Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 4

by Bertolt Brecht

  But for the Sickle, ’twould be a different tale.

  VICEROY:

  The Sickle’s here to stay.

  MISSENA:

  They could be smashed.

  VICEROY:

  By whom? If you can find a man for that,

  I swear I’ll give you all the power you need

  And delegate authority.

  MISSENA:

  I know

  One man who’d only be too glad.

  VICEROY forcefully:

  Not him.

  No. Once and for all, I won’t have him.

  Pause.

  Besides, you overestimate the Sickle!

  MISSENA:

  I fear that I’ve upset you, sire. Perhaps

  My lord would care to be alone awhile.

  I’m sure you’ll chance upon some course of action.

  VICEROY:

  Until tomorrow then …

  MISSENA makes to go:

  I’ll take my leave.

  To the audience:

  Good sense, it seems, cannot persuade my master,

  I’ll scare him with a sign that bodes disaster!

  He pauses by the door. Suddenly he takes a red pencil and quickly draws something on the wall.

  But wait, what’s this?

  VICEROY:

  What is it?

  MISSENA:

  Nothing.

  VICEROY:

  But …

  Why do you stare so?

  MISSENA:

  Me, stare?

  VICEROY:

  Yes, you.

  You’re trembling.

  He gets up.

  MISSENA:

  Please, my lord, it’s nothing really. Nothing.

  VICEROY:

  Stand aside!

  MISSENA:

  My lord, I can’t

  Imagine how this dreadful symbol got here!

  The Viceroy is devastated to see a huge sickle on the wall.

  VICEROY:

  It’s come to this. In my own palace chambers …

  Pause.

  Perhaps I should withdraw a while to think,

  To ponder on … Suddenly: I’ll delegate my powers.

  MISSENA:

  Oh careful, sire!

  Pause.

  To whom?

  VICEROY:

  So you agree?

  All right. To whom?

  MISSENA:

  It must be someone who

  Can cow the peasants. While the Sickle still

  Holds sway there’s little chance of war, that’s sure.

  They’re scum with no desire to pay their way.

  But traders, craftsmen, servants of the state,

  In other words: your upright citizens

  Believe the peasants can’t contribute more.

  They’re all for property, and yet they balk

  At kicking naked hunger in the face.

  The rebel spirit of the farmers can

  Be broken only by a man who has

  Little concern but to uphold the state,

  A selfless soul – or known at least as such.

  There’s one …

  VICEROY irritably:

  Just spit it out then: Iberin.

  MISSENA:

  The man is of the middle class himself,

  He’s neither landed gent nor tenant farmer,

  Not rich nor poor. What’s more, he’s quite against

  The very notion of a war between

  The classes. To him both rich and poor are base

  Materialists. And he demands, for rich

  And poor alike, justice in equal measure.

  It’s his opinion that our sad decline

  Is of the spirit.

  VICEROY:

  Uhuh. Of the spirit.

  And what’s with … ?

  He gestures as if counting out money.

  MISSENA:

  A side effect.

  VICEROY:

  I see.

  And what, pray, has provoked this ‘sad decline’?

  MISSENA:

  My lord, the cause of that is Iberin’s

  Great discovery!

  VICEROY:

  A true Columbus!

  MISSENA:

  Quite!

  His explanation has two legs.

  VICEROY:

  Has what?

  MISSENA:

  Two legs. Iberin knows, the common people

  Have little fondness for abstraction, and

  Are eager to discover blame for our

  Financial woes in some familiar cause,

  With mouth and ears and arms and legs, in short

  A person we might meet on any street.

  VICEROY:

  And has your man discovered such a scapegoat?

  MISSENA:

  He has.

  VICEROY:

  And we’re not it?

  MISSENA:

  Indeed we’re not.

  The man’s discovered that Yahoo has two

  Quite separate races, living side by side,

  Who even outwardly are quite distinct.

  The key is in the shape of people’s skulls:

  One race has rounded heads, the others pointed,

  And each head has a corresponding soul:

  The blunt bespeaks blunt wholesome honesty,

  The pointed points to sharp and cunning minds

  Inclined to calculation and deceit.

  The one race, with the rounded skulls, are called,

  Says Iberin, the Zaks, and they have been

  A part of Yahoo’s healthy blood and soil

  Right from the dawn of immemorial time.

  The others – those with pointed heads, you follow –

  Are foreign interlopers in our land,

  They’re called the Ziks, they have no proper home.

  It’s Zikkish spirit, so says Iberin,

  That bears the blame for all this country’s ills.

  And that, my lord, is Iberin’s whole theory.

  VICEROY:

  A pretty tale. But tell me, what’s the point?

  MISSENA:

  Instead of class war cleaving rich from poor

  There’s war between the Zaks and Ziks.

  VICEROY:

  Ahah.

  Not bad.

  MISSENA:

  Justice for all, that’s Iberin’s

  Proud slogan, regardless whether rich or poor.

  He’ll gladly castigate the rich as well,

  If they should dare step out of line. Why then

  He speaks of ‘Zikkish impudence’.

  VICEROY:

  Really,

  Zikkish impudence! … But seriously,

  What does he have to say about the rents?

  MISSENA:

  He doesn’t talk about such things. Or only

  Vaguely. Yet he’s keen in his defence

  Of ‘Zakkish pride in property’.

  The Viceroy smiles. Missena smiles too.

  VICEROY:

  That’s good!

  Step out of line – and you’re a Zik, take pride

  In what is yours – a Zak! And who’s behind him?

  MISSENA:

  His main support is petty bourgeoisie,

  The little businessmen, the guilds, officials,

  The lower folk with higher education,

  The pensioners. In short: the middle class.

  They’re all behind his Iberin Alliance

  Which, by the way, is said to be well armed.

  If anyone can smash the Sickle, he can.

  VICEROY:

  We’d better keep the army out of this.

  No tanks or soldiers ever won us votes.

  MISSENA:

  Iberin doesn’t need the army.

  VICEROY:

  That’s good.

  I’ll delegate authority at once.

  The night is passed and jocund day is dawning,

  And we’re resolved: we’ll test his mettle, see
<
br />   What he can do – for us. Go fetch the man.

  MISSENA rings:

  He’s here already, he’s been waiting hours

  Across the hall.

  VICEROY startled:

  Of course, I should have known

  Your skill and foresight. Wait! The Big Five!

  Are they behind him? Without them he’s lost.

  MISSENA:

  ’Twas one of them who brought him here. What’s more

  They fund him secretly.

  VICEROY signs the decree, puts on hat and coat, takes up his stick:

  Then I must needs

  Be off, retreat a while from worldly cares,

  With just some traveller’s cheques for sustenance.

  Perhaps I’ll take a book or two, there’s some

  I’ve waited years to read. I’ll drift a bit,

  And mingle with the careless bustling throng,

  I’ll contemplate the patchwork of the streets,

  Enjoy the spectacle of life. And as

  I rest my weary legs I’ll witness all

  The silent changes of this moon.

  MISSENA:

  Meanwhile,

  Either the Sickle triumphs here in Luma,

  Or else …

  With a grand gesture towards the door:

  Señor Iberin!

  At a signal from the shabby clerk, the man waiting in the antechamber has risen. As he steps through the portals he takes a deep bow.

  2

  A BACKSTREET IN THE OLD TOWN

  Outside Madame Cornamontis’s coffeehouse the girls are raising a large white flag with a portrait of Iberin. Down below Madame Cornamontis is directing operations. With her are a police inspector and a court clerk, both barefoot and in rags. A grocer’s shop on the left still has its shutters down. In front of the tobacco shop stands the tobacconist Palmosa reading the newspaper. In an upstairs window of the house a man is shaving: the landlord Callamassi. In front of another grocery store, on the right, stand a fat woman and a soldier of Iberin’s militia, wearing a white armband and a large straw hat and armed to the teeth. They are all watching the raising of the flag. In the distance the sound of marching troops can just be heard, and the newspaper sellers’ cries: ‘Get your copies here, the new Governor’s proclamation!’

  MADAME CORNAMONTIS: Push the pole out a bit further, so the wind can catch the cloth. And a little more to the side! She demonstrates with large gestures how the flag should hang.

  NANNA: More to the left, more to the right, you’re the boss!

  POLICE INSPECTOR: So Madame Cornamontis, you’re a businesswoman, what do you think about this latest turn?

  CORNAMONTIS: I’m flying the flag aren’t I, that says it all. And you can depend on it, I shan’t be employing any more Zikkish girls here. She sits herself down on a wicker chair in front of her house and begins to read the newspaper, like everybody else.

  CALLAMASSI shaving himself in the window: This day, the eleventh of September, it’ll go down in history! He looks at his flag. It cost a tidy sum, that.

  PALMOSA: Do you think it’ll come to war? Our Gabriel has just turned twenty.

  IBERIN SOLDIER: Whatever gives you that idea? Nobody wants war. Señor Iberin is a friend of peace, like he’s a friend of the people. Why, only this morning everything to do with the military was pulled out of the city. On Señor Iberin’s express instructions. Do you see any tin-hats? They’ve left the streets to us, completely, the Iberin Militia.

  PALMOSA: It says here in the newspaper, Iberin, who’s such a good friend of the people, only seized power in order to call a halt to the increasing oppression of the poorer elements in our society.

  SOLDIER: Yes, and that’s a fact.

  FAT WOMAN, the owner of the grocery store on the right: Well then he should look to it first that there aren’t two grocers right next door on such a little street, where there’s scarcely business for one. To my mind that shop over there is quite superfluous.

  CLERK: Believe me, Inspector, if the new government can’t provide some relief for us civil servants I shan’t dare show my face at home on the first of the month.

  INSPECTOR: My truncheon’s so rotten, one good blow to a pointy head and it would crumble to pieces. And as for my whistle, which I might always need to summon reinforcements if I’m in a corner, well, it’s been rusted up for months. He tries to whistle. Do you hear anything?

  CLERK shakes his head: Yesterday I was forced to requisition some whitewash from a worker’s bucket over at the building site, just so as I could whiten my collar. So Inspector, do you really think we’ll get paid next month?

  INSPECTOR: I’m so sure of it, this morning I’m going to treat myself to a cigar from Señor Palmosa.

  They both go into the tobacco shop.

  CALLAMASSI gestures at the clerk and inspector: The best thing is, now the civil service will get pruned a bit. There are far too many of them, and they get paid too well.

  CORNAMONTIS: That’s a fine thing to say to your tenants! That you want to ‘prune’ their last remaining customers.

  SOLDIER: What do you say to my new boots? These are standard issue now! He reads out to the landlord and the fat woman: ‘The very manner of Iberin’s seizure of power tells us much about the man. In the middle of the night, when Government House was sleeping, he forced his way in with a handful of fearless companions and demanded at pistol point to speak to the Viceroy. According to reliable sources, there was a short exchange, after which he simply deposed him. The Viceroy himself is believed to be on the run.’

  FAT WOMAN: In that case it’s all the more surprising that here in this street, where all the houses are showing the flag, there’s just the one house where they haven’t bothered. She points to the grocer’s opposite.

  SOLDIER shocked: You’re right, he hasn’t got a flag. He looks at them, one by one. They all shake their heads. Perhaps we should offer a little help, what do you say?

  FAT WOMAN: The man’s got no use for it. He’s a Zik, you know.

  SOLDIER: The cheek of it! In that case, Mrs Tomaso, we’ll teach the bastard how to celebrate Iberin’s inauguration. Here come some of my colleagues. These are the Hatsos, the dreaded Hats-Off Brigade, run by Zazarante the Bloody, Commander of the Holy Cross. But don’t you worry! They’ll take a look under your hats, but as long as they don’t find a pointed head they can be real gentlemen. There are cries of: ‘Hats off! Head Inspection!’ The three Hatsos come into the street. They knock the hat off a passer-by.

  FIRST HATSO: I do declare, sir, you’ve lost your hat.

  SECOND HATSO: Quite a wind today, eh?

  PASSER-BY: I’m terribly sorry.

  HATSOS: Don’t mention it!

  FAT WOMAN: Gentlemen! Officer Head Inspector, sir! If you want to see a real Pointed Head, I mean a really nasty sharp one, just knock on the door of the grocer’s over there!

  SOLDIER reporting: A Zikkish grocer, sir. Shows his disrespect for the Iberin Government by refusal to show the flag.

  A Zik, very pale, comes out of the shop with a ladder and a flag. They all watch him.

  FIRST HATSO: I don’t believe it. He’s hanging out a flag!

  SECOND HATSO: The Iberin flag in the greasy paws of a full-blooded Zik!

  The Hatso looks at them one by one. They all shake their heads.

  SOLDIER: It’s a pointed insult!

  The three Hatsos go up to the Pointed Head.

  THIRD HATSO: You Zikkish swine! Get back inside, at the double, and get your hat! D’you think we want to have to look at your pointy head?

  FAT WOMAN: The poor Zik probably thinks Iberin’s going to look after his kind too! If he flies the flag that must mean he’s happy Iberin is in power. So he’s insulting the Government by suggesting they’re friends of the Ziks.

  The Zik turns to get his hat.

  FIRST HATSO pointing: Trying to escape!

  They beat him up and start to drag him off.

  FIRST HATSO: Resisting arrest too.
I thump him in the eye and he lifts his arm. I think I’d better interpret that as premeditated provocation!

  SECOND HATSO still punching the Zik: It’s off to Protective Custody with him. That’s where we protect his sort from the righteous anger of the people.

  FAT WOMAN: Hail Iberin!

  The third Hatso hangs up a sign outside the left-hand grocery store: ‘Zikkish Trader’.

  THIRD HATSO to the fat woman, as he gets another notice out of his pocket: So, Missus Race Comrade, you see how it pays to have it in black and white, your racial allegiance. The notice costs thirty pesos. But it’ll pay dividends, three hundred per cent, and that’s a promise!

  FAT WOMAN: Can’t you do it for ten? I don’t sell much.

  SOLDIER threateningly: Of course, there are some people who still have pointed heads in their hearts!

  FAT WOMAN: Give it here! She pays hurriedly. Have you got change for a fifty? She hangs up the sign: ‘Zakkish Trader’.

  THIRD HATSO: Right you are. Twenty pesos change. Honest Juan, that’s me. He goes off without giving her her change.

  FAT WOMAN: He didn’t give me my change! The Iberin soldier looks at her threateningly. Well at least the Zik had to clear out! Only a fortnight ago he was saying even Iberin wouldn’t make the cabbages grow bigger.

  CORNAMONTIS: There’s a Zikkish attitude for you! A nation bestirs itself, and he talks about cabbages.

  SOLDIER: The Ziks are entirely governed by, you know, base materialism. Only concerned with their own advantage, they’ll deny their Fatherland as soon as look at you – and it’s not even theirs anyway. Ziks don’t even know who their own fathers are, or their mothers. You know, it’s probably because they’ve got no sense of humour. You’ve just seen it for yourselves. These Ziks, they’re possessed by a morbid sensuality, they’re quite without scruples. The only thing that stands in the way of their lust is their greed. Zikkish materialism. You know.

  PALMOSA calls up to the first floor, where Landlord Callamassi is shaving: It’s all over with materialism now! I expect you’ve gathered, Señor Callamassi, there’ll be no more shop-rents now.

  SOLDIER: That’s right!

  CALLAMASSI: On the contrary, my dear fellow! Government bailiffs will help us collect the rents from now on. Do you hear the battalions marching? Those are the Stormtroops of the Iberin Alliance. Marching off to put down the rebel farmers who don’t want to pay their dues! Think about it, Mr Palmosa, while you think about not paying your rent!

  SOLDIER: And you can’t say fairer than that.

  PALMOSA: Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Señor Callamassi, my son is with those troops! To the fat woman: I told him just this morning, as he took his leave to march south: Son, I said, make sure you bring me back a captured Sickle flag, and I’ll let you start smoking! They say the banks are going to take over the debts of the bankrupt craftsmen and shopkeepers, and they’ll grant new credit, especially to all the small businesses in difficulties.