Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 6

  I like a woman who can get the point.

  Givola and Dullfeet, who is deathly pale, emerge. Dullfeet sees the hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  DULLFEET: Betty, we’re leaving.

  UI comes up to him, holding out his hand:

  Mr Dullfeet, your

  Decision honours you. It will redound to

  Cicero’s welfare. A meeting between such men

  As you and me can only be auspicious.

  GIVOLA, giving Betty flowers:

  Beauty to beauty!

  BETTY: Look, how nice, Ignatius!

  Oh, I’m so happy. ‘Bye, ‘bye.

  GIVOLA: Now we can

  Start going places.

  UI, darkly: I don’t like that man.

  A sign appears.

  13

  Bells. A coffin is being carried into the Cicero funeral chapel, followed by Betty Dullfeet in widow’s weeds, and by Clark, Ui, Giri and Givola bearing enormous wreaths. After handing in their wreaths, Giri and Givola remain outside the chapel. The pastor’s voice is heard from inside.

  VOICE: And so Ignatius Dullfeet’s mortal frame

  Is laid to rest. A life of meagrely

  Rewarded toil is ended, of toil devoted

  To others than the toiler who has left us.

  The angel at the gates of heaven will set

  His hand upon Ignatius Dullfeet’s shoulder

  Feel that his cloak has been worn thin and say:

  This man has borne the burdens of his neighbours.

  And in the city council for some time

  To come, when everyone has finished speaking

  Silence will fall. For so accustomed are

  His fellow citizens to listen to

  Ignatius Dullfeet’s voice that they will wait

  To hear him. ’Tis as though the city’s conscience

  Had died. This man who met with so untimely

  An end could walk the narrow path unseeing.

  Justice was in his heart. This man of lowly

  Stature but lofty mind created in

  His newspaper a rostrum whence his voice

  Rang out beyond the confines of our city.

  Ignatius Dullfeet, rest in peace! Amen.

  GIVOLA: A tactful man: no word of how he died.

  GIRI, wearing Dullfeet’s hat:

  A tactful man? A man with seven children.

  Clark and Mulberry come out of the chapel.

  CLARK: God damn it! Are you mounting guard for fear

  The truth might be divulged beside his coffin?

  GIVOLA: Why so uncivil, my dear Clark? I’d think

  This holy place would curb your temper. And

  Besides, the boss is out of sorts. He doesn’t

  Like the surroundings here.

  MULBERRY: You murderers!

  Ignatius Dullfeet kept his word – and silence.

  GIVOLA: Silence is not enough. The kind of men

  We need must be prepared not only to

  Keep silent for us but to speak – and loudly.

  MULBERRY: What could he say except to call you butchers?

  GIVOLA: He had to go. That little Dullfeet was

  The pore through which the greengoods dealers oozed

  Cold sweat. He stank of it unbearably.

  GIRI: And what about your cauliflower? Do

  You want it sold in Cicero or don’t

  You?

  MULBERRY: Not by slaughter.

  GIRI: Hypocrite, how else?

  Who helps us eat the calf we slaughter, eh?

  You’re funny bastards, clamouring for meat

  Then bawling out the cook because he uses

  A cleaver. We expect you guys to smack

  Your lips and all you do is gripe. And now

  Go home!

  MULBERRY: A sorry day, Clark, when you brought

  These people in.

  CLARK: You’re telling me?

  The two go out, deep in gloom.

  GIRI: Boss

  Don’t let those stinkers keep you from enjoying

  The funeral!

  GIVOLA: Pst! Betty’s coming.

  Leaning on another woman, Betty comes out of the chapel.

  Ui steps up to her. Organ music from the chapel.

  UI: Mrs

  Dullfeet, my sympathies.

  She passes him without a word.

  GIRI, bellowing: Hey, you!

  She stops still and turns around. Her face is white.

  UI: I said, my

  Sympathies, Mrs Dullfeet. Dullfeet – God

  Have mercy on his soul – is dead. But cauliflower –

  Your cauliflower – is still with us. Maybe you

  Can’t see it, because your eyes are still

  Blinded with tears. This tragic incident

  Should not, however, blind you to the fact

  That shots are being fired from craven ambush

  On law-abiding vegetable trucks.

  And kerosene dispensed by ruthless hands

  Is spoiling sorely needed vegetables.

  My men and I stand ready to provide

  Protection. What’s your answer?

  BETTY, looking heavenward: This

  With Dullfeet hardly settled in his grave!

  UI: Believe me, I deplore the incident:

  The man by ruthless hand extinguished was

  My friend.

  BETTY: The hand that felled him was the hand

  That shook his hand in friendship. Yours!

  UI: Am I

  Never to hear the last of these foul rumours

  This calumny which poisons at the root

  My noblest aspirations and endeavours

  To live in harmony with my fellow men?

  Oh, why must they refuse to understand me?

  Why will they not requite my trust? What malice

  To speak of threats when I appeal to reason!

  To spurn the hand that I hold out in friendship!

  BETTY: You hold it out to murder.

  UI: No!

  I plead with them and they revile me.

  BETTY: You

  Plead like a serpent pleading with a bird.

  UI: You’ve heard her. That’s how people talk to me.

  It was the same with Dullfeet. He mistook

  My warm, my open-hearted offer of friendship

  For calculation and my generosity

  For weakness. How, alas, did he requite

  My friendly words? With stony silence. Silence

  Was his reply when what I hoped for

  Was joyful appreciation. Oh, how I longed to

  Hear him respond to my persistent, my

  Well-nigh humiliating pleas for friendship, or

  At least for a little understanding, with

  Some sign of human warmth. I longed in vain.

  My only reward was grim contempt. And even

  The promise to keep silent that he gave me

  So sullenly and God knows grudgingly

  Was broken on the first occasion. Where

  I ask you is this silence that he promised

  So fervently? New horror stories are being

  Broadcast in all directions. But I warn you:

  Don’t go too far, for even my proverbial

  Patience has got its breaking point.

  BETTY: Words fail me.

  UI: Unprompted by the heart, they always fail.

  BETTY: You call it heart that makes you speak so glibly?

  UI: I speak the way I feel.

  BETTY: Can anybody feel

  The way you speak? Perhaps he can. Your murders

  Come from the heart. Your blackest crimes are

  As deeply felt as other men’s good deeds.

  As we believe in faith, so you believe in

  Betrayal. No good impulse can corrupt you.

  Unwavering in your inconstancy!

  True to disloyalty, staunch in deception!

  Kindled to sacred fire by bestial deeds!
br />   The sight of blood delights you. Violence

  Exalts your spirit. Sordid actions move you

  To tears, and good ones leave you with deep-seated

  Hatred and thirst for vengeance.

  UI: Mrs Dullfeet

  I always – it’s a principle of mine –

  Hear my opponent out, even when

  His words are gall. I know that in your circle

  I’m not exactly loved. My origins –

  Never have I denied that I’m a humble

  Son of the Bronx – are held against me.

  ‘He doesn’t even know,’ they say, ‘which fork

  To eat his fish with. How then can he hope

  To be accepted in big business? When

  Tariffs are being discussed, or similar

  Financial matters, he’s perfectly capable

  Of reaching for his knife instead of his pen.

  Impossible! We can’t use such a man!’

  My uncouth tone, my manly way of calling

  A spade a spade are used as marks against me.

  These barriers of prejudice compel me

  To bank exclusively on my own achievement.

  You’re in the cauliflower business. Mrs

  Dullfeet, and so am I. There lies the bridge

  Between us.

  BETTY: And the chasm to be bridged

  Is only foul murder.

  UI: Bitter experience

  Teaches me not to stress the human angle

  But speak to you as a man of influence

  Speaks to the owner of a greengoods business.

  And so I ask you: How’s the cauliflower

  Business? For life goes on despite our sorrows.

  BETTY: Yes, it goes on – and I shall use my life

  To warn the people of this pestilence.

  I swear to my dead husband that in future

  I’ll hate my voice if it should say ‘Good morning’

  Or ‘Pass the bread’ instead of one thing only:

  ‘Extinguish Ui!’

  GIRI, in a threatening tone: Don’t overdo it, kid!

  UI: Because amid the tombs I dare not hope

  For milder feelings, I’d better stick to business

  Which knows no dead.

  BETTY: Oh Dullfeet, Dullfeet! Now

  I truly know that you are dead.

  UI: Exactly.

  Bear well in mind that Dullfeet’s dead. With him

  Has died the only voice in Cicero

  That would have spoken out in opposition

  To crime and terror. You cannot deplore

  His loss too deeply. Now you stand defenceless

  In a cold world where, sad to say, the weak

  Are always trampled. You’ve got only one

  Protector left. That’s me, Arturo Ui.

  BETTY: And this to me, the widow of the man

  You murdered! Monster! Oh, I knew you’d be here

  Because you’ve always gone back to the scene of

  Your crimes to throw the blame on others. ‘No

  It wasn’t me, it was somebody else.’

  ‘I know of nothing.’ ‘I’ve been injured’

  Cries injury. And murder cries: ‘A murder!

  Murder must be avenged!’

  UI: My plan stands fast.

  Protection must be given to Cicero.

  BETTY, feebly: You won’t succeed.

  UI: I will. That much I know.

  BETTY: From this protector God protect us!

  UI: Give

  Me your answer.

  He holds out his hand.

  Is it friendship?

  BETTY: Never while I live!

  Cringing with horror, she runs out.

  A sign appears.

  14

  Ui’s bedroom at the Hotel Mammoth. Ui tossing in his bed, plagued by a nightmare. His bodyguards are sitting in chairs, their revolvers on their laps.

  UI, in his sleep: Out, bloody shades! Have pity! Get you gone!

  The wall behind him becomes transparent. The ghost of Ernesto Roma appears, a bullet-hole in his forehead.

  ROMA: It will avail you nothing. All this murder

  This butchery, these threats and slaverings

  Are all in vain, Arturo, for the root of

  Your crimes is rotten. They will never flower.

  Treason is made manure. Murder, lie

  Deceive the Clarks and slay the Dullfeets, but

  Stop at your own. Conspire against the world

  But spare your fellow conspirators.

  Trample the city with a hundred feet

  But trample not the feet, you treacherous dog!

  Cozen them all, but do not hope to cozen

  The man whose face you look at in the mirror!

  In striking me, you struck yourself, Arturo!

  I cast my lot with you when you were hardly

  More than a shadow on a bar-room floor.

  And now I languish in this drafty

  Eternity, while you sit down to table

  With sleek and proud directors. Treachery

  Made you, and treachery will unmake you.

  Just as you betrayed Ernesto Roma, your

  Friend and lieutenant, so you will betray

  Everyone else, and all, Arturo, will

  Betray you in the end. The green earth covers

  Ernesto Roma, but not your faithless spirit

  Which hovers over tombstones in the wind

  Where all can see it, even the grave-diggers.

  The day will come when all whom you struck down

  And all you will strike down will rise, Arturo

  And, bleeding but made strong by hate, take arms

  Against you. You will look around for help

  As I once looked. Then promise, threaten, plead.

  No one will help. Who helped me in my need?

  UI, jumping up with a start:

  Shoot! Kill him! Traitor! Get back to the dead!

  The bodyguards shoot at the spot on the wall indicated by Ui.

  ROMA, fading away:

  What’s left of me is not afraid of lead.

  15

  Financial District. Meeting of the Chicago vegetable dealers. They are deathly pale.

  FIRST VEGETABLE DEALER:

  Murder! Extortion! Highway robbery!

  SECOND VEGETABLE DEALER:

  And worse: Submissiveness and cowardice!

  THIRD VEGETABLE DEALER:

  What do you mean, submissiveness? In January

  When the first two came barging into

  My store and threatened me at gunpoint, I

  Gave them, a steely look from top to toe

  And answered firmly: I incline to force.

  I made it plain that I could not approve

  Their conduct or have anything to do

  With them. My countenance was ice.

  It said: So be it, take your cut. But only

  Because you’ve got those guns.

  FOURTH VEGETABLE DEALER: Exactly!

  I wash my hands in innocence! That’s what

  I told my missus.

  FIRST VEGETABLE DEALER, vehemently: What do you mean, cowardice?

  We used our heads. If we kept quiet, gritted

  Our teeth and paid, we thought those bloody fiends

  Would put their guns away. But did they? No! It’s

  Murder! Extortion! Highway robbery!

  SECOND VEGETABLE DEALER:

  Nobody else would swallow it. No backbone!

  FIFTH VEGETABLE DEALER:

  No tommy gun, you mean. I’m not a gangster.

  My trade is selling greens.

  THIRD VEGETABLE DEALER: My only hope

  Is that the bastard some day runs across

  Some guys who show their teeth. Just let him try his

  Little game somewhere else!

  FOURTH VEGETABLE DEALER: In Cicero

  For instance.

  The Cicero vegetable dealers come in. They a
re deathly pale.

  THE CICERONIANS: Hi, Chicago!

  THE CHICAGOANS: Hi, Cicero!

  What brings you here?

  THE CICERONIANS: We were told to come.

  THE CHICAGOANS: By who?

  THE CICERONIANS: By him.

  FIRST CHICAGOAN: Who says so? How can he command

  You? Throw his weight around in Cicero?

  FIRST CICERONIAN: With

  His gun.

  SECOND CICERONIAN: Brute force. We’re helpless.

  FIRST CHICAGOAN: Stinking cowards!

  Can’t you be men? Is there no law in Cicero?

  FIRST CICERONIAN: No.

  SECOND CICERONIAN: No longer.

  THIRD CHICAGOAN: Listen, friends. You’ve got

  To fight. This plague will sweep the country

  If you don’t stop it.

  FIRST CHICAGOAN: First one city, then another.

  Fight to the death! You owe it to your country.

  SECOND CICERONIAN:

  Why us? We wash our hands in innocence.

  FOURTH CHICAGOAN:

  We only hope with God’s help that the bastard

  Some day comes across some guys that show

  Their teeth.

  Fanfares. Enter Arturo Ui and Betty Dullfeet – in mourning – followed by Clark, Giri, Givola and bodyguards. Flanked by the others, Ui passes through. The bodyguards line up in the background.

  GIRI: Hi, friends! Is everybody here

  From Cicero?

  FIRST CICERONIAN: All present.

  GIRI: And Chicago?

  FIRST CHICAGOAN: All present.

  GIRI, to Ui: Everybody’s here.

  GIVOLA: Greetings, my friends. The Cauliflower Trust

  Wishes you all a hearty welcome. Our

  First speaker will be Mr Clark. To Clark: Mr Clark.

  CLARK: Gentlemen, I bring news. Negotiations

  Begun some weeks ago and patiently

  Though sometimes stormily pursued – I’m telling

  Tales out of school – have yielded fruit. The wholesale

  House of I. Dullfeet, Cicero, has joined

  The Cauliflower Trust. In consequence

  The Cauliflower Trust will now supply

  Your greens. The gain for you is obvious:

  Secure delivery. The new prices, slightly

  Increased, have already been set. It is

  With pleasure, Mrs Dullfeet, that the Trust

  Welcomes you as its newest member.

  Clark and Betty Dullfeet shake hands.

  GIVOLA: And now: Arturo Ui.

  Ui steps up to the microphone.

  UI: Friends, countrymen!

  Chicagoans and Ciceronians! When

  A year ago old Dogsborough, God rest

  His honest soul, with tearful eyes

  Appealed to me to protect Chicago’s green –

  Goods trade, though moved, I doubted whether

  My powers would be able to justify