Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2

by Bertolt Brecht

  LUCY: Oh, the slut.

  POLLY: What does this mean, Mac? Who on earth is that? You might at least tell her who I am. Please tell her I’m your wife. Aren’t I your wife? Look at me. Tell me, aren’t I your wife?

  LUCY: You low-down sneak! Have you got two wives, you monster?

  POLLY: Say something, Mac. Aren’t I your wife? Haven’t I done everything for you? I was innocent when I married, you know that. Why, you even put me in charge of the gang, and I’ve done it all the way we arranged, and Jake wants me to tell you that he …

  MAC: If you two would kindly shut your traps for one minute I’ll explain everything.

  LUCY: No, I won’t shut my trap, I can’t bear it. It’s more than flesh and blood can stand.

  POLLY: Yes, my dear, naturally the wife has …

  LUCY: The wife!!

  POLLY: … the wife is entitled to some preference. Or at least the appearance of it, my dear. All this fuss and bother will drive the poor man mad.

  LUCY: Fuss and bother, that’s a good one. What have you gone and picked up now? This messy little tart! So this is your great conquest! So this is your Rose of old Soho!

  Song lighting: golden glow. The organ is lit up. Three lamps are lowered on a pole and the signs say:

  JEALOUSY DUET

  LUCY:

  Come on out, you Rose of Old Soho!

  Let us see your legs, my little sweetheart!

  I hear you have a lovely ankle

  And I’d love to see such a complete tart.

  They tell me that Mac says your behind is so provoking.

  POLLY:

  Did he now, did he now?

  LUCY:

  If what I see is true he must be joking.

  POLLY:

  Is he now, is he now?

  LUCY:

  Ho, it makes me split my sides!

  POLLY:

  Oh, that’s how you split your side?

  LUCY:

  Fancy you as Mackie’s bride!

  POLLY:

  Mackie fancies Mackie’s bride.

  LUCY:

  Ha ha ha! Catch him sporting

  With something that the cat brought in.

  POLLY:

  Just you watch your tongue, my dear.

  LUCY:

  Must I watch my tongue, my dear?

  BOTH:

  Mackie and I, see how we bill and coo, man

  He’s got no eye for any other woman.

  The whole thing’s an invention

  You mustn’t pay attention

  To such a bitch’s slanders.

  Poppycock!

  POLLY:

  Oh, they call me Rose of Old Soho

  And Macheath appears to find me pretty.

  LUCY:

  Does he now?

  POLLY:

  They say I have a lovely ankle

  And the best proportions in the city.

  LUCY:

  Little whippersnapper!

  POLLY:

  Who’s a little whippersnapper?

  Mac tells me that he finds my behind is most provoking.

  LUCY:

  Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?

  POLLY:

  I do not suppose that he is joking.

  LUCY:

  Isn’t he, isn’t he?

  POLLY:

  Ho, it makes me split my sides!

  LUCY:

  Oh, that’s how you split your side?

  POLLY:

  Being Mackie’s only bride!

  LUCY:

  Are you Mackie’s only bride?

  POLLY to the audience:

  Can you really picture him sporting

  With something that the cat brought in?

  LUCY:

  Just you watch your tongue, my dear.

  POLLY:

  Must I watch my tongue, my dear?

  BOTH:

  Mackie and I, see how we bill and coo, man

  He’s got no eye for any other woman.

  The whole thing’s an invention

  You cannot pay attention

  To such a bitch’s slanders.

  Poppycock!

  MAC: All right, Lucy. Calm down. You see it’s just a trick of Polly’s. She wants to come between us. I’m going to be hanged and she wants to parade as my widow. Really, Polly, this isn’t the moment.

  POLLY: Have you the heart to disclaim me?

  MAC: And have you the heart to go on about my being married? Oh, Polly, why do you have to add to my misery? Shakes his head reproachfully: Polly! Polly!

  LUCY: It’s true, Miss Peachum. You’re putting yourself in a bad light. Quite apart from the fact that it’s uncivilised of you to worry a gentleman in his situation!

  POLLY: The most elementary rules of decency, my dear young lady, ought to teach you, it seems to me, to treat a man with a little more reserve when his wife is present.

  MAC: Seriously, Polly, that’s carrying a joke too far.

  LUCY: And if, my dear lady, you start raising a row here in this prison, I shall be obliged to send for the screw to show you the door. I’m sorry, my dear Miss Peachum.

  POLLY: Mrs, if you please! Mrs Macheath. Just let me tell you this, young lady. The airs you give yourself are most unbecoming. My duty obliges me to stay with my husband.

  LUCY: What’s that? What’s that? Oh, she won’t leave! She stands there and we throw her out and she won’t leave! Must I speak more plainly?

  POLLY: You – you just hold your filthy tongue, you slut, or I’ll knock your block off, my dear young lady.

  LUCY: You’ve been thrown out, you interloper! I suppose that’s not clear enough. You don’t understand nice manners.

  POLLY: You and your nice manners! Oh, I’m forgetting my dignity! I shouldn’t stoop to … no, I shouldn’t.

  She starts to bawl.

  LUCY: Just look at my belly, you slut! Did I get that from out of nowhere? Haven’t you eyes in your head?

  POLLY: Oh! So you’re in the family way! And you think that gives you rights? A fine lady like you, you shouldn’t have let him in!

  MAC: Polly!

  POLLY in tears: This is really too much. Mac, you shouldn’t have done that. Now I don’t know what to do.

  Enter Mrs Peachum.

  MRS PEACHUM: I knew it. She’s with her man. You little trollop, come here immediately. When they hang your man, you can hang yourself too. A fine way to treat your respectable mother, making her come and get you out of jail. And he’s got two of them, what’s more – the Nero!

  POLLY: Leave me here, mama; you don’t know …

  MRS PEACHUM: You’re coming home this minute.

  LUCY: There you are, it takes your mama to tell you how to behave.

  MRS PEACHUM: Get going.

  POLLY: Just a second. I only have to … I only have to tell him something … Really … it’s very important.

  MRS PEACHUM giving her a box on the ear: Well, this is important too. Get going!

  POLLY: Oh, Mac! She is dragged away.

  MAC: Lucy, you were magnificent. Of course I felt sorry for her. That’s why I couldn’t treat the slut as she deserved. Just for a moment you thought there was some truth in what she said. Didn’t you?

  LUCY: Yes, my dear, so I did.

  MAC: If there were any truth in it, her mother wouldn’t have put me in this situation. Did you hear how she laid into me? A mother might treat a seducer like that, not a son-in-law.

  LUCY: It makes me happy to hear you say that from the bottom of your heart. I love you so much I’d almost rather see you on the gallows than in the arms of another. Isn’t that strange?

  MAC: Lucy, I should like to owe you my life.

  LUCY: It’s wonderful the way you say that. Say it again.

  MAC: Lucy, I should like to owe you my life.

  LUCY: Shall I run away with you, dearest?

  MAC: Well, but you see, if we run away together, it won’t be easy for us to hide. As soon as they stop looking, I’ll send for you post haste, you know t
hat.

  LUCY: What can I do to help you?

  MAC: Bring me my hat and cane.

  Lucy comes back with his hat and cane and throws them into his cage.

  Lucy, the fruit of our love which you bear beneath your heart will hold us forever united.

  Lucy goes out.

  SMITH enters, goes into the cell, and says to Mac: Let’s have that cane.

  After a brief chase, in which Smith pursues Mac with a chair and a crow bar, Mac jumps over the bars. Constables run after him.

  Enter Brown.

  BROWN off: Hey, Mac! – Mac, answer me, please. It’s Jackie. Mac, please be a good boy, answer me, I can’t stand it any longer. Comes in. Mackie! What’s this? He’s gone, thank God.

  He sits down on the bed.

  Enter Peachum.

  PEACHUM to Smith: My name is Peachum. I’ve come to collect the forty pounds reward for the capture of the bandit Macheath. Appears in front of the cage. Excuse me! Is that Mr Macheath? Brown is silent. Oh. I suppose the other gentleman has gone for a stroll? I come here to visit a criminal and who do I find sitting here but Mr Brown! Tiger Brown is sitting here and his friend Macheath is not sitting here.

  BROWN groaning: Oh, Mr Peachum, it wasn’t my fault.

  PEACHUM: Of course not. How could it be? You’d never have dreamt … considering the situation it’ll land you in … it’s out of the question, Brown.

  BROWN: Mr Peachum, I’m beside myself.

  PEACHUM: I believe you. Terrible, you must feel.

  BROWN: Yes, it’s this feeling of helplessness that ties one’s hands so. Those fellows do just as they please. It’s dreadful, dreadful.

  PEACHUM: Wouldn’t you care to lie down awhile? Just close your eyes and pretend nothing has happened. Imagine you’re on a lovely green meadow with little white clouds overhead. The main thing is to forget all about those ghastly things, those that are past, and most of all, those that are still to come.

  BROWN alarmed: What do you mean by that?

  PEACHUM: I’m amazed at your fortitude. In your position I should simply collapse, crawl into bed and drink hot tea. And above all, I’d find someone to lay a soothing hand on my forehead.

  BROWN: Damn it all, it’s not my fault if the fellow escapes. There’s not much the police can do about it.

  PEACHUM: I see. There’s not much the police can do about it. You don’t believe we’ll see Mr Macheath back here again? Brown shrugs his shoulders. In that case your fate will be hideously unjust. People are sure to say – they always do – that the police shouldn’t have let him escape. No, I can’t see that glittering Coronation procession just yet.

  BROWN: What do you mean?

  PEACHUM: Let me remind you of a historical incident which, though it caused a great stir at the time, in the year 1400 BC, is unknown to the public of today. On the death of the Egyptian king Rameses II, the police captain of Nineveh, or was it Cairo, committed some minor offence against the lower classes of the population. Even at that time the consequences were terrible. As the history books tell us, the coronation procession of Semiramis, the new Queen, “developed into a series of catastrophes thanks to the unduly active participation of the lower orders’. Historians still shudder at the cruel way Semiramis treated her police captain. I only remember dimly, but there was some talk of snakes she fed on his bosom.

  BROWN: Really?

  PEACHUM: The Lord be with you, Brown. Goes out.

  BROWN: Now only the mailed fist can help. Sergeants! Report to me at the double!

  Curtain. Macheath and Low-Dive Jenny step before the curtain and sing to song lighting:

  SECOND THREEPENNY FINALE

  WHAT KEEPS MANKIND ALIVE?

  You gentlemen who think you have a mission

  To purge us of the seven deadly sins

  Should first sort out the basic food position

  Then start your preaching: that’s where it begins.

  You lot, who preach restraint and watch your waist as well

  Should learn for all time how the world is run:

  However much you twist, whatever lies you tell

  Food is the first thing. Morals follow on.

  So first make sure that those who now are starving

  Get proper helpings when we do the carving.

  What keeps mankind alive? The fact that millions

  Are daily tortured, stifled, punished, silenced, oppressed.

  Mankind can keep alive thanks to its brilliance

  In keeping its humanity repressed.

  For once you must try not to shirk the facts:

  Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts.

  You say that girls may strip with your permission.

  You draw the lines dividing art from sin.

  So first sort out the basic food position

  Then start your preaching: that’s where we begin.

  You lot, who bank on your desires and our disgust

  Should learn for all time how the world is run:

  Whatever lies you tell, however much you twist

  Food is the first thing. Morals follow on.

  So first make sure that those who now are starving

  Get proper helpings when we do the carving.

  What keeps mankind alive? The fact that millions

  Are daily tortured, stifled, punished, silenced, oppressed.

  Mankind can keep alive thanks to its brilliance

  In keeping its humanity repressed.

  For once you must try not to shirk the facts:

  Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts.

  ACT THREE

  7

  That night Peachum prepares his campaign. He plans to disrupt the Coronation procession by a demonstration of human misery.

  Peachum’s Outfitting Emporium for Beggars.

  The beggars paint little signs with inscriptions such as ‘I gave my eye for my king’, etc.

  PEACHUM: Gentlemen, at this moment, in our eleven branches from Drury Lane to Turnbridge, one thousand four hundred and thirty-two gentlemen are working on signs like these with a view to attending the Coronation of our Queen.

  MRS PEACHUM: Get a move on! If you won’t work, you can’t beg. Call yourself a blind man and can’t even make a proper K? That’s supposed to be child’s writing, anyone would think it was an old man’s. A drum rolls.

  BEGGAR: That’s the Coronation guard presenting arms. Little do they suspect that today, the biggest day in their military careers, they’ll have us to deal with.

  FILCH enters and reports: Mrs Peachum, there’s a dozen sleepy-looking hens traipsing in. They claim there’s some money due them.

  Enter the whores.

  JENNY: Madam …

  MRS PEACHUM: Hm, you do look as if you’d fallen off your perches. I suppose you’ve come to collect the money for that Macheath of yours? Well, you’ll get nothing, you understand, nothing.

  JENNY: How are we to understand that, Ma’am?

  MRS PEACHUM: Bursting in here in the middle of the night! Coming to a respectable house at three in the morning! With the work you do, I should think you’d want some sleep. You look like sicked-up milk.

  JENNY: Then you won’t give us the stipulated fee for turning in Macheath, ma’am?

  MRS PEACHUM: Exactly. No thirty pieces of silver for you.

  JENNY: Why not, ma’am?

  MRS PEACHUM: Because your fine Mr Macheath has scattered himself to the four winds. And now, ladies, get out of my parlour.

  JENNY: Well, I call that the limit. Just don’t you try that on us. That’s all I’ve got to say to you. Not on us.

  MRS PEACHUM: Filch, the ladies wish to be shown the door.

  Filch goes towards the ladies, Jenny pushes him away.

  JENNY: I would be grateful if you would be so good as to hold your filthy tongue. If you don’t, I’m likely to …

  Enter Peachum.

  PEACHUM: What’s going on, you haven’t given them any money, I hope? Well, ladies how about it? Is Mr Macheath in
jail, or isn’t he?

  JENNY: Don’t talk to me about Mr Macheath. You’re not fit to black his boots. Last night I had to let a customer go because it made me cry into my pillow thinking how I had sold that gentleman to you. Yes, ladies, and what do you think happened this morning? Less than an hour ago, just after I had cried myself to sleep, I heard somebody whistle, and out on the street stood the very gentleman I’d been crying about, asking me to throw down the key. He wanted to lie in my arms and make me forget the wrong I had done him. Ladies, he’s the last sportsman left in London. And if our friend Suky Tawdry isn’t here with us now, it’s because he went on from me to her to console her too.

  PEACHUM muttering to himself: Suky Tawdry …

  JENNY: So now you know that you’re not fit to black that gentleman’s boots. You miserable sneak.

  PEACHUM: Filch, run to the nearest police station, tell them Mr Macheath is at Miss Suky Tawdry’s place. Filch goes out. But ladies, what are we arguing for? The money will be paid out, that goes without saying. Celia dear, you’d do better to make the ladies some coffee instead of slanging them.

  MRS PEACHUM on her way out: Suky Tawdry! She sings the third stanza of the Ballad of Sexual Obsession:

  There stands a man. The gallows loom above him.

  They’ve got the quicklime mixed in which to shove him.

  They’ve put his neck just under where the noose is

  And what’s he thinking of, the idiot? Floozies.

  They’ve all but hanged him, yet he can’t ignore that call.

  Sexual obsession has him in its thrall.

  She’s sold him down the river heart and soul

  He’s seen the dirty money in her hand

  And bit by bit begins to understand:

  The pit that covers him is woman’s hole.

  Then he may rant and roar and curse his ruin –

  But soon as night falls he’ll be up and doing.

  PEACHUM: Get a move on, you’d all be rotting in the sewers of Turnbridge if in my sleepless nights I hadn’t worked out how to squeeze a penny out of your poverty. I discovered that though the rich of this earth find no difficulty in creating misery, they can’t bear to see it. Because they are weaklings and fools just like you. They may have enough to eat till the end of their days, they may be able to wax their floors with butter so that even the crumbs from their tables grow fat. But they can’t look on unmoved while a man is collapsing from hunger, though of course that only applies so long as he collapses outside their own front door.