Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 7

by Bertolt Brecht

  LUDOVICA as though well rehearsed: When I entered the stable to look at the new foal, the stableman said to me of his own accord: ‘It’s hot today’ and laid his hand on my left breast. I said to him: ‘Don’t do that!’ But he continued to handle me indecently, which provoked my anger. Before I realized his sinful intentions, he became intimate with me. It had already happened when my father-in-law entered and accidentally trod on me.

  THE INNKEEPER explaining: On behalf of my son.

  AZDAK to the stableman: Do you admit that you started it?

  THE STABLEMAN: Yes.

  AZDAK: Ludovica, do you like to eat sweet things?

  LUDOVICA: Yes, sunflower seeds.

  AZDAK: Do you like sitting a long time in the tub?

  LUDOVICA: Half an hour or so.

  AZDAK: Public Prosecutor, just drop your knife on the floor. Shauva does so. Ludovica, go and pick up the Public Prosecutor’s knife.

  Ludovica, hips swaying, goes and picks up the knife.

  Azdak points at her. Do you see that? The way it sways? The criminal element has been discovered. The rape has been proved. By eating too much, especially sweet things, by lying too long in warm water, by laziness and too soft a skin, you have raped the poor man. Do you imagine you can go around with a bottom like that and get away with it in Court? This is a case of deliberate assault with a dangerous weapon. You are sentenced to hand over to the Court the little roan which your father liked to ride on behalf of his son. And now, Ludovica, come with me to the stable so that the Court may investigage the scene of the crime.

  Azdak is carried on his Judge’s seat by Ironshirts from place to place on the Grusinian highway. Behind him come Shauva dragging the gallows and the stableman leading the little roan.

  THE SINGER WITH HIS MUSICIANS

  No more did the Lower Orders

  Tremble in their shoes

  At the bellows of their Betters

  At Come-Here’s and Listen-You’s.

  His balances were crooked

  But they shouted in the streets:—

  ‘Good, good, good is Azdak

  And the measure that he metes!’

  He took them from Wealthy Peter

  To give to Penniless Paul

  Sealed his illegal judgments

  With a waxen tear, and all

  The rag-tag-and-bobtail

  Ran crying up and down:—

  ‘Cheer, cheer, cheer for Azdak

  The darling of the town!’

  The little group slowly withdraws.

  To love your next-door neighbour

  Approach him with an axe

  For prayers and saws and sermons

  Are unconvincing facts.

  What miracles of preaching

  A good sharp blade can do:

  So, so, so, so Azdak

  Makes miracles come true.

  Azdak’s Judge’s seat is in a tavern. Three farmers stand before Azdak. Shauva brings him wine. In a corner stands an old peasant woman. In the open doorway, and outside, stand villagers and spectators. An Ironshirt stands guard with a banner.

  AZDAK: The Public Prosecutor opens the proceedings.

  SHAUVA: It’s about a cow. For five weeks the defendant has had a cow in her stable, the property of farmer Suru. She was also found to be in the possession of a stolen ham. And cows belonging to farmer Shutoff were killed after he had asked the defendant to pay the rent for a field.

  THE FARMERS: It’s about my ham, Your Worship.—It’s about my cow, Your Worship.—It’s about my field, Your Worship.

  AZDAK: Granny, what have you got to say to all this?

  THE OLD WOMAN: Your Worship, one night towards morning, five weeks ago, there was a knock at my door, and outside stood a bearded man with a cow. He said, ‘Dear woman, I am the miracle-working St Banditus. And because your son has been killed in the war, I bring you this cow as a keepsake. Take good care of it!’

  THE FARMERS: The robber Irakli, Your Worship!—Her brother-in-law, Your Worship! The cattle thief, the incendiary!—He must be beheaded!

  Outside a woman screams. The crowd grows restless and retreats. Enter the bandit Irakli, with a huge axe.

  THE FARMERS: Irakli! They cross themselves.

  THE BANDIT: A very good evening, dear friends! A glass of wine!

  AZDAK: Public Prosecutor, a jug of wine for the guest. And who are you?

  THE BANDIT: I’m a wandering hermit, Your Worship. And thank you for the kind gift. He empties the glass which Shauva has brought. Same again!

  AZDAK: I’m Azdak. He gets up and bows. The bandit also bows. The Court welcomes the stranger hermit. Go on with your story, Granny.

  THE OLD WOMAN: Your Worship, that first night I didn’t know that St Banditus could work miracles, it was only the cow. But one night a few days later the farmer’s servants came to take the cow away from me. Then they turned round in front of my door and went off without the cow. And on their heads sprouted bumps big as a fist. Then I knew that St Banditus had changed their hearts and turned them into friendly people.

  The bandit roars with laughter.

  THE FIRST FARMER: I know what changed them.

  AZDAK: That’s good. You can tell us later. Continue.

  THE OLD WOMAN: Your Worship, the next one to become a good man was farmer Shutoff—a devil, as everyone knows. But St Banditus brought it about that Shutoff let me off paying the rent for the field.

  THE SECOND FARMER: Because my cows were killed in the field.

  The bandit laughs.

  THE OLD WOMAN answering Azdak’s sign to continue: And then one morning the ham came flying in at my window. It hit me in the small of the back. I’ve been lame ever since. Look, Your Worship. She limps a few steps. The bandit laughs. I ask Your Worship: when was a poor old body ever given a ham except by a miracle?

  The bandit starts sobbing.

  AZDAK rising from his seat: Granny, that’s a question that strikes straight at the Court’s heart. Be so kind as to sit down here.

  Hesitating, the old woman sits on the Judge’s seat. Azdak sits on the floor, glass in hand.

  Little mother, I almost called you Mother Grusinia, the woebegone

  The bereaved one, whose sons are in the war.

  Who is beaten with fists, but full of hope.

  Who weeps when she is given a cow

  And is surprised when she is not beaten.

  Little mother, pass merciful sentence on us, the damned!

  He bellows to the farmers.

  Admit that you don’t believe in miracles, you atheists! Each of you is sentenced to pay 500 piastres! For your lack of faith. Get out!

  The farmers creep out.

  And you, little mother, and you—to the bandit—pious man, drink a jug of wine with the Public Prosecutor and Azdak!

  THE SINGER WITH HIS MUSICIANS

  To feed the starving people

  He broke the laws like bread

  There on the seat of justice

  With the gallows over his head

  For more than seven hundred

  Days he calmed their wails

  Well, well, well, did Azdak

  Measure with false scales.

  Two summers and two winters

  A poor man judged the poor

  And on the wreck of justice

  He brought them safe to shore

  For he spoke in the mob language

  That the mob understands.

  I, I, I, cried Azdak

  Take bribes from empty hands.

  THE SINGER

  Then the era of disorder was over, the Grand Duke returned

  The Governor’s wife returned, a Judgment was held.

  Many people died, the suburbs burned anew, and fear seized Azdak.

  Azdak’s Judge’s seat stands again in the Court of Justice. Azdak sits on the ground mending a shoe and talking to Shauva. Noises outside. Above a wall the fat prince’s head is carried by on a lance.

  AZDAK: Shauva, your days of slavery are
numbered, perhaps even the minutes. For a long time I have held you on the iron curb of reason, and it has made your mouth bloody. I have lashed you with arguments founded on reason, and ill-treated you with logic. You are by nature a weak creature, and if one slyly throws you an argument, you have to devour it; you can’t resist. By nature you are compelled to lick the hand of a superior being, but superior beings can be very different. And now comes your liberation, and you will soon be able to follow your inclinations, which are low. You will be able to follow your unerring instinct, which teaches you to plant your heavy boot on the faces of men. Gone is the era of confusion and disorder, and the great times which I found described in the Song of Chaos have not yet come. Let us now sing that song together in memory of those wonderful days. Sit down and don’t violate the music. Don’t be afraid. It sounds all right. It has a popular refrain.

  He sings

  Sister, hide your face; brother, take your knife, the times are out of joint.

  The noblemen are full of complaints, the simple folk full of joy.

  The city says: let us drive the strong ones out of our midst.

  Storm the government buildings, destroy the lists of the serfs.

  Now the masters’ noses are put to the grindstone. Those who never saw the day have emerged.

  The poor-boxes of ebony are broken, the precious sesame wood is used for beds.

  He who lacked bread now possesses barns; he who lived on the corn of charity, now measures it out himself.

  SHAUVA: Oh, oh, oh, oh.

  AZDAK:

  Where are you, General? Please, please, please, restore order.

  The son of the nobleman can no longer be recognized; the child of the mistress becomes the son of her slave.

  The councillors are taking shelter in the barn; he who was barely allowed to sleep on the wall now lolls in bed.

  He who once rowed a boat now owns ships; when their owner looks for them, they are no longer his.

  Five men are sent out by their master. They say: go yourself, we have arrived.

  SHAUVA: Oh, oh, oh, oh.

  AZDAK:

  Where are you, General? Please, please, please restore order!

  Yes, so it might have been, if order had been much longer neglected. But now the Grand Duke, whose life I saved like a fool, has returned to the Capital. And the Persians have lent him an army to restore order. The outer town is already in flames. Go and get me the Big Book I like to sit on. Shauva brings the book from the Judge’s seat. Azdak opens it. This is the Statute Book and I’ve always used it, as you can confirm.

  SHAUVA: Yes, to sit on.

  AZDAK: Now I’d better look and see what they can do to me, because I’ve always allowed the have-nots to get away with everything. And I’ll have to pay for it dearly. I helped to put Poverty on to its rickety legs, so they’ll hang me for drunkenness. I peeped into the rich man’s pocket, which is considered bad taste. And I can’t hide anywhere, for all the world knows me, since I have helped the world.

  SHAUVA: Someone’s coming!

  AZDAK in a panic walks trembling to the seat: The game is up! But I’ll give no man the pleasure of seeing human greatness. I’ll beg on my knees for mercy. Spittle will slobber down my chin. The fear of death is upon me.

  Enter Natella Abashvili, the Governor’s wife, followed by the Adjutant and an Ironshirt.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: What kind of man is that, Shalva?

  AZDAK: A willing one, Your Excellency, a man ready to oblige.

  THE ADJUTANT: Natella Abashvili, wife of the late Governor, has just returned and is looking for her three-year-old son, Michael. She has been informed that the child was abducted to the mountains by a former servant.

  AZDAK: It will be brought back, Your Highness, at your service.

  THE ADJUTANT: They say that the person in question is passing it off as her own child.

  AZDAK: She will be beheaded, Your Highness, at your service.

  THE ADJUTANT: That’s all.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE leaving: I don’t like that man.

  AZDAK following her to the door, and bowing: Everything will be arranged, Your Highness, at your service.

  6

  THE CHALK CIRCLE

  THE SINGER

  Now listen to the story of the trial concerning the child of the Governor Abashvili

  To establish the true mother

  By the famous test of the Chalk Circle.

  The courtyard of the lawcourts in Nukha. Ironshirts lead Michael in, then go across the stage and out at the back. One Ironshirt holds Grusha back under the doorway with his lance until the child has been taken away. Then she is admitted. She is accompanied by the former Governor’s cook. Distant noises and a fire-red sky.

  GRUSHA: He’s so good, he can wash himself already.

  THE COOK: You’re lucky. This is not a real Judge; this is Azdak. He’s a drunk and doesn’t understand anything. And the biggest thieves have been acquitted by him, because he mixes everything up and because the rich never offer him big enough bribes. The likes of us get off lightly sometimes.

  GRUSHA: I need some luck today.

  THE COOK: Touch wood. She crosses herself. I think I’d better say a quick prayer that the Judge will be drunk.

  Her lips move in prayer, while Grusha looks round in vain for the child.

  THE COOK: What I can’t understand is why you want to hold on to it at any price, if it’s not yours. In these days.

  GRUSHA: It’s mine, I’ve brought it up.

  THE COOK: But didn’t you ever wonder what would happen when she returned?

  GRUSHA: At first I thought I’d give it back to her. Then I thought she wouldn’t return.

  THE COOK: And a borrowed coat keeps one warm, too, eh? Grusha nods. I’ll swear anything you like, because you’re a decent person. Memorizes aloud: I had him in my care for five piastres, and on Thursday evening, when the riots started, Grusha came to fetch him. She sees the soldier, Chachava, approaching. But you have done Simon great wrong. I’ve talked to him. He can’t understand it.

  GRUSHA unaware of Simon’s presence: I can’t be bothered with that man just now, if he doesn’t understand anything.

  THE COOK: He has understood that the child is not yours; but that you’re married and won’t be free until death parts you—he can’t understand that.

  Grusha sees Simon and greets him.

  SIMON gloomily: I wanted to tell the woman that I am ready to swear I am the father of the child.

  GRUSHA low: That’s right, Simon.

  SIMON: At the same time, I would like to say that I am hereby not bound to anything; nor the woman, either.

  THE COOK: That’s unnecessary. She’s married. You know that.

  SIMON: That’s her business and doesn’t need rubbing in.

  Enter two Ironshirts.

  THE IRONSHIRTS: Where’s the Judge?—Has anyone seen the Judge?

  GRUSHA who has turned away and covered her face: Stand in front of me. I shouldn’t have come to Nukha. If I run into the Ironshirt, the one I hit over the head...

  The Ironshirt who has brought in the child steps forward.

  THE IRONSHIRT: The Judge isn’t here.

  The two Ironshirts go on searching.

  THE COOK: I hope something hasn’t happened to him. With any other Judge you’d have less chance than a chicken has teeth.

  Enter another Ironshirt.

  THE IRONSHIRT who had inquired for the Judge, to the other Ironshirt: There are only two old people and a child here. The Judge has bolted.

  THE OTHER IRONSHIRT: Go on searching!

  The first two Ironshirts go out quickly. The third remains behind. Grusha lets out a scream. The Ironshirt turns round. He is the Corporal, and has a large scar right across his face.

  THE IRONSHIRT in the gateway: What’s the matter, Shotta? Do you know her?

  THE CORPORAL after a long stare: No.

  THE IRONSHIRT: She’s the one who’s supposed to have stolen the Abashvili child
. If you know anything about it, Shotta, you can make a packet of money.

  Exit the Corporal, cursing.

  THE COOK: Was it him? Grusha nods. I think he’ll keep his mouth shut, otherwise he’ll have to admit he was after the child.

  GRUSHA relieved: I’d almost forgotten I’d saved the child from them...

  Enter the Governor’s wife, followed by the Adjutant and two lawyers.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: Thank God! At least the common people aren’t here. I can’t stand their smell, it always gives me migraine.

  THE FIRST LAWYER: Madam, I must ask you to be as careful as possible in everything you say, until we have another Judge.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE: But I didn’t say anything, Illo Shuboladze. I love the people—with their simple, straight-forward ways. It’s just their smell that brings on my migraine.

  THE SECOND LAWYER: There will hardly be any spectators. Most of the population is behind locked doors because of the riots in the outer town.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE looking at Grusha: Is that the creature?

  THE FIRST LAWYER: I beg you, most gracious Natella Abashvili, to abstain from all invective until it is absolutely certain that the Grand Duke has appointed a new Judge and we have got rid of the present one, who is about the lowest ever seen in a Judge’s robe. And things seem to be on the move, as you will see.

  Ironshirts enter the courtyard.

  THE COOK: Her Ladyship wouldn’t hesitate to pull your hair out if she didn’t know that Azdak is for the poor people. He goes by the face.

  Two Ironshirts begin by fastening a rope to the pillar. Azdak, in chains, is led in, followed by Shauva, also in chains. The three farmers bring up the rear.

  ONE IRONSHIRT: Trying to run away, eh? He beats Azdak.

  ONE FARMER: Pull the Judge’s robe off before we string him up!

  Ironshirts and farmers pull the robe off Azdak. His torn underwear becomes visible. Then someone kicks him.

  AN IRONSHIRT pushing him on to someone else: Anyone want a bundle of Justice? Here it is!

  Accompanied by shouts of ‘It’s all yours!’ and ‘I don’t want it!’ they hurl Azdak back and forth until he breaks down. Then he is hauled up and dragged under the noose.

  THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE who, during the ‘ball-game’, has been clapping her hands hysterically: I disliked that man from the moment I first saw him.