Plume (at the window) Kite!
Kite (from the street, coldly) A pleasant evening to you, Mister Plume.
Recruits
Sweetheart, if I’m left to die
Happiness will have passed us by
While good King George reigns immovably
Over the hills and over the sea.
(The song fades away)
Simpkins (sobbing) England, England, first and always!
Balance And now: off to the pheasant shoot!
All Together Ah!
Balance Simpkins! The coach and four!
Notes
THE TUTOR
Texts by Brecht
Notes to The Tutor
Result of the Rehearsals
The Berliner Ensemble’s production of The Tutor was directed by a collective consisting of Brecht, Neher, Monk, and Besson. Neher’s episodic sketches served as a basis for the arrangements, while most of the suggestions put forward by the collective and by the actors were tested out, usually in accordance with instructions shouted from the stalls, even at the most delicate moments. This testing meant that the usual psychological discussion could be dispensed with, while the shouts hampered the (equally usual) establishment of a “creative climate,” in which consciousness comes off second best. The rehearsals lasted for nine weeks, and for at least five hours each day. Under R. Berlau’s direction photographs and descriptions of the production were prepared for a “Model Book,” from which the following extracts come.
Prologue
The prologue in front of the curtain was spoken to the delicate sound of a music box. As the speaker was being made to stand for the entire historical species known as Hofmeister [or household tutor to a noble family], he was given something of the mechanical quality of a figure on a performing clock; the movements of his head and limbs were jerky and his speech clipped. The impression given was by no means dainty, more on the sinister side, not least because of the cynical grin accompanying the words “Those nobles made me only too willing,” together with the cynically discreet shielding of the mouth at “the sorry state of Germany.” Despite a certain snapping of the jaw, and a double jerk at every bow, as is usual with automata, the whole thing was not pressed too far but remained in the realm of suggestion, never obscuring the fact that the actor was alive. In later performances, however, he developed the same doll-like quality further, and we had a high enough regard for his virtuosity to allow this.
1. Bowing and scraping
The scene is the street outside the privy councillor’s garden gate. It shows Läuffer* working his beat, as it were. He lies in wait for the major as the latter takes his customary walk accompanying the privy councillor home after their morning glass. The two brothers pause in conversation while still a few paces from the gate, and only move on when Läuffer approaches, pretends to be surprised at the encounter, and begins while still at a distance to execute his first long-drawn, careful bow. They walk past him without acknowledgment; none the less he hurriedly makes two further bows, likewise while walking. Chilled by his reception, he gives the brothers a nasty look over his shoulder, then turns round and performs a fourth bow to their backs, cursing the while under his breath. (It took us five rehearsals to realize that he must utter his curses during the bow and not after it, which shows how easy it is at the outset to overlook the most obvious and essential points.) Meanwhile the brothers speak of Läuffer in the most indifferent manner, as the privy councillor fishes out one of his many keys and opens the gate. Laughingly saying “He may be good enough for that,” he gives the major a pat on the shoulder and lets him into the garden, where the major pauses and studies a plant at the foot of the wall. The fern in question interests him only mildly, but it is enough to overshadow whatever interest he has in Läuffer; he is far more deeply concerned by its history than by that of the man who is to be in charge of his children’s education. This scene will not work properly unless the privy councillor puts his question “But tell me, brother, do you know …” with sudden concern, to be answered by the major with a great vague shrug of the shoulders.
* [In these notes the characters are referred to by the names given them by Brecht, which are generally the same as in Lenz’s original. As these are in many cases fabricated word portraits (cf. Sir Toby Belch, Captain Brazen, Lady Dumbello, etc.), in our English version of the text they have been translated as follows:
Läuffer (from laufen, to run, and läufig, in heat)—Hasty
Pätus (from Latin paetus, cross-eyed)—Squint
Bollwerk (bulwark)–Buttress
Jungfer Rehhaar—Miss Swandown
Jungfer Watten–Miss Cotton
Jungfer Rabenjung–Miss Gosling
Gustchen (Lenz’s diminutive of Augusta) has been anglicised into Gussie.]
2. The lovers’ parting
The privy councillor, who, being better off than his brother “wouldn’t want anything cheap,” is not prepared to make do with a tutor for his son Fritz but sends him to Halle university instead—which of course allows a tutor to have undisputed access to his girl Gustchen. Their parting scene must show delicately how the young von Berg fends off his cousin; she wants him to take her into the summer-house, but he takes her through Klopstock instead, until he finds the latter filling him with irrepressible feelings and flings her on the bed as he swears his oath: a literary detour. The lovers are separated by his olympian father, with the result that, having been parted in the name of reason, they end up just as remote from one another as at the beginning. He goes off in order to become worthy of her, and by so doing makes certain that she will become unworthy of him.
3. Engaging a tutor
The trail has been laid. The daughter of the house has been sensually aroused, and this has been further aggravated by the fact that her lover’s departure deprives her of him. The family is vulnerable, the tutor can be taken on. As he performs one or two minuet steps to the major’s wife the poor devil is fighting for his life, the eye which she keeps on his feet is no sharper than his own. He wipes the sweat from his forehead (“My son will not require any other dancing master for the time being”), while she calls for one more pas. Meanwhile Leopold, the son he is applying to educate, is catching flies against the wall; he has seen so many employees engaged. Läuffer grunts with pleasure as the major’s wife sings her minuet; he has hurried over to turn the pages for her. Then some Prussian provincial French. When, after chiding him for kissing her hand—it’s not done in France—she none the less grins graciously and stretches out her paw for a further kiss, Läuffer’s success so goes to his head that a faux-pas is bound to follow. He comes forward, between the major’s wife at the keyboard and the count on the sofa, and lets the latter know his opinion of the dancer. (Incidentally, this scene failed to work until Läuffer made a distinctive movement to express his “daring to step forward.” He had to move down to the centre of the stage; the words alone were not nearly enough.) The gentry freeze; deadly lorgnettes are levelled at him. He stammers out some excuse—the man had been booed off the stage at Koch’s theatre—and is dismissed from the room. In his nervousness he nonetheless turns round once more in the doorway on hearing himself talked about, thereby inviting another swipe. After his departure there is a moment’s pause. The major’s wife sails over to the sofa, the count gets up, walks past her in counter-motion; they approach one another with constrained smiles, then let the smile drop, hurriedly reassuming it as they once more turn towards each other. As he mulls over the scandalous incident, already planning how to present it to further houses, he mechanically pinches the cheek of the maid who serves him his chocolate, before going on to pinch the handle of the cup. The major’s wife’s final remark answers the question why Läuffer is not sacked: he is cheap.
4. Insterburg rebuffs
Once Läuffer has been put in his place indoors we turn to him again and show that his position also prevents him from finding pasture outside. If necessary this scene can be cut, but it does present L�
�uffer’s situation in a good exteriorized way. It calls for a refined virtuosity (special figure-skating skills on Läuffer’s part, an enchanting but simple stage set and so on). We showed Läuffer severely handicapped by his obligation to look after the half-witted Leopold, who at once tumbles over and as soon as the young ladies appear is parked by Läuffer against one of the posts for the lights. When Läuffer runs over to the rear after his vain attempt to establish contact he bares his teeth as evidence of the savage feelings which he is finally to turn against himself. Immediately thereafter he becomes an object of utter ridicule; on getting him back his pupil clumsily pulls himself up, bringing Läuffer to the ground.
5. A new pupil
Now Läuffer can be thrown the bait; we have isolated him both inside and out; he is starved and kept short, and we are now about to lock him in with the eatables and make them tasty and ripe. He must not realize his “good fortune” at once, let us give it to him as an additional exploitation, as overtime work. First we shall reinforce the foundations, thicken the atmosphere of hostility and boredom. Mime can be used to develop the relationship between Läuffer and his pupil Leopold: the very sight of the latter makes Läuffer yawn; by infection Leopold follows suit. There is no chalk for the blackboard; Leopold has it and pushes it over to Läuffer with his foot. The tutor reciprocates with uncontrolled hatred, then starts copying the word “agricola” from the book, but he is so badly prepared that he has to check the spelling after the first two syllables. The major is in a bad mood because he wants the fellow to perform a service which he himself cannot pay for. His efforts to educate his son are a miserable failure. He charges at him like Zieten’s hussars charging the Austrians, renewing the attack in silent desperation when the first effort fails to make Leopold sit up as straight as he wants. Eventually it turns out that he only launched this offensive because he wished to get Leopold out of the room. He then spends some time going round the awkward subject, and his sense of having made a tactical error in arguing about Läuffer’s salary is apparently such that when the latter asks for a horse he promises to look into the matter. This is too much for Läuffer. Having resentfully lain down under all the haggling and the imposition of new tasks, he had put his request with every expectation of being refused. Now he outdoes himself in bows, and hastens to display his drawings. The major merely looks at the first of them and shoves the second aside. Standing in the doorway, he warns Läuffer that he must “be gentle with” his daughter.
6. Philosophy and physiology
Now let us have a look at the new pupil’s far-away lover, and let us wheel in Halle on our revolving stage. It is here, at the university, that the young store up experiences both on the intellectual and on the physical plane. We see our man Fritz von Berg poised between sacred and profane lovers, between Pätus and Bollwerk. Pätus is scared of his landlady but not of his professor; Bollwerk favours crawling to the professor but has the landlady under his thumb. Fritz opts for philosophy, but goes off to look at girls with Bollwerk. Fritz needs to be presented as the observant guest.
7. Catechism lesson
The daughter of the house is not disinclined to play with fire, and we have seen to it that such playing is made easy for her. Thus Läuffer must not be made to fall in love; he is lost from the outset (“he loves because he wants to go to bed”). Accordingly he seems all the more rigid, a cat among the pigeons, though a cat who is his own trainer. Nonetheless, this scene provides a chance to display Gustchen’s social superiority. She combines the resources of her body and of her social position to get him dancing. At the beginning of the scene the teacher is gazing at a smiling pupil, and the story goes on in such a way as to make us believe that this is her attitude to Läuffer’s teaching. He successfully stares her down. Guiltily she begins reciting the Creed. “I believe that God created me.” When she gets stuck, Läuffer starts moving towards her with loud, measured, deliberate steps which seem to tick off the seconds of the silence between them. As he circles round her, looking down at her derisively, she restarts the sentence in a kind of panic and then, with the man behind her, gets stuck again. Then suddenly she smiles and looks up at him, repeating the last words “created me” with a shift of emphasis from “created” to “me”: the graceful and unashamed triumph of the female. From this instant his advance proves to have been an error which leads straight to defeat. The examination conducted by him quickly turns into an examination conducted by her; it is no longer he who helps her out with the right word, but she him. (She openly mocks the schoolmasterly pedantry of his diction […], delivering her “From all perils, and guards and defends me” with her head on one side in such a way as to suggest that it is he who has lost the thread and needs a helping hand. His “protects” is spoken with hopelessness, and his “Without any merit or worthiness in me” contains a childish reproach.) Then comes the row over her drawing lesson. Her haughty assurance that she had no time calls for the utmost self-control on his part. He paces restlessly and painfully to and fro, twists round like a top as on the skating rink, stops abruptly with his ruler tightly gripped between his elbows behind him as if to fetter himself. She looks him over as though he were some intriguing insect and for a moment is almost touched; she goes up to him and apologizes for having disappointed him. He lets this opportunity slip and looks stubbornly away. At once she resumes the employer’s mantle and imitates her mother, (“It was quite impossible,”) in order to put him in his place. What makes him finally lose control is her teasing remark that drawing is the one thing she enjoys doing. She is genuinely frightened by the savagery of his outburst. Once he has rushed out she stretches self-indulgently: he is a plebeian, with a plebeian’s strength.
8. My kingdom for a horse!
Wanted: an outlet. Society’s imperious finger points to the brothel. But the unhappy victim of the conflagration cannot get at the sole permissible cooling draught unless his employer first hands him the ladle. Läuffer, abandoned, armed only with a promise (i.e., unarmed), has to choose a mediator, his father, who must in turn address himself to a mediator, the employer’s brother.
The eighth scene takes place in the privy councillor’s garden, which we already know (from outside) from scene I. In his shirtsleeves, wearing a rustic gardener’s apron and broad-brimmed straw hat, the privy councillor, after refusing the pastor’s request, bends his knees in order to clip a box tree. Greatly to the disadvantage of Läuffer, who gets no chance to state his practical demand, an ideological argument develops between the two elderly gentlemen, conducted on the pastor’s side with irascibility, on the privy councillor’s with the infuriating self-control of a man of the world. The latter too on one occasion gives a look typical of his class (“interesting to see how people like this behave”) as the pastor bellows out the words “a shepherd of souls” in a vain attempt to make the authority of the church tell on his side. When Läuffer cannot contain himself his father intervenes, out of concern for his son’s dignity. Thus he has to wrestle with his father to get his request for mediation across. His father’s presence prevents him from letting the privy councillor have it straight; he feels forced to deny the real objective of the proposed visits. Brutally, the privy councillor states it. Läuffer, a broken man, follows his agitated father to the garden gate, only to turn round once more, stare at the privy councillor with a snort and warn him darkly that something terrible may happen. Then father and son go off in haste, gesticulating angrily as they pass along the garden wall. The privy councillor has raised his voice for just one sentence: “Been feeling your oats?” He carefully now and again clips an overgrown shoot from the box tree with his big shears.
9. The abandoned vacation
While in Insterburg his Gustchen finds herself abandoned to a sex-starved tutor who has been deprived of any outlet, far away in Halle Fritz von Berg undergoes an experience which prevents him from hastening to her rescue, while at the same time giving him the intellectual equipment finally to understand her situation and to forgive it. He sac
rifices his holiday money for Mistress Rehhaar, who had slept with the student Bollwerk while thinking allegedly of the student Pätus. What needs to be lightly and comically shown here is the peculiar form of self-castration adopted by German intellectuals of middle-class background, who are capable of experiencing not only other people’s revolutions but also their own private life on an exclusively “intellectual plane.”
Details
The transition to Pätus’ big outburst (from “There are times when I feel almost weary” to “Bollwerk, Bollwerk”) needs to be abrupt and utterly unexpected.
Fritz von Berg’s attitude in this scene is freer, and he has also begun wearing a Schiller-style shirt. When he thumps his fist on the table after remarking “I too have developed in this Halle of yours” it is out of a sense of having become “one of the boys.” With a gesture of freedom he announces his intention not to sleep with his girl. It is the moment of his self-castration, and it bears the same heroic stamp as will the unfortunate Läuffer’s.
Berliner Ensemble Adaptations Page 37
