Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 7

by Bertolt Brecht

MADAME SOUPEAU: Who else was in the Mayor’s office when you told him? Refugees?

  SIMONE: Yes, I think so.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Oh, you think so. Then when the mob arrived, what did you tell them to do with the food stores of the hostelry where you were working? Simone does not understand. Did you or did you not tell them to help themselves to whatever they wanted?

  SIMONE: I can’t remember, Madame.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: So...

  MAYOR: What are you getting at, Madame?

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Who were the first people to help themselves, Simone? Exactly: your parents. And they didn’t do too badly.

  ROBERT: That’s the limit. To Madame Soupeau: It was you yourself pushed all those tins on to the Machards.

  GEORGES simultaneously: It was you yourself told the Mayor to dispose of the stores as he saw fit.

  MAYOR: Quite so, Madame.

  MADAME SOUPEAU ignoring the last remarks, to Simone: You were impudent, disloyal and obstinate. That’s why I dismissed you. Did you leave immediately, as I told you?

  SIMONE: No, Madame.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Instead, you hung around here and then tried to get your own back for being dismissed by setting the brickworks on fire. Correct?

  SIMONE defiantly: I did it because of the Germans.

  ROBERT: Everyone in Saint-Martin knows that.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Oh, I see: because of the Germans. How did you know the Germans would discover the petrol?

  SIMONE: I heard Monsieur le Capitaine talking about it to Monsieur le Maire.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Ah, so you heard we were intending to report the petrol?

  SIMONE: Monsieur le Capitaine was intending to.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: So your only reason for destroying the petrol was to stop us handing it over? That’s just what I wanted to hear.

  SIMONE desperately: I did it because of the enemy! There were those three tanks outside the Mairie.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: And that was the enemy? Or was it somebody else? Two nuns appear in the gateway escorted by a policeman.

  MAYOR: What is it, Jules?

  POLICEMAN: These ladies are sisters of the Disciplinary Order of Saint Ursula.

  CAPITAINE: I phoned the convent in your name, Chavez. To the nuns: This is the Machard girl, sisters.

  MAYOR: How dare you?

  CAPITAINE: You’re surely not thinking of letting her go free, Monsieur Chavez? Menacingly: The least our guests can expect is that we cleanse Saint-Martin of all dangerous elements. I don’t think you’ve fully understood our venerable Marshal’s speech. France is faced with a period of danger. Insubordination is contagious, and it’s up to us to nip it in the bud. One such fire in Saint-Martin is more than enough, Chavez.

  MAURICE: Ah, so now it’s up to us to do the Germans’ dirty work for them. And it looks as if we’re only too glad to.

  MADAME SOUPEAU coldly: Of course I shall get the Public Prosecutor in Tours to authorize the girl’s formal commitment. The brickworks are property of the hostelry, and Simone set fire to them from base personal motives.

  GEORGES: Personal motives indeed, with Simone!

  MAYOR quite shaken: Are you determined to destroy the child?

  ROBERT menacingly: Who’s getting her own back now?

  PATRON: Don’t start in again, Robert. As she’s under age she’ll be in the care of the Sisters, that’s all.

  MAURICE horrified: At Saint Ursula’s, where they flog them!

  SIMONE screaming: No!

  MAYOR: Simone to go to that institution for the mentally retarded? That mental torture-house, that hell? Do you realize you’re condemning her to madness?

  MAURICE pointing to the figures of the brutish nuns: Just look at them.

  The nuns do not stir a muscle. Their faces remain cold and masklike.

  GEORGES: It would have been more merciful to let the Germans execute her.

  SIMONE begging for help: That’s where they finish with their heads swollen up and spit running out of their mouths, Monsieur le Maire. They chain them up!

  MAYOR firmly: Madame Soupeau, I shall testify at the inquiry in Tours as to the true motives of this child. Be calm, Simone, everybody knows you only acted out of patriotism.

  MADAME SOUPEAU in an outburst: Ah, so our little pétroleuse is to be a national heroine and a saint, is that the idea? France is saved: France is on fire. On my right the German tanks, on my left Simone Machard the day-labourer’s daughter.

  CAPITAINE: My dear Monsieur Chavez, with a past like yours the judges of the New France aren’t likely to give much weight to your testimony. Besides, the road to Tours has become a little unsafe for people like you.

  MAURICE with bitterness: You see what they’re up to: defending Saint-Martin against any suggestion that there might be Frenchmen here.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Frenchmen? Gets hold of Simone, shakes her: Are you trying to teach us how to be patriotic? The Soupeaus have owned this hostelry for two hundred years. To everybody: Do you want to see a patriot? Pointing to the Capitaine: There’s one for you. We’re perfectly capable of telling you when there must be war and when peace is better. You want to do something for France? Right. We are France, do you get that?

  CAPITAINE: You’re getting too worked up, Marie. Once and for all, Monsieur le Maire, tell them to remove the Machard girl.

  MAYOR: Me? You seem to have taken charge here now.

  Turns away as if to leave.

  SIMONE afraid: Don’t go, Monsieur le Maire!

  MAYOR helplessly: Keep your chin up, Simone! Stumbles away, a broken man.

  MADAME SOUPEAU after a silence, to the Capitaine: Get this scandalous business finished, Honoré!

  CAPITAINE to the policeman: I’ll take the responsibility. The policeman gets hold of Simone.

  SIMONE in a whisper, extremely frightened: Not to Saint Ursula’s!

  ROBERT: You bastard! Tries to attack the policeman.

  MAURICE holding him back: Don’t be a fool, Robert. There’s nothing we can do for her now. They’ve got the police and they’ve got the Germans. Poor Simone, too many enemies.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Simone, fetch your things.

  Simone looks around, her friends are silent and cast their glances downwards. She goes into the store room in great anguish.

  MADAME SOUPEAU calmly, half to her employees, in explanation: The child is insubordinate and won’t acknowledge any kind of authority. It is our painful duty to teach order and discipline to her.

  Simone returns with a tiny suitcase, carrying her apron over her arm. She hands the apron to Madame Soupeau.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: And now open your suitcase so that we can see what you are taking with you.

  PATRON: Is that really necessary, Maman?

  One of the nuns has already opened the suitcase. She takes out Simone’s book.

  SIMONE: Not the book!

  The nun hands the book over to Madame Soupeau.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: This is the hostelry’s property.

  PATRON: I gave it to her.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: It didn’t do her much good. To Simone: Simone, say goodbye to the staff.

  SIMONE: Goodbye, Monsieur Georges.

  GEORGES: Will you be brave, Simone?

  SIMONE: Yes, Monsieur Georges.

  MAURICE: Keep well.

  SIMONE: Yes, Maurice.

  GEORGES: I shan’t forget your cousin.

  Simone smiles at him. She looks up at the garage roof. The light dims. Music commences, announcing the appearance of the angel. Simone looks towards the garage roof and sees him there.

  THE ANGEL

  France’s daughter, don’t be afraid.

  No one can live long by fighting the Maid.

  Each hand lifted to do you harm

  Soon must wither away on its arm.

  No matter where they may send you to

  France will always go with you.

  And before much time has passed

  Glorious she will rise at last.

  The angel disappear
s, full light returns. The nuns grip Simone by the arm. Simone kisses Maurice and Robert, then is led away. Everybody watches in silence.

  SIMONE at the gate, struggling desperately: No, no! I won’t go! Help me, can’t you! Not to that place! André! André!

  She is dragged away.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: My smelling-salts, Henri.

  PATRON gloomily: Maurice, Robert, Georges, Père Gustave, get cracking! Don’t forget it’s peacetime now. The Patron and the Capitaine take Madame Soupeau into the hostelry. Maurice and Robert leave by the gate. Père Gustave rolls a tyre into the yard to mend it. Georges examines his bad arm. The sky begins to redden. Père Gustave points at it and shows Georges. The Patron dashes out of the hostelry.

  PATRON: Maurice, Robert! Go at once and find out what’s burning!

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: It must be the village hall. Those refugees! They seem to have learned something.

  GEORGES: They can’t have got to Saint Ursula’s yet. Simone will see the fire from the car.

  Schweyk in the Second World War

  Translator: WILLIAM ROWLINSON

  Characters

  Schweyk, dog dealer in Prague · Baloun, a photographer, his friend · Anna Kopecka, landlady of the Chalice tavern · Young Prochazka, son of a butcher, her admirer · Anna, a servant girl · Kati, her friend

  Brettschneider, Gestapo agent · Bullinger, lieutenant in the SS · SS-man Müller II · The Chaplain

  Hitler · Himmler · Goering · Goebbels · von Bock · Minor characters

  PROLOGUE IN THE HIGHER REGIONS

  Martial music. Hitler, Goering, Goebbels and Himmler around a globe. All larger than life except Goebbels, who is smaller than life.

  HITLER

  Comrades and party members, you’ve seen how my iron hand

  Is holding down Germany, just as we planned.

  So here’s my chance to bid for world domination

  Which is nothing but a small matter of tanks, stukas and determination.

  He puts his hand on the globe, and blood slowly spreads across the world. Goering, Goebbels and Himmler shout ‘Heil!’

  First, though (this is something which even I cannot guess)

  Tell me, since you’re the head of my police and SS

  How would you say the Little Man views me?

  Not just the Germans only

  But those people in Austria, Czecho-what’s-its-name

  (What the hell are those small countries called, on my map they all look the same)

  Do they support me and—love me indeed?

  Can I count on them in a crisis, or are they—more of a broken reed?

  What’s their view of me, the statesman, orator, warrior, artist—

  Just what do they think I am?

  HIMMLER

  The smartest.

  HITLER

  And are they truly generous, even to obsession

  Specially with their possessions

  Which I’ve got to have for my war, since although I find

  I’m quite smart, I’m still only human.

  HIMMLER

  Not to my mind.

  HITLER

  Don’t interrupt me. But oh, my poor head

  Aches as I lie tossing and turning in my bed

  Thinking of Europe, wondering how does the Little Man view me?

  HIMMLER

  Mein Führer, they pray to you on bended knee

  As to a god, all the while

  Loving you as men love a mistress: the same as the Germans!

  GOERING, GOEBBELS, HIMMLER: Heil!

  1

  In the Chalice tavern sit Schweyk and Baloun over their morning drink. The landlady, Mrs Anna Kopecka, is serving a drunken SS man. At the bar sits young Prochazka.

  MRS KOPECKA: You’ve had five Pilseners, and I’d rather you didn’t have a sixth. You’re not used to it.

  SS MAN: Give me another, that’s an order. You know what that means, and if you’re a good girl and do as you’re told I’ll let you into the big secret, you won’t be sorry.

  MRS KOPECKA: I don’t want to know. That’s why you’re not getting any more beer, so you don’t let our your secrets and make trouble for me.

  SS MAN: That’s very sensible of you, just what I might have recommended myself. All personnel with knowledge of this secret will be shot. They’ve made an attempt on Adolf’s life, in Munich. He nearly had it: skin of his teeth.

  MRS KOPECKA: Shut up, you’re drunk.

  SCHWEYK cordially, from the next table: Which Adolf would that be? I know two Adolfs. One of them was behind the counter at Prusha the chemist’s—he’s in a concentration camp now because he’d only sell his concentrated hydrochloric acid to Czechs—and the other’s Adolf Kokoschka who picks up the dogshit and he’s in a concentration camp too for saying there’s no shit to beat a British bulldog’s. Neither would be much loss.

  SS MAN gets up and salutes:Heil Hitler!

  SCHWEYK likewise gets up and salutes: Heil Hitler!

  SS MAN threateningly: Anything wrong with that?

  SCHWEYK: Present and correct, Mr SS, sir, nothing wrong at all.

  MRS KOPECKA coming with beer: Here’s your Pilsener, I don’t suppose it makes any difference now. Now just you sit down nice and quiet and don’t start pouring out any more of your Führer’s secrets that none of us wants to hear. We don’t have any politics in this place. She points to a notice: ‘Just drink your slivovitz or beer / And don’t talk politics in here. Anna Kopecka’. I’m running a business. When somebody comes and orders a beer I draw him one, but that’s all.

  YOUNG PROCHAZKA when she returns to the bar: Why won’t you let people enjoy themselves, Mrs K?

  MRS KOPECKA: Because the Nazis’ll shut the Chalice down if I do.

  SCHWEYK: If it was Hitler they had a go at it wouldn’t half be a lark.

  MRS KOPECKA: You be quiet too, Mr Schweyk. It’s nothing to do with you.

  SCHWEYK: If that was it, it could be because there’s a shortage of potatoes. That’s the sort of thing people won’t put up with. But it’s all on account of order, good order and military discipline; they’ve got things that organized every blessed bunch of parsley is a coupon on your ration card, that’s order for you, and I’ve heard as how Hitler has put more things in order than you’d have thought humanly possible. Once there’s no shortage you don’t get order. Take me for instance, suppose I’ve been and sold a dachshund, there I am with a pocketful of money, notes and silver all jumbled up, but when I’m broke there’s probably nothing but a one-crown note and a ten-heller piece, and that doesn’t leave you much room for disorder. When Mussolini took over in Italy the trains started running on time. They’ve had seven or eight goes at him so far.

  MRS KOPECKA: Stop drivelling and drink your beer. If something’s happened we’ll all be for it.

  SCHWEYK: I don’t see why you have to look so miserable about it, Baloun, you’ll be odd man out in Prague today.

  BALOUN: It’s easy enough to say food gets short in a war like this, but I haven’t had a real meal since Whit Sunday last year, what with all your ration cards and two ounces of meat a week. Indicating the SS man: It’s all right for them, look how well fed they are, I’ll just go and have a quick word with him. He goes over to the SS man. What did you have for lunch, eh, pal, that’s made you so thirsty? I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I bet it was something pretty hot, goulash perhaps?

  SS MAN: Mind your own business, it’s a military secret, rissoles.

  BALOUN: With gravy. And were there any fresh vegetables? I don’t want you to say anything you shouldn’t, but just supposing there was cabbage, was there plenty of butter on it? That’s the important thing, you know. I remember in Przlov, before Hitler (if you’ll pardon my saying so) I had a rissole at the Old Swan that was better than you get at the Ritz.

  MRS KOPECKA to Schweyk: Can’t you get Mr Baloun away from that SS man, yesterday he spent so long asking Mr Brettschneider from the Gestapo—I wonder where’s he got to today—abo
ut the size of the helpings in the German army, he nearly got himself arrested as a spy.

  SCHWEYK: Can’t be helped. Eating’s his vice.

  BALOUN to the SS man: D’you happen to know if the Germans are taking on volunteers in Prague for the Russian campaign, and if they get the same size helpings as the German army, or is it just a rumour?

  MRS KOPECKA: Mr Baloun, stop bothering that gentleman, he’s off duty, and you ought to be ashamed asking such questions, and you a Czech.

  BALOUN guiltily: I don’t mean any harm—I wouldn’t go asking him right out like this if I did. I know your point of view, Mrs Kopecka.

  MRS KOPECKA: I don’t have a point of view, I have a pub. I just expect normal decent behaviour from the customers, but you’re terrible, Mr Baloun, you really are.

  SS MAN: Do you want to volunteer?

  BALOUN: I was only asking.

  SS MAN: If you’re interested I’ll take you along to the recruiting office. The catering’s first class, if you want to know. The Ukraine is becoming the granary of the Third Reich. When we were in Holland I sent so many food parcels home I even kept my aunt in grub, and I can’t stand the sight of her. Heitler!

  BALOUN also standing up: Heil Hitler.

  SCHWEYK who has joined them: You mustn’t say ‘Heil Hitler’, you must do like this gentleman, and he ought to know, say ‘Heitler’, that shows you’re used to it and say it in your sleep at home.

  MRS KOPECKA bringing the SS man a slivovitz: Have this one on the house.

  SS MAN embracing Baloun: So you want to volunteer against the Bolsheviks, that’s what I like to hear; you may be a Czech pig but you’ve got brains, I’ll come along to the recruiting office with you.

  MRS KOPECKA pushing him down on to his chair: Drink your slivovitz, it’ll calm you down. To Baloun: I’ve half a mind to throw you out. You’ve no sense of dignity left, it comes from that unnatural gluttony of yours. Do you know that song they’re all singing now? I’ll sing it to you, you’ve only had a couple of beers, you should have your senses about you still. She sings ‘The Song of the Nazi Soldier’s Wife’:

  What did the post bring the soldier’s wife

  From the ancient city of Prague?

  From Prague it brought her some high-heeled shoes.