POLLY: Lucy? Mac, who is Lucy?
JAKE embarrassed: Lucy? Oh, nothing serious, you know. Matthew has risen; standing behind Polly, he is waving his arms to shut Jake up.
POLLY sees him: Do you want something? Salt perhaps …? What were you saying, Mr Jake?
JAKE: Oh, nothing, nothing at all. The main thing I wanted to say really was nothing at all. I’m always putting my foot in it.
MAC: What have you got in your hand, Jake?
JAKE: A knife, Boss.
MAC: And what have you got on your plate?
JAKE: A trout, Boss.
MAC: I see. And with the knife you are eating the trout, are you not? It’s incredible. Did you ever see the like of it, Polly? Eating his fish with a knife! Anybody who does that is just a plain swine, do you get me, Jake? Think about it. You’ll have your hands full, Polly, trying to turn trash like this into a human being. Have you boys got the least idea what that is?
WALTER: A human being or a human pee-ing?
POLLY: Really, Mr Walter!
MAC: So you won’t sing a song, something to brighten up the day? Has it got to be a miserable gloomy day like any other? And come to think of it, is anybody guarding the door? I suppose you want me to attend to that myself too? Do you want me on this day of days to guard the door so you lot can stuff your bellies at my expense?
WALTER sullenly: What do you mean at your expense?
JIMMY: Stow it, Walter boy. I’m on my way. Who’s going to come here anyway? Goes out.
JAKE: A fine joke on a day like this if all the wedding guests were pulled in.
JIMMY rushes in: Hey, Captain. The cops!
WALTER: Tiger Brown!
MATTHEW: Nonsense, it’s the Reverend Kimball.
Kimball enters.
ALL roar: Good evening, Reverend Kimball!
KIMBALL: So I’ve found you after all. I find you in a lowly hut, a humble place but your own.
MAC: Property of the Duke of Devonshire.
POLLY: Good evening, Reverend. Oh, I’m so glad that on the happiest day of our life you …
MAC: And now I request a rousing song for the Reverend Kimball.
MATTHEW: How about Bill Lawgen and Mary Syer?
JAKE: Good. Bill Lawgen might be just the thing.
KIMBALL: Be nice if you’d do a little number, boys.
MATTHEW: Let’s have it, gentlemen.
Three men rise and sing hesitantly, weakly and uncertainly:
WEDDING SONG FOR THE LESS WELL-OFF
Bill Lawgen and Mary Syer
Were made man and wife a week ago
(Three cheers for the happy couple: hip, hip, hooray!)
When it was over and they exchanged a kiss
He was thinking ‘Whose wedding dress was this?’
While his name was one thing she’d rather like to know.
Hooray!
Do you know what your wife’s up to? No!
Do you like her sleeping round like that? No!
Three cheers for the happy couple: Hip, hip, hooray!
Billy Lawgen told me recently
Just one part of her will do for me.
The swine.
Hooray!
MAC: Is that all? Penurious!
MATTHEW chokes again: Penurious is the word, gentlemen.
MAC: Shut your trap!
MATTHEW: Oh, I only meant no gusto, no fire, and so on.
POLLY: Gentlemen, if none of you wishes to perform, I myself will sing a little song; it’s an imitation of a girl I saw once in some twopenny-halfpenny dive in Soho. She was washing the glasses, and everybody was laughing at her, and then she turned to the guests and said things like the things I’m going to sing to you. Right. This is a little bar, I want you to think of it as filthy. She stood behind it morning and night. This is the bucket and this is the rag she washed the glasses with. Where you are sitting, the customers were sitting laughing at her. You can laugh too, to make it exactly the same; but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. She starts pretending to wash glasses, muttering to herself. Now, for instance, one of them – it might be you – Pointing at Walter – says: Well, when’s your ship coming in, Jenny?
WALTER: Well, when’s your ship coming in, Jenny?
POLLY: And another says – you, for instance: Still washing up glasses, Jenny the pirate’s bride?
MATTHEW: Still washing up glasses, Jenny the pirate’s bride?
POLLY: Good. And now I’ll begin.
Song lighting: golden glow. The organ is lit up. Three lamps are lowered from above on a pole, and the signs say:
PIRATE JENNY
Now you gents all see I’ve the glasses to wash.
When a bed’s to be made I make it.
You may tip me with a penny, and I’ll thank you very well
And you see me dressed in tatters, and this tatty old hotel
And you never ask how long I’ll take it.
But one of these evenings there will be screams from the harbour
And they’ll ask: what can all that screaming be?
And they’ll see me smiling as I do the glasses
And they’ll say: how she can smile beats me.
And a ship with eight sails and
All its fifty guns loaded
Has tied up at the quay.
They say: get on, dry your glasses, my girl
And they tip me and don’t give a damn.
And their penny is accepted, and their bed will be made
(Although nobody is going to sleep there, I’m afraid)
And they still have no idea who I am.
But one of these evenings there will be explosions from the harbour,
And they’ll ask: what kind of a bang was that?
And they’ll see me as I stand beside the window
And they’ll say: what has she got to smile at?
And that ship with eight sails and
All its fifty guns loaded
Will lay siege to the town.
Then you gents, you aren’t going to find it a joke
For the walls will be knocked down flat
And in no time the town will be rased to the ground.
Just one tatty old hotel will be left standing safe and sound
And they’ll ask: did someone special live in that?
Then there’ll be a lot of people milling round the hotel
And they’ll ask: what made them let that place alone?
And they’ll see me as I leave the door next morning
And they’ll say: don’t tell us she’s the one.
And that ship with eight sails and
All its fifty guns loaded
Will run up its flag.
And a hundred men will land in the bright midday sun
Each stepping where the shadows fall.
They’ll look inside each doorway and grab anyone they see
And put him in irons and then bring him to me
And they’ll ask: which of these should we kill?
In that noonday heat there’ll be a hush round the harbour
As they ask which has got to die.
And you’ll hear me as I softly answer: the lot!
And as the first head rolls I’ll say: hoppla!
And that ship with eight sails and
All its fifty guns loaded
Will vanish with me.
MATTHEW: Very nice. Cute, eh? The way the missus puts it across!
MAC: What do you mean nice? It’s not nice, you idiot! It’s art, it’s not nice. You did that marvellously, Polly. But it’s wasted on trash like this, if you’ll excuse me, your Reverence. In an undertone to Polly: Anyway, I don’t like you playacting; let’s not have any more of it. Laughter at the table. The gang is making fun of the parson. What you got in your hand, your Reverence?
JAKE: Two knives, Captain.
MAC: What you got on your plate, your Reverence?
KIMBALL: Salmon, I think.
MAC: And with that knife you are eating the sa
lmon, are you not?
JAKE: Did you ever see the like of it, eating fish with a knife? Anybody who does that is just a plain …
MAC: Swine. Do you understand me, Jake? Think about it.
JIMMY rushing in: Hey, Captain, coppers. The sheriff in person.
WALTER: Brown. Tiger Brown!
MAC: Yes, Tiger Brown, exactly. It’s Tiger Brown himself, the Chief Sheriff of London, pillar of the Old Bailey, who will now enter Captain Macheath’s humble abode. Think about it.
The bandits creep away.
JAKE: It’ll be the drop for us!
Brown enters.
MAC: Hullo, Jackie.
BROWN: Hullo, Mac! ‘I haven’t much time, got to be leaving in a minute. Does it have to be somebody else’s stable? Why, this is breaking and entering again!
MAC: But Jackie, it’s such a good address. I’m glad you could come to old Mac’s wedding. Let me introduce my wife, née Peachum. Polly, this is Tiger Brown, what do you say, old man? Slaps him on the back. And these are my friends, Jackie, I imagine you’ve seen them all before.
BROWN pained: I’m here unofficially, Mac.
MAC: So are they. He calls them. They come in with their hands up. Hey, Jake.
BROWN: That’s Crook-fingered Jake. He’s a dirty dog.
MAC: Hey, Jimmy; hey, Bob; hey, Walter!
BROWN: Well, just for today I’ll turn a blind eye.
MAC: Hey, Ned; hey, Matthew.
BROWN: Be seated, gentlemen, be seated.
ALL: Thank you, sir.
BROWN: I’m delighted to meet my old friend Mac’s charming wife.
POLLY: Don’t mention it, sir.
MAC: Sit down, you old bugger, and pitch into the whisky! – Polly and gentlemen! You have today in your midst a man whom the king’s inscrutable wisdom has placed high above his fellow men and who has none the less remained my friend throughout the storms and perils, and so on. You know who I mean, and you too know who I mean, Brown. Ah, Jackie, do you remember how we served in India together, soldiers both of us? Ah, Jackie, let’s sing the Cannon Song right now.
They sit down on the table.
Song lighting: golden glow. The organ is lit up. Three lamps are lowered from above on a pole, and the signs say:
THE CANNON SONG
John was all present and Jim was all there
And Georgie was up for promotion.
Not that the army gave a bugger who they were
When confronting some heathen commotion.
The troops live under
The cannon’s thunder
From the Cape to Cooch Behar.
Moving from place to place
When they come face to face
With a different breed of fellow
Whose skin is black or yellow
They quick as winking chop him into beefsteak tartare.
Johnny found his whisky too warm
And Jim found the weather too balmy
But Georgie took them both by the arm
And said: never let down the army.
The troops live under
The cannon’s thunder
From the Cape to Cooch Behar.
Moving from place to place
When they come face to face
With a different breed of fellow
Whose skin is black or yellow
They quick as winking chop him into beefsteak tartare.
John is a write-off and Jimmy is dead
And they shot poor old Georgie for looting
But young men’s blood goes on being red
And the army goes on recruiting.
The troops live under
The cannon’s thunder
From the Cape to Cooch Behar.
Moving from place to place
When they come face to face
With a different breed of fellow
Whose skin is black or yellow
They quick as winking chop him into beefsteak tartare.
MAC: Though life with its raging torrent has carried us boyhood friends far apart, although our professional interests are very different, some people would go so far as to say diametrically opposed, our friendship has come through unimpaired. Think about it. Castor and Pollux, Hector and Andromache, etcetera. Seldom have I, the humble bandit, well, you know what I mean, made even the smallest haul without giving him, my friend, a share, a substantial share, Brown, as a gift and token of my unswerving loyalty, and seldom has he, take that knife out of your mouth, Jake, the all-powerful police chief, staged a raid without sending me, his boyhood friend, a little tip-off. Well, and so on and so forth, it’s all a matter of give and take. Think about it. He takes Brown by the arm. Well, Jackie, old man, I’m glad you’ve come, I call that real friendship. Pause, because Brown has been looking sadly at a carpet. Genuine Shiraz.
BROWN: From the Oriental Carpet Company.
MAC: Yes, we never go anywhere else. Do you know, Jackie, I had to have you here today, I hope it’s not awkward for you in your position?
BROWN: You know, Mac, that I can’t refuse you anything. I must be going, I’ve really got so much on my plate; if the slightest thing should go wrong at the Queen’s Coronation …
MAC: See here, Jackie, my father-in-law is a revolting old bastard. If he tries to make trouble for me, is there anything on record against me at Scotland Yard?
BROWN: There’s nothing whatsoever on record against you at Scotland Yard.
MAC: I knew it.
BROWN: I’ve taken care of that. Good night.
MAC: Aren’t you fellows going to stand up?
BROWN to Polly: Best of luck. Goes out accompanied by Mac.
JAKE who along with Matthew and Walter has meanwhile been conferring with Polly: I must admit I couldn’t repress a certain alarm a while ago when I heard Tiger Brown was coming.
MATTHEW: You see, dear lady, we have contacts in the highest places.
WALTER: Yes, Mac always has some iron in the fire that the rest of us don’t even suspect. But we have our own little iron in the fire. Gentlemen, it’s half-past nine.
MATTHEW: And now comes the pièce de resistance.
All go upstage behind the carpet that conceals something. Mac enters.
MAC: I say, what’s going on?
MATTHEW: Hey, Captain, another little surprise.
Behind the curtain they sing the Bill Lawgen song softly and with much feeling. But at ‘his name was one thing she’d rather like to know’ Matthew pulls down the carpet and all go on with the song, bellowing and pounding on the bed that has been disclosed.
MAC: Thank you, friends, thank you.
WALTER: And now we shall quietly take our leave.
The gang go out.
MAC: And now the time has come for softer sentiments. Without them man is a mere beast of burden. Sit down, Polly.
Music.
MAC: Look at the moon over Soho.
POLLY: I see it, dearest. Feel my heart beating, my beloved.
MAC: I feel it, beloved.
POLLY: Where’er you go I shall be with you.
MAC: And where you stay, there too shall I be.
BOTH:
And though we’ve no paper to say we’re wed
And no altar covered with flowers
And nobody knows for whom your dress was made
And even the ring is not ours –
The platter off which you’ve been eating your bread
Give it one brief look; fling it far.
For love will endure or not endure
Regardless of where we are.
3
To Peachum, conscious of the hardness of the world, the loss of his daughter means utter ruin.
Peachum’s Outfitting Emporium for Beggars.
To the right Peachum and Mrs Peachum. In the doorway stands Polly in her coat and hat, holding her travelling bag.
MRS PEACHUM: Married? First you rig her fore and aft in dresses and hats and gloves and parasols, and when she’s cost as much as a saili
ng ship, she throws herself in the garbage like a rotten pickle. Are you really married?
Song lighting: golden glow. The organ is lit up. Three lamps are lowered from above on a pole and the signs say:
IN A LITTLE SONG POLLY GIVES HER PARENTS TO
UNDERSTAND THAT SHE HAS MARRIED THE
BANDIT MACHEATH:
I once used to think, in my innocent youth
(And I once was as innocent as you)
That someone someday might come my way
And then how should I know what’s best to do?
And if he’d got money
And seemed a nice chap
And his workday shirts were white as snow
And if he knew how to treat a girl with due respect
I’d have to tell him: No.
That’s where you must keep your head screwed on
And insist on going slow.
Sure, the moon will shine throughout the night
Sure, the boat is on the river, tied up tight.
That’s as far as things can go.
Oh, you can’t lie back, you must stay cold at heart
Oh, you must not let your feelings show.
Oh, whenever you feel it might start
Ah, then your only answer’s: No.
The first one that came was a man of Kent
And all that a man ought to be.
The second one owned three ships down at Wapping
And the third was crazy about me.
And as they’d got money
And all seemed nice chaps
And their workday shirts were white as snow
And as they knew how to treat a girl with due respect
Each time I told them: No.
That’s where I still kept my head screwed on
And I chose to take it slow.
Sure, the moon could shine throughout the night
Sure, the boat was on the river, tied up tight
That’s as far as things could go.
Oh, you can’t lie back, you must stay cold at heart
Oh, you must not let your feelings show.
Oh, whenever you feel it might start
Ah, then your only answer’s: No.
But then one day, and that day was blue
Came someone who didn’t ask at all
And he went and hung his hat on the nail in my little attic
And what happened I can’t quite recall.
And as he’d got no money
And was not a nice chap
And his Sunday shirts, even, were not like snow
Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2 Page 15
