Brecht Collected Plays: 6: Good Person of Szechwan; The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui; Mr Puntila and his Man Matti (World Classics)

by Bertolt Brecht

  Is Sheet.

  CLARK: Sheet’s dead. Didn’t you know?

  UI: What, dead?

  I was in Cicero last night. That’s why

  I haven’t heard. And Roma here was with me.

  Pause.

  ROMA: That’s mighty funny. Do you think it’s mere

  Coincidence that …

  UI: Gentlemen, it’s not

  An accident. Sheet’s suicide was plainly

  The consequence of Sheet’s embezzlement.

  It’s monstrous!

  O’CASEY: Except it wasn’t suicide.

  UI: What then? Of course Ernesto here and I

  Were in Cicero last night. We wouldn’t know.

  But this we know beyond a doubt: that Sheet

  Apparently an honest businessman

  Was just a gangster.

  O’CASEY: Ui, I get your drift.

  You can’t find words too damaging for Sheet

  After the damage he incurred last night.

  Well, Dogsborough, let’s get to you.

  DOGSBOROUGH: To me?

  BUTCHER, cuttingly:

  What about Dogsborough?

  O’CASEY: As I understand Mr

  Ui – and I believe I understand

  Him very well – there was a shipyard which

  Borrowed some money which has disappeared.

  But now the question rises: Who is this

  Shipyard? It’s Sheet, you say. But what’s a name?

  What interests us right now is not its name

  But whom it actually belonged to. Did it

  Belong to Sheet? Unquestionably Sheet

  Could tell us. But Sheet has buttoned up

  About his property since Ui spent

  The night in Cicero. But could it be

  That when this swindle was put over someone

  Else was the owner? What is your opinion

  Dogsborough?

  DOGSBOROUGH: Me?

  O’CASEY: Yes, could it be that you

  Were sitting in Sheet’s office when a contract

  Was … well, suppose we say, not being drawn up?

  GOODWILL: O’Casey!

  GAFFLES, to O’Casey:

  Dogsborough? You’re crazy!

  DOGSBOROUGH: I…

  O’CASEY: And earlier, at City Hall, when you

  Told us how hard a time the cauliflower

  People were having and how badly they

  Needed a loan – could that have been the voice

  Of personal involvement?

  BUTCHER: Have you no shame?

  The man’s unwell.

  CARUTHER: Consider his great age!

  FLAKE:

  His snow-white hair confounds your low suspicions.

  ROMA: Where are your proofs?

  O’CASEY: The proofs are …

  UI Quiet, please!

  Let’s have a little quiet, friends.

  Say something, Dogsborough!

  A BODYGUARD, suddenly roars: The chief wants quiet!

  Quiet!

  Sudden silence.

  UI: If I may say what moves me in

  This hour and at this shameful sight – a white-

  Haired man insulted while his friends look on

  In silence – it is this. I trust you, Mr

  Dogsborough. And I ask: Is this the face

  Of guilt? Is this the eye of one who follows

  Devious ways? Can you no longer

  Distinguish white from black? A pretty pass

  If things have come to such a pass!

  CLARK: A man of

  Untarnished reputation is accused

  Of bribery.

  O’CASEY: And more: of fraud. For I

  Contend that this unholy shipyard, so

  Maligned when Sheet was thought to be the owner

  Belonged to Dogsborough at the time the loan

  Went through.

  MULBERRY: A filthy lie!

  CARUTHER: I’ll stake my head

  For Dogsborough. Summon the population!

  I challenge you to find one man to doubt him.

  A REPORTER, to another who has come in:

  Dogsborough’s under suspicion.

  THE OTHER REPORTER: Dogsborough?

  Why not Abe Lincoln?

  MULBERRY and FLAKE: Witnesses!

  O’CASEY: Oh

  It’s witnesses you want? Hey, Smith, where is

  Our witness? Is he here? I see he is.

  One of his men has stepped into the doorway and made a sign. All look toward the door. Short pause. Then a hurst of shots and noise are heard. Tumult. The reporters run out.

  THE REPORTERS: It’s outside. A machine-gun. – What’s your witness’s name, O’Casey? – Bad business. – Hi, Ui!

  O’CASEY, going to the door: Bowl! Shouts out the door. Come on in!

  THE MEN OF THE CAULIFLOWER TRUST: What’s going on? – Somebody’s been shot – On the stairs – God damn it!

  BUTCHER, to Ui:

  More monkey business? Ui, it’s all over

  Between us if…

  UI: Yes?

  O’CASEY: Bring him in!

  Policemen carry in a corpse.

  O’CASEY: It’s Bowl. My witness, gentlemen, I fear

  Is not in a fit state for questioning.

  He goes out quickly. The policemen have set down Bowl’s body in a corner.

  DOGSBOROUGH:

  For God’s sake, Gaffles, get me out of here!

  Without answering Gaffles goes out past him.

  UI, going toward Dogsborough with outstretched hand:

  Congratulations, Dogsborough. Don’t doubt

  One way or another, I’ll get things straightened out.

  A sign appears.

  6

  Hotel Mammoth. Ui’s suite. Two bodyguards lead a ragged actor to Ui. In the background Givola.

  FIRST BODYGUARD: It’s an actor, boss. Unarmed.

  SECOND BODYGUARD: He can’t afford a rod. He was able to get tight because they pay him to declaim in the saloons when they’re tight. But I’m told that he’s good. He’s one of them classical guys.

  UI: Okay. Here’s the problem. I’ve been given to understand that my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. It looks like I’m going to have to say a word or two on certain occasions, especially when I get into politics, so I’ve decided to take lessons. The gestures too.

  THE ACTOR: Very well.

  UI: Get the mirror.

  A bodyguard comes front stage with a large standing mirror.

  UI: First the walk. How do you guys walk in the theatre or the opera?

  THE ACTOR: I see what you mean. The grand style. Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Romeo – that’s Shakespeare. Mr Ui, you’ve come to the right man. Old Mahonney can teach you the classical manner in ten minutes. Gentlemen, you see before you a tragic figure. Ruined by Shakespeare. An English poet. If it weren’t for Shakespeare, I could be on Broadway right now. The tragedy of a character. ‘Don’t play Shakespeare when you’re playing Ibsen, Mahonney! Look at the calendar! This is 1912, sir!’ – ‘Art knows no calendar, sir!’ say I. ‘And art is my life.’ Alas.

  GIVOLA: I think you’ve got the wrong guy, boss. He’s out of date.

  UI: We’ll see about that. Walk around like they do in this Shakespeare.

  The actor walks around.

  UI: Good!

  GIVOLA: You can’t walk like that in front of cauliflower men. It ain’t natural.

  UI: What do you mean it ain’t natural? Nobody’s natural in this day and age. When I walk I want people to know I’m walking.

  He copies the actor’s gait.

  THE ACTOR: Head back. Ui throws his head back. The foot touches the ground toe first. Ui’s foot touches the ground toe first. Good. Excellent. You have a natural gift. Only the arms. They’re not quite right. Stiff. Perhaps if you joined your arms in front of your private parts. Ui joins his arms in front of his private parts. Not bad. Relaxed but firm. But head back. Good. Just the
right gait for your purposes, I believe, Mr Ui. What else do you wish to learn?

  UI: How to stand. In front of people.

  GIVOLA: Have two big bruisers right behind you and you’ll be standing pretty.

  UI: That’s bunk. When I stand I don’t want people looking at the two bozos behind me. I want them looking at me. Correct me!

  He takes a stance, his arms crossed over his chest.

  THE ACTOR: A possible solution. But common. You don’t want to look like a barber, Mr Ui. Fold your arms like this. He folds his arms in such a way that the backs of his hands remain visible. His palms are resting on his arms not far from the shoulder. A trifling change, but the difference is incalculable. Draw the comparison in the mirror, Mr Ui.

  Ui tries out the new position before the mirror.

  UI: Not bad.

  GIVOLA: What’s all this for, boss? Just for those

  Fancy-pants in the Trust?

  UI: Hell, no! It’s for

  The little people. Why, for instance, do

  You think this Clark makes such a show of grandeur?

  Not for his peers. His bank account

  Takes care of them, the same as my big bruisers

  Lend me prestige in certain situations.

  Clark makes a show of grandeur to impress

  The little man. I mean to do the same.

  GIVOLA: But some will say it doesn’t look inborn.

  Some people stick at that.

  UI: I know they do.

  But I’m not trying to convince professors

  And smart-alecks. My object is the little

  Man’s image of his master.

  GIVOLA: Don’t overdo

  The master, boss. Better the democrat

  The friendly, reassuring type in shirtsleeves.

  UI: I’ve got old Dogsborough for that.

  GIVOLA: His image

  Is kind of tarnished, I should say. He’s still

  An asset on the books, a venerable

  Antique. But people aren’t as eager as they

  Were to exhibit him. They’re not so sure

  He’s genuine. It’s like the family Bible

  Nobody opens any more since, piously

  Turning the yellowed pages with a group

  Of friends, they found a dried-out bedbug. But

  Maybe he’s good enough for Cauliflower.

  UI: I decide who’s respectable.

  GIVOLA: Sure thing, boss.

  There’s nothing wrong with Dogsborough. We can

  Still use him. They haven’t even dropped him

  At City Hall. The crash would be too loud.

  UI: Sitting.

  THE ACTOR: Sitting. Sitting is almost the hardest, Mr Ui. There are men who can walk; there are men who can stand; but find me a man who can sit. Take a chair with a back-rest, Mr Ui. But don’t lean against it. Hands on thighs, level with the abdomen, elbows away from body. How long can you sit like that, Mr Ui?

  UI: As long as I please.

  THE ACTOR: Then everything’s perfect, Mr Ui.

  GIVOLA: You know, boss, when old Dogsborough passes

  on

  Giri could take his place. He’s got the

  Popular touch. He plays the funny man

  And laughs so loud in season that the plaster

  Comes tumbling from the ceiling. Sometimes, though

  He does it out of season, as for instance

  When you step forward as the modest son of

  The Bronx you really were and talk about

  Those seven determined youngsters.

  UI: Then he laughs?

  GIVOLA: The plaster tumbles from the ceiling. Don’t

  Tell him I said so or he’ll think I’ve got

  It in for him. But maybe you could make

  Him stop collecting hats.

  UI: What kind of hats?

  GIVOLA: The hats of people he’s rubbed out. And running

  Around with them in public. It’s disgusting.

  UI: Forget it. I would never think of muzzling

  The ox that treads my corn. I overlook

  The petty foibles of my underlings.

  To the actor.

  And now to speaking! Speak a speech for me!

  THE ACTOR: Shakespeare. Nothing else. Julius Caesar. The Roman hero. He draws a little book from his pocket. What do you say to Mark Antony’s speech? Over Caesar’s body. Against Brutus. The ringleader of Caesar’s assassins. A model of demagogy. Very famous. I played Antony in Zenith in 1908. Just what you need, Mr Ui. He takes a stance and recites Mark Antony’s speech line for line.

  Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!

  Reading from the little book, Ui speaks the lines after him. Now and then the actor corrects him, but in the main Ui keeps his rough staccato delivery.

  THE ACTOR: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

  The evil that men do lives after them;

  The good is oft interred with their bones;

  So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus

  Hath told you Caesar was ambitious.

  If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

  And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.

  UI, continues by himself:

  Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest –

  For Brutus is an honourable man;

  So are they all, all honourable men –

  Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.

  He was my friend, faithful and just to me;

  But Brutus says he was ambitious;

  And Brutus is an honourable man.

  He hath brought many captives home to Rome,

  Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill;

  Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

  When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;

  Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

  Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

  And Brutus is an honourable man.

  You all did see that on the Lupercal

  I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

  Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

  Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

  And sure he is an honourable man.

  I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

  But here I am to speak what I do know.

  You all did love him once, not without cause?

  What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

  During the last lines the curtain slowly falls.

  A sign appears.

  7

  Offices of the Cauliflower Trust. Arturo Ui, Ernesto Roma, Giuseppe Givola, Emanuele Giri and bodyguards. A group of small vegetable dealers is listening to Ui. Old Dogsborough, who is ill, is sitting on the platform beside Ui. In the background Clark.

  UI, bellowing: Murder! Extortion! Highway robbery!

  Machine-guns sputtering on our city streets!

  People going about their business, law-abiding

  Citizens on their way to City Hall

  To make a statement, murdered in broad daylight!

  And what, I ask you, do our town fathers do?

  Nothing! These honourable men are much

  Too busy planning their shady little deals

  And slandering respectable citizens

  To think of law enforcement.

  GIVOLA: Hear!

  UI: In short

  Chaos is rampant. Because if everybody

  Can do exactly what he pleases, if

  Dog can eat dog without a second thought

  I call it chaos. Look. Suppose I’m sitting

  Peacefully in my vegetable store

  For instance, or driving my cauliflower truck

  And someone comes barging not so peacefully

  Into my store: ‘Hands up!’ Or with his gun

  Punctures my tyres. Under such conditions

  Peace is unthinkable. But once I know

  The score, once I recognise that men are not

  Innocent lamb
s, then I’ve got to find a way

  To stop these men from smashing up my shop and

  Making me, when it suits them put ’em up

  And keep ’em up, when I could use my hands

  For better things, for instance, counting pickles.

  For such is man. He’ll never put aside

  His hardware of his own free will, say

  For love of virtue, or to earn the praises

  Of certain silver tongues at City Hall.

  If I don’t shoot, the other fellow will.

  That’s logic. Okay. And maybe now you’ll ask:

  What’s to be done? I’ll tell you. But first get

  This straight: What you’ve been doing so far is

  Disastrous: Sitting idly at your counters

  Hoping that everything will be all right

  And meanwhile disunited, bickering

  Among yourselves, instead of mustering

  A strong defence force that would shield you from

  The gangsters’ depredations. No, I say

  This can’t go on. The first thing that’s needed

  Is unity. The second is sacrifices.

  What sacrifices? you may ask. Are we

  To part with thirty cents on every dollar

  For mere protection? No, nothing doing.

  Our money is too precious. If protection

  Were free of charge, then yes, we’d be all for it.

  Well, my dear vegetable dealers, things

  Are not so simple. Only death is free:

  Everything else costs money. And that includes

  Protection, peace and quiet. Life is like

  That, and because it never will be any different

  These gentlemen and I (there are more outside)

  Have resolved to offer you protection.

  Givola and Roma applaud.

  But

  To show you that we mean to operate

  On solid business principles, we’ve asked

  Our partner, Mr Clark here, the wholesaler

  Whom you all know, to come here and address you.

  Roma pulls Clark forward. A few of the vegetable dealers applaud.

  GIVOLA: Mr Clark, I bid you welcome in the name

  Of this assembly. Mr Ui is honoured

  To see the Cauliflower Trust supporting his

  Initiative. I thank you, Mr Clark.

  CLARK: We of the Cauliflower Trust observe

  Ladies and gentlemen, with consternation

  How hard it’s getting for you vegetable

  Dealers to sell your wares. ‘Because,’ I hear

  You say, ‘they’re too expensive.’ Yes, but why

  Are they expensive? It’s because our packers

  And teamsters, pushed by outside agitators

  Want more and more. And that’s what Mr Ui