ONE OF THE ARCHITECTS: We are impressed that his Excellency thinks of building in spite of the disquieting rumours that the war in Persia has taken a turn for the worse.
THE ADJUTANT: All the more reason for building! That’s nothing. Persia is far away. The garrison here would let itself be chopped to pieces for its Governor.
Uproar from the palace. Shrill screams of a woman. Orders are shouted. Dumbfounded, the Adjutant moves towards the gateway. An Ironshirt steps out and holds him up at the point of a lance.
What’s going on here? Put down that lance, you dog! To the palace guard, furiously. Disarm him! Can’t you see an attempt is being made on the Governor’s life?
The palace guard Ironshirts refuse to obey. Staring coldly, indifferently, at the Adjutant, they watch the proceedings without interest. The Adjutant fights his way into the palace.
ONE OF THE ARCHITECTS: The Princes! Don’t you realize that the Princes met last night in the capital? And that they are against the Grand Duke and his governors? Gentlemen, we’d better make ourselves scarce.
They rush off.
THE SINGER
Oh, blindness of the great! They walk like gods
Great over bent backs, sure
Of hired fists, trusting
In their power which has already lasted so long.
But long is not forever.
Oh, Wheel of Fortune! Hope of the people!
From the gateway, enter the Governor with a grey face, manacled, between two soldiers armed to the teeth.
Walk, Your Highness, walk even now with head up.
From your Palace the eyes of many foes follow you!
You no longer need an architect, a carpenter will do.
You will not move into a new palace, but into a little hole in the ground.
Just look about you once more, you blind man!
The arrested Governor looks about him.
Does all you once possessed still please you? Between the Easter Mass and the banquet
You are walking to that place from which no one returns.
The Governor is led away. The palace guard follows. A horn sounds. Noise behind the gateway.
When the houses of the great collapse
Many little people are slain.
Those who had no share in the fortunes of the mighty
Often have a share in their misfortunes. The plunging wain
Drags the sweating beasts with it into the abyss.
Servants come rushing through the gateway in panic.
THE SERVANTS in confusion: The hampers!—Take them all into the third courtyard! Food for five days!—Her Ladyship has fainted! Someone must carry her down. She must get away.—And what about us? We’ll be slaughtered like chickens, it’s the old story.—Jesus and Mary, what’s going to happen? There’s already bloodshed in the town, they say.—Nonsense, the Governor has just been asked politely to appear at a Princes’ meeting. Everything’ll be all right. I have this on the best authority.
The two doctors rush into the courtyard.
FIRST DOCTOR trying to restrain the other: Niko Mikadze, it is your duty as a doctor to attend Natella Abashvili.
SECOND DOCTOR: My duty? It’s yours!
FIRST DOCTOR: Niko Mikadze, who is in charge of the child today? You or me?
SECOND DOCTOR: Do you really think, Mikha Loladze, I’m going to stay another minute in this cursed house for that little brat?
They start fighting. All one hears is: ‘You neglect your duty!’ and ‘Duty be damned!’ Then the second doctor knocks down the first.
SECOND DOCTOR: Oh, go to hell! Exit.
THE SERVANTS: There’s time enough before night. The soldiers won’t be drunk till then.—Does anyone know if they’ve started a mutiny yet?—The Palace Guard has ridden away.—Doesn’t anyone know what’s happened?
GRUSHA: Meliva the fisherman says a comet with a red tail has been seen in the sky over the capital. That means bad luck.
THE SERVANTS: Yesterday they were saying in the capital that the Persian War is lost.—The Princes have started a great revolt. There’s a rumour that the Grand Duke has already fled. All his Governors are to be hanged.—The likes of us will be left alone. I have a brother in the Iron-shirts.
Enter the soldier Simon Chachava, searching the crowd for Grusha.
THE ADJUTANT appearing in the doorway: Everyone into the third courtyard! All hands help with the packing!
He drives the servants out. Simon finally finds Grusha.
SIMON: There you are at last, Grusha! What are you going to do?
GRUSHA: Nothing. If the worst comes to the worst, I’ve a brother with a farm in the mountains. But what about you?
SIMON: Don’t worry about me. Polite again. Grusha Vachnadze, your desire to know my plans fills me with satisfaction. I’ve been ordered to accompany Madam Natella Abashvili as her guard.
GRUSHA: But hasn’t the Palace Guard mutinied?
SIMON serious: That’s a fact.
GRUSHA: But isn’t it dangerous to accompany the woman?
SIMON: In Tiflis they say: Isn’t stabbing dangerous for the knife?
GRUSHA: You’re not a knife. You’re a man, Simon Chachava. What has this woman to do with you?
SIMON: The woman has nothing to do with me. But I have my orders, and so I go.
GRUSHA: The soldier is a pig-headed man; he gets himself into danger for nothing—nothing at all. As she is called from the palace: Now I must go into the third courtyard. I’m in a hurry.
SIMON: As there’s a hurry we oughtn’t to quarrel. For a good quarrel one needs time. May I ask if the young lady still has parents?
GRUSHA: No, only a brother.
SIMON: As time is short—the second question would be: Is the young lady as healthy as a fish in water?
GRUSHA: Perhaps once in a while a pain in the right shoulder; but otherwise strong enough for any work. So far no one has complained.
SIMON: Everyone knows that. Even if it’s Easter Sunday and there’s the question who shall fetch the goose, then it’s she. The third question is this: Is the young lady impatient? Does she want cherries in winter?
GRUSHA: Impatient, no. But if a man goes to war without any reason, and no message comes, that’s bad.
SIMON: A message will come. Grusha is again called from the palace. And finally the main question …
GRUSHA: Simon Chachava, because I’ve got to go to the third courtyard and I’m in a hurry, the answer is ‘Yes’.
SIMON very embarrassed: Hurry, they say, is the wind that blows down the scaffolding. But they also say: The rich don’t know what hurry is.—I come from …
GRUSHA: Kutsk.
SIMON: So the young lady has already made inquiries? Am healthy, have no dependents, earn ten piastres a month, as a paymaster twenty, and am asking honourably for your hand.
GRUSHA: Simon Chachava, that suits me.
SIMON taking from his neck a thin chain from which hangs a little cross: This cross belonged to my mother, Grusha Vachnadze. The chain is silver. Please wear it.
GRUSHA: I thank you, Simon. He fastens it round her neck.
SIMON: Now I must harness the horses. The young lady will understand that. It would be better for the young lady to go into the third courtyard. Otherwise there’ll be trouble.
GRUSHA: Yes, Simon.
They stand together undecided.
SIMON: I’ll just take the woman to the troops who’ve remained loyal. When the war’s over, I’ll come back. In two weeks. Or three. I hope my intended won’t get tired waiting for my return.
GRUSHA: Simon Chachava, I shall wait for you.
Go calmly into battle, soldier
The bloody battle, the bitter battle
From which not everyone returns.
When you return I will be there.
I will be waiting for you under the green elm
I will be waiting for you under the bare elm
I will wait until the last soldier has returned
; And even longer.
When you return from the battle
No boots will lie before the door
The pillow beside mine will be empty
My mouth will be unkissed.
When you return, when you return
You will be able to say: all is as it was.
SIMON: I thank you, Grusha Vachnadze, and farewell!
He bows low before her; she bows low before him. Then she runs off without looking round. Enter the Adjutant from the gateway.
THE ADJUTANT harshly: Harness the horses to the big carriage! Don’t stand there doing nothing, idiot!
Simon Chachava leaps to attention and goes off. Two servants crawl in from the gateway, loaded down with heavy trunks. Behind them, supported by her women, stumbles Natella Abashvili. She is followed by another woman carrying Michael.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: As usual, nobody’s paying the slightest attention. I hardly know if I’m standing on my head or my feet. Where’s Michael? Don’t hold him so clumsily! Pile the trunks on to the carriage! Shalva, is there any news of the Governor?
THE ADJUTANT shaking his head: You must get away at once.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Is there any news from the town?
THE ADJUTANT: No. So far all is quiet. But there isn’t a minute to lose. There’s not enough room for the trunks on the carriage. Please pick out what you need.
Exit the Adjutant quickly.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Only essentials! Quick, open the trunks. I’ll tell you what I’ve got to have.
The trunks are lowered and opened.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE pointing at some brocade dresses: That green one! And of course that one with the fur trimming. Where are the doctors? I’m getting this terrible migraine again. It always starts in the temples. This one with the little pearl buttons … Enter Grusha. You’re taking your time, eh? Go and get the hot water bottles at once!
Grusha runs off, and returns with hot water bottles. The Governor’s wife orders her about by signs.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE watching a young woman attendant: Don’t tear the sleeve!
THE YOUNG WOMAN: I promise you, madam, no harm has come to the dress.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Because I caught you. I’ve been watching you for a long time. Nothing in your head but making eyes at the Adjutant. I’ll kill you, you bitch! She beats her.
THE ADJUTANT returning: I must ask you to make haste, Natella Abashvili. They are fighting in the town. Exit the Adjutant.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE letting go of the young woman: My God, do you think they’ll do something to me? Why should they? All are silent. She herself begins to rummage in the trunks. Where’s my brocade jacket? Help me! What about Michael? Is he asleep?
THE NURSE: Yes, madam.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Then put him down a moment and go and fetch my little saffron-coloured slippers from the bed-chamber. I need them to go with the green dress. The nurse puts down the child and goes off. To the young woman: Don’t stand around, you! The young woman runs off. Stay here, or I’ll have you whipped! Just look at the way these things have been packed! No love! No understanding! If one doesn’t give every order oneself... At such moments one realizes what one’s servants are like! Masha! She gives her an order with a wave of the hand. You all gorge yourselves, but never a sign of gratitude! I won’t forget this.
THE ADJUTANT very excited: Natella, you must leave at once! Orbeliani, Judge of the Supreme Court, has just been hanged! The carpet weavers are in revolt!
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Why? I must have the silver dress—it cost 1000 piastres. And that one there, and all my furs. And where’s the wine-coloured dress?
THE ADJUTANT trying to pull her away: Riots have broken out in the outer town! We’ve got to leave this minute! A servant runs off. Where’s the child?
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE to the nurse: Maro, get the child ready! Where are you?
THE ADJUTANT leaving: We’ll probably have to do without the carriage. And ride.
The Governor’s wife still rummages among her dresses, throws some on to the heap to go with her, then takes them off again. Drums are heard. The sky begins to redden.
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE rummaging desperately: I can’t find that wine-coloured dress. Shrugging her shoulders, to the second woman: Take the whole heap and carry it to the carriage. Why hasn’t Maro come back? Have you all gone off your heads? I told you it’s right at the bottom.
THE ADJUTANT returning: Quick! Quick!
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE to the second woman: Run! Just throw them into the carriage!
THE ADJUTANT: We’re not going by carriage. Come at once or I’ll ride off on my own!
THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Maro! Bring the child! To the second woman: Go and look, Masha. No, first take the dresses to the carriage. It’s all nonsense, I wouldn’t dream of riding! Turning round, she sees the fire-reddened sky and starts back in horror. Fire! She rushes off, followed by the Adjutant. The second woman, shaking her head, follows with a heap of dresses. Servants enter from the gateway.
THE COOK: That must be the East Gate that’s burning.
THE CHEF: They’ve gone. And without the food wagon. How are we going to get away now?
A STABLEMAN: This is going to be an unhealthy place for some time. To the third chambermaid: Sulika, I’m going to fetch some blankets, we’re clearing out.
THE NURSE entering through the gateway with her mistress’s slippers: Madam!
A FAT WOMAN: She’s gone.
THE NURSE: And the child. She rushes to the child, and picks it up. They left it behind, those brutes! She hands the child to Grusha. Hold it for a moment. Deceitfully. I’m going to look for the carriage.
She runs off, following the Governor’s wife.
GRUSHA: What have they done to the Governor?
THE STABLEMAN drawing his index finger across his throat: Fft.
THE FAT WOMAN seeing the gesture, becomes hysterical: Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Our master Georgi Abashvili! At morning Mass he was a picture of health! And now! Oh, take me away! We’re all lost! We must die in sin! Like our master, Georgi Abashvili!
THE THIRD WOMAN trying to calm her: Calm down, Nina. You’ll get away. You’ve done no one any harm.
THE FAT WOMAN being led out: Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Let’s all get out before they come! Before they come!
THE THIRD WOMAN: Nina takes it to heart more than the mistress. People like that get others even to do their weeping for them! Seeing the child in Grusha’s arms. The child! What are you doing with it?
GRUSHA: It’s been left behind.
THE THIRD WOMAN: She just left it? Michael, who was never allowed to be in a draught!
The servants gather round the child.
GRUSHA: He’s waking up.
THE STABLEMAN: Better put him down, I tell you. I’d rather not think what’d happen to the person seen with that child. I’ll get our things. You wait here. Exit into the palace.
THE COOK: He’s right. Once they begin, they’ll slaughter whole families. I’ll go and fetch my belongings.
All go except the cook, the third woman and Grusha with the child in her arms.
THE THIRD WOMAN: Didn’t you hear? Better put him down!
GRUSHA: The nurse asked me to hold him for a moment.
THE COOK: That one won’t come back, you silly!
THE THIRD WOMAN: Keep your hands off him.
THE COOK: They’ll be more after him than after his mother. He’s the heir. Grusha, you’re a good soul. But you know you’re not too bright. I tell you, if he had the plague it couldn’t be worse. Better see to it that you get away.
The stableman has come back carrying bundles which he distributes among the women. All except Grusha prepare to leave.
GRUSHA stubbornly: He hasn’t got the plague. He looks at you like a human being.
THE COOK: Then don’t you look back. You’re just the kind of fool who always gets put upon. If someone says to you: Run and get the lettuce, you have the longest l
egs!—you run. We’re taking the ox-cart, you can have a lift if you hurry. Jesus, by now the whole neighbourhood must be in flames!
THE THIRD WOMAN: Haven’t you packed anything yet? There isn’t much time, you know. The Ironshirts will soon be here from the barracks.
Exit both women and the stableman.
GRUSHA: I’m coming.
Grusha lays the child down, looks at it for a moment, then takes clothes from the trunks lying about and covers the sleeping child. Then she runs into the palace to get her things. Sounds of horses’ hoofs and of women screaming. Enter the fat prince with drunken Ironshirts. One of them carries the head of the Governor on a lance.
THE FAT PRINCE: Put it here. Right in the middle! One Iron-shirt climbs on to the back of another, takes the head and holds it over the gateway. That’s not the middle. Further to the right. Good. What I do, my friends, I do well. While an Ironshirt with hammer and nail fastens the head by its hair: This morning at the church door I said to Georgi Abashvili: ‘I love a clear sky’. Actually, what I prefer is lightning from a clear sky. Oh, yes. But it’s a pity they took the brat away. I need him. Badly. Search the whole of Grusinia for him! 1000 piastres reward!
As Grusha enters cautiously through the doorway, the fat prince and the Ironshirts leave. Trampling of horses’ hoofs again. Carrying a bundle, Grusha walks towards the gateway. At the last moment, she turns to see if the child is still there. Promptly the singer begins to sing. She stands rooted to the spot.
THE SINGER
As she was standing between courtyard and gate, she heard
Or thought she heard, a low voice. The child
Called to her, not whining but calling quite sensibly
At least so it seemed to her: ‘Woman’, it said, ‘Help me’.
Went on calling not whining but calling quite sensibly:
‘Don’t you know, woman, that she who does not listen to a cry for help
But passes by shutting her ears, will never hear
The gentle call of a lover
Nor the blackbird at dawn, nor the happy
Brecht Collected Plays: 7: Visions of Simone Machard; Schweyk in the Second World War; Caucasian Chalk Circle; Duchess of Malfi (World Classics) Page 19