Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2

  Enter Mrs Peachum with a tray full of coffee cups.

  MRS PEACHUM: You can come by the shop tomorrow and pick up your money, but only once the Coronation’s over.

  JENNY: Mrs Peachum, you leave me speechless.

  PEACHUM: Fall in. We assemble in one hour outside Buckingham Palace. Quick march.

  The beggars fall in.

  FILCH dashes in: Cops! I didn’t even get to the police station. The police are here already.

  PEACHUM: Hide, gentlemen! To Mrs Peachum: Call the band together. Shake a log. And if you hear me say ‘harmless’, do you understand, harmless …

  MRS PEACHUM: Harmless? I don’t understand a thing.

  PEACHUM: Naturally you don’t understand. Well, if I say harmless … Knocking at the door. Thank God, that’s the answer, harmless, then you play some kind of music. Get a move on!

  Mrs Peachum goes out with the beggars. The beggars, except for the girl with the sign ‘A Victim of Military Tyranny’, hide with their things upstage right behind the clothes rack. Enter Brown and constables.

  BROWN: Here we are. And now, Mr Beggar’s Friend, drastic action will be taken. Put the derbies on him, Smith. Ah, here are some of those delightful signs. To the girl: ‘A Victim of Military Tyranny’ – is that you?

  PEACHUM: Good morning, Brown, good morning. Sleep well?

  BROWN: Huh?

  PEACHUM: Morning, Brown.

  BROWN: Is he saying that to me? Does he know one of you? I don’t believe I have the pleasure of your acquaintance.

  PEACHUM: Really? Morning, Brown.

  BROWN: Knock his hat off. Smith does so.

  PEACHUM: Look here, Brown, since you’re passing by, passing, I say, Brown, I may as well ask you to put a certain Macheath under lock and key, it’s high time.

  BROWN: The man’s mad. Don’t laugh, Smith. Tell me, Smith, how is it possible that such a notorious criminal should be running around loose in London?

  PEACHUM: Because he’s your pal, Brown.

  BROWN: Who?

  PEACHUM: Mac the Knife. Not me. I’m no criminal. I’m a poor man, Brown. You can’t abuse me, Brown, you’ve got the worst hour in your life ahead of you. Care for some coffee? To the whores: Girls, give the chief of police a sip, that’s no way to behave. Let’s all be friends. We are all law-abiding people. The law was made for one thing alone, for the exploitation of those who don’t understand it, or are prevented by naked misery from obeying it. And anyone who wants a crumb of this exploitation for himself must obey the law strictly.

  BROWN: I see, then you believe our judges are corruptible?

  PEACHUM: Not at all, sir, not at all. Our judges are absolutely incorruptible: it’s more than money can do to make them give a fair verdict.

  A second drum roll.

  The troops are marching off to line the route. The poorest of the poor will move off in half an hour.

  BROWN: That’s right, Mr Peachum. In half an hour the poorest of the poor will be marched off to winter quarters in the Old Bailey. To the constables: All right, boys, round them all up, all the patriots you find here. To the beggars: Have you fellows ever heard of Tiger Brown? Tonight, Peachum, I’ve hit on the solution, and I believe I may say, saved a friend from mortal peril. I’ll simply smoke out your whole nest. And lock up the lot of you for – hm, for what? For begging on the street. You seem to have intimated your intention of embarrassing me and the Queen with these beggars. I shall simply arrest the beggars. Think about it.

  PEACHUM: Excellent, but … what beggars?

  BROWN: These cripples here. Smith, we’re taking these patriots along with us.

  PEACHUM: I can save you from a hasty step; you can thank the Lord, Brown, that you came to me. You see, Brown, you can arrest these few, they’re harmless, harmless …

  Music starts up, playing a few measures of the ‘Song of the Insufficiency of Human Endeavour’.

  BROWN: What’s that?

  PEACHUM: Music. They’re playing as well as they can. The Song of Insufficiency. You don’t know it? Think about it.

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

  SONG OF THE INSUFFICIENCY OF HUMAN ENDEAVOUR

  Mankind lives by its head

  Its head won’t see it through

  Inspect your own. What lives off that?

  At most a louse or two.

  For this bleak existence

  Man is never sharp enough.

  Hence his weak resistance

  To its tricks and bluff.

  Aye, make yourself a plan

  They need you at the top!

  Then make yourself a second plan

  Then let the whole thing drop.

  For this bleak existence

  Man is never bad enough

  Though his sheer persistence

  Can be lovely stuff.

  Aye, race for happiness

  But don’t you race too fast.

  When all start chasing happiness

  Happiness comes in last.

  For this bleak existence

  Man is never undemanding enough.

  All his loud insistence

  Is a load of guff.

  PEACHUM: Your plan, Brown, was brilliant but hardly realistic. All you can arrest in this place is a few young fellows celebrating their Queen’s Coronation by arranging a little fancy dress party. When the real paupers come along – there aren’t any here – there will be thousands of them. That’s the point: you’ve forgotten what an immense number of poor people there are. When you see them standing outside the Abbey, it won’t be a festive sight. You see, they don’t look good. Do you know what grogblossom is, Brown? Yes, but how about a hundred and twenty noses all flushed with grogblossom? Our young Queen’s path should be strewn with blossom, not with grogblossom. And all those cripples at the church door. That’s something one wishes to avoid, Brown. You’ll probably say the police can handle us poor folk. You don’t believe that yourself. How will it look if six hundred poor cripples have to be clubbed down at the Coronation? It will look bad. It will look disgusting. Nauseating. I feel faint at the thought of it, Brown. A small chair, if you please.

  BROWN to Smith: That’s a threat. See here, you, that’s blackmail. We can’t touch the man, in the interests of public order we simply can’t touch him. I’ve never seen the like of it.

  PEACHUM: You’re seeing it now. Let me tell you something. You can behave as you please to the Queen of England. But you can’t tread on the toes of the poorest man in England, or you’ll be brought down, Mr Brown.

  BROWN: So you’re asking me to arrest Mac the Knife? Arrest him? That’s easy to say. You have to find a man before you can arrest him.

  PEACHUM: If you say that, I can’t contradict you. So I’ll find your man for you; we’ll see if there’s any morality left. Jimmy, where is Mr Macheath at this moment?

  JENNY: 21 Oxford Street, at Suky Tawdry’s.

  BROWN: Smith, go at once to Suky Tawdry’s place at 21 Oxford Street, arrest Macheath and take him to the Old Bailey. In the meantime, I must put on my gala uniform. On this day of all days I must wear my gala uniform.

  PEACHUM: Brown, if he’s not on the gallows by six o’clock …

  BROWN: Oh, Mac, it was not to be. Goes out with constables.

  PEACHUM calling after him: Think about it, eh, Brown?

  Third drum roll.

  Third drum roll. Change of objective. You will head for the dungeons of the Old Bailey.

  The beggars go out.

  Peachum sings the fourth stanza of the ‘Song of Human Insufficient:

  Man could be good instead

  So slug him on the head

  If you can slug him good and hard

  He may stay good and dead.

  For this bleak existence

  Man’s not good enough just yet.

  You’ll need no assistance.

  Slug him on the head.

  Curtain. Jenny steps bef
ore the curtain with a hurdy-gurdy and sings the

  SOLOMON SONG

  You saw sagacious Solomon

  You know what came of him.

  To him complexities seemed plain.

  He cursed the hour that gave birth to him

  And saw that everything was vain.

  How great and wise was Solomon!

  But now that time is getting late

  The world can see what followed on.

  It’s wisdom that had brought him to this state –

  How fortunate the man with none!

  You saw the lovely Cleopatra

  You know what she became.

  Two emperors slaved to serve her lust.

  She whored herself to death and fame

  Then rotted down and turned to dust.

  How beautiful was Babylon!

  But now that time is getting late

  The world can see what followed on.

  It’s beauty that had brought her to this state –

  How fortunate the girl with none!

  You saw the gallant Caesar next

  You know what he became.

  They deified him in his life

  Then had him murdered just the same.

  And as they raised the fatal knife

  How loud he cried ‘You too, my son!’

  But now that time is getting late

  The world can see what followed on.

  It’s courage that had brought him to this state –

  How fortunate the man with none!

  You know the ever-curious Brecht

  Whose songs you liked to hum.

  He asked, too often for your peace

  Where rich men get their riches from.

  So then you drove him overseas.

  How curious was my mother’s son!

  But now that time is getting late

  The world can see what followed on.

  Inquisitiveness brought him to this state –

  How fortunate the man with none!

  And now look at this man Macheath

  The sands are running out.

  If only he’d known where to stop

  And stuck to crimes he knew all about

  He surely would have reached the top.

  But one fine day his heart was won.

  So now that time is getting late

  The world can see what followed on.

  His sexual urges brought him to this state –

  How fortunate the man with none!

  8

  Property in dispute.10

  A young girl’s room in the Old Bailey.

  Lucy.

  SMITH enters: Miss, Mrs Polly Macheath wishes to speak with you.

  LUCY: Mrs Macheath? Show her in.

  Enter Polly.

  POLLY: Good morning, madam. Madam, good morning.

  LUCY: What is it, please?

  POLLY: Do you recognise me?

  LUCY: Of course I know you.

  POLLY: I’ve come to beg your pardon for the way I behaved yesterday.

  LUCY: Very interesting.

  POLLY: I have no excuse to offer for my behaviour, madam, but my misfortunes.

  LUCY: I see.

  POLLY: Madam, you must forgive me. I was stung by Mr Macheath’s behaviour. He really should not have put us in such a situation, and you can tell him so when you see him.

  LUCY: I … I … shan’t be seeing him.

  POLLY: Of course you will see him.

  LUCY: I shall not see him.

  POLLY: Forgive me.

  LUCY: But he’s very fond of you.

  POLLY: Oh no, you’re the only one he loves. I’m sure of that.

  LUCY: Very kind of you.

  POLLY: But, madam, a man is always afraid of a woman who loves him too much. And then he’s bound to neglect and avoid her. I could see at a glance that he is more devoted to you than I could ever have guessed.

  LUCY: Do you mean that sincerely?

  POLLY: Of course, certainly, very sincerely, madam. Do believe me.

  LUCY: Dear Miss Polly, both of us have loved him too much.

  POLLY: Perhaps. Pause. And now, madam, I want to tell you how it all came about. Ten days ago I met Mr Macheath for the first time at the Cuttlefish Hotel. My mother was there too. Five days later, about the day before yesterday, we were married. Yesterday I found out that he was wanted by the police for a variety of crimes. And today I don’t know what’s going to happen. So you see, madam, twelve days ago I couldn’t have imagined ever losing my heart to a man. Pause.

  LUCY: I understand, Miss Peachum.

  POLLY: Mrs Macheath.

  LUCY: Mrs Macheath.

  POLLY: To tell the truth, I’ve been thinking about this man a good deal in the last few hours. It’s not so simple. Because you see, Miss, I really can’t help envying you for the way he behaved to you the other day. When I left him, only because my mother made me, he didn’t show the slightest sign of regret. Maybe he has no heart and nothing but a stone in his breast. What do you think, Lucy?

  LUCY: Well, my dear Miss, I really don’t know if Mr Macheath is entirely to blame. You should have stuck to your own class of people, dear Miss.

  POLLY: Mrs Macheath.

  LUCY: Mrs Macheath.

  POLLY: That’s quite true – or at least, as my father always advised me, I should have kept everything on a strict business footing.

  LUCY: Definitely.

  POLLY weeping: But he’s my only possession in all the world.

  LUCY: My dear, such a misfortune can befall the most intelligent woman. But after all, you are his wife on paper. That should be a comfort to you. Poor child, I can’t bear to see you so depressed. Won’t you have a little something?

  POLLY: What?

  LUCY: Something to eat.

  POLLY: Oh yes, please, a little something to eat. Lucy goes out.

  Polly aside: The hypocritical strumpet.

  LUCY comes back with coffee and cake: Here. This ought to do it.

  POLLY: You really have gone to too much trouble, madam. Pause. She eats. What a lovely picture of him you’ve got. When did he bring it?

  LUCY: Bring it?

  POLLY innocently: I mean when did he bring it up here to you?

  LUCY: He didn’t bring it.

  POLLY: Did he give it to you right here in this room?

  LUCY: He never was in this room.

  POLLY: I see. But there wouldn’t have been any harm in that. The paths of fate are so dreadfully crisscrossed.

  LUCY: Must you keep talking such nonsense? You only came here to spy.

  POLLY: Then you know where he is?

  LUCY: Me? Don’t you know?

  POLLY: Tell me this minute where he is.

  LUCY: I have no idea.

  POLLY: So you don’t know where he is. Word of honour?

  LUCY: No, I don’t know. Hm, and you don’t either?

  POLLY: No. This is terrible. Polly laughs and Lucy weeps. Now he has two commitments. And he’s gone.

  LUCY: I can’t stand it any more. Oh, Polly, it’s so dreadful.

  POLLY gaily: I’m so happy to have found such a good friend at the end of this tragedy. That’s something. Would you care for a little more to eat? Some more cakes?

  LUCY: Just a bit! Oh, Polly, don’t be so good to me. Really, I don’t deserve it. Oh, Polly, men aren’t worth it.

  POLLY: Of course men aren’t worth it, but what else can we do?

  LUCY: No! Now I’m going to make a clean breast of it. Will you be very cross with me, Polly?

  POLLY: About what?

  LUCY: It’s not real!

  POLLY: What?

  LUCY: This here! She indicates her belly. And all for that crook!

  POLLY laughs: Oh, that’s magnificent! Is it a cushion? Oh, you really are a hypocritical strumpet! Look – you want Mackie? I’ll make you a present of him. If you find him you can keep him. Voices and steps are heard in the corridor. What’s that?

  LUCY at the window: Mackie! They’v
e caught him once more.

  POLLY collapses: This is the end.

  Enter Mrs Peachum.

  MRS PEACHUM: Ha, Polly, so this is where I find you. You must change your things, your husband is being hanged. I’ve brought your widow’s weeds. Polly changes into the widow’s dress. You’ll be a lovely widow. But you’ll have to cheer up a little.

  9

  Friday morning. 5 am. Mac the Knife, who has been with the whores again, has again been betrayed by whores. He is about to be hanged.

  Death cell.

  The bells of Westminster ring. Constables bring Macheath shackled into the cell.

  SMITH: Bring him in here. Those are the bells of Westminster. Stand up straight, I’m not asking you why you look so worn out. I’d say you were ashamed. To the constables: When the bells of Westminster ring for the third time, that will be at six, he’s got to have been hanged. Make everything ready.

  A CONSTABLE: For the last quarter of an hour all the streets around Newgate have been so jammed with people of all classes you can’t get through.

  SMITH: Strange! Then they already know?

  CONSTABLE: If this goes on, the whole of London will know in another quarter of an hour. All the people who would otherwise have gone to the Coronation will come here. And the Queen will be riding through empty streets.

  SMITH: All the more reason for us to move fast. If we’re through by six, that will give people time to get back to the Coronation by seven. So now, get going.

  MAC: Hey, Smith, what time is it?

  SMITH: Haven’t you got eyes? Five oh-four.

  MAC: Five oh-four.

  Just as Smith is locking the cell door from outside, Brown enters.

  BROWN, his back to the cell, to Smith: Is he in there?

  SMITH: You want to see him?

  BROWN: No, no, no, for God’s sake. I’ll leave it all to you. Goes out.

  MAC suddenly bursts into a soft unbroken flow of speech: All right, Smith, I won’t say a word, not a word about bribery, never fear. I know all about it. If you let yourself be bribed, you’d have to leave the country for a start. You certainly would. You’d need enough to live on for the rest of your life. A thousand pounds, eh? Don’t say anything! In twenty minutes I’ll tell you whether you can have your thousand pounds by noon. I’m not saying a word about feelings. Go outside and think it over carefully. Life is short and money is scarce. And I don’t even know yet if I can raise any. But if anyone wants to see me, let them in.