Brecht Collected Plays: 7: Visions of Simone Machard; Schweyk in the Second World War; Caucasian Chalk Circle; Duchess of Malfi (World Classics)

by Bertolt Brecht

  PATRON: Exactly. You trust me, don’t you, Simone? So listen carefully. It’s the enemy we’ll be talking to now. That makes all the difference, get me? They’ll ask you lots of questions, but you must only answer in a way that’s good for Saint-Martin and good for the French. Simple enough, eh?

  SIMONE: Yes, Monsieur, but I don’t want to say anything that’s not right.

  PATRON: I understand that. You don’t want to say anything that’s untrue. Not even to the enemy. Good. I respect that. There’s only one thing I would ask you: say nothing, leave it to us. Leave it to me. Almost in tears: I’ll stand by you through thick and thin, you know that. We’ll all stand by you. We are Frenchmen.

  SIMONE: Yes, Monsieur.

  The Patron takes Simone by the hand and leads her into the hostelry.

  MAURICE: She didn’t read her book right.

  4

  THE TRIAL

  (a)

  Fourth Dream of Simone Machard

  Night of 21-2 June

  A jumble of music. In the courtyard stands the Hauptmann in armour and Simone as Maid of Orleans, surrounded by soldiers in black chain-mail decorated with swastikas; one of whom, identifiable as the Hauptmann’s batman, holds a swastika banner.

  HAUPTMANN: We’ve got you now, Joan of Orleans, and you are going to be handed over to a court which will decide why we should condemn you to die at the stake.

  Exeunt all except Simone and the standard bearer.

  SIMONE: What kind of a court is that?

  STANDARD BEARER: Not the ordinary kind. It’s ecclesiastical.

  SIMONE: I’m admitting nothing.

  STANDARD BEARER: That’s fine, but the trial seems to be already over.

  SIMONE: You mean they sentence you before examining you?

  STANDARD BEARER: Of course.

  People who have apparently been attending the trial leave the hostelry and cross the yard into the street.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE as he crosses the yard, to Thérèse: Death! At her age!

  THÉRÈSE: Who’d have expected that, even two days back?

  SIMONE pulling her by the sleeve: Did Hitler come himself?

  Thérèse seems not to notice her and leaves with Père Gustave. Simone’s parents cross the yard, the father in uniform, the mother in black.

  MADAME MACHARD sobbing: She was always very obstinate even as a little girl. Just like her brother. It’s a terrible blow for Monsieur Machard. Now that he’s working for the council, too! What a disgrace! Both exeunt.

  The brothers Maurice and Robert cross the yard.

  ROBERT: She didn’t look at all bad.

  MAURICE: Especially in that frilly blue dress.

  SIMONE pulling Robert by the sleeve: Did you see the judges?

  ROBERT casually: Yes, of course.

  SIMONE: Shall I see them too?

  ROBERT: Sure to. They’ll come out here and sentence you to death. Exeunt both.

  A LOUD VOICE: Pray silence for the Cardinals and Archbishops of the Ecclesiastical Court of Rouen! Sentence on the Maid of Orleans will now be pronounced. First the staff will be broken over the Maid.

  Out of the hostelry steps one of the judges, adorned in magnificent cardinal’s robes. He hides his identity behind a breviary, and crosses the yard. He stops behind a bronze tripod with a kettle on it, turns his back, claps the breviary shut, takes a small staff out of his sleeve, solemnly breaks it, and throws the pieces into the kettle.

  THE LOUD VOICE: His eminence the Bishop of Beauvais. For liberating the city of Orleans: death.

  Before moving on he looks back indifferently over his shoulder. It is the Colonel.

  SIMONE: Monsieur le Colonel!

  Another judge steps out of the hostelry and repeats the procedure.

  THE LOUD VOICE: For liberating the city of Orleans and for feeding the rats of Orleans with stolen food: death.

  The second judge likewise shows his face. It is the Capitaine.

  SIMONE: Monsieur le Capitaine!

  A third judge steps from the hostelry and repeats the procedure.

  THE LOUD VOICE: For launching an attack on the city of Paris and the black market petrol: death.

  The third judge is the Patron.

  SIMONE: But Monsieur Henri, it’s me you’re sentencing!

  The Patron makes his usual gesture of helplessness, and a fourth judge steps out of the hostelry and repeats the procedure.

  THE LOUD VOICE: For uniting all Frenchmen: death.

  The fourth judge grips his breviary too convulsively, and drops it. He tries to pick it up quickly, and is recognized: it is the Mayor.

  SIMONE: The Mayor himself! Oh, Monsieur Chavez!

  THE LOUD VOICE: Your supreme judges have spoken, Joan.

  SIMONE: But they’re all Frenchmen. To the standard bearer: There must be some mistake.

  STANDARD BEARER: No, Mademoiselle, this is a French court.

  The four judges have stopped at the entrance to the yard.

  MAYOR: You must know that from your book. Of course the Maid is sentenced by French judges, and rightly so since she is French.

  SIMONE confused: That’s true. I know from the book that I’ll be sentenced to death. But I would like to know why. I never really understood that part.

  MAYOR to the judges: She is asking for a trial.

  CAPITAINE: What would be the point of that as she’s already been sentenced?

  MAYOR: Well, at least the case would have been examined, the defendant interrogated, and everything discussed and weighed up.

  COLONEL: And found inadequate. Shrugging his shoulders: But very well then, if you insist on it.

  PATRON: We’re not prepared, you know.

  They put their heads together and confer in whispers. Père Gustave carries out a table and puts plates and candles on it. The judges sit down at it.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: The refugees from the hall are outside. They’re asking to be admitted to the trial.

  PATRON: Out of the question. I’m expecting my mother, and she doesn’t like the way they smell.

  CAPITAINE calling into the background: The trial will be held in camera. In the interests of the state.

  PATRON: Where are the papers? Probably gone astray again, like everything else in this country.

  MAYOR: Where is the plaintiff?

  The judges look at each other.

  MAYOR: Without a plaintiff it can’t be official.

  PATRON: Père Gustave, go and get us a plaintiff from the store room.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE calls from the gate towards the street: The High Ecclesiastical Court of Rouen calls on anybody who has a complaint to bring against the Maid.—Nobody? He repeats his challenge. Then to the judges: Here comes the plaintiff: Isabeau the Queen Mother, supporter of the treacherous Duke of Burgundy and of the hereditary enemy.

  MADAME SOUPEAU in armour comes out of the hostelry and greets the judges, who bow low before her. With the routine amiability of a great hotelière: Good evening, mon Capitaine. Don’t get up. Don’t let me disturb you. Over her shoulder into the hostelry: One portion of Alsace-Lorraine for Monsieur le Capitaine, well done! How would you like your peasants, Connétable? I hope you are satisfied with the service this time, mon Colonel. Pointing to Simone: Everything would have been saved if this Maid of Orleans hadn’t interfered in the negotiations. Everything: France and the brickworks too. You are too weak, gentlemen. Who makes the decisions here, the Church or a servant from the hostelry? Starts shouting like one possessed: I demand and insist that this person be put to death immediately for heresy and disobedience, not to say obstinacy. Heads must roll. Blood must flow. She must be bloodily exterminated. She must serve as a bloody example. Exhausted: My smelling-salts.

  CAPITAINE: A chair for the Queen Mother.

  Père Gustave brings her a chair.

  PATRON: Isn’t your armour rather tight, Maman? Why are you wearing it, anyhow?

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Well, I’m at war too, aren’t I?

  PATRON: At war? What war?


  MADAME SOUPEAU: My war. Against this rebellious Maid who has been stirring up the people in the village hall.

  CAPITAINE sharply: Shh! To Simone: What right had you to lead the French to war, Maid?

  SIMONE: An angel told me to, venerable Bishop of Beauvais.

  The judges look at each other.

  PATRON: I see, an angel. What sort of an angel?

  SIMONE: From the church. The one to the left of the altar.

  CAPITAINE: Never set eyes on him.

  MAYOR friendlily: What did this angel look like? Describe him.

  SIMONE: He was very young and had a beautiful voice, honourable sirs. He told me I must…

  COLONEL interrupting: What he told you is of no interest to us. What sort of an accent did he have? Was it an educated one? Or the other kind?

  SIMONE: I don’t know. He just spoke.

  CAPITAINE: Aha.

  PATRON: What sort of clothes did this angel wear?

  SIMONE: He was beautifully dressed. His robe was made of stuff you’d pay twenty or thirty francs a yard for in Tours.

  CAPITAINE: Do I understand you correctly, Simone or Joan, as the case may be? So he wasn’t one of those great magnificent angels whose robes cost perhaps as much as two or three hundred francs a yard?

  SIMONE: I don’t know.

  COLONEL: What condition was the robe in? Quite worn?

  SIMONE: The angel was just a bit chipped, around the sleeve.

  COLONEL: I see. Chipped around the sleeve. As if he’d had to wear it to work too? Was it torn?

  SIMONE: No, not torn.

  CAPITAINE: All the same, it was chipped. And at the place where it had been chipped, the sleeve could quite well have got torn with all that work. Perhaps the reason why you didn’t see it was that it was exactly where the colour had rubbed off. But it could have been, couldn’t it? Simone does not reply.

  COLONEL: Did the angel say anything that a person of quality might have said? Think that over.

  SIMONE: General things, mostly.

  MAYOR: Did the angel resemble anyone you knew?

  SIMONE quietly: My brother André.

  COLONEL: Ah, a private soldier. Private Machard. Gentlemen, now it’s out. A most peculiar angel, I must say.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: A real public-bar angel, a gutter seraph! In any case now we know where those ‘Voices’ come from. From the taverns and the sewage farms.

  SIMONE: You shouldn’t run down the angel, Reverend Sirs.

  PATRON: If you look on page 124 of your book you will see that we are the Ecclesiastical Court, in fact the highest authority on earth.

  COLONEL: Don’t you think that we, the high Cardinals of France, know the will of God better than some jumped-up angel?

  CAPITAINE: Where does God dwell, Joan? Below or above? And where did your so-called angel come from? From below. So who sent him? God? Or could it have been the Devil?

  MADAME SOUPEAU: The Devil! Joan of Orleans, the voices you heard came from the Devil.

  SIMONE strongly: No, no! Not from the Devil!

  CAPITAINE: Call him, call your angel! Perhaps he’ll defend you, great Maid of Orleans. Usher, do your duty.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE calls: The Supreme Ecclesiastical Court of Rouen calls upon the angel, name unknown, who, so the Maid alleges, has appeared to her on several occasions, to come and bear witness on her behalf.

  Simone looks at the garage roof. It remains empty. Père Gustave repeats his summons. Simone, in great anguish, looks at the smiling judges. Then she crouches down and in her confusion begins to drum on the ground. However, there is no sound and the garage roof remains empty.

  SIMONE: It does not resound here. What has happened? It doesn’t resound. French soil no longer resounds. It doesn’t resound here.

  MADAME SOUPEAU stepping towards her: Are you in the least aware who is France?

  (b)

  Morning of 22 June. Over the gate the French flag is at half-mast and is swathed in black ribbon. Georges, Robert and Père Gustave are listening to Maurice as he reads to them from a black-bordered newspaper.

  MAURICE: The Marshal says the honour of France is not impaired by the armistice terms.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: That’s a great comfort to me.

  MAURICE: Me too. The Marshal goes on to say that a new order and discipline are needed and that the French people must gather round him and look to him as a father.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: That’s it. André has stopped fighting, they’ve laid down their arms. Now he has got to be brought under strict discipline.

  GEORGES: Good thing Simone’s no longer here.

  From the hostelry comes the Hauptmann, bareheaded and beltless, smoking an after-breakfast cigar. He gives them an indifferent glance, strolls to the gate, briefly looks up the street and returns at a quickened pace into the hostelry.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: He never liked having a child mixed up in this.

  GEORGES: I’m surprised at her running away, I really am. She always said she’d stay whatever happened. Something must have scared her. She simply disappeared through the laundry-room window.

  Enter the Patron from the hostelry, rubbing his hands.

  PATRON: Maurice, Robert! Go and unload the crates with the china and silver! Looking round, then quietly: I’m not going to ask if any of you helped a certain person to get away last night. What’s past is past, and I don’t mind telling you it’s the best thing that could have happened in the circumstances. Not that there was any real danger. The Germans are not cannibals. Besides, your Patron knows how to talk to them. As I told the German captain at breakfast, ‘What’s the point of it all? Before reading the notice, or after reading the notice! It’s a farce. A child: what do you expect? A little soft in the head perhaps, a bit psycho... Tanks! Right, stop them, destroy everything! And playing with matches of course is always good fun. A political act? More like a childish prank!’

  GEORGES looking at the others: A childish prank? What do you mean by that, Monsieur Henri?

  PATRON: I said the same thing to my mother: she’s a child, I said.

  GEORGES: That child was the only person in the hostelry that did her duty. Nobody else lifted a finger. And the people of Saint-Martin won’t forget it, Monsieur Henri.

  PATRON irritably: Why don’t you people get on with your duty? Get those crates unloaded. I’m only glad it’s all over. I’m sure the Herr Hauptmann won’t spend much more time looking for Simone. And now get on with the job! That’s what our poor France needs now! Exit.

  GEORGES: She’s gone: great relief all round.

  MAURICE: And it had nothing at all to do with patriotism or anything of that sort. That would have been awkward. ‘The Germans are not cannibals.’ Just as we were about to make a fine gesture and hand the Germans the petrol we’d been withholding from our own army, along comes the mob and starts getting all patriotic.

  Through the gateway comes the Mayor. He looks pale and does not acknowledge their greetings as he goes into the hostelry.

  MAYOR turning round: Are there sentries outside Madame Soupeau’s door?

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: No, Monsieur Chavez.

  Exit the Mayor.

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: He’s probably here because the Germans want the village hall cleared. Unless it was Madame Soupeau who wanted it.

  ROBERT: Their new order and discipline!

  PÈRE GUSTAVE: About Simone, Maurice: they had to treat it as an ordinary case of arson if the insurance company was to make the damage good. Trust them not to miss a trick.

  Simone is marched through the gate flanked by two German soldiers with fixed bayonets.

  GEORGES: Simone! What’s happened?

  SIMONE stops, very pale: I was down at the hall.

  ROBERT: Don’t be afraid. The Germans won’t do anything to you.

  SIMONE: Last night when they interrogated me, Robert, they said I’d be handed over to the French authorities.

  GEORGES: Why did you run away?

  Simone does not reply. The soldiers push her into the
hostelry.

  MAURICE: So the Germans don’t consider the matter finished. Monsieur Henri’s wrong.

  Monsieur and Madame Machard come through the gate, the former in his municipal uniform.

  MADAME MACHARD: Have they brought her in already? That’s terrible. Monsieur Machard is quite beside himself. It’s not just that our rent is due. What really upsets Monsieur Machard is the disgrace. I always knew it would end like this; all that reading of hers has turned her head. At seven this morning there was a knock on the door, and there were the Germans outside. ‘Messieurs,’ I said, ‘if you can’t find our daughter then she must have done something desperate. Arson or no, nothing would have made her leave the hostelry. She’d have stayed for her brother’s sake if for nothing else.’

  Enter the Patron from the hostelry.

  PATRON: It’s more than I can take, Madame Machard! She’s cost me 100,000 francs. How much she’s cost in wear and tear to my nerves I couldn’t say.

  Enter Madame Soupeau from the hostelry. She holds Simone tightly by the arm and drags the reluctant girl to the store room. Behind them the Mayor and Capitaine Fétain. The four go into the store. The others watch in amazement.

  MAYOR standing at the door of the store room: Machard, run across to the hall and see the evacuation goes off all right. Tell them the Germans need the space. Exit into the store.

  MADAME MACHARD: Very good, Monsieur le Maire. Both Machards stalk off with dignity.

  ROBERT: What do they want her in the store room for? What’s going to happen to her, Monsieur Henri?

  PATRON: Don’t ask so many questions. We’re carrying an immense responsibility. One wrong step and the hostelry is ruined.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Monsieur le Maire, I think I’ve demonstrated to you by the evidence of your own eyes that she left the cellar unlocked with provisions in it including 50,000 francs’ worth of rare wines. How many crates have disappeared I can only guess. She deliberately deceived me by returning the key to me in your presence. To Simone: Simone, I was told that you yourself carried whole baskets full of food to the village hall. How much did they pay you? Where is the money?

  SIMONE: I didn’t take money, Madame.

  MADAME SOUPEAU: Don’t lie to me. And another thing: the morning when Monsieur Henri left he was threatened by the mob because a rumour was going about that the lorries were to be taken away. Was it you who put about that rumour?