Berliner Ensemble Adaptations

by Bertolt Brecht

  [BFA, vol. 24, p. 413–14]

  Besson’s Production of Don Juan with the Berliner Ensemble

  When seventeenth-century German companies played Shakespeare, it was a vulgarized, bowdlerized Shakespeare in fancy dress. It was not till the classical revival that the texts were again straightened out and the significance of his works discovered. (Though it would be a mistake to assume that this led to a genuine Shakespearean tradition which could still be drawn on, since this splendid stream in turn rapidly stagnated, degenerating into routine banalities.) The bourgeois German theatre disposed of Molière without wrecking the text; he was broken in by being “interpreted in depth,” “humanized,” “supernaturally charged.” The miser became a “virtually” tragic figure, the “victim” of superhuman greed. Dandin, whom snobbery made a cuckold, became a kind of Woyzeck, whose wife is stolen by an aristocrat. Don Juan became the “perhaps positively tragic rake,” “ever insatiably seeking and yearning.”

  The text before us offers no justification for such an interpretation, which betrays a total ignorance of the age Molière lived in and of his attitude towards it. We suffer today from a peculiar notion of progress which greatly hampers the theatre in its efforts to resuscitate great works from the past. According to this view, progress consisted in artistic creation becoming less and less naïve and primitive as time progressed. It is a view which is also extremely popular in the bourgeois camp, which is where it properly belongs. When the English actor Olivier made his film of Shakespeare’s Henry V he started off with a portrayal of the play’s première in the Globe Theatre. The acting was represented as emotional, stilted, primitive, virtually half-witted. Then “modern” acting took over. The crude old days were put behind us, the acting became elegant, superior, full of subtleties. I have hardly ever seen a film that irritated me so much. Fancy thinking Shakespeare could have been so much cruder and stupider a director than Mr. Olivier! Of course, I do not hold that the last century, or for that matter our own, has contributed nothing new to the portrayal of human social life or to the depiction of individuals. But there is not the least justification for giving older works “the benefit” of this, if they happen to be masterpieces. We mustn’t impose features of Goethe’s Faust on Marlowe’s; it would not make him Goethean, nor would it help him to be more Marlovian. Old works have their own values, their own subtleties, their own scale of beauties and truths. Our job is to find these out. This doesn’t mean that Molière has to be performed as he was in seventeen-something, only that he must not be performed as he was in 1850 (and for that matter in 1950). The variety of perceptions and beauties in his works is just what allows us to derive effects from them that are in tune with our own time. The old interpretations of Molière’s Dom Juan are more use to us than the new (which are likewise old). We get more from the satire (closer to Molière) than from the semi-tragic psychological study. We find the glamour of this parasite less interesting than the parasitic aspects of his glamour. Leipzig philosophy students discussing Besson’s production found the satirical presentation of the feudal concept of love as a hunt so topical that they burst out laughing and told us of present-day ladykillers. I hope and believe that they wouldn’t have been nearly so interested by supernatural destroyers of souls.

  There is in fact a double significance to Benno Besson’s production of Don Juan. He restored the comic aspect of the character of Don Juan—justified, incidentally, by the original casting in Molière’s theatre of the actor who usually played the comic marquis—by restoring the play’s social message. In the famous begging scene, which had hitherto served to present Don Juan as a free-thinker and progressive, Besson simply showed a libertine, too arrogant to admit any obligations, thus revealing how offhandedly the ruling clique treated the beliefs licensed and enforced by the state. He took a slight formal liberty by abandoning the play’s division into five acts, a piece of period formalism, undoubtedly adding to the audience’s entertainment by this simple measure, without at all detracting from the sense of the play. Another point of significance for the German stage was the extremely happy use Besson was able to make of the unique traditions of the French theatre. The audience was delighted to observe the broadly universal quality of Molière’s comic sense, that hazardous mixture of the finest chamber-music comedy with extreme farce, interrupted by those short, exquisitely serious passages which are unequalled elsewhere.

  Our theatre is at a lovely stage of learning. That is why its experiments matter and its errors can perhaps be forgiven.

  [BFA, vol. 24, pp 414–16. Dated 1954, it appeared that year in nos. 5–6 of the monthly Sinn und Form.]

  Editorial Note

  Adapting Molière

  Don Juan is one of the less radical adaptations made by the Berliner Ensemble, and seems to be one of those with which Brecht himself had least to do; indeed there is less material in the Brecht Archive relating to it than even to some of the adaptations not normally credited to him, such as Gerhart Hauptmann’s Biberpelz and Johannes R. Becher’s Winterschlacht. Since he was relatively unfamiliar with French writing, the initiative and the bulk of the work on this play are almost certainly due to his bilingual collaborator Benno Besson, who directed its first production in November 1953. Besson had been co-translator of the French version of Mother Courage performed by the Théâtre National Populaire under Jean Vilar two years earlier, and they also staged Dom Juan (in its original version) at Avignon in 1953. That was the summer when Brecht was concentrating largely on his own last play Turandot and also wrote the cycle of poems called the “Buckow Elegies.”

  A note in BFA says that “the translation of the adaptation of the stage version was due to Bertolt Brecht, Benno Besson and Elisabeth Hauptmann,” which would suggest that the adaptation itself may first have been made in French. A considerable number of its scenes are more or less straight translations from Molière, though there are also some dramaturgical changes, while the anti-aristocratic satire is strengthened (evidence of the Don’s cowardice, extra references to his debts, etc.), and there is a new love adventure with the commander’s daughter Angelica, who does not figure in the original at all (though there are other versions of the legend where Donna Elvira is his daughter, as in Da Ponte’s libretto). To resumé the principal differences, in their order of occurrence:

  Title

  Molière’s play is called Dom Juan while its non-hero is Don Juan. Its sub-title “le Festin de Pierre” has been dropped.

  Act One

  Scenes 1–3 are virtually I, 1–3 of the original, but 4 is a new scene, made from the conclusion of I, 2 (which deals with the proposed abduction at sea) and introducing the three boatmen, who are not in Molière at all. Hence scene 5 is entirely new. Scenes 6 and 7 are then made by bringing forward Don Luis’ first appearance from IV, 4–5 together with parts of the dialogue, and adding the references to Donna Elvira and to the creditors.

  Act Two

  Scenes 1–6 are virtually Molière’s II, 1–4, though 2 is an extra scene introduced to make the encounter with Mathurine more explicit, while in Molière Pieter (Pierrot) and the girls are peasants rather than fisherfolk. The dispute between the two girls is made more violent; in Molière they neither take off their sabots nor strike one another. Seven however is a new scene, replacing Molière’s brief concluding scene 5, in which a bravo called La Ramée arrives to warn the Don that twelve horsemen are on his track. It omits La Ramée but introduces the comic doctor Marphurius, with the evident function of showing Don Juan to be a good deal more frightened of a beating from the infuriated boatmen than of any aristocratic duel.

  Act Three

  In his scene 1 Molière had Sganarelle disguised as a doctor, which allowed him to make some characteristic jibes at that profession, leading into the discussion of Don Juan’s own scepticism about medicine: “Don’t you believe in senna leaves?” and so on as in the adaptation. Scene 2 with the beggar is close to Molière’s, except that the repeated indication that his remarks are addr
essed “to Sganarelle” have all been inserted; in the original there was a direct relationship between Don Juan and the beggar, with the former giving his own money. Scene 3 with Angelica’s appearance and scene 4 with Sganarelle rather than Don Juan putting Don Carlos’ attackers to flight (they being here identified with the boatmen) are both new, as is Don Juan’s change of clothes at the beginning of the following scene, which introduces new references to the boatmen and their grudge against the aristocracy but is otherwise close to the original III, 3. Then 6, with Don Alonso’s entry, is much shortened from III, 4, while 7 and 8 are carved out of III, 5, with additional references to Angelica as the commander’s daughter.

  Act Four

  This combines acts IV and V of the original, apart from the shifting forward of Don Luis’ first entry (as above). Scenes 1–3 here are new, Seraphine not figuring in Molière’s play at all, while Ragotin has only one line in it. Then 4–6 are IV, 1–3, the main difference being that the closing episode between the tailor and Sganarelle, who also owes him money, is cut. Scene 7 with Donna Elvira is IV, 6; scene 8 is entirely new; while in 9 the references to Elvira’s effect on Don Juan come from IV, 7. The farcical meal here has however been cut, where Molière had Sganarelle stealing the Don’s dishes while the lower servants stole his; and so has IV, 8, where the statue makes its brief second appearance.

  Scene 10, Don Luis’ second entrance, ends with a shortened version of V, 1, in which Molière had Don Juan “faisant l’hypocrite” to his father, an instruction that provides one of the clues to his play. Some of Don Luis’ opening remarks derive from IV, 4, though Don Juan’s account of the boat episode and the appearance of Angelica are of course new. Then scene 11 starts with part of V, 2, Don Juan’s speech on hypocrisy being drastically shortened, but the preparations for the meal are new, together with the Don’s rehearsal of his speech to the expected lady guest. V, 3 is cut, where his new-found hypocrisy is shown failing to work on Elvira’s brother Don Carlos, who thus virtually drops out of the adaptation after the third act. The meal having been held back till now, the ghosts in V, 4 and 5 are eliminated and the commander’s appearances in IV, 8 and V, 6 rolled together to make scene 12, whose conclusion with the Don dropping down the flaming hole is from the original.

  After that, however, instead of Sganarelle’s brief musings there is the new scene 13, with its parade of characters, including the tardy Angelica. Molière provides Sganarelle’s concluding cry.

  As for the actual translation, Molière’s style has been largely allowed to go by the board. E.g., Sganarelle’s “Je trouve fort vilain d’aimer de tous les côtés comme vous faites” becomes “Dieses Herumgeliebe ist was furchtbares” (“This indiscriminate loving is abominable,” p. 194); Donna Elvira’s “Vous plaît-il, Don Juan, nous éclaircir ces beaux mystères?” becomes “Don Juan, dürfte ich Sie um eine Erklärung dieser rätselhaften Erklärung [sic] bitten?” (“Don Juan, may I ask you to explain your puzzling explanation?” p. 197); while Charlotte’s “Que veux-tu que j’y fasse? C’est mon himeur, et je ne me pis refondre” becomes “Ich bin nun mal so” (“That’s the way I am,” p. 206). It is not clear how far this kind of verbal clumsiness is deliberate, intended perhaps to be anti-aristocratic. In addition, of course, many speeches have been condensed in translation, rather than cut.

  TRUMPETS AND DRUMS

  Texts by Brecht

  Plan of the play

  1. Headquarters

  Plume, the recruiting officer who has arrived from London, is informed by his sergeant Kite about the state of the market for recruits and love. Recruiting is going badly, but Victoria, the justice’s daughter, who a year earlier had been in pigtails, has been visiting a girl put in the family way by Plume. Plume gives his friend the shoe manufacturer Worthy a word of advice in matters of the heart. In return Worthy offers him a handsome commission on boots, which Worthy needs soldiers to fill.

  2. The justice’s house

  To shield her from Plume, Balance sends his daughter Victoria away to the country. A true patriot, he then receives Plume with open arms.

  3. Melinda’s house

  Victoria finds no asylum at Melinda’s.

  4. Market place

  Band concert and promenade. Shrewsbury salutes England’s heroes. Worthy follows the strategy recommended by Plume, and gives Melinda the cold shoulder. She instantly consoles herself with one of the heroes, the fiery Captain Brazen. With Plume’s assistance Kite manages to gaff two young fellows.

  5. Headquarters

  A young gentleman called Victor is looking for Captain Plume, who has just gone inside the inn with Rose, a country girl, for a business discussion. Her brother calls in the landowner Lady Prude. She cross-examines Rose, who emerges from the inn with some lace.

  6. Billiard room at the inn

  Victor hands Plume a letter from Victoria. The young gentleman has pots of money, and stands treat to Plume and Brazen In a conversation with Plume he establishes the fact that the former cannot live without the excitements of the battlefield. He resolves to be recruited, and chooses Plume. The casualty lists for the victory at Höchstätt are made public.

  7. Room at the inn

  The recruiting drive has come to a standstill. Kite does his pathetic best, disguised as a fortune-teller. Worthy makes it up with Melinda. She agrees to leave Brazen.

  8. Picnic by the Severn

  Victor steals the country girl Rose away from Plume. Melinda tells Brazen that she is going to marry a civilian. The alarm is sounded. Couples emerge from the bushes. Kite drives them all to headquarters.

  9. The justice’s house

  Lady Prude denounces Plume and Victor for immorality. Balance’s attitude, as he opens the post from London, is “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn”: i.e., the town’s defenders are entitled to the town’s daughters. The post contains the Act of Impressment. But the prisons prove to be empty. How are they to be filled? A meeting of notables decides on a grand moral clean-up. Brazen presents himself to Melinda in civilian clothes.

  10. Room at the inn

  During the cleaning-up operation Victor and Rose are arrested as lovers. Victor demands Plume’s arrest, which is effected, much to the delight of Lady Prude, by a weeping Kite. […]

  11. The justice’s house

  Among Plume’s fellow prisoners is a business man who speaks enthusiastically to him of the excitements of the city. Victor refuses to wash in public and is led away. Then Balance starts forcing the malefactors into the army. On Plume’s appearing before him he becomes enraged at Kite’s lack of patriotism, and invites Plume to join him on the bench. Summoned out of the courtroom, however, he encounters Victoria. In his anger he cashiers Plume. At this Victoria, who is determined to fight for her beloved man, pretends to commit suicide. She announces that she is pregnant and forces her father to order Plume’s release from the army. The latter now sees Victoria for the first time and is thrown into confusion. Buzzing round Melinda are Brazen (in civilian clothes) and Worthy (in uniform). But a bugler recognizes in Brazen a detested sergeant, and so Balance is able to make him take over Plume’s battalion. Plume will become a stockbroker in the city and multiply Melinda’s twenty thousand pounds for her. While a battalion from the neighbouring town is marching past on its way to embark, that great patriot Balance shoves into the army whatever he has no personal need for at home.

  [BBA 651/01–2. This scheme, which follows the eventual division into scenes, apart from the subsequent insertion of the prison scene (11), dates from after the decision to call Farquhar’s Silvia Victoria, but before the transposition of the whole play to the period of the War of Independence. The last scene in particular is very different.]

  The love story

  Victoria was sixteen and a pupil at a boarding school, when she had a brief “love affair” with Captain Plume lasting barely three days: letters (in which she insisted on marriage), a hasty rendezvous, a painful leavetaking. When Plume comes back he hardly remem
bers anything about it, but is told that she has stood by a girl whom he had put in the family way. Her father, the justice of the peace, is told so too; he sends her away to the country as Plume arrives.

  Then a young man appears in Plume’s quarters with a letter from Victoria. Plume is absent on business (with Rose). The young man, whose name is Victor, witnesses the scandal over Rose. Victor/Victoria finds the wartime climate unhealthy. At the same time a conversation informs her that Plume is entirely committed to his profession because it satisfies his love of excitement. Victor/Victoria agrees to enlist as an ensign […] in order to be able to remain by Plume’s side as his guardian angel. She asks Plume to abandon Rose to her. She does not, however, trust him when he wants to finish off his business with Rose. She herself arranges a rendezvous—with Rose—at Haughton’s Hotel. The rendezvous [… proves] a failure. Rose asks for Plume. Victor meanwhile is arrested during the police raid and brought before her own father. Luckily Plume is arrested too. Victoria asks her father to reduce him to the ranks (I am carrying his twins). Plume now sees her for the first time, as she offers herself, her money, and the excitement of London.