Bertolt Brecht: Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder 2

by Bertolt Brecht

  SMITH slowly: That’s a lot of nonsense, Mr Macheath. Goes out.

  MAC sings softly and very fast the ‘Call from the Grave’:

  Hark to the voice that’s calling you to weep.

  Macheath lies here, not under open sky

  Not under treetops, no, but good and deep.

  Fate struck him down in outraged majesty.

  God grant his dying words may reach a friend.

  The thickest walls encompass him about.

  Is none of you concerned to know his fate?

  Once he is gone the bottles can come out

  But do stand by him while it’s not too late.

  D’you want his punishment to have no end?11

  Matthew and Jake appear in the corridor. They are on their way to see Macheath. Smith stops them.

  SMITH: Well, son. You look like a soused herring.

  MATTHEW: Now the captain’s gone it’s my job to put our girls in pod, so they can throw themselves on the mercy of the court. It’s a job for a horse. I’ve got to see the Captain. Both continue towards Mac.

  MAC: Five twenty-five. You took your time.

  JAKE: Yes, but, you see, we had to …12

  MAC: You see, you see. I’m being hanged, man! But I’ve no time to waste arguing with you. Five twenty-eight. All right: How much can you people draw from your savings account right away?

  MATTHEW: From our … at five o’clock in the morning?

  JAKE: Has it really come to this?

  MAC: Can you manage four hundred pounds?

  JAKE: But what about us? That’s all there is.

  MAC: Who’s being hanged, you or me?

  MATTHEW excitedly: Who was lying around with Suky Tawdry instead of clearing out? Who was lying around with Suky Tawdry, us or you?

  MAC: Shut your trap. I’ll soon be lying somewhere other than with that slut. Five-thirty.

  JAKE: Matt, if that’s how it is, we’ll just have to do it.

  SMITH: Mr Brown wishes to know what you’d like for your … repast.

  MAC: Don’t bother me. To Matthew: Well, will you or won’t you? To Smith: Asparagus.

  MATTHEW: Don’t you shout at me. I won’t have it.

  MAC: I’m not shouting at you. It’s only that … well, Matthew, are you going to let me be hanged?

  MATTHEW: Of course I’m not going to let you be hanged. Who said I was? But that’s the lot. Four hundred pounds is all there is. No reason why I shouldn’t say that, is there?

  MAC: Five thirty-eight.

  JAKE: We’ll have to run, Matthew, or it’ll be no good.

  MATTHEW: If we can only get through. There’s such a crowd. Human scum! Both go out.

  MAC: If you’re not here by five to six, you’ll never see me again. Shouts: You’ll never see me again …

  SMITH: They’ve gone. Well, how about it? Makes a gesture of counting money.

  MAC: Four hundred. Smith goes out shrugging his shoulders. Mac, calling after him: I’ve got to speak to Brown.

  SMITH comes back with constables: Got the soap?

  CONSTABLE: Yes, but not the right kind.

  SMITH: You can set the thing up in ten minutes.

  CONSTABLE: But the trap doesn’t work.

  SMITH: It’s got to work. The bells have gone a second time.

  CONSTABLE: What a shambles!

  MAC sings:

  Come here and see the shitty state he’s in.

  This really is what people mean by bust.

  You who set up the dirty cash you win

  As just about the only god you’ll trust

  Don’t stand and watch him slipping round the bend!

  Go to the Queen and say that her subjects need her

  Go in a group and tell her of his trouble

  Like pigs all following behind their leader.

  Say that his teeth are wearing down to rubble.

  D’you want his punishment to have no end?

  SMITH: I can’t possibly let you in. You’re only number sixteen. Wait your turn.

  POLLY: What do you mean, number sixteen? Don’t be a bureaucrat. I’m his wife. I’ve got to see him.

  SMITH: Not more than five minutes, then.

  POLLY: Five minutes! That’s perfectly ridiculous. Five minutes! How’s a lady to say all she’s got to say? It’s not so simple. This is goodbye forever. There’s an exceptional amount of things for man and wife to talk about at such a moment … where is he?

  SMITH: What, can’t you see him?

  POLLY: Oh yes, of course. Thank you.

  MAC: Polly!

  POLLY: Yes, Mackie, here I am.

  MAC: Oh yes, of course!

  POLLY: How are you? Are you quite worn out? It’s hard.

  MAC: But what are you going to do now? What will become of you?

  POLLY: Don’t worry, the business is doing very well. That’s the least part of it. Are you very nervous, Mackie? … By the way, what was your father? There’s so much you still haven’t told me. I just don’t understand. Your health has always been excellent.

  MAC: Polly, can’t you help me to get out?

  POLLY: Oh yes, of course.

  MAC: With money, of course. I’ve arranged with the warder …

  POLLY slowly: The money has gone off to Manchester.

  MAC: And you have got none on you?

  POLLY: No, I have got nothing on me. But you know, Mackie, I could talk to somebody, for instance … I might even ask the Queen in person. She breaks down. Oh, Mackie!

  SMITH pulling Polly away: Well, have you raised those thousand pounds?

  POLLY: All the best, Mackie, look after yourself, and don’t forget me! Goes out.

  Smith and a constable bring in a table with a dish of asparagus on it.

  SMITH: Is the asparagus tender?

  CONSTABLE: Yes. Goes out.

  BROWN appears and goes up to Smith: Smith, what does he want me for? It’s good you didn’t take the table in earlier. We’ll take it right in with us, to show him how we feel about him. They enter the cell with the table. Smith goes out. Pause. Hello, Mac. Here’s your asparagus. Won’t you have some?

  MAC: Don’t you bother, Mr Brown. There are others to show me the last honours.13

  BROWN: Oh, Mackie!

  MAC: Would you have the goodness to produce your accounts? You don’t mind if I eat in the meantime, after all it is my last meal. He eats.

  BROWN: I hope you enjoy it. Oh, Mac, you’re turning the knife in the wound.

  MAC: The accounts, sir, if you please, the accounts. No sentimentality.

  BROWN with a sigh takes a small notebook from his pocket: I’ve got them right here, Mac. The accounts for the past six months.

  MAC bitingly: Oh, so all you came for was to get your money before it’s too late.

  BROWN: You know that isn’t so …

  MAC: Don’t worry, sir, nobody’s going to cheat you. What do I owe you? But I want a detailed bill, if you don’t mind. Life has made me distrustful … in your position you should be able to understand that.

  BROWN: Mac, when you talk that way I just can’t think.

  A loud pounding is beard rear.

  SMITH off: All right, that’ll hold.

  MAC: The accounts, Brown.

  BROWN: Very well, if you insist. Well, first of all the rewards for murderers arrested thanks to you or your men. The Treasury paid you a total of …

  MAC: Three instances at forty pounds a piece, that makes a hundred and twenty pounds. One quarter for you comes to thirty pounds, so that’s what we owe you.

  BROWN: Yes … yes … but really, Mac, I don’t think we ought to spend our last …

  MAC: Kindly stop snivelling. Thirty pounds. And for the job in Dover eight pounds.

  BROWN: Why only eight pounds, there was …

  MAC: Do you believe me or don’t you believe me? Your share in the transactions of the last six months comes to thirty-eight pounds.

  BROWN wailing: For a whole lifetime … I could read …

 
BOTH: Your every thought in your eyes.

  MAC: Three years in India – John was all present and Jim was all there – five years in London, and this is the thanks I get. Indicating how he will look when hanged.

  Here hangs Macheath who never wronged a flea

  A faithless friend has brought him to this pass.

  And as he dangles from the gallowstree

  His neck finds out how heavy is his arse.

  BROWN: If that’s the way you feel about it, Mac … The man who impugns my honour, impugns me. Runs furiously out of the cage.

  MAC: Your honour …

  BROWN: Yes, my honour. Time to begin, Smith! Let them in! To Mac: Excuse me, would you?

  SMITH quickly to Macheath: I can still get you out of here, in another minute I won’t be able to. Have you got the money?

  MAC: Yes, as soon as the boys get back.

  SMITH: There’s no sign of them. The deal is off.

  People are admitted. Peachum, Mrs Peachum, Polly, Lucy, the whores, the parson, Matthew and Jake.

  JENNY: They weren’t anxious to let us in. But I said to them: If you don’t get those pisspots you call heads out of my way, you’ll hear from Low-Dive Jenny.

  PEACHUM: I am his father-in-law. I beg your pardon, which of the present company is Mr Macheath?

  MAC introduces himself: I’m Macheath.

  PEACHUM walks past the cage, and like all who follow him stations himself to the right of it: Fate, Mr Macheath, has decreed that though I don’t know you, you should be my son-in-law. The occasion of this first meeting between us is a very sad one. Mr Macheath, you once had white kid gloves, a cane with an ivory handle, and a scar on your neck, and you frequented the Cuttlefish Hotel. All that is left is your scar, no doubt the least valuable of your distinguishing marks. Today you frequent nothing but prison cells, and within the foreseeable future no place at all … Polly passes the cage in tears and stations herself to the right.

  MAC: What a pretty dress you’re wearing. Matthew and Jake pass the cage and station themselves on the right.

  MATTHEW: We couldn’t get through because of the terrible crush. We ran so hard I was afraid Jake was going to have a stroke. If you don’t believe us …

  MAC: What do my men say? Have they got good places?

  MATTHEW: You see, Captain, we thought you’d understand. You see, a Coronation doesn’t happen every day. They’ve got to make some money while there’s a chance. They send you their best wishes.

  JAKE: Their very best wishes.

  MRS PEACHUM steps up to the cage, stations herself on the right: Mr Macheath, who would have expected this a week ago when we were dancing at a little hop at the Cuttlefish Hotel.

  MAC: A little hop.

  MRS PEACHUM: But the ways of destiny are cruel here below.

  BROWN at the rear to the parson: And to think that I stood shoulder to shoulder with this man in Azerbaidjan under a hail of bullets.

  JENNY approaches the cage: We Drury Lane girls are frantic. Nobody’s gone to the Coronation. Everybody wants to see you. Stations herself on the right.

  MAC: To see me.

  SMITH: All right. Let’s go. Six o’clock. Lets him out of the cage.

  MAC: We mustn’t keep anybody waiting. Ladies and gentlemen. You see before you a declining representative of a declining social group. We lower middle-class artisans who toil with our humble jemmies on small shopkeepers’ cash registers are being swallowed up by big corporations backed by the banks. What’s a jemmy compared with a share certificate? What’s breaking into a bank compared with founding a bank? What’s murdering a man compared with employing a man? Fellow citizens, I hereby take my leave of you. I thank you for coming. Some of you were very close to me. That Jenny should have turned me in amazes me greatly. It is proof positive that the world never changes. A concatenation of several unfortunate circumstances has brought about my fall. So be it – I fall. Song lighting: golden glow. The organ is lit up. Three lamps are lowered on a pole, and the signs say:

  BALLAD IN WHICH MACHEATH BEGS ALL MEN FOR FORGIVENESS

  You fellow men who live on after us

  Pray do not think you have to judge us harshly

  And when you see us hoisted up and trussed

  Don’t laugh like fools behind your big moustaches

  Or curse at us. It’s true that we came crashing

  But do not judge our downfall like the courts.

  Not all of us can discipline our thoughts –

  Dear fellows, your extravagance needs slashing.

  Dear fellows, we’ve shown how a crash begins.

  Pray then to God that He forgive my sins.

  The rain washes away and purifies.

  Let it wash down the flesh we catered for

  And we who saw so much, and wanted more –

  The crows will come and peck away our eyes.

  Perhaps ambition used too sharp a goad

  It drove us to these heights from which we swing

  Hacked at by greedy starlings on the wing

  Like horses’ droppings on a country road.

  O brothers, learn from us how it begins

  And pray to God that He forgive our sins.

  The girls who flaunt their breasts as bait there

  To catch some sucker who will love them

  The youths who slyly stand and wait there

  To grab their sinful earnings off them

  The crooks, the tarts, the tarts’ protectors

  The models and the mannequins

  The psychopaths, the unfrocked rectors

  I pray that they forgive my sins.

  Not so those filthy police employees

  Who day by day would bait my anger

  Devise new troubles to annoy me

  And chuck me crusts to stop my hunger.

  I’d call on God to come and choke them

  And yet my need for respite wins:

  I realise that it might provoke them

  So pray that they forgive my sins.

  Someone must take a huge iron crowbar

  And stave their ugly faces in

  All I ask is to know it’s over

  Praying that they forgive my sins.

  SMITH: If you don’t mind, Mr Macheath.

  MRS PEACHUM: Polly and Lucy, stand by your husband in his last hour.

  MAC: Ladies, whatever there may have been between us …

  SMITH leads him away: Get a move on!

  Procession to the Gallows.

  All go out through doors left. These doors are on projection screens. Then all re-enter from the other side of the stage with dark lanterns. When Macheath is standing at the top of the gallows steps Peachum speaks.

  Dear audience, we now are coming to

  The point where we must hang him by the neck

  Because it is the Christian thing to do

  Proving that men must pay for what they take.

  But as we want to keep our fingers clean

  And you’re the people we can’t risk offending

  We thought we’d better do without this scene

  And substitute instead a different ending.

  Since this is opera, not life, you’ll see

  Justice give way before humanity.

  So now, to stop our story in its course

  Enter the royal official on his horse.

  THIRD THREEPENNY FINALE

  APPEARANCE OF THE DEUS EX MACHINA

  CHORUS:

  Hark, who’s here?

  A royal official on horseback’s here!

  Enter Brown on horseback as deus ex machina.

  BROWN: I bring a special order from our beloved Queen to have Captain Macheath set at liberty forthwith – All cheer. – as it’s the coronation, and raised to the hereditary peerage. Cheers. The castle of Marmarel, likewise a pension of ten thousand pounds, to be his in usufruct until his death. To any bridal couples present Her Majesty bids me to convey her gracious good wishes.

  MAC:

  Reprieved!
Reprieved! I was sure of it.

  When you’re most despairing

  The clouds may be clearing

  POLLY: Reprieved, my dearest Macheath is reprieved. I am so happy.

  MRS PEACHUM: So it all turned out nicely in the end. How nice and easy everything would be if you could always reckon with saviours on horseback.

  PEACHUM: Now please remain all standing in your places, and join in the hymn of the poorest of the poor, whose most arduous lot you have put on stage here today. In real life the fates they meet can only be grim. Saviours on horseback are seldom met with in practice. And the man who’s kicked about must kick back. Which all means that injustice should be spared from persecution.

  All come forward, singing to the organ:

  Injustice should be spared from persecution:

  Soon it will freeze to death, for it is cold.

  Think of the blizzards and the black confusion

  Which in this vale of tears we must behold.

  The bells of Westminster are heard ringing for the third time.

  The Rise and Fall of the

  City of Mahagonny

  Opera

  Collaborators: E. HAUPTMANN, C. NEHER, K. WEILL

  Translators: W. H. AUDEN and CHESTER KALLMAN

  Characters

  JIMMY

  BILLY

  JAKE

  JOE

  }

  Lumberjacks

  LADYBIRD BEGBICK

  TRINITY MOSES

  FATTY THE BOOKIE

  JENNY

  Men and Girls of Mahagonny

  1

  Founding of the City of Mahagonny

  A large lorry in very bad condition comes to a stop in a desolate place.

  FATTY: What’s up? We must go on.

  MOSES: But the truck has broken down.

  FATTY: Then we can’t go on.

  Pause

  MOSES: But we must go on.

  FATTY: But there’s nothing there but desert.

  MOSES: Then we can’t go on.

  Pause

  FATTY: Then we must go back.

  MOSES: But the sheriffs are waiting back there; they know our faces only too well.

  FATTY: Then we can’t go back.

  They sit on the running-board and light cigarettes.

  MOSES: Further up the coast we might strike a gold-field.

  FATTY: Maybe. But the coast is too long.

  MOSES: Then we can’t even go there.