Kattrin has ceased working and is staring at the chaplain.
MOTHER COURAGE: I’ll buy fresh stock then. If you say so. Kattrin suddenly flings a basket full of bottles to the ground and runs off. Kattrin! Laughs. Damn me if she weren’t waiting for peace. I promised her she’d get a husband soon as peace came. Hurries after her.
THE CLERK standing up: I won. You been talking too much. Pay up.
MOTHER COURAGE returning with Kattrin: Don’t be silly, war’ll go on a bit longer, and we’ll make a bit more money, and peacetime’ll be all the nicer for it. Now you go into town, that’s ten minutes’ walk at most, fetch things from Golden Lion, the expensive ones, we can fetch rest in cart later, it’s all arranged, regimental clerk here will go with you. Nearly everybody’s attending commander in chief’s funeral, nowt can happen to you. Careful now, don’t let them steal nowt, think of your dowry.
Kattrin puts a cloth over her head and leaves with the clerk.
THE CHAPLAIN: Is that all right to let her go with the clerk?
MOTHER COURAGE: She’s not that pretty they’d want to ruin her.
THE CHAPLAIN: I admire the way you run your business and always win through. I see why they called you Courage.
MOTHER COURAGE: Poor folk got to have courage. Why, they’re lost. Simply getting up in morning takes some doing in their situation. Or ploughing a field, and in a war at that. Mere fact they bring kids into world shows they got courage, cause there’s no hope for them. They have to hang one another and slaughter one another, so just looking each other in face must call for courage. Being able to put up with emperor and pope shows supernatural courage, cause those two cost ’em their lives. She sits down, takes a little pipe from her purse and smokes. You might chop us a bit of kindling.
THE CHAPLAIN reluctantly removing his coat and preparing to chop up sticks: I happen to be a pastor of souls, not a woodcutter.
MOTHER COURAGE: I got no soul, you see. Need firewood, though.
THE CHAPLAIN: Where’s that stumpy pipe from?
MOTHER COURAGE: Just a pipe.
THE CHAPLAIN: What d’you mean, ‘just’, it’s a quite particular pipe, that.
MOTHER COURAGE: Aha?
THE CHAPLAIN: That stumpy pipe belongs to the Oxenstierna Regiment’s cook.
MOTHER COURAGE: If you know that already why ask, Mr Clever?
THE CHAPLAIN: Because I didn’t know if you were aware what you’re smoking. You might just have been rummaging around in your things, come across some old pipe or other, and used it out of sheer absence of mind.
MOTHER COURAGE: And why not?
THE CHAPLAIN: Because you didn’t. You’re smoking that deliberately.
MOTHER COURAGE: And why shouldn’t I?
THE CHAPLAIN: Courage, I’m warning you. It’s my duty. Probably you’ll never clap eyes on the gentleman again, and that’s no loss but your good fortune. He didn’t make at all a reliable impression on me. Quite the opposite.
MOTHER COURAGE: Really? Nice fellow that.
THE CHAPLAIN: So he’s what you would call a nice fellow? I wouldn’t. Far be it from me to bear him the least ill-will, but nice is not what I would call him. More like one of those Don Juans, a slippery one. Have a look at that pipe if you don’t believe me. You must admit it tells you a good deal about his character.
MOTHER COURAGE: Nowt that I can see. Worn out, I’d call it.
THE CHAPLAIN: Practically bitten through, you mean. A man of wrath. That is the pipe of an unscrupulous man of wrath; you must see that if you have any discrimination left.
MOTHER COURAGE: Don’t chop my chopping block in two.
THE CHAPLAIN: I told you I’m not a woodcutter by trade. I studied to be a pastor of souls. My talent and abilities are being abused in this place, by manual labour. My God-given endowments are denied expression. It’s a sin. You have never heard me preach. One sermon of mine can put a regiment in such a frame of mind it’ll treat the enemy like a flock of sheep. Life to them is a smelly old foot-cloth which they fling away in a vision of final victory. God has given me the gift of speech. I can preach so you’ll lose all sense of sight and hearing.
MOTHER COURAGE: I don’t wish to lose my sense of sight and hearing. Where’d that leave me?
THE CHAPLAIN: Courage, I have often thought that your dry way of talking conceals more than just a warm heart. You too are human and need warmth.
MOTHER COURAGE: Best way for us to get this tent warm is have plenty of firewood.
THE CHAPLAIN: Don’t change the subject. Seriously, Courage, I sometimes ask myself what it would be like if our relationship were to become somewhat closer. I mean, given that the whirlwind of war has so strangely whirled us together.
MOTHER COURAGE: I’d say it was close enough. I cook meals for you and you run around and chop firewood for instance.
THE CHAPLAIN coming closer: You know what I mean by closer; it’s not a relationship founded on meals and wood-chopping and other such base necessities. Let your heart speak, harden thyself not.
MOTHER COURAGE: Don’t you come at me with that axe. That’d be too close a relationship.
THE CHAPLAIN: You shouldn’t make a joke of it. I’m a serious person and I’ve thought about what I’m saying.
MOTHER COURAGE: Be sensible, padre. I like you. I don’t want to row you. All I’m after is get myself and children through all this with my cart. I don’t see it as mine, and I ain’t in the mood for private affairs. Right now I’m taking a gamble, buying stores just when commander in chief’s fallen and all the talk’s of peace. Where d’you reckon you’d turn if I’m ruined? Don’t know, do you? You chop us some kindling wood, then we can keep warm at night, that’s quite something these times. What’s this? She gets up. Enter Kattrin, out of breath, with a wound above her eye. She is carrying a variety of stuff: parcels, leather goods, a drum and so on.
MOTHER COURAGE: What happened, someone assault you? On way back? She was assaulted on her way back. Bet it was that trooper was getting drunk here. I shouldn’t have let you go, love. Drop that stuff. Not too bad, just a flesh wound you got. I’ll bandage it and in a week it’ll be all right. Worse than wild beasts, they are. She ties up the wound.
THE CHAPLAIN: It’s not them I blame. They never went raping back home. The fault lies with those that start wars, it brings humanity’s lowest instincts to the surface.
MOTHER COURAGE: Calm down. Didn’t clerk come back with you? That’s because you’re respectable, they don’t bother. Wound ain’t a deep one, won’t leave no mark. There you are, all bandaged up. You’ll get something, love, keep calm.
Something I put aside for you, wait till you see. She delves into a sack and brings out Yvette’s red high-heeled boots. Made you open your eyes, eh? Something you always wanted. They’re yours. Put ’em on quick, before I change me mind. Won’t leave no mark, and what if it does? Ones I’m really sorry for’s the ones they fancy. Drag them around till they’re worn out, they do. Those they don’t care for they leaves alive. I seen girls before now had pretty faces, then in no time looking fit to frighten a hyaena. Can’t even go behind a bush without risking trouble, horrible life they lead. Same like with trees, straight well-shaped ones get chopped down to make beams for houses and crooked ones live happily ever after. So it’s a stroke of luck for you really. Them boots’ll be all right, I greased them before putting them away.
Kattrin leaves the boots where they are and crawls into the cart.
THE CHAPLAIN: Let’s hope she’s not disfigured.
MOTHER COURAGE: She’ll have a scar. No use her waiting for peacetime now.
THE CHAPLAIN: She didn’t let them steal the things.
MOTHER COURAGE: Maybe I shouldn’t have dinned that into her so. Wish I knew what went on in that head of hers. Just once she stayed out all night, once in all those years. Afterwards she went around like before, except she worked harder. Couldn’t get her to tell what had happened. Worried me quite a while, that did. She collects the articles brought by
Kattrin, and sorts them angrily. That’s war for you. Nice way to get a living!
Sound of cannon fire.
THE CHAPLAIN: Now they’ll be burying the commander in chief. This is a historic moment.
MOTHER COURAGE: What I call a historic moment is them bashing my daughter over the eye. She’s half wrecked already, won’t get no husband now, and her so crazy about kids; any road she’s only dumb from war, soldier stuffed something in her mouth when she was little. As for Swiss Cheese I’ll never see him again, and where Eilif is God alone knows. War be damned.
7
Mother Courage at the peak of her business career
High road.
The chaplain, Mother Courage and Kattrin are pulling the cart, which is hung with new wares. Mother Courage is wearing a necklace of silver coins.
MOTHER COURAGE: I won’t have you folk spoiling my war for me. I’m told it kills off the weak, but they’re write-off in peacetime too. And war gives its people a better deal. She sings:
And if you feel your forces fading
You won’t be there to share the fruits.
But what is war but private trading
That deals in blood instead of boots?
And what’s the use of settling down? Them as does are first to go. Sings:
Some people think to live by looting
The goods some others haven’t got.
You think it’s just a line they’re shooting
Until you hear they have been shot.
And some I saw dig six feet under
In haste to lie down and pass out.
Now they’re at rest perhaps they wonder
Just what was all their haste about.
They pull it further.
8
The same year sees the death of the Swedish king Gustavus Adolphus at the battle of Lützen. Peace threatens to ruin Mother Courage’s business. Courage’s dashing son performs one heroic deed too many and comes to a sticky end
Camp.
A summer morning. In front of the cart stand an old woman and her son. The son carries a large sack of bedding.
MOTHER COURAGE’S VOICE from inside the cart: Does it need to be this ungodly hour?
THE YOUNG MAN: We walked twenty miles in the night and got to be back today.
MOTHER COURAGE’S VOICE: What am I to do with bedding? Folk’ve got no houses.
THE YOUNG MAN: Best have a look first.
THE OLD WOMAN: This place is no good either. Come on.
THE YOUNG MAN: What, and have them sell the roof over our head for taxes? She might pay three florins if you throw in the bracelet. Bells start ringing. Listen, mother.
VOICES from the rear: Peace! Swedish king’s been killed.
MOTHER COURAGE sticks her head out of the cart. She has not yet done her hair: What’s that bell-ringing about in midweek?
THE CHAPLAIN crawling out from under the cart: What are they shouting? Peace?
MOTHER COURAGE: Don’t tell me peace has broken out just after I laid in new stock.
THE CHAPLAIN calling to the rear: That true? Peace?
VOICES: Three weeks ago, they say, only no one told us.
THE CHAPLAIN to Courage: What else would they be ringing the bells for?
VOICES: A whole lot of Lutherans have driven into town, they brought the news.
THE YOUNG MAN: Mother, it’s peace. What’s the matter? The old woman has collapsed.
MOTHER COURAGE speaking into the cart: Holy cow! Kattrin, peace! Put your black dress on, we’re going to church. Least we can do for Swiss Cheese. Is it true, though?
THE YOUNG MAN: The people here say so. They’ve made peace. Can you get up? The old woman stands up dumbfounded. I’ll get the saddlery going again, I promise. It’ll all work out. Father will get his bedding back. Can you walk? To the chaplain: She came over queer. It’s the news. She never thought there’d be peace again. Father always said so. We’re going straight home. They go off.
MOTHER COURAGE’S VOICE: Give her a schnapps.
THE CHAPLAIN: They’ve already gone.
MOTHER COURAGE’S VOICE: What’s up in camp?
THE CHAPLAIN: They’re assembling. I’ll go on over. Shouldn’t I put on my clerical garb?
MOTHER COURAGE’S VOICE: Best check up before parading yourself as heretic. I’m glad about peace, never mind if I’m ruined. Any road I’ll have got two of me children through the war. Be seeing Eilif again now.
THE CHAPLAIN: And who’s that walking down the lines? Bless me, the army commander’s cook.
THE COOK somewhat bedraggled and carrying a bundle: What do I behold? The padre!
THE CHAPLAIN: Courage, we’ve got company.
Mother Courage clambers out.
THE COOK: I promised I’d drop over for a little talk soon as I had the time. I’ve not forgotten your brandy, Mrs Fierling.
MOTHER COURAGE: Good grief, the general’s cook! After all these years! Where’s my eldest boy Eilif?
THE COOK: Hasn’t he got here? He left before me, he was on his way to see you too.
THE CHAPLAIN: I shall don my clerical garb, just a moment. Goes off behind the cart.
MOTHER COURAGE: Then he may be here any minute. Calls into the cart: Kattrin, Eilif’s on his way. Get cook a glass of brandy, Kattrin! Kattrin does not appear. Drag your hair down over it, that’s all right. Mr Lamb’s no stranger. Fetches the brandy herself. She don’t like to come out, peace means nowt to her. Took too long coming, it did. They gave her a crack over one eye, you barely notice it now but she thinks folks are staring at her.
THE COOK: Ah yes. War. He and Mother Courage sit down.
MOTHER COURAGE: Cooky, you caught me at bad moment. I’m ruined.
THE COOK: What? That’s hard.
MOTHER COURAGE: Peace’ll wring my neck. I went and took Chaplain’s advice, laid in fresh stocks only t’other day. And now they’re going to demobilise and I’ll be left sitting on me wares.
THE COOK: What d’you want to go and listen to padre for? If I hadn’t been in such a hurry that time, the Catholics arriving so quickly and all, I’d warned you against that man. All piss and wind, he is. So he’s the authority around here, eh?
MOTHER COURAGE: He’s been doing washing-up for me and helping pull.
THE COOK: Him pull! I bet he told you some of those jokes of his too, I know him, got a very unhealthy view of women, he has, all my good influence on him went for nowt. He ain’t steady.
MOTHER COURAGE: You steady then?
THE COOK: Whatever else I ain’t, I’m steady. Mud in your eye!
MOTHER COURAGE: Steady, that’s nowt. I only had one steady fellow, thank God. Hardest I ever had to work in me life; he flogged the kids’ blankets soon as springtime came, and he called me mouth-organ an unchristian instrument. Ask me, you ain’t saying much for yourself admitting you’re steady.
THE COOK: Still tough as nails, I see; but that’s what I like about you.
MOTHER COURAGE: Now don’t tell me you been dreaming of me nails.
THE COOK: Well, well, here we are, along with armistice bells and your brandy like what nobody else ever serves, it’s famous, that is.
MOTHER COURAGE: I don’t give two pins for your armistice bells just now. Can’t see ’em handing out all the back pay what’s owing, so where does that leave me with my famous brandy? Had your pay yet?
THE COOK hesitantly: Not exactly. That’s why we all shoved off. If that’s how it is, I thought, I’ll go and visit friends. So here I am sitting with you.
MOTHER COURAGE: Other words you got nowt.
THE COOK: High time they stopped that bloody clanging. Wouldn’t mind getting into some sort of trade. I’m fed up being cook to that lot. I’m s’posed to rustle them up meals out of tree roots and old bootsoles, then they fling the hot soup in my face. Cook these days is a dog’s life. Sooner do war service, only of course it’s peacetime now. He sees the chaplain reappearing in his old garments. More about that later.
THE CHAPLAIN: It??
?s still all right, only had a few moths in it.
THE COOK: Can’t see why you bother. You won’t get your old job back, who are you to inspire now to earn his pay honourably and lay down his life? What’s more I got a bone to pick with you, cause you advised this lady to buy a lot of unnecessary goods saying war would go on for ever.
THE CHAPLAIN heatedly: I’d like to know what concern that is of yours.
THE COOK: Because it’s unscrupulous, that sort of thing is. How dare you meddle in other folks’ business arrangements with your unwanted advice?
THE CHAPLAIN: Who’s meddling? To Courage: I never knew this gentleman was such an intimate you had to account to him for everything.
MOTHER COURAGE: Keep you hair on, cook’s only giving his personal opinion and you can’t deny your war was a flop.
THE CHAPLAIN: You should not blaspheme against peace, Courage. You are a hyaena of the battlefield.
MOTHER COURAGE: I’m what?
THE COOK: If you’re going to insult this lady you’ll have to settle with me.
THE CHAPLAIN: It’s not you I’m talking to. Your intentions are only too transparent. To Courage: But when I see you picking up peace betwixt your finger and your thumb like some dirty old snot-rag, then my humanity feels outraged; for then I see that you don’t want peace but war, because you profit from it; in which case you shouldn’t forget the ancient saying that whosoever sups with the devil needs a long spoon.
MOTHER COURAGE: I got no use for war, and war ain’t got much use for me. But I’m not being called no hyaena, you and me’s through.
THE CHAPLAIN: Then why grumble about peace when everybody’s breathing sighs of relief? Because of some old junk in your cart?