Came someone who didn’t ask at all
And he went and hung his hat on the nail in my little attic
And what happened I can’t quite recall.
And as he’d got no money
And was not a nice chap
And his Sunday shirts, even, were not like snow
And as he’d no idea of treating a girl with due respect
I could not tell him: No.
That’s the time my head was not screwed on
And to hell with going slow.
Oh, the moon was shining clear and bright
Oh, the boat kept drifting downstream all that night
That was how it simply had to go.
Yes, you must lie back, you can’t stay cold at heart
In the end you have to let your feelings show.
Oh, the moment you know it must start
Ah, then’s no time for saying: No.
PEACHUM: So she’s associating with criminals. That’s lovely. That’s delightful.
MRS PEACHUM: If you’re immoral enough to get married, did it have to be a horse-thief and a highwayman? That’ll cost you dear one of these days! I ought to have seen it coming. Even as a child she had a swollen head like the Queen of England.
PEACHUM: So she’s really got married!
MRS PEACHUM: Yes, yesterday, at five in the afternoon.
PEACHUM: To a notorious criminal. Come to think of it, it shows that the fellow is really audacious. If I give away my daughter, the sole prop of my old age, why, my house will cave in and my last dog will run off. I’d think twice about giving away the dirt under my fingernails, it would mean risking starvation. If the three of us can get through the winter on one log of wood, maybe we’ll live to see the new year. Maybe.
MRS PEACHUM: What got into you? This is our reward for all we’ve done, Jonathan. I’m going mad. My head is swimming. I’m going to faint. Oh! She faints. A glass of Cordial Médoc.
PEACHUM: You see what you’ve done to your mother. Quick! Associating with criminals, that’s lovely, that’s delightful! Interesting how the poor woman takes it to heart. Polly brings in a bottle of Cordial Médoc. That’s the only consolation your poor mother has left.
POLLY: Go ahead, give her two glasses. My mother can take twice as much when she’s not quite herself. That will put her back on her feet. During the whole scene she looks very happy.
MRS PEACHUM wakes up: Oh, there she goes again, pretending to be so loving and sympathetic! Five men enter.5
BEGGAR: I’m making a complaint, see, this thing is a mess, it’s not a proper stump, it’s a botch-up, and I’m not wasting my money on it.
PEACHUM: What do you expect? It’s as good a stump as any other; it’s just that you don’t keep it clean.
BEGGAR: Then why don’t I take as much money as the others? Naw, you can’t do that to me. Throws down the stump. If I wanted crap like this, I could cut off my real leg.
PEACHUM: What do you fellows want anyway? Is it my fault if people have hearts of flint? I can’t make you five stumps. In five minutes I can turn any man into such a pitiful wreck it would make a dog weep to see him. Is it my fault if people don’t weep? Here’s another stump for you if one’s not enough. But look after your equipment!
BEGGAR: This one will do.
PEACHUM tries a false limb on another: Leather is no good, Celia; rubber is more repulsive. To the third: That swelling is going down and it’s your last. Now we’ll have to start all over again. Examining the fourth: Of course natural scabies is never as good as the artificial kind. To the fifth: You’re a sight! You’ve been eating again. I’ll have to make an example of you.
BEGGAR: Mr Peachum, I really haven’t eaten anything much. I’m just abnormally fat, I can’t help it.
PEACHUM: Nor can I. You’re fired. Again to the second beggar: My dear man, there’s an obvious difference between ‘tugging at people’s heart strings’ and ‘getting on people’s nerves’. Yes, artists, that’s what I need. Only an artist can tug at anybody’s heart strings nowadays. If you fellows performed properly, your audience would be forced to applaud. You just haven’t any ideas! Obviously I can’t extend your engagement. The beggars go out.
POLLY: Look. Is he particularly handsome? No. But he makes a living. He can support me. He is not only a first-class burglar but a far-sighted and experienced stick-up man as well. I’ve been into it, I can tell you the exact amount of his savings to date. A few successful ventures and we shall be able to retire to a little house in the country just like that Mr Shakespeare father admires so much.
PEACHUM: It’s quite simple. You’re married. What does a girl do when she’s married? Use your head. Well, she gets divorced, see. Is that so hard to figure out?
POLLY: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
MRS PEACHUM: Divorce.
POLLY: But I love him. How can I think of divorce?
MRS PEACHUM: Really, have you no shame?
POLLY: Mother, if you’ve ever been in love …
MRS PEACHUM: In love! Those damn books you’ve been reading have turned your head. Why, Polly, everybody’s doing it.
POLLY: Then I’m an exception.
MRS PEACHUM: Then I’m going to tan your behind, you exception.
POLLY: Oh yes, all mothers do that, but it doesn’t help because love goes deeper than a tanned behind.
MRS PEACHUM: Don’t strain my patience.
POLLY: I won’t let my love be taken away from me.
MRS PEACHUM: One more word out of you and you’ll get a clip on the ear.
POLLY: But love is the finest thing in the world.
MRS PEACHUM: Anyway, he’s got several women, the blackguard. When he’s hanged, like as not half a dozen widows will turn up, each of them like as not with a brat in her arms. Oh, Jonathan!
PEACHUM: Hanged, what made you think of that, that’s a good idea. Run along, Polly. Polly goes out. Quite right. That’ll earn us forty pounds.
MRS PEACHUM: I see. Report him to the sheriff.
PEACHUM: Naturally. And besides, that way we get him hanged free of charge … Two birds with one stone. Only we’ve got to find out where he’s holed up.
MRS PEACHUM: I can tell you that, my dear, he’s holed up with his tarts.
PEACHUM: But they won’t turn him in.
MRS PEACHUM: Just let me attend to that. Money rules the world. I’ll go to Turnbridge right away and talk to the girls. Give us a couple of hours, and after that if he meets a single one of them he’s done for.
POLLY has been listening behind the door: Dear Mama, you can spare yourself the trip. Mac will go to the Old Bailey of his own accord sooner than meet any of those ladies. And even if he did go to the Old Bailey, the sheriff would serve him a cocktail; they’d smoke their cigars and have a little chat about a certain shop in this street where a little more goes on than meets the eye. Because, Papa dear, the sheriff was very cheerful at my wedding.
PEACHUM: What’s this sheriff called?
POLLY: He’s called Brown. But you probably know him as Tiger Brown. Because everyone who has reason to fear him calls him Tiger Brown. But my husband, you see, calls him Jackie. Because to him he’s just dear old Jackie. They’re boyhood friends.
PEACHUM: Oh, so they’re friendá, are they? The sheriff and Public Enemy No. 1, ha, they must be the only friends in this city.
POLLY poetically: Every time they drank a cocktail together, they stroked each other’s cheeks and said: ‘If you’ll have the same again, I’ll have the same again.’ And every time one of them left the room, the other’s eyes grew moist and he said: ‘Where’er you go I shall be with you.’ There’s nothing on record against Mac at Scotland Yard.
PEACHUM: I see. Between Tuesday evening and Thursday morning Mr Macheath, a gentleman who has assuredly been married many times, lured my daughter from her home on pretext of marriage. Before the week is out, he will be taken to the gallows on that account, and deservedly so. ‘Mr Macheath, you once had white kid gloves,
a cane with an ivory handle, and a scar on your neck, and frequented the Cuttlefish Hotel. All that is left is your scar, undoubtedly the least valuable of your distinguishing marks, and today you frequent nothing but prison cells, and within the foreseeable future no place at all …’
MRS PEACHUM: Oh, Jonathan, you’ll never bring it off. Why, he’s Mac the Knife, whom they call the biggest criminal in London. He takes what he pleases.
PEACHUM: Who’s Mac the Knife? Get ready, we’re going to see the Sheriff of London. And you’re going to Turnbridge.
MRS PEACHUM: To see his whores.
PEACHUM: For the villainy of the world is great, and a man needs to run his legs off to keep them from being stolen from under him.
POLLY: I, Papa, shall be delighted to shake hands with Mr Brown again.
All three step forward and sing the first finale. Song lighting. On the signs is written:
FIRST THREE-PENNY FINALE
CONCERNING THE INSECURITY OF THE HUMAN
CONDITION
POLLY:
Am I reaching for the sky?
All I’m asking from this place is
To enjoy a man’s embraces.
Is that aiming much too high?
PEACHUM with a Bible in his hand:
Man has a right, in this our brief existence
To call some fleeting happiness his own
Partake of worldly pleasures and subsistence
And have bread on his table rather than a stone.
Such are the basic rights of man’s existence.
But do we know of anything suggesting
That when a thing’s a right one gets it? No!
To get one’s rights would be most interesting
But our condition’s such it can’t be so.
MRS PEACHUM:
How I want what’s best for you
How I’d teach you airs and graces
Show you things and take you places
As a mother likes to do.
PEACHUM:
Let’s practise goodness: who would disagree?
Let’s give our wealth away: is that not right?
Once all are good His Kingdom is at hand
Where blissfully we’ll bask in His pure light.
Let’s practise goodness: who would disagree?
But sadly on this planet while we’re waiting
The means are meagre and the morals low.
To get one’s record straight would be elating
But our condition’s such it can’t be so.
POLLY AND MRS PEACHUM:
So that is all there is to it.
The world is poor, and man’s a shit.
PEACHUM:
Of course that’s all there is to it.
The world is poor, and man’s a shit.
Who wouldn’t like an earthly paradise?
Yet our condition’s such it can’t arise.
Out of the question in our case.
Let’s say your brother’s close to you
But if there’s not enough for two
He’ll kick you smartly in the face.
You think that loyalty’s no disgrace?
But say your wife is close to you
And finds she’s barely making do
She’ll kick you smartly in the face.
And gratitude: that’s no disgrace
But say your son is close to you
And finds your pension’s not come through
He’ll kick you smartly in the face.
And so will all the human race..
POLLY AND MRS PEACHUM:
That’s what you’re all ignoring
That’s what’s so bloody boring.
The world is poor, and man’s a shit
And that is all there is to it.
PEACHUM:
Of course that’s all there is to it
The world is poor, and man’s a shit.
We should aim high instead of low
But our condition’s such this can’t be so.
ALL THREE:
Which means He has us in a trap:
The whole damn thing’s a load of crap.
PEACHUM:
The world is poor, and man’s a shit
And that is all there is to it.
ALL THREE:
That’s what you’re all ignoring
That’s what’s so bloody boring.
That’s why He’s got us in a trap
And why it’s all a load of crap.
ACT TWO
4
Thursday afternoon: Mac the Knife takes leave of his wife and flees from his father-in-law to the heaths of Highgate.
The stable.
POLLY enters: Mac! Mac, don’t be frightened.
MAC lying on the bed: Well, what’s up? Polly, you look a wreck.
POLLY: I’ve been to see Brown, my father went too, they decided to pull you in; my father made some terrible threats and Brown stood up for you, but then he weakened, and now he thinks too that you’d better stir yourself and make yourself scarce for a while, Mac. You must pack right away.
MAC: Pack? Nonsense. Come here, Polly. You and I have got better things to do than pack.
POLLY: No, we mustn’t now. I’m so frightened. All they talked about was hanging.
MAC: I don’t like it when you’re moody, Polly. There’s nothing on record against me at Scotland Yard.
POLLY: Perhaps there wasn’t yesterday, but suddenly today there’s an awful lot. You – I’ve brought the charges with me, I don’t even know if I can get them straight, the list goes on so. You’ve killed two shopkeepers, more than thirty burglaries, twenty-three hold-ups, and God knows how many acts of arson, attempted murder, forgery and perjury, all within eighteen months. You’re a dreadful man. And in Winchester you seduced two sisters under the age of consent.
MAC: They told me they were over twenty. What did Brown say?
He stands up slowly and goes whistling to the right along the footlights.
POLLY: He caught up with me in the corridor and said there was nothing he could do for you now. Oh, Mac! She throws herself on his neck.
MAC: All right, if I’ve got to go away, you’ll have to run the business.
POLLY: Don’t talk about business now, Mac, I can’t bear it. Kiss your poor Polly again and swear that you’ll never never be …
Mac interrupts her brusquely and leads her to the table where he pushes her down in a chair.
MAC: Here are the ledgers. Listen carefully. This is a list of the personnel. Reads. Hm, first of all, Crook-finger Jake, a year and a half in the business. Let’s see what he’s brought in. One, two, three, four, five gold watches, not much, but clean work. Don’t sit on my lap, I’m not in the mood right now. Here’s Dreary Walter, an unreliable sod. Sells stuff on the side. Give him three weeks, grace, then get rid of him. Just turn him in to Brown.
POLLY sobbing: Just turn him in to Brown.
MAC: Jimmy II, cheeky bastard; good worker but cheeky. Swipes bed sheets right out from under ladies of the best society. Give him a rise.
POLLY: I’ll give him a rise.
MAC: Robert the Saw: small potatoes, not a glimmer of genius. Won’t end on the gallows, but he won’t leave any estate either.
POLLY: Won’t leave any estate either.
MAC: In all other respects you will carry on exactly the same as before. Get up at seven, wash, have your weekly bath and so on.
POLLY: You’re perfectly right, I’ll have to grit my teeth and look after the business. What’s yours is mine now, isn’t it, Mackie? What about your chambers, Mac? Should I let them go? I don’t like having to pay the rent.
MAC: No, I still need them.
POLLY: What for, it’s just a waste of our money!
MAC: Oh, so you think I won’t be coming back at all, do you?
POLLY: What do you mean? You can rent other rooms, Mac6 … Mac, I can’t go on. I keep looking at your lips and then I don’t hear what you say. Will you be faithful to me, Mac?<
br />
MAC: Of course I’ll be faithful, I’ll do as I’m done by. Do you think I don’t love you? It’s only that I see farther ahead than you.
POLLY: I’m so grateful to you, Mac. Worrying about me when they’re after you like bloodhounds …
Hearing the word ‘bloodhounds’ he goes stiff, stands up, goes to the right, throws off his coat and washes his bands.
MAC hastily: You will go on sending the profits to Jack Poole’s banking house in Manchester. Between ourselves it’s only a matter of weeks before I go over to banking altogether. It’s safer and it’s more profitable. In two weeks at the most the money will have to be taken out of this business, then off you go to Brown and give the list to the police. Within four weeks all that human scum will be safely in the cells at the Old Bailey.
POLLY: Why, Mac! How can you look them in the eye when you’ve written them off and they’re as good as hanged? How can you shake hands with them?
MAC: With who? Robert the Saw, Matt of the Mint, Crook-fingered Jake? Those gaol-birds?
Enter the gang.
MAC: Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to see you.
POLLY: Good evening, gentlemen.
MATTHEW: I’ve got hold of the Coronation programme, Captain. It looks to me like we’re going to be very busy in the next few days. The Archbishop of Canterbury is arriving in half an hour.
MAC: When?
MATTHEW: Five thirty. We’d better be shoving off, Captain.
MAC: Yes, you’d better be shoving off.
ROBERT: What do you mean: you?
MAC: For my part, I’m afraid I’m obliged to take a little trip.
ROBERT: Good God, are they out to nab you?
MATTHEW: It would be just now, with the Coronation coming up! A Coronation without you is like porridge without a spoon.
MAC: Shut your trap! In view of that, I am temporarily handing over the management of the business to my wife. He pushes her forward and goes to the rear where he observes her.
POLLY: Well, boys, I think the Captain can go away with an easy mind. We’ll swing this job, you bet. What do you say, boys?
MATTHEW: It’s no business of mine. But at a time like this I’m not so sure that a woman … I’m not saying anything against you, Ma’am.
MAC from upstage: What do you say to that, Polly?
POLLY: You shit, that’s a fine way to start in. Screaming. Of course you’re not saying anything against me! If you were, these gentlemen would have ripped your pants off long ago and tanned your arse for you. Wouldn’t you, gentlemen? Brief pause, then all clap like mad.
Brecht Collected Plays: 2: Man Equals Man; Elephant Calf; Threepenny Opera; Mahagonny; Seven Deadly Sins: Man Equals Man , Elephant Calf , Threepenny Ope (World Classics) Page 16