BETTY: I am so glad you two have worked things out.
UI: Once frankness showed what it was all about…
BETTY: Foul-weather friends will never disappoint …
UI, putting his arm around her shoulder:
I like a woman who can get the point.
Givola and Dullfeet, who is deathly pale, emerge. Dullfeet sees the hand on his wife’s shoulder.
DULLFEET: Betty, we’re leaving.
UI comes up to him, holding out his hand:
Mr Dullfeet, your
Decision honours you. It will redound to
Cicero’s welfare. A meeting between such men
As you and me can only be auspicious.
GIVOLA, giving Betty flowers:
Beauty to beauty!
BETTY: Look, how nice, Ignatius!
Oh, I’m so happy. ‘Bye, ‘bye.
GIVOLA: Now we can
Start going places.
UI, darkly: I don’t like that man.
A sign appears.
13
Bells. A coffin is being carried into the Cicero funeral chapel, followed by Betty Dullfeet in widow’s weeds, and by Clark, Ui, Giri and Givola bearing enormous wreaths. After handing in their wreaths, Giri and Givola remain outside the chapel. The pastor’s voice is heard from inside.
VOICE: And so Ignatius Dullfeet’s mortal frame
Is laid to rest. A life of meagrely
Rewarded toil is ended, of toil devoted
To others than the toiler who has left us.
The angel at the gates of heaven will set
His hand upon Ignatius Dullfeet’s shoulder
Feel that his cloak has been worn thin and say:
This man has borne the burdens of his neighbours.
And in the city council for some time
To come, when everyone has finished speaking
Silence will fall. For so accustomed are
His fellow citizens to listen to
Ignatius Dullfeet’s voice that they will wait
To hear him. ’Tis as though the city’s conscience
Had died. This man who met with so untimely
An end could walk the narrow path unseeing.
Justice was in his heart. This man of lowly
Stature but lofty mind created in
His newspaper a rostrum whence his voice
Rang out beyond the confines of our city.
Ignatius Dullfeet, rest in peace! Amen.
GIVOLA: A tactful man: no word of how he died.
GIRI, wearing Dullfeet’s hat:
A tactful man? A man with seven children.
Clark and Mulberry come out of the chapel.
CLARK: God damn it! Are you mounting guard for fear
The truth might be divulged beside his coffin?
GIVOLA: Why so uncivil, my dear Clark? I’d think
This holy place would curb your temper. And
Besides, the boss is out of sorts. He doesn’t
Like the surroundings here.
MULBERRY: You murderers!
Ignatius Dullfeet kept his word – and silence.
GIVOLA: Silence is not enough. The kind of men
We need must be prepared not only to
Keep silent for us but to speak – and loudly.
MULBERRY: What could he say except to call you butchers?
GIVOLA: He had to go. That little Dullfeet was
The pore through which the greengoods dealers oozed
Cold sweat. He stank of it unbearably.
GIRI: And what about your cauliflower? Do
You want it sold in Cicero or don’t
You?
MULBERRY: Not by slaughter.
GIRI: Hypocrite, how else?
Who helps us eat the calf we slaughter, eh?
You’re funny bastards, clamouring for meat
Then bawling out the cook because he uses
A cleaver. We expect you guys to smack
Your lips and all you do is gripe. And now
Go home!
MULBERRY: A sorry day, Clark, when you brought
These people in.
CLARK: You’re telling me?
The two go out, deep in gloom.
GIRI: Boss
Don’t let those stinkers keep you from enjoying
The funeral!
GIVOLA: Pst! Betty’s coming.
Leaning on another woman, Betty comes out of the chapel.
Ui steps up to her. Organ music from the chapel.
UI: Mrs
Dullfeet, my sympathies.
She passes him without a word.
GIRI, bellowing: Hey, you!
She stops still and turns around. Her face is white.
UI: I said, my
Sympathies, Mrs Dullfeet. Dullfeet – God
Have mercy on his soul – is dead. But cauliflower –
Your cauliflower – is still with us. Maybe you
Can’t see it, because your eyes are still
Blinded with tears. This tragic incident
Should not, however, blind you to the fact
That shots are being fired from craven ambush
On law-abiding vegetable trucks.
And kerosene dispensed by ruthless hands
Is spoiling sorely needed vegetables.
My men and I stand ready to provide
Protection. What’s your answer?
BETTY, looking heavenward: This
With Dullfeet hardly settled in his grave!
UI: Believe me, I deplore the incident:
The man by ruthless hand extinguished was
My friend.
BETTY: The hand that felled him was the hand
That shook his hand in friendship. Yours!
UI: Am I
Never to hear the last of these foul rumours
This calumny which poisons at the root
My noblest aspirations and endeavours
To live in harmony with my fellow men?
Oh, why must they refuse to understand me?
Why will they not requite my trust? What malice
To speak of threats when I appeal to reason!
To spurn the hand that I hold out in friendship!
BETTY: You hold it out to murder.
UI: No!
I plead with them and they revile me.
BETTY: You
Plead like a serpent pleading with a bird.
UI: You’ve heard her. That’s how people talk to me.
It was the same with Dullfeet. He mistook
My warm, my open-hearted offer of friendship
For calculation and my generosity
For weakness. How, alas, did he requite
My friendly words? With stony silence. Silence
Was his reply when what I hoped for
Was joyful appreciation. Oh, how I longed to
Hear him respond to my persistent, my
Well-nigh humiliating pleas for friendship, or
At least for a little understanding, with
Some sign of human warmth. I longed in vain.
My only reward was grim contempt. And even
The promise to keep silent that he gave me
So sullenly and God knows grudgingly
Was broken on the first occasion. Where
I ask you is this silence that he promised
So fervently? New horror stories are being
Broadcast in all directions. But I warn you:
Don’t go too far, for even my proverbial
Patience has got its breaking point.
BETTY: Words fail me.
UI: Unprompted by the heart, they always fail.
BETTY: You call it heart that makes you speak so glibly?
UI: I speak the way I feel.
BETTY: Can anybody feel
The way you speak? Perhaps he can. Your murders
Come from the heart. Your blackest crimes are
As deeply felt as other men’s good deeds.
As we believe in faith, so y
ou believe in
Betrayal. No good impulse can corrupt you.
Unwavering in your inconstancy!
True to disloyalty, staunch in deception!
Kindled to sacred fire by bestial deeds!
The sight of blood delights you. Violence
Exalts your spirit. Sordid actions move you
To tears, and good ones leave you with deep-seated
Hatred and thirst for vengeance.
UI: Mrs Dullfeet
I always – it’s a principle of mine –
Hear my opponent out, even when
His words are gall. I know that in your circle
I’m not exactly loved. My origins –
Never have I denied that I’m a humble
Son of the Bronx – are held against me.
‘He doesn’t even know,’ they say, ‘which fork
To eat his fish with. How then can he hope
To be accepted in big business? When
Tariffs are being discussed, or similar
Financial matters, he’s perfectly capable
Of reaching for his knife instead of his pen.
Impossible! We can’t use such a man!’
My uncouth tone, my manly way of calling
A spade a spade are used as marks against me.
These barriers of prejudice compel me
To bank exclusively on my own achievement.
You’re in the cauliflower business. Mrs
Dullfeet, and so am I. There lies the bridge
Between us.
BETTY: And the chasm to be bridged
Is only foul murder.
UI: Bitter experience
Teaches me not to stress the human angle
But speak to you as a man of influence
Speaks to the owner of a greengoods business.
And so I ask you: How’s the cauliflower
Business? For life goes on despite our sorrows.
BETTY: Yes, it goes on – and I shall use my life
To warn the people of this pestilence.
I swear to my dead husband that in future
I’ll hate my voice if it should say ‘Good morning’
Or ‘Pass the bread’ instead of one thing only:
‘Extinguish Ui!’
GIRI, in a threatening tone: Don’t overdo it, kid!
UI: Because amid the tombs I dare not hope
For milder feelings, I’d better stick to business
Which knows no dead.
BETTY: Oh Dullfeet, Dullfeet! Now
I truly know that you are dead.
UI: Exactly.
Bear well in mind that Dullfeet’s dead. With him
Has died the only voice in Cicero
That would have spoken out in opposition
To crime and terror. You cannot deplore
His loss too deeply. Now you stand defenceless
In a cold world where, sad to say, the weak
Are always trampled. You’ve got only one
Protector left. That’s me, Arturo Ui.
BETTY: And this to me, the widow of the man
You murdered! Monster! Oh, I knew you’d be here
Because you’ve always gone back to the scene of
Your crimes to throw the blame on others. ‘No
It wasn’t me, it was somebody else.’
‘I know of nothing.’ ‘I’ve been injured’
Cries injury. And murder cries: ‘A murder!
Murder must be avenged!’
UI: My plan stands fast.
Protection must be given to Cicero.
BETTY, feebly: You won’t succeed.
UI: I will. That much I know.
BETTY: From this protector God protect us!
UI: Give
Me your answer.
He holds out his hand.
Is it friendship?
BETTY: Never while I live!
Cringing with horror, she runs out.
A sign appears.
14
Ui’s bedroom at the Hotel Mammoth. Ui tossing in his bed, plagued by a nightmare. His bodyguards are sitting in chairs, their revolvers on their laps.
UI, in his sleep: Out, bloody shades! Have pity! Get you gone!
The wall behind him becomes transparent. The ghost of Ernesto Roma appears, a bullet-hole in his forehead.
ROMA: It will avail you nothing. All this murder
This butchery, these threats and slaverings
Are all in vain, Arturo, for the root of
Your crimes is rotten. They will never flower.
Treason is made manure. Murder, lie
Deceive the Clarks and slay the Dullfeets, but
Stop at your own. Conspire against the world
But spare your fellow conspirators.
Trample the city with a hundred feet
But trample not the feet, you treacherous dog!
Cozen them all, but do not hope to cozen
The man whose face you look at in the mirror!
In striking me, you struck yourself, Arturo!
I cast my lot with you when you were hardly
More than a shadow on a bar-room floor.
And now I languish in this drafty
Eternity, while you sit down to table
With sleek and proud directors. Treachery
Made you, and treachery will unmake you.
Just as you betrayed Ernesto Roma, your
Friend and lieutenant, so you will betray
Everyone else, and all, Arturo, will
Betray you in the end. The green earth covers
Ernesto Roma, but not your faithless spirit
Which hovers over tombstones in the wind
Where all can see it, even the grave-diggers.
The day will come when all whom you struck down
And all you will strike down will rise, Arturo
And, bleeding but made strong by hate, take arms
Against you. You will look around for help
As I once looked. Then promise, threaten, plead.
No one will help. Who helped me in my need?
UI, jumping up with a start:
Shoot! Kill him! Traitor! Get back to the dead!
The bodyguards shoot at the spot on the wall indicated by Ui.
ROMA, fading away:
What’s left of me is not afraid of lead.
15
Financial District. Meeting of the Chicago vegetable dealers. They are deathly pale.
FIRST VEGETABLE DEALER:
Murder! Extortion! Highway robbery!
SECOND VEGETABLE DEALER:
And worse: Submissiveness and cowardice!
THIRD VEGETABLE DEALER:
What do you mean, submissiveness? In January
When the first two came barging into
My store and threatened me at gunpoint, I
Gave them, a steely look from top to toe
And answered firmly: I incline to force.
I made it plain that I could not approve
Their conduct or have anything to do
With them. My countenance was ice.
It said: So be it, take your cut. But only
Because you’ve got those guns.
FOURTH VEGETABLE DEALER: Exactly!
I wash my hands in innocence! That’s what
I told my missus.
FIRST VEGETABLE DEALER, vehemently: What do you mean, cowardice?
We used our heads. If we kept quiet, gritted
Our teeth and paid, we thought those bloody fiends
Would put their guns away. But did they? No! It’s
Murder! Extortion! Highway robbery!
SECOND VEGETABLE DEALER:
Nobody else would swallow it. No backbone!
FIFTH VEGETABLE DEALER:
No tommy gun, you mean. I’m not a gangster.
My trade is selling greens.
THIRD VEGETABLE DEALER: My only hope
Is that the bastard some day runs across
&nb
sp; Some guys who show their teeth. Just let him try his
Little game somewhere else!
FOURTH VEGETABLE DEALER: In Cicero
For instance.
The Cicero vegetable dealers come in. They are deathly pale.
THE CICERONIANS: Hi, Chicago!
THE CHICAGOANS: Hi, Cicero!
What brings you here?
THE CICERONIANS: We were told to come.
THE CHICAGOANS: By who?
THE CICERONIANS: By him.
FIRST CHICAGOAN: Who says so? How can he command
You? Throw his weight around in Cicero?
FIRST CICERONIAN: With
His gun.
SECOND CICERONIAN: Brute force. We’re helpless.
FIRST CHICAGOAN: Stinking cowards!
Can’t you be men? Is there no law in Cicero?
FIRST CICERONIAN: No.
SECOND CICERONIAN: No longer.
THIRD CHICAGOAN: Listen, friends. You’ve got
To fight. This plague will sweep the country
If you don’t stop it.
FIRST CHICAGOAN: First one city, then another.
Fight to the death! You owe it to your country.
SECOND CICERONIAN:
Why us? We wash our hands in innocence.
FOURTH CHICAGOAN:
We only hope with God’s help that the bastard
Some day comes across some guys that show
Their teeth.
Fanfares. Enter Arturo Ui and Betty Dullfeet – in mourning – followed by Clark, Giri, Givola and bodyguards. Flanked by the others, Ui passes through. The bodyguards line up in the background.
GIRI: Hi, friends! Is everybody here
From Cicero?
FIRST CICERONIAN: All present.
GIRI: And Chicago?
FIRST CHICAGOAN: All present.
GIRI, to Ui: Everybody’s here.
GIVOLA: Greetings, my friends. The Cauliflower Trust
Wishes you all a hearty welcome. Our
First speaker will be Mr Clark. To Clark: Mr Clark.
CLARK: Gentlemen, I bring news. Negotiations
Begun some weeks ago and patiently
Though sometimes stormily pursued – I’m telling
Tales out of school – have yielded fruit. The wholesale
House of I. Dullfeet, Cicero, has joined
The Cauliflower Trust. In consequence
The Cauliflower Trust will now supply
Your greens. The gain for you is obvious:
Secure delivery. The new prices, slightly
Increased, have already been set. It is
With pleasure, Mrs Dullfeet, that the Trust
Welcomes you as its newest member.
Clark and Betty Dullfeet shake hands.
GIVOLA: And now: Arturo Ui.
Ui steps up to the microphone.
UI: Friends, countrymen!
Chicagoans and Ciceronians! When
Brecht Collected Plays: 6: Good Person of Szechwan; The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui; Mr Puntila and his Man Matti (World Classics) Page 23
