Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 5

  SERGEANT: Here’s somebody we dunno the name of. It’s got to be listed, though, so everything’s shipshape. He had a meal here. Have a look, see if you know him. He removes the sheet. Know him? Mother Courage shakes her head. What, never see him before he had that meal here? Mother Courage shakes her head. Pick him up. Chuck him in the pit. He’s got nobody knows him. They carry him away.

  4

  Mother Courage sings the Song of the Grand Capitulation

  Outside an officer’s tent.

  Mother Courage is waiting. A clerk looks out of the tent.

  THE CLERK: I know you. You had a paymaster from the Lutherans with you, what was in hiding. I’d not complain if I were you.

  MOTHER COURAGE: But I got a complaint to make. I’m innocent, would look as how I’d a bad conscience if I let this pass. Slashed everything in me cart to pieces with their sabres, they did, then wanted I should pay five taler fine for nowt, I tell you, nowt.

  THE CLERK: Take my tip, better shut up. We’re short of canteens, so we let you go on trading, specially if you got a bad conscience and pay a fine now and then.

  MOTHER COURAGE: I got a complaint.

  THE CLERK: Have it your own way. Then you must wait till the captain’s free. Withdraws inside the tent.

  YOUNG SOLDIER enters aggressively: Bouque la Madonne! Where’s that bleeding pig of a captain what’s took my reward money to swig with his tarts? I’ll do him.

  OLDER SOLDIER running after him: Shut up. They’ll put you in irons.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: Out of there, you thief! I’ll slice you into pork chops, I will. Pocketing my prize money after I’d swum the river, only one in the whole squadron, and now I can’t even buy meself a beer. I’m not standing for that. Come on out there so I can cut you up!

  OLDER SOLDIER: Blessed Mother of God, he’s asking for trouble.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Is it some reward he weren’t paid?

  YOUNG SOLDIER: Lemme go, I’ll slash you too while I’m at it.

  OLDER SOLDIER: He rescued the colonel’s horse and got no reward for it. He’s young yet, still wet behind the ears.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Let him go, he ain’t a dog you got to chain up. Wanting your reward is good sound sense. Why be a hero otherwise?

  YOUNG SOLDIER: So’s he can sit in there and booze. You’re shit-scared, the lot of you. I done something special and I want my reward.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Don’t you shout at me, young fellow. Got me own worries, I have; any road you should spare your voice, be needing it when captain comes, else there he’ll be and you too hoarse to make a sound, which’ll make it hard for him to clap you in irons till you turn blue. People what shouts like that can’t keep it up ever; half an hour, and they have to be rocked to sleep, they’re so tired.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: I ain’t tired and to hell with sleep. I’m hungry. They make our bread from acorns and hemp-seed, and they even skimp on that. He’s whoring away my reward and I’m hungry. I’ll do him.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Oh I see, you’re hungry. Last year that general of yours ordered you all off roads and across fields so corn should be trampled flat; I could’ve got ten florins for a pair of boots s’pose I’d had boots and s’pose anyone’d been able to pay ten florins. Thought he’d be well away from that area this year, he did, but here he is, still there, and hunger is great. I see what you’re angry about.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: I won’t have it, don’t talk to me, it ain’t fair and I’m not standing for that.

  MOTHER COURAGE: And you’re right; but how long? How long you not standing for unfairness? One hour, two hours? Didn’t ask yourself that, did you, but it’s the whole point, and why, once you’re in irons it’s too bad if you suddenly finds you can put up with unfairness after all.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: What am I listening to you for, I’d like to know? Bouque la Madonne, where’s that captain?

  MOTHER COURAGE: You been listening to me because you knows it’s like what I say, your anger has gone up in smoke already, it was just a short one and you needed a long one, but where you going to get it from?

  YOUNG SOLDIER: Are you trying to tell me asking for my reward is wrong?

  MOTHER COURAGE: Not a bit. I’m just telling you your anger ain’t long enough, it’s good for nowt, pity. If you’d a long one I’d be trying to prod you on. Cut him up, the swine, would be my advice to you in that case; but how about if you don’t cut him up cause you feels your tail going between your legs? Then I’d look silly and captain’d take it out on me.

  OLDER SOLDIER: You’re perfectly right, he’s just a bit crazy.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: Very well, let’s see if I don’t cut him up. Draws his sword. When he arrives I’m going to cut him up.

  THE CLERK looks out: The captain’ll be here in one minute. Sit down.

  The young soldier sits down.

  MOTHER COURAGE: He’s sitting now. See, what did I say? you’re sitting now. Ah, how well they know us, no one need tell ’em how to go about it. Sit down! and, bingo, we’re sitting. And sitting and sedition don’t mix. Don’t try to stand up, you won’t stand the way you was standing before. I shouldn’t worry about what I think; I’m no better, not one moment. Bought up all our fighting spirit, they have. Eh? S’pose I kick back, might be bad for business. Let me tell you a thing or two about the Grand Capitulation. She sings the Song of the Grand Capitulation:

  Back when I was young, I was brought to realise

  What a very special person I must be

  (Not just any old cottager’s daughter, what with my looks and my talents and my urge towards Higher Things)

  And insisted that my soup should have no hairs in it.

  No one makes a sucker out of me!

  (All or nothing, only the best is good enough, each man for himself, nobody’s telling me what to do.)

  Then I heard a tit

  Chirp: Wait a bit!

  And you’ll be marching with the band

  In step, responding to command

  And striking up your little dance:

  Now we advance.

  And now: parade, form square!

  Then men swear God’s there –

  Not the faintest chance!

  In no time at all anyone who looked could see

  That I’d learned to take my medicine with good grace.

  (Two kids on my hands and look at the price of bread, and things they expect of you!)

  When they finally came to feel that they were through with me

  They’d got me grovelling on my face.

  (Takes all sorts to make a world, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, no good banging your head against a brick wall.)

  Then I heard that tit

  Chirp: Wait a bit!

  And you’ll be marching with the band

  In step, responding to command

  And striking up you little dance:

  Now they advance.

  And now: parade, form square!

  Then men swear God’s there –

  Not the faintest chance!

  I’ve known people tried to storm the summits:

  There’s no star too bright or seems too far away.

  (Dogged does it, where there’s a will there’s a way, by hook or by crook.)

  As each peak disclosed fresh peaks to come, it’s

  Strange how much a plain straw hat could weigh.

  (You have to cut your coat according to your cloth.)

  Then I hear the tit

  Chirp: Wait a bit!

  And they’ll be marching with the band

  In step, responding to command

  And striking up their little dance:

  Now they advance

  And now: parade, form square!

  Then men swear God’s there –

  Not the faintest chance!

  MOTHER COURAGE to the young soldier: That’s why I reckon you should stay there with your sword drawn if you’re truly set on it and your anger’s big enough, because you got grounds, I agree, but if your anger’s a sho
rt one best leave right away.

  YOUNG SOLDIER: Oh stuff it. He staggers off with the older soldier following.

  CLERK sticks his head out: Captain’s here now. You can make your complaint.

  MOTHER COURAGE: I changed me mind. I ain’t complaining. Exit.

  5

  Two years have gone by. The war is spreading to new areas. Ceaselessly on the move, Courage’s little cart crosses Poland, Moravia, Bavaria, Italy then Bavaria again. 1631. Tilly’s victory at Magdeburg costs Mother Courage four officers’ shirts

  Mother Courage’s cart has stopped in a badly shot-up village.

  Thin military music in the distance. Two soldiers at the bar being served by Kattrin and Mother Courage. One of them has a lady’s fur coat over his shoulders.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Can’t pay, that it? No money, no schnapps. They give us victory parades, but catch them giving men their pay.

  SOLDIER: I want my schnapps. I missed the looting. That double-crossing general only allowed an hour’s looting in the town. He ain’t an inhuman monster, he said. Town must of paid him.

  THE CHAPLAIN stumbles in: There are people still lying in that yard. The peasant’s family. Somebody give me a hand. I need linen.

  The second soldier goes off with him. Kattrin becomes very excited and tries to make her mother produce linen.

  MOTHER COURAGE: I got none. All my bandages was sold to regiment. I ain’t tearing up my officers’ shirts for that lot.

  THE CHAPLAIN calling back: I need linen, I tell you.

  MOTHER COURAGE blocking Kattrin’s way into the cart by sitting on the step: I’m giving nowt. They’ll never pay, and why, nowt to pay with.

  CHAPLAIN bending over a woman he has carried in: Why d’you stay around during the gunfire?

  PEASANT WOMAN feebly: Farm.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Catch them abandoning anything. But now I’m s’posed to foot the bill. I won’t do it.

  FIRST SOLDIER: Those are Protestants. What they have to be Protestants for?

  MOTHER COURAGE: They ain’t bothering about faith. They lost their farm.

  SECOND SOLDIER: They’re no Protestants. They’re Catholics like us.

  FIRST SOLDIER: No way of sorting ’em out in a bombardment.

  A PEASANT brought in by the chaplain: My arm’s gone.

  THE CHAPLAIN: Where’s that linen? All look at Mother Courage who does not move.

  MOTHER COURAGE: I can’t give nowt. What with expenses, taxes, loan interest and bribes. Making guttural noises, Kattrin raises a plank and threatens her mother with it. You gone plain crazy? Put that plank away or I’ll paste you one, you cow. I’m giving nowt, don’t want to, got to think of meself. The chaplain lifts her off the steps and sets her on the ground, then starts pulling out shirts and tearing them into strips. My officers’ shirts! Half a florin apiece! I’m ruined. From the house comes the cry of a child in pain.

  THE PEASANT: The baby’s in there still. Kattrin dashes in.

  THE CHAPLAIN to the woman: Don’t move. They’ll get it out.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Stop her, roof may fall in.

  THE CHAPLAIN: I’m not going back in there.

  MOTHER COURAGE torn both ways: Don’t waste my precious linen. The second soldier restrains her. Kattrin brings a baby out of the ruins.

  MOTHER COURAGE: How nice, found another baby to cart around? Give it to its ma this instant, unless you’d have me fighting for hours to get it off you, like last time, d’you hear? To the second soldier: Don’t stand there gawping, you go back and tell them cut out that music, we can see it’s a victory with our own eyes. All your victories mean to me is losses.

  THE CHAPLAIN tying a bandage: Blood’s coming through. Kattrin is rocking the baby and making lullaby noises.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Look at her, happy as a queen in all this misery; give it back at once, its mother’s coming round. She catches the first soldier, who has been attacking the drinks and is trying to make off with one of the bottles. Psia krew! Thought you’d score another victory, you animal? Now pay.

  FIRST SOLDIER: I got nOWt.

  MOTHER COURAGE pulling the fur coat off his back: Then leave that coat, it’s stolen any road.

  THE CHAPLAIN: There’s still someone under there.

  6

  Outside the Bavarian town of Ingolstadt Courage participates in the funeral of the late Imperial commander Tilly. Discussions are held about war heroes and the war’s duration. The chaplain complains that his talents are lying fallow, and dumb Kattrin gets the red boots. The year is 1632

  Inside a canteen tent.

  It has a bar towards the rear. Rain. Sound of drums and funeral music. The chaplain and the regimental clerk are playing a board game. Mother Courage and her daughter are stocktaking.

  THE CHAPLAIN: Now the funeral procession will be moving off.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Too bad about commander in chief – twenty-two pairs those socks – he fell by accident, they say. Mist over fields, that was the trouble. General had just been haranguing a regiment saying they must fight to last man and last round, he was riding back when mist made him lose direction so he was up front and a bullet got him in midst of battle – only four hurricane lamps left. A whistle from the rear. She goes to the bar. You scrimshankers, dodging your commander in chief’s funeral, scandal I call it. Pours drinks.

  THE CLERK: They should never of paid troops out before the funeral. Instead of going now they’re all getting pissed.

  THE CHAPLAIN to the clerk: Aren’t you supposed to go to the funeral?

  THE CLERK: Dodged it cause of the rain.

  MOTHER COURAGE: It’s different with you, your uniform might get wet. I heard they wanted to toll bells for funeral as usual, except it turned out all churches had been blown to smithereens by his orders, so poor old commander in chief won’t be hearing no bells as they let the coffin down. They’re going to let off three salvoes instead to cheer things up – seventeen belts.

  SHOUTS from the bar: Hey, Missis, a brandy!

  MOTHER COURAGE: Let’s see your money. No, I ain’t having you in my tent with your disgusting boots. You can drink outside, rain or no rain. To the clerk: I’m only letting in sergeants and up. Commander in chief had been having his worries, they say. S’posed to have been trouble with Second Regiment cause he stopped their pay, said it was a war of faith and they should do it for free. Funeral march. All look to the rear.

  THE CHAPLAIN: Now they’ll be filing past the noble corpse.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Can’t help feeling sorry for those generals and emperors, there they are maybe thinking they’re doing something extra special what folk’ll talk about in years to come, and earning a public monument, like conquering the world for instance, that’s a fine ambition for a general, how’s he to know any better? I mean, he plagues hisself to death, then it all breaks down on account of ordinary folk what just wants their beer and bit of a chat, nowt higher. Finest plans get bolloxed up by the pettiness of them as should be carrying them out, because emperors can’t do nowt themselves, they just counts on soldiers and people to back ’em up whatever happens, am I right?

  THE CHAPLAIN laughs: Courage, you’re right, aside from the soldiers. They do their best. Give me that lot outside there, for instance, drinking their brandy in the rain, and I’d guarantee to make you one war after another for a hundred years if need be, and I’m no trained general.

  MOTHER COURAGE: You don’t think war might end, then?

  THE CHAPLAIN: What, because the commander in chief’s gone? Don’t be childish. They’re two a penny, no shortage of heroes.

  MOTHER COURAGE: Ee, I’m not asking for fun of it, but because I’m thinking whether to stock up, prices are low now, but if war’s going to end it’s money down the drain.

  THE CHAPLAIN: I realise it’s a serious question. There’ve always been people going round saying ‘the war can’t go on for ever’. I tell you there’s nothing to stop it going on for ever. Of course there can be a bit of a breathing space. The war may need to g
et its second wind, it may even have an accident so to speak. There’s no guarantee against that; nothing’s perfect on this earth of ours. A perfect war, the sort you might say couldn’t be improved on, that’s something we shall probably never see. It can suddenly come to a standstill for some quite unforeseen reason, you can’t allow for everything. A slight case of negligence, and it’s bogged down up to the axles. And then it’s a matter of hauling the war out of the mud again. But emperor and kings and popes will come to its rescue. So on the whole it has nothing serious to worry about, and will live to a ripe old age.

  A SOLDIER sings at the bar:

  A schnapps, landlord, you’re late!

  A soldier cannot wait

  To do his emperor’s orders.

  Make it a double, this is a holiday.

  MOTHER COURAGE: S’pose I went by what you say …

  THE CHAPLAIN: Think it out for yourself. What’s to compete with the war?

  THE SOLDIER at the rear:

  Your breast, my girl, you’re late!

  A soldier cannot wait

  To ride across the borders.

  THE CLERK unexpectedly: And what about peace? I’m from Bohemia and I’d like to go home some day.

  THE CHAPLAIN: Would you indeed? Ah, peace, Where is the hole once the cheese has been eaten?

  THE SOLDIER at the rear:

  Lead trumps, my friend, you’re late!

  A soldier cannot wait.

  His emperor needs him badly.

  Your blessing, priest, you’re late!

  A soldier cannot wait.

  Must lay his life down gladly.

  THE CLERK: In the long run life’s impossible if there’s no peace.

  THE CHAPLAIN: I’d say there’s peace in war too; it has its peaceful moments. Because war satisfies all requirements, peaceable ones included, they’re catered for, and it would simply fizzle out if they weren’t. In war you can do a crap like in the depths of peacetime, then between one battle and the next you can have a beer, then even when you’re moving up you can lay your head on your arms and have a bit of shuteye in the ditch, it’s entirely possible. During a charge you can’t play cards maybe, but nor can you in the depths of peacetime when you’re ploughing, and after a victory there are various openings. You may get a leg blown off, then you start by making a lot of fuss as though it were serious, but afterwards you calm down or get given a schnapps, and you end up hopping around and the war’s no worse off than before. And what’s to stop you being fruitful and multiplying in the middle of all the butchery, behind a barn or something, in the long run you can’t be held back from it, and then the war will have your progeny and can use them to carry on with. No, the war will always find an outlet, mark my words. Why should it ever stop?