The bells, Herr Mildner. It’s the right moment for your speech.
FRIEND: Listen to that. A wonderful sound. Sort of awe-inspiring.
SISTER to groom, who is eating: Pssst!
BRIDE: Let him finish his meal.
YOUNG MAN standing up very straight: When two young people enter into matrimony – she a pure young bride, him a man matured in all the storms of life – then they say the angels sing in Heaven. When the bride – he turns to her - looks back at the happy times of her childhood she may perchance experience a few slight feelings of regret, for she is stepping out into the world, a hostile world – the bride snivels – with this well-tested man at her side, who has made a home, literally with his own hands in this case, and who will endure joy and sorrow with the bride his heart has chosen. And so let us drink to the happiness of these two, who today will belong to one another for the first time – the wife laughs – and thenceforward for all eternity. And also let us, in their honour, sing ‘It must be a Wondrous Thing’ by Liszt. He starts singing, but as nobody joins in he stops. Silence.
FRIEND sotto voce: None of us know it. That was a good speech, though.
SISTER: First class. Just like a book.
HUSBAND: Page 85. For weddings. He’s got it word perfect.
WIFE: You ought to be ashamed.
HUSBAND: What, me?
WIFE: Yes, you.
FRIEND: Splendid wine.
The bells stop ringing.
All relax.
FATHER: Yes, well, I was telling you about the bed.
BRIDE: We’ve heard all about that.
FATHER: About how your great-uncle Augustus died?
BRIDE: Of course.
GROOM: How did great-uncle Augustus die exactly?
FATHER: No. You spoiled my story about the eggs, and then the one about the lavatory, which is a good one, and the Forst story on top of that – not to mention the one about Johnny Segmüller, because it really is a bit long, well not more than ten minutes, I suppose; perhaps I might later … Anyhow …
MOTHER: Fill their glasses, Jacob.
FATHER: Uncle Augustus died of dropsy.
HUSBAND: Cheers.
FATHER: Cheers. Dropsy. First it was just his feet, only the toes actually, then it was up to his knee in the time it takes to start a baby, and the whole thing had gone black. His belly was all swollen, and although they drained it off as best they could …
HUSBAND: Cheers.
FATHER: Cheers … although they drained it off it was too late. Then there was the trouble with his heart, and that brought it all to a head. There he lay in the bed I was going to give you, groaning like an elephant, and looking like one too, the legs anyway. Then his sister, your grandmother, when it began to look like the end – it was around dawn, anyway there was grey light coming into the room; come to think of it I believe the same curtains are still up there – anyway, she said, ‘Augustus, do you want a priest?’ He didn’t say a thing, just stared up at the ceiling – which he’d been doing for seven weeks, actually, ever since he’d been forced to give up lying on his side – and said, ‘It’s my foot mostly.’ Then he groaned once more. But Mother, she wasn’t going to give up, because she felt there was a soul at stake, so she let a good half hour go by and said, ‘Do you want a priest, then, Augustus?’ But Uncle didn’t listen, and Father, who was standing there, said to her, ‘Let him alone. He’s in pain.’ Father was always very soft-hearted. But she wasn’t having any, because of his soul, and you know how obstinate women are, so she started up again: ‘Augustus, it’s for your immortal soul.’ Then, Father told us later, Uncle looked away from the wall to the left where she was standing, so he had to look skew-eyed, and then he said something which I can’t repeat here. It was something pretty crude, like Uncle Augustus always was. I don’t think I can … but then the story … I’ll have to say it, or the story won’t make sense. He said, ‘You can stuff …’ well, you know where. Well, as you can imagine, it was an effort to say that, and he died. I guarantee it’s true. The bed’s still there; I’ll pack it up ready for you and you can take it away. Drinks.
Silence.
SISTER: I don’t feel thirsty any more.
FRIEND: You shouldn’t take it that way. Cheers. It’s just a good story, that’s all.
BRIDE quietly to the groom: Well, I do think he might have spared us that vulgar rubbish.
GROOM: Oh, if it makes him happy.
YOUNG MAN: I think that’s a marvellous lighting arrangement.
MOTHER: Don’t use a knife on your cake, Jacob.
FATHER: How about our having a peep at your furniture?
BRIDE: All right.
FRIEND: It’s great, having those extra wide chairs. Room enough for two.
WIFE: The legs are a bit thin.
YOUNG MAN: Thin legs: that’s very classy.
WIFE: Who told you that?
MOTHER: Jacob, can’t you eat your cake with your fingers?
WIFE gets up and walks round the room: So that’s the sofa. It’s wide enough, but this kind of upholstery on top isn’t very practical. Still, seeing that you made it yourself …
BRIDE stands up: Don’t you think the cupboard’s pretty? Specially the inlay work. I don’t know; most people seem to have no feeling for that sort of thing. They just pay a bit of money for a bit of furniture, no soul or anything, merely in order to have a bit of furniture. But w
e’ve got our own things. Our own sweat’s gone into them, we love them, because we made them ourselves.
HUSBAND: Come and sit down, woman.
WIFE: What’s that supposed to mean? I want to see inside.
HUSBAND: You don’t go looking into other people’s cupboards.
WIFE: All I meant was – but then you always know better, don’t you? All right, then. The cupboard’s nothing special from the outside – people don’t have that kind of inlay work now; they have glass doors with coloured curtains – but it might be quite good inside, and that’s what I wanted to see.
HUSBAND: All right, all right; now just sit down.
WIFE: Oh, we’ve started talking like that, have we? You’ve had too much to drink again. I’m going to water it down, as your head’s so weak.
GROOM: Go ahead if you want to look inside; I’m only too glad it interests you. Here’s the key. Open it up, Maria.
BRIDE: I don’t know … Sure this is the right key? It won’t turn.
GROOM: Give it here; it’s just a knack. I put the lock in myself too. Tries it. Shit! The bastard. Angrily. Bugger it!
BRIDE: There you are, you can’t open it either.
GROOM: Perhaps somebody tried to force it. It beats me.
WIFE: Perhaps it’s not all that special inside. So why bother? It’s certainly a business getting the lock on this cupboard open. That’s something to be said against it.
HUSBAND threateningly: You come and sit down. That’s enough of that.
SISTER: Oh no, now we’re on our feet, why don’t we dance?
YOUNG MAN: Yes, let’s. We can push the table back.
GROOM: Dance, that’s a good idea. But where’s the music to come from?
FRIEND: I can play the guitar. It’s in the hall. Goes and fetches it.
All stand. The father and the husband go left and sit. They smoke. The groom and the young man lift the table and carry it to the right.
YOUNG MAN: Careful how you put it down.
GROOM: Don’t bother. It’s got to take some knocks. Puts it down heavily. One leg goes askew. Now let’s dance.
YOUNG MAN: Look, one of the legs has gone. You shouldn’t have put it down so hard.
BRIDE: What has gone?
GROOM: Nothing that matters. Let’s start dancing.
BRIDE: Why can’t you look out what you’re doing?
WIFE: Think of all that sweat that went into it. Proper glue might have been better.
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 1 Page 26