Brecht: The coat of infidels

Bertolt Brecht (1898–1956) was a German playwright and poet. Studied philosophy and medicine in his youth. He is the founder of "Epic Drama", one of the three major drama systems in the world. His poetry, like his plays, is philosophical and thought-provoking.

The coat of the pagans

Vin| Bertold Brecht

Translated | Zhao Dan

　　Giordano Bruno, from Nora, who was burned on a pyre for heresy by the Roman Inquisition in 1600, was recognized as a great man not only for his courageous hypothesis about celestial motion, which was later considered true, but also for his fearless attitude towards the Inquisition. He said to the court, "I am afraid that the horror you have when you pronounce my sentence is greater than when I heard it pronounced." ”

　　Read a little of his books and look at the reports of his public appearances, and people will say that he was a great man. Here's a story that might make us respect him even more.

　　It's a story about his coat.

　　The first thing we have to know is how he fell into the hands of the Inquisition.

　　A Venetian nobleman named Mozenigo invited scholars to his house to study physics and memory. He entertained him for several months, and in return, Mozzenigo was given the required lectures. But instead of a witchcraft class, Bruno gave him a physics lesson. He was dissatisfied because physics was useless to him. The expenses his guests brought him made him regret it. Several times he solemnly reminded Bruno to impart the knowledge of the secret tradition, which a well-known man like him must have possessed. When his hopes were dashed, he wrote to the Inquisition to denounce Bruno. He wrote that this wicked man who was ungrateful denigrated Christ in front of him, that the monks were donkeys, that the people were ignorant, and that, contrary to what the Bible says, there was not only one sun but an infinite number, and so on. He, Morzenigo, therefore imprisoned Bruno in the top room and requested that officials be sent to pick him up as soon as possible.

　 Officials arrested the scholars at midnight, Sunday through Monday, and imprisoned them in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

　　This happened at three o'clock in the morning on Monday, May 25, 1592. From this day until he ascended the fire on February 17, 1600, the Nora never left the dungeon again.

　　In a terrible trial that lasted eight years, he fought tirelessly for his life. During his first year in Venice, his struggle to resist his transfer to Rome was perhaps the most desperate.

　　The story of his coat takes place during this time.

　　In the winter of 1592, when he was still staying in a hotel, he asked a tailor named Gabrielle Zonto to make a thick coat of good size. He had not paid when he was arrested.

　　Hearing the news of the arrest, the tailor hurried to the house of Mozenigo in the holy mountain Moor area and showed him the bill, but it was too late. The maid of Mozenigo pointed to the door and told him to go. "We paid enough for this liar," he shouted as he stood on the threshold, several pedestrians looking back. "You should go to the court of the Holy See and tell them that you have an affair with this pagan and that it is not over."

　　The tailor stood in panic in the street. A group of young men in the alley heard this, and one of the little boys with pustules on his face and ragged clothes threw stones at him, and although a poorly dressed woman ran out of a door and gave the little boy a slap, the old man Zongto still clearly felt that "being involved with a pagan" was a very dangerous thing. As he ran, he carefully looked around and went back home in a big circle. He didn't talk to his wife about this unfortunate thing. She was also puzzled by his frustration all week.

　　But when she checked the accounts on June 1, she found that a coat had not been paid for, and the person's name was well known, and this nora had become a topic of conversation in the city. Terrible, vile rumors about him spread everywhere. Not only does he vilify marriage in books and conversations, but he also calls Christ a charlatan, and there are crazy remarks about the sun. This kind of person is most like the kind of person who doesn't pay for a coat. Kind women don't want to put up with the loss. After a heated verbal altercation with the men, the 70-year-old put on her Sunday costume and went to the building of the Holy See and demanded that the pagans return her thirty-two Scotty debts.

　　After listening to her, the official recorded her request and promised to deal with the matter.

　　Soon Dzongto was summoned. He trembled and went to the harsh building to report. To his surprise, he was not interrogated and told that his claims would be duly taken care of in the handling of the economic dispute involving the prisoners. But the official also hinted that the matter would not have major consequences. The old man was glad that he could leave so easily, and when he left, he bowed his knees and thanked him. But his wife was dissatisfied. The failure to recover the damage was so unbalanced that her man did not eat dinner and was still sewing clothes at night. The cloth merchants still have debts to pay. She shouted in the kitchen and outside the courtyard that it was shameful for a criminal to arrest him before his debts had been paid. If necessary, she would go to Rome to find the Pope, and she would have to get back the thirty-two scoutis. "What coat is he going to wear on the firewood?" She cried.

　　She told her priest what had happened. The priest suggested that she at least get her coat back. She saw from this that the church side had acquiesced to her rights, threatening that the mere return of the coat would not stop, because the coat must have been worn and was tailor-made. She must pay it back. Agitated and too loud, the priest threw her out, which made her a little more sane and seemed quieter for a few weeks. There was no further news of the arrested infidels from the inquisition building. Yet there are private legends that the trials revealed many scandals that had never been heard of. The old lady listened greedily to the gossip, and heard that the infidels were in such a bad situation that she felt as if she were being tortured. He would never again be released to pay her debts. She couldn't sleep at night, and when the August heat completely destroyed her nerves, she began to grumble with customers who came to try on clothes in the store where she bought. If priests treat a craftsman's legitimate demands so indifferently, she said, they are sinning. Taxes are so heavy that the price of bread has risen again not long ago.

　　One morning, an official summoned her to the holy see building and warned her not to talk about the gossip anymore. She was asked if she was shy about chattering about a very serious religious case for the sake of a few Sgudys. She was told that there was a way to treat people like her.

　　Although she was furious every time she thought of the chubby brother's words, "For a few Scottys," she was silenced for a while. But in September, it was reported that the Grand Inquisitor of the Roman Inquisition had demanded that the Nora be handed over to him. The authorities are consulting on the matter.

　　Citizens are talking about the transfer application, and the sentiment is generally opposed. The guilds did not want the Judges of Rome to interfere in the matter.

　　The old lady was in a hurry. If the pagans were really going to be taken to Rome, what would he do with the debt he owed me? As soon as she heard this incredible news, she couldn't wait, and without changing into a better dress, she hurried to the building of the Holy See.

　　This time a more senior official received her, much more politely than the last time. He was about the same age as her, patiently listened to her complaint, paused for a moment and asked her if he wanted to talk to Bruno.

　　She immediately agreed. The meeting was scheduled the next day.

　　This morning in a small room with a barred window, a thin old man with a black beard walked in and politely asked her what she was doing. She had seen him when she was gauging, and she had always remembered his appearance, but now he did not recognize her immediately, and it must have been the stimulation of the interrogation that had changed him.

　　She immediately said, "You didn't pay for that coat." ”

　　For a few seconds he looked at her in amazement, and then he remembered it and asked her softly, "How much do I owe you?" ”

　　"Thirty-two Sgudy," she said, "didn't you get the bill?" ”

　　He turned and asked the fat officer who was watching the talks if he knew how much money he had left in his belongings to the Holy See, and the man said he didn't know, but promised to find out for him.

　　"How is your husband's health?" The prisoner turned to the old lady again and asked, as if the matter had been settled and normal relations could be established, and the atmosphere of an ordinary visit had arisen again.

　　The old lady, a little confused by the amiable kindness of the little old man, muttered that her husband was fine, and even mentioned his rheumatism.

　　She didn't walk into the building again until two days later, because she thought it would be more appropriate to give him a little more time to inquire.

　　She was really allowed to talk to him again. Because he was on trial, she waited for an hour in her room outside the iron window.

　　He came and looked very tired. Without a stool, he leaned against the wall and immediately turned to the main topic.

　　He had a weak voice and told her that he regretted not being able to pay for his coat. He had no money in his possessions. But she also doesn't have to give up hope. He thought for a moment, remembering that he still had money from a man in Frankfurt, who had printed a book for him, and that he would write to the man if he would allow it, and that he would apply tomorrow, and that the atmosphere at the interrogation today was not very good, so he did not want to ask, lest he make a mess of everything.

　　As he spoke, the old lady looked at him with sharp eyes. She knew how the kind of people who were in debt could use excuses to delay time, so that they did not care about their obligations, and if they urged them, they pretended to do everything they could.

　　"If you know you can't afford to pay, what do you want your coat for?" She asked coldly.

　　The prisoner nodded his head so she knew he was listening. He replied:

　　"I've always earned money by writing and teaching. I think I can still make money. I felt like I needed that coat because I could walk freely outside. ”

　　He said this without any sourness, obviously not wanting to owe her an answer.

　　The old lady looked at him from head to toe, full of anger, and tried to be careful not to bump into him, and then without saying a word, turned and ran out of the room.

　　"Who would send money to a person who has been tried by a religious court?" At night she lay in bed and said angrily to her husband. Now he was relieved by the attitude of the religious institutions, and he accused his wife of not asking for money repeatedly.

　　"He has many other things to think about now," he nagged.

　　She stopped talking.

　　Months passed, and there was no new development in this nasty thing. In early January, it was reported that the authorities were considering meeting the bishop's request to hand over the pagans to Rome. Then the Dzongto family was summoned to the building of the Holy See.

　　There was no specific time specified, so Madame Zonto had gone one afternoon to make an appraisal of the handover issue. She was received by the higher official, who had arranged a meeting with the Noras. The white-haired old man told her that the prisoner was willing to talk to her, but she should wonder if the time was right, because the prisoner was waiting for an extremely important meeting.

　　She added that it was enough to ask him.

　　An official went and returned with prisoners. The talks took place in front of the senior official.

　　The Nora smiled at her while she was still at the door, and as soon as she wanted to speak, the old lady spoke:

　　"If you want to be free, why would you do that?"

　　For a moment the little man seemed a little dazed, and he had answered many questions this quarter, forgetting the outcome of the last conversation with the tailor's woman.

　　"The money didn't come," he said at last, "and I wrote two letters about it, but the money didn't come." I also thought about whether to ask you to take the coat back. ”

　　"I know it will be that way," she said dismissively, "but the coat is made of size, and for most people it's too small." ”

　　"It is impossible," interjected the obese officer who brought him in, "And Mr. Motzenigo has made this request." You ate at his place for a long time. ”

　　"He invited me." Nora said he felt tired.

　　The white-haired old man raised his hand.

　　"It really doesn't matter, my coat should be returned to her."

　　The white-haired old man was a little angry, and he said slowly:

　　"Dear Madame, show a little tolerance of Christ, and it will not be too bad for you. The defendant is now facing a meeting that could decide his life or death, and you can't ask him to worry much about your coat. ”

　　The old lady looked at him in confusion. She suddenly remembered where she was now. She was wondering if she should go, when she heard the prisoner behind her whisper:

　　"I think she has that right."

　　When she turned around, he also said:

　　"Please forgive me. In any case, don't think that I don't care about your loss. I will write an application for this matter. ”

　　The big fat man left the room at the suggestion of the white-haired old man, and when he returned, he spread his hands and said, "That coat was not handed over at all, and it must have been left by the treacherous Morzenigo." ”

　　The Nora were visibly taken aback, and then said indignantly:

　　"It's really unreasonable. I will sue him. ”

　　The white-haired old man shook his head:

　　"You'd better prepare for the meeting in a few minutes. I can no longer allow a few Scudets to argue here. ”

　　The old lady heard this and the blood rushed straight up, and she remained silent when the Nora spoke, looking unhappily at the corner of the room. But now she couldn't help it.

　　"A few Sgudi!" She exclaimed, "That's a month's income!" You can talk about tolerance because you are not at a loss. ”

　　Just then a tall monk came in.

　　"The archon has arrived," he whispered, looking in amazement at the shouting old lady.

　　The big fat man grabbed the nora's sleeve and led him outside. The prisoner looked back at her from his thin shoulders until he was led out of the threshold. His thin face was pale.

　　The old lady walked down the stone steps of the building in a trance. She didn't know what to think. Besides, the man did what he could.

　　When the fat man brought his coat a week later, she did not enter the workshop. But she eavesdropped by the door. She heard the official say, He did the coat in the last few days. On the sidelines of the municipality's interrogation, he applied twice. Several times he asked to talk to the people involved about it. He won. Mozzenigo had to hand over his coat. By the way, he actually needs this coat now, because he will be transferred to Rome this week. ”

　　He's right. It was the end of January.

| excerpt from "Eight Novels of Brecht's Calendar", translated by Zhao Dan, Foreign Literature and Art, No. 4, 2008