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This is to certifg that the

thesis entitled

WAGNER AND BRECHT
AS MAJOR THEORISTS OF AESTHETIC DISTANCE
IN THE THEATRE

presented by

Donald Ralph Cain

has been accepted towards fulfillment

of the requirements for

Ph.D

degree in fipmh—ELTh e at re

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.nr. ._—_.__. .3..-

 

ABSTRACT
WAGNER AND BRECHT

AS MAJOR THEORISTS OF AESTHETIC DISTANCE
IN THE THEATRE

BY

Donald Ralph Cain

This study explores and clarifies Edward Bullough's theory of Aesthetic
Mstmme as a valuable analytical tool in the theatre and, then, through
thetwe of the single vocabulary provided by the principle of Aesthetic Dis-
tmme,seeks a greater insight into the theatrical and theoretical achieve—
mmns of Richard Wagner and Bertolt Brecht.

Both Wagner and Brecht were vitally concerned with the degrees of Aes-
flmtic Distance necessary to a proper appreciation of their dramatic produc—
timw; both had very specific states of mind which they sought to induce
m um spectators of their works. Wagner wanted an almost total subjection
ofthe viewer to the spectacle and Brecht tried to create a cool, detached,
mmlytical consideration of the facts depicted-~diametrically opposed points
0fview--but both were intended to lead the audience to a clear perception
ofthe conditions necessary to the restructuring of society along more 'i-
deaP lines. Each was sure that his art—works could lead to a more perfect
hummtcondition but they differed completely in their choice of techniques
bYWhidltO achieve the understanding and cooperation of the playgoer. Wag—
nerchose to work with the most empathic attitude, while Brecht stressed
dwtraction as no other author has.

In the theories and works of these men, devoted to exactly the same

01)jeCt (using a modified theatre to alter society) but employing the most

 

 

A"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

' radically different methods and striving to create opposing conditions of
mental activity, the outer limits of the Distanced attitude can be clearly
perceived and defined. There is, then, in this work, a definition of a
critical technique, by theory and example, and an application of that tool
to the work of the men who exemplify in their dramas the most extreme states
covered by the theory.

In terms of the method employed

We can not hope to prove aesthetic theories definitely true or

false by recourse to concrete instances; but there is a middle

course between that and pure dialectic. One can, in a broad

sense, test a given theory in practice by going directly to a

variety of relevant objects of art with that one theory upper-

most in mind, and by noting the extent to which that theory is

borne out by one's own experience of the objects.

That, of course, is the procedure used here: a direct examination of the
dramas and theories in the light of Aesthetic Distance.

The conclusions reached include the following: (1) Aesthetic Distance
is a valuable theory by which to study the work of theatrical theorists and
practitioners; (2) it includes, but limits the effects of, empathy; (3) Aes-
thetic Distance is primarily a matter of attending to all aspects of an art
creation to a proper degree and to none of them in an excessive manner, that
15» it assignmentsf_,,é.\ri.s,t,99711.8“?.5."9.919E‘EHP‘FETE, 99?,‘9sRQ... (4) b9“. Wagner ;
wfflflgfflgffliffi‘idji.1,533???,..9P,,1_¥..."9.93.“.951199F...efflthscDiSfcanced ,_
SEER:~1E.9u._EES..E§9c1.P§.19?!".93331i..QEXLELEBEEEPl?,.£.‘3fl££$93§m5...,e(5) their art istic
intuitions led. them, in practice, into paradoxical violations of their own
theories but into a closer conformity to the requirements of Aesthetic Dis-
tance; and (6) they each sought practical end results from the artistic

theory of Aesthetic Distance and its techniques and, consequently, were fore-

doomed to a certain degree of failure.

 

1Thomas Munro, Scientific Method in Aesthetics (New York: W" W' Norton
and Company, Inc., 1928), P- 27-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WAGNER AND BRECHT
1 AS MAJOR THEORISTS OF AESTHETIC DISTANCE

IN THE THEATRE

BY

Donald Ralph Cain

 

 

A THESIS
Submitted to
Michigan State University

in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of Speech and Theatre

1969

 

 

 

 

 

the

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to express his appreciation to the many
people who assisted so greatly in the formulation and conduct of this
study: to Dr. John F. A. Taylor, for suggesting such an interesting
area of work and for co-directing the writing of the theoretical portions
of this paper; to Dr. John E. Dietrich, for pointing out the many pit-

falls involved in trying to deal with aesthetic abstractions in the

theatre; to Dr. James Brandon, for trying to set the work on a reasonable

 

path of development; to Dr. Sydney Berger, for making something accept—
able out of the many ideas the author had about his topic and for guiding
the work to its completion; to Dr. John Waite and Dr. Colby Lewis for
their patience and their many helpful, probing questions; to the Graduate
Committee of the Department of Speech, Michigan State University, for
their understanding of the problems involved in this project; to the

Graduate School of Michigan State University, for extensions of time and

 

other courtesies; to the Librarians of four colleges and universities,
for unusual efforts necessary to supply the documents for the research;
to Wisconsin State University, Superior, Wisconsin, and to its President,
Dr. Karl W. Meyer, for release time from employment and other promptings
toward the completion of the writing; and, finally, to my wife, Kay Ellen,

for believing that the study could be completed.

ii

 

 

‘ ""‘ -' ~-—~I—‘.~n¢.-u~ -

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter Page
I. INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
II. AESTHETIC DISTANCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Definition of Aesthetic Distance
Implications of the Definition
Definition of Empathy
SEhools of Empathy Theorists
The Objectified Ego Theory of Empathy
The Inner Mimicry Theory of Empathy
Degrees of Empathic Response
The Eormal Elements
.iDistance Is a Mean between Total Identification and
* Tbtal Abstraction
Under-Distanc1ng and Over- -Distancing
Distance Limits
Aesthetic Distance as a Restatement of Aristotle's
Golden Mean
Methods of Distancing
Summary

 

III. WAGNER‘S THEORIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

Existing Evils in the Opera
The Gesamtkunstwerk
Drama
Poetry
The Myths
The Music
The Orchestra
Melody
Final Musical Considerations
Summary

“R WAGNER'S OPERAS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112

Introduction

The Early Operas
Die Hechzeit
Die Feen
Das Liebesverbot
Rienzi

 

 

 

Chapter
IV. WAGNER'S OPERAS (continued)

The Middle Period
Der FZiegende Hollander
Thnnhduser
Lohengrin
The Later Period
The.Ring of the Nibelungen
Dae Rheingold
Die Wblkflre
Siegfried
Gdtterddhmerung
Tristan and Isolde
Die Meistersinger Ven Nuremburg
Parsifel

V. WAGNER'S STAGING .

Introduction

The Festspielhaus

Wagner's Rehearsal Methods

The Stage Settings for the Festivals
Conclusion

VI. BRECHT'S THEORIES

Introduction
Definition of the Epic Theatre
Purpose of the Epic Theatre
Alienation
Gestus
Writing
Style
Structure
Characters
Acting
Production
Setting
Lighting
Summary

VII. BRECHT'S PLAYS .

Introduction and Delimitation
The Early Plays

Character of the Plays

A Man’s A Man
The Musical Works

Character of the Pieces

The Threepenny Opera

 

 

 

Page

. 197

. 219

. Z75

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter
VII. BRECHT'S PLAYS (continued)

The Lehrstacke
Character of the Learning Plays
The Measures Taken
The Plays about World War II
Character of the Plays
The Visions of Simone Machard
The Major Plays
Character of the Pieces
Mother Courage and Her Children
Galileo
The Good Woman of Setzuan
The Caucasian Chalk Circle
The Plays for the Berliner Ensemble
Summary

VIII. BRECHT'S STAGING .

Introduction

Rehearsal Methods

Involvement and Abstraction During the Rehearsal Period
The Berliner Ensemble

Conclusion

(::) SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

BIMJOGRAPHY OF SOURCES CITED .

 

Page

. 339

. 360

. 366

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

The intent of this study will be to explore and clarify the theory
of Aesthetic Distance as a theatrical force, and, secondly, through the use
of the single vocabulary provided by the principle of Aesthetic Distance,
to seek a greater insight into the theatrical and theoretical achievements
of Richard Wagner and Bertolt Brecht. These two authors were vitally con—
cerned with the degrees of Aesthetic Distance necessary to a proper appre—
ciation of their dramatic productions. Many parts of each of their re—
spective theories deal with this principle in clearly recognizable, but
differing, terminology; this study will attempt to clarify the relation—
ship of Wagner's and Brecht's theories by using the broader concept of
Aesthetic Distance as an analytical tool. An attempt will also be made
to point out, in their plays, operas and productions, just how Distance
was used by each.

This study, then, will be concerned with the following three
theories and their applications: (1) Edward Bullough's Psychical or

Aesthetic Distance,1 (2) Richard Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk or " otal

«“1

 

 

 

1This theory presupposes the existence of the theory of empathy
and defines the limits within which, and the conditions under which,
e'IlPathy functions. Therefore it will be necessary to clarify the rela-
tionships of these two concepts and to make frequent reference to
empathy.

 

 

 

 

 

Art-Work," in which all elements are fused into a unified production of
high emotional content, and (3) Bertolt Brecht‘s Epic Theatre, an attempt
at creating a highly rational, socially critical style of theatre.

These latter two authors were selected for a comparative study
because they were playwrights who stressed opposing aspects of Aesthetic
Distance. For further reasons, one could also point to their theatrical
importance (each established a new kind of drama) and to the volume of
their theoretical explanations of the new forms. Each offers a valid
opportunity for comment in terms of aesthetic theory.

Bertolt Brecht was selected for investigation because he was one
one of the most conscious and consistent users of a form of Aestheticww
Distance in the whole of theatrical history. He was simply the author
who sought, deliberately, to bring this principle into the theatre, not
only as an evaluative tool but also as the keystone doctrine in the whole

system of Epic Theatre. Brecht's basic idea of Alienation ”35,,323E3931

 

 

 

 

Waitresging of one degree of Aesthetic Distance and it dominated

_ 'wP-W’S'a'm.":1~krun

 

“'90.: .

his methods of writing, rehearsing and performing.)

 

 

Richard Wagner was chosen because, in making equally extensive
use of some aspects of Aesthetic Distance, his work, nevertheless, repre-
sents the most striking embodiment of the type of stage art against which
Bertolt Brecht rebelled. Though he purposely used many Distancing devices,
Wagner still probably represents the dramatist wfijeliberatalynnasae‘dmthem

e ' - ' ' -
WEE-”2.3.9.13...,.PE9££P.§£RSE.E§£9%Ithe Intent behind the fan

tastic scope and power of the "Total Art-Work" was simply to overp‘gyger
x...Wrnw~mmwnweu“,N.«mum.,,wu-~>~-«.~»«w~""‘*“ww~r» ....,.w.».,.._.,, a.M‘I‘W'r-u,x-~s-"""4I7Av¢1y7)h.1- 1,... .. 'q<.-)- - - <

 

 

 

he

 

3

and subject the auditor-viewer to such a numbing effect that his senses1

and critical faculties were cancelled and he could then be exposed to the

'mystical revelations' buried in the music.2 ~1erWagner's music-dramas were \

intended to be a form of theatre into which the audience members would

be absorbed completely; there were to be no coldly critical, evaluative

awarenesses left in the audience during a performance? -\,
Wagner and his followers (among them Adolphe“. Appia and Gordon

Craig) succeeded in promoting the basic ideas in the theory of the

Gesamtkunstwerk to the point where they became a standard method of

theatrical production. "Popularized Wagnerism is probably the most

 

lAmong Wagner's comments on this point are, "we no longer are
really conscious . . . but for all our open eyes, have fallen into a state
essentially akin to that of hypnotic clairvoyance. And in truth it is in
this state alone that we immediately belong to the musician's world."
Richard Wagner, Wagner on Music and Drama, A Compendiwn of Richard Wagner ’3
Prose Works, trans. H. Ashton Ellis, ed. Albert Goldman and Evert Sprinchorn
(New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., Inc., 1964), p. 186. And "fine perfor—
mances of ideal works of music may make this evil [the visible orchestra]
imperceptible at last, through our eyesight being neutralized, as it were,
by the rapt subversion of the whole sensorium." Ibid. , p. 365.

2". . . we have clearly to define the capacity for Speech possessed
by the orchestra as a capacity for the announcement of that which cannot
be conveyed by articulate speech.” Richard Wagner, Opera and Drama, trans.
Edwin Evans (2 vols.; London: William Reeves, n.d.), p. 566. And further:
"music is itself a world's-idea, an idea in which the world immediately
displays its essence . . ." Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 184. There is
an obvious paradox between the perception of world thoughts through the
sensuous medium of music when the senses have been depotentiated by the
music, but Wagner never commented upon this problem. Another paradox of
Sorts exists in relation to both of these authors: they each, theoretically
called for one state of mind on the part of their auditors and then wrote
works which forced the adoption of another attitude or mental set during
the perception of some of their works. This opposition of theory and
practice was used in the case of both of these men and resulted primarily
from their attempts to deny a part of this audience's normal methods of
perception, to deny, on the part of each, one half of the Aesthetically
Distanced State. What Wagner theoretically desired as a state of mind
on the part of the auditor may perhaps be clearer following the discus-
Sion of the ecstatic empathic condition explained in Chapter II.

 

‘W a: 7 .1 Cartier"

11h.

 

 

wnhspread dramatic theory——or the most widely held preconception--of our
day."1 If this statement is true and Wagner's unified production approach
is a dominant force in the conventional theatre, then any break with the
cmwentions of the normal production system, such as Brecht's Epic Theatre,
Emms “billing. .directixaagainstrfls "Wagnerismsmnathyebassdrthaorx. These
men are thus linked by representing a current norm and the rebellion against
it.

The basic difference between these men lies in their answer to the
mmstion,'gkmLshppld_§mspectator be brought to react in the best possible
WEHEXMQLJme theatre?" From that question) and the answer to it, almost
flm whole of each of their theories can be derived. And both of their
flwories can be explained most easily through the use of the principle of
fffthetic Distance, a theory of audience response.

Many aspects link these authors:

1. Both felt that the dominant style of either operatic

or dramatic writing and presentation in use when they began

their careers was artificially bound by convention and con-

sequently ineffective.

2. Both were sure that plays and operas could be used
for serious, social purposes, rather than just for enter-
tainment.

3. Both had a strong desire for, in their eyes, a
better society and both chose to prepare the way for the
new social structure through the theatre.

4. Both created an art form which they felt would

eliminate the unnecessary aspects of the florid, conven-

tional opera or of the realistic—naturalistic drama and

focus the audience's attention upon the socially bene—

ficial aspects of their art works.

5. Both worked throughout the latter part of their
lives to have their ideas become the standards by which

 

 

. lEric Bentley, The Playwright As Thinker (New York: Reynal and
Hitchcock, 1946), p. 282.

 

either opera or theatre work should be done or judged.
Wagner, for instance, created untold numbers of enemies
by_§2ggg§£iggwthat the Gesamtkunstwerk was "The Art -Work”“w
of the Future" (in the article of the same_ name), while ,fl
according to the. cr1t1c Martin Essl1n

 

Brecht claimed that the 'epic' theatre alone
could present the complexity of the human condi-
tion in an age in which the life of individuals
could no longer be understood in isolation from
the powerful trend of social, economical, or
historical forces affecting the lives of
millions.

Thus both wanted their ideas, the only ones complex and
organized enough to faithfully reflect the modern era,
accepted as the norm.

6. Both had to adopt the role of philosopher~aesthetician-
apologist to clarify the nature of their form of theatre. Few
dramatists have worked out such elaborately detailed and com~
prehensive theories or taken such pains to evolve and state
comparable sets of theatrical techniques. This large body
of explanatory theory from each man deals, to a remarkable
degree, with the methods and effects of Aesthetic Distance.

7. Both explained their new methods of creating and
staging as means of determining the audience's degree of in-
volvement and non-involvement. Wagner and Brecht, at differ—
ent times, stated a need for various degrees of both conditions
in the audience and planned specific devices and techniques to
achieve the precise balance of these moods which they felt was
essential to their purpose.

8. In theory each of these men proposed adopting an
extreme position in relation to Aesthetic Distance but, in
practice, their artistic intuitions led them continuously
toward more moderate and balanced creations. The theory of
Aesthetic Distance is one of moderation and the inclusion
of all factors to an appropriate degree. Therefore, if it
did play an important part in their creative work, it could
not have failed to lead them toward a compositional tech-
nique in which there was 'nothing too much' in any one
direction.

9. Both men were not only theoreticians of great con—
sequence but also practical men of the theatre who embodied
their concepts in actual work for the stage. Each functioned
in most of the creative areas of the theatre in some degree.

M

 

1Martin Esslin, Brecht: A Choice of Evils (London: Eyre and

Spottiswoode, 1959), p. 111.

 

 

 

10. Both felt that their works were not adequately
presented by others.

11. Each had a theatre, during the last few years of
his life, in which he could stage his works.

12. Both created radical, influential forms of
theatre.

13. Each modified his theory continually, and, in
their later stages, the theories are less radically di—
vergent than in their earlier formulations.

14. Both have earned a place in theatrical history
and theory even if their dramatic works should someday
fail to hold the stage.

In spite of these points of similarity, there were many other areas

hiwhich Wagner and Brecht clearly differed:

the

1. Every aspect of Wagner's "Total Art—Work" was to
be completely integrated, while Brecht consciously chose
to fragment his presentations.

2. Wagner wrote grandiose tales of gods and demi-gods
in circumstances which never existed, while Brecht, even
in his most fanciful tales, elected to work on an entirely
different scale and with, perhaps, a more obvious practical
orientation.

3. Wagner hoped to elevate art to the status of a new,
redeeming, unifying religion; Brecht to inculcate a desire
for a better state by showing the inherent evils in current
conditions.

i4, Theoretically, Wagner sought an almost total sub-
jection of the viewer to the spectacle (allowing him only
enough Distance so that he could respond to the artistic
nature of the word-tone drama), while Brecht wanted a
spectator who only rarely and intermittently became em-
pathically involved in the work beyond the arousal of his
interest in the problem of the play.

Surely, in the theories and works of these men, devoted to exactly

same object--using a modified theatre to alter society--but employing

the most radically different methods and striving to create opposing con-

ditions of mental activity, the outer limits of the Distanced attitude can

be clearly perceived and defined. In turn, that definition should clarify

their theories and their relationships.

 

 

 

To keep this study within reasonable limits, certain limitations
had to be imposed upon it. Because there have been no significant modi-
fications in the theory of Aesthetic Distance since its first concrete
formulation, this work will proceed from the definition of that principle
formulated by Edward Bullough in 1912. It_w_i_ll,however, be necessary to .

clarify and develop theyrelationship of the theory of empathy to that of“. ,,
1

Editis...9j£§isa¢s;

This study will concern only the theoretical writing, dramas and
productions of Richard Wagner and Bertolt Brecht, two voluble and con-
sistent exponents of the theory in the modern theatre.

The Wagnerian dramas primarily considered here will be those be-
ginning with The Flying Dutchman (I841), laying less stress on the earlier
works which were not created in conformity witjlmflgvgggybgggfiGmtkws@3113....
5911531331. To reduce Brecht's body of work, some fifty odd plays, to a
group of dramas which may be handled in a single study, the plays will be
grouped according to periods and types, and a representative play from
each group chosen for discussion and analysis.

In terms of its structure, this dissertation will consider:

(1] the definition and elaboration of the theory of Aesthetic Distance;
(2) Wagner's development of the theoriesvpf “the Gesamtkw’zstuzerkmorgrim-,9-
Eskiiarkfliarsasrelatedtothattheory (3) a discussion of the
Distancing and empathic techniques used in Wagner's operas, taken in
chronological sequence; (4) Wagner's staging of his own works at Bayreuth

I

including references to the design of the theatre itself; (5) Brecht's

 

 

13cc Chapter II for the explanation that Distance is a measure-
ment of empathy.

 

 

 

 

 

development of the theories of the Epic Theatre; (6) a discussion of
Brecht's specific methods of "alienation" as they appear in selected
plays and operas in chronological sequence; (7) Brecht's staging devices
used primarily with the Berliner Ensemble; and (8) a summary and conclu-
sion.

To establish the validity of this new examination of these men
and their works, it should be noted that only two previous pieces of
doctoral research on Wagner seem to have any bearing on the intent behind
his compositional and performance techniques. Charlotte Farrow Liddell's
dissertation1 deals with the object of Wagner's creative efforts, but not
with his Distancing or empathy techniques. Marie H. Graves's "Schiller
and Wagner—-A Study of their Dramatic ”Iheory and Technique"2 deals only
with Wagner's revolt against the principles of neo-classicism.

There are numerous volumes either by or about Richard Wagner and
his works, among the most important of which in relation to this study
are the source works Wagner on Music and Drama3 and the Art Life and
Theories of Richard Wagner,4 both collections and extracts from his

theoretical writings; Opera and Drama,5 Wagner's theoretical magnum opus

 

1Charlotte Farrow Liddell, "Music as Religion: An Inquiry into
Wagner's Concept of the Function of Art" (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation,
DBPt. of Music, U. of Michigan, 1964).

2Marie H. Graves, "Schiller and Wagner--A Study of their Dramatic
Theory and Techniques" (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Dept. of Speech,
U. of Michigan, 1938).

3A5 cited above in footnote 1, page 3.

4Richard Wagner, Art Life and Theories of Richard Wagner, trans.
Edward L. Burlingame (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1875) .

5Cited in footnote 2, page 3.

 

 

 

and the most detailed explanation of the Gescvntkunstwerk; and the collec-

tions of Wagner‘s letters to different people,1 letters in which he often

touches upon his theatrical work in illuminating ways.

The many biographical works, including Richard Wagner's,2 Ernest

3 and William Ashton Ellis',4 have often proved helpful in supply-

Newman's
ing. necessary background information for a proper understanding of Wagner's
methods and intentions. However, the most valuable volumes leading to an
understanding of the works themselves are Ernest Newman's volumes The

Wagner Operas5 and Wagner as Man and Artist,6 along with Albert Lavignac's
The Music Dramas of Richard Wagner,7 all of which provide relatively de—

tailed analyses of the poems and music or background data on the operas.

1Among the many such collections are Letters of Richard Wagner:

The Burrell Collection, trans. Hans Abraham, Henry Lea and Richard Stoehr,
The Macmillan Co., 1950); Letters of Richard
E. P.

ed. John N. Burk (New York:
Wagner, trans. M. M. Bozman, ed. Wilhelm Altmann (2 vols., New York;

Dutton and Co., 1927); Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, trans. and
ed. William Ashton Ellis (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1905); The

Letters of Richard Wagner to Anton Pusinelli, trans. and ed. Elbert Lenrow
(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1932); Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt,

trans. Francis Hueffer, ed. W. Ashton Ellis (2 vols., London: H. Grevel
and Co., 1897); etc.
Richard Wagner, My Life, authorized translation (2 vols., New York:
Dodd, Mead and Co., 1911).
3Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner (4 vols. ; New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1933).
4William Ashton Ellis, Life of Richard Wagner, the English version
of C. F. Glasenapp's Das Leben Richard Wagner ’3, (6 vols.; London: Kegan '
Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co., Ltd., 1900).
sEmest Newman, The Wagner Operas (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1949)

. 6Ernest Newman, Wagner As Man and Artist (New York: Garden City
Publishing Co., Inc., 1941).
7A1bert Lavignac; The Music Dramas of Richard Wagner and his Festi-
m; Theatre in Bayreuth, trans. Esther Singleton (New York: Dodd, Mead
and Co., 1898).

 

 

 

 

 

However, these works proceed from a descriptive, musiocological point of
View, not from the more general aesthetic approach adopted here.

There are several hundred magazine articles which refer to Wagner
and his works but most of them are simply critical reviews of specific

productions of one or another of his operas.
The only relevant dissertation on Brecht, one by Ralph John Ley,1

is oriented toward other philosophical or economic theories, not toward

Aesthetic Distance .

The basic sources for Brecht's theories include: Brecht on Theatre,2

the largest single collection of his theoretical writings in English trans-

lation; The Messingkauf Dialogues,3 Poems on the Theatre4 and A Short
Organum for the Theatre. 5
The critical works include Martin Esslin's Brecht: The Man and

His Work,6 which supplies much biographical data and commentary about

1Ralph John Ley, "The Marxist Ethos of Bertolt Brecht and Its Re-
lation to Existentialism: A Study of the Writer in the Scientific Age"
(Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Dept. of Languages and Literature,
Rutgers, The State University, 1963).

2Bertolt Brecht, Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an
Aesthetic, trans. John Willett (London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., 1964).

3Bertolt Brecht, The Messingkauf Dialogues, trans. John Willett
(London: Methuen and Co., Ltd., 1965).

4Bertolt Brecht, Poems on the Theatre, trans. John Berger and
Anna Bostock (Northwood, Middlesex, England: Scorpion Press, 1961).

. 58ertolt Brecht, ”A Short Organum for the Theatre,” trans. John
Willett, ed. Eric Bentley, Playwrights on Playwriting, ed. Toby Cole
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1960).
6Martin Essling, Brecht: The Mom and His Works (Garden City, N.Y.;
Anchor Books [Doubleday and Co., Inc.,], 1961) and its earlier form Brecht:
:tCfioice of Evils, cited above on page 5. Both are referred to in this
11 y.

 

 

 

 

in:

11:

{:01

iii

1

.01

 

 

11

Brecht's relations with the Communists but includes only a single chapter
on his theories; John Willett's The Theatre of Bertolt Brecht1 analyzes
Brecht‘s life, personality and work from eight different aspects, among
the last and least important of which Mr. Willett places his theories;

and Peter Demetz' Brecht: A Collection of Critical Essays,2 which, again,
allots one essay to Brecht's dramatic theories.3 This last book also

4 the

includes Oscar Budel‘s "Contemporary Theatre and Aesthetic Distance,"
only essay specifically associating Brecht and the basic theory of this
work. However, it is of a generalized survey nature and considers Brecht
as gmajor exponent of the theory, but only as one among many who manipulate
Aesthetic Distance. Of course, in an essay dealing with contemporary
theatre, no mention is made of Wagner.

Periodical materials about Brecht are numerous and often helpful
though almost never specifically directed toward the concept of Aesthetic
Distance. The most informative of these, dealing with the historical de-

velopment of the overall theory, is Werner Hecht's ”The Development of

Brecht's Theory of the Epic Theatre, 1918-1933."5

 

lJohn Willett, The Theatre of Bertolt Brecht (New York: New
Directions Books, 1959).

2Peter Demetz, Brecht: A Collection of Critical Essays (Englewood '
Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962).

3Hans Egon Holthusen, "Brecht's Dramatic Theory," Brecht: A
Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:
Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962), pp. 106—116.

4 4Oscar Budel, "Contemporary Theatre and Aesthetic Distance,"
Brecht: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood
Cuffs; N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962), pp. 59-85.

SWerner Hecht, "The Development of Brecht's Theory of the Epic
Theatre, 1918-1933,” trans. Bayard Q. Morgan, The Tulane Drama Review,
V°1- 6. No. 1, September 1961, pp. 40-97.

 

 

 

 

m

m

 

12

While there are references to various degrees of empathy and de-
tachment in the works of Wagner and Brecht, and in some half a dozen of
their expositors, no one has previously attempted to describe (with a
single vocabulary) their practices in terms of the single, consistent
theory of Aesthetic Distance. Nor has anyone yet utilized a comparison
and contrast method of exposition in regard to these two men. In both of

these ways, this study will complement those already extant.

 

 

 

WU

 

CHAPTER II

AESTHETIC DISTANCE

This chapter will be devoted to an explanation of the basic theory
of "Psychical" or "Aesthetic Distance"1 together with the theory of
empathy:2 these complimentary theories will then be used in the subsequent
examination of the work of Richard Wagner and Bertolt Brecht.

In order to begin the study of Aesthetic Distance, let us consider
first, the different manners in which humans react to practical and artistic
perceptions. As the criticRogerwfrynn‘oted,in Vision and Design,

The whole of animal life, and a great part of human life, is

made up of . . . instinctive reactions to sensible objects, and
their accompanying emotions. But man has the peculiar faculty
of calling up again in his mind the echo of past experiences of

this kind, of going over it again, [inflimaginationlLas we say.
He ha§,, therefore, the possibility ofua double life; one the

 

39$.lldl,....1.ife, the other .‘me.;;ihagiiiatitej;l_illf'e_, Between these
two lives there is this great distinction, that in the actual
life the processes of natural selection have brought it about

 

 

1These two terms are, of course, synonymous in the same sense that
empathy and Einfifl’zlimg will be shown to be. The term "Psychical Distance,"
the first name applied to the effect, has since largely been displaced by
the apparently broader title "Aesthetic Distance." The two are used inter-
changeably in this work, along with the shortened form "Distance." The
capitalization is intended to distinguish the aesthetic form from the
literal meaning of the word distance, but not all sources quoted observe
this distinction.

2"The ascription of our emotional feelings to the external object
which serves as their visual or auditory stimulus; . . . the imaginative
identification of oneself with another person or with a group." Funk &
Wagnalls New College Standard Dictionary, ed. Charles Earle Funk (New
York: Funk 6 Wagnalls Company, 1950), p. 382. A discussion of empathy
15 necessary here because the theory of Aesthetic Distance presupposes
the theory of empathy but imposes a limit on it.

13

 

 

 

 

 

that the instinctive reaction, such, for instance, as flight

from danger, shall be the important part of the whole process,

and it is towards this that the man bends his whole conscious

endeavor. But in the 1mag1nat1ve life up such action is necessary,

and therefore, the whole consc1ousness may- be focussed upon the

pme and thewemotion'al aspects of the experience In this
we e 'Mfifnative Tiféw a different set of values,.

“MW—M»

d a different kind of perception

 

It is the imaginative life, (he contemplative non- -active kind of living
which is under study here, even though both Wagner and Brecht sought a
practical result from their work.2 While the value of the plays and operas
written by these men may be questioned if one thinks in terms of the poli—
tical and economic reforms their authors desired, both men did produce works
of art. Works of art may be said to stimulate or to convey the special
values of the imaginative life and are certainly susceptible to analysis
through aesthetic theory.

The special values which Fry mentions as being a part of the imagi—
native life or which emerge only in the imaginative, ”double" life are pre—
cisely those which are stripped of a life-preserving function. They serve
no immediately practical purpose but, rather, exist on their own accord
and are self-justifying. These ‘different' values are the intrinsic values
0f art objects, the intrinsic qualities of form, of color, of sound, the
qualities of things which are ignored when they are treated merely as signs
or signals for action. Along with the perception of the intrinsic qualities
0f things, there are emotional reactions, in the imaginative life which

are noted purely for themselves, reactions which are otherwise never

 

 

1Roger Fry, "An Essay in Aesthetics," Vision and Design (New York:
Coward- McCann, Inc. , n.d.), pp. 17-18.

2To understand the practical nature of the results these authors
Wanted from their work, see the chapters dealing with the theories of
Wagner and Brecht.

 

 

 

We 5 m 11111.1!“ .1 Ala Wu .1 l h .I.
.91 W- ull- Mu 1“ \ Nah”.

 

 

 

brought into being except as cues for emergency actions. It is the aware-

ness of such emotions, in isolation, which produces the different kind of

perception mentioned by Fry.

. . . all will admit that the need for responsive action huries
us along and prevents us from even realising fully what the emotion
is that we feel, from co—ordinating it perfectly with other states.
In short, the motives we actually experience are too close to us to
enable us to feel them clearly. They are in a sense unintelligible.
‘ [lithe imaginative life, on the contrary, we can both feel the i
r‘ emotion and watch it. When we are really moved at the theatre we ,
\ are always both on the stage and in the auditorium. 4’

We see and understand the emotions presented in the theatre more clearly
because, in the imaginative life, we are somewhat detached, disengaged,
disinterested; we view these presented emotions as 'spectators' of them,
not as 'actors' in the emotional circumstances.

It is precisely this Distanced kind of perception which Edward
Bullough, a Professor of Italian Literature at Cambridge University, analyzed
in his article ”Psychical Distance as a Factor in Art and an Aesthetic Prin-

ciple. "2

DEFINITION OF PSYCHICAL OR AESTHETIC DISTANCE
The best statement of the theory to be found in Bullough's article

reads as follows:

. . . Distance is produced . . . by putting the phenomenon, so
to speak, out of gear with our practical actual self; by allow—
ing it to stand outside the context of our personal needs and
ends-~in short, by looking at it 'objectively,‘ as it has often
been called, by pErmitting only such reactions on our part as
emphasise the 'objective'features of the experience, and by

 

 

Inna. , pp. 26-27.

2The article first appeared in The British Journal of Psychology,
V°1- V, Part 2 (1912-1913), pp. 87—118, but was reprinted in Bullough's
Aesthetics, ed. Elizabeth M. Wilkinson (Stanford, California: Stanford
University Press, 1957), pp. 91-130. All references in this work to
page numbers will be those of the book.

 

 

 

 

b M. M1 m.m m \ hamlnm

 

 

 

 

I6

interpreting even our ’subjective' affections not as modes
of our being but rather as characteristics of the phenomenon.
__— The working of Distance is, accordingly, not simple,
but highly complex. It has a negative, inhibitory aspect--
the cutting-out of the practical sides of things and of our
practical attitude to them--and a pgsitive side—-the elabora—
tion of the experience on the new basis created by the inhibi-
tory action of Distance.

 

flfis single quotation contains virtually the whole of the concept of
Psychical Distance. The statement is compact and contains a number of

implications which require explication.

IMPLICATIONS OF THE DEFINITION
Distt299__..i_§ Echiexssi. throsgh ..e..?ns9.ta1. ..P?%¢.JP._S}W?0£ ofthe remap: .

tion Of Something, A person's way of looking at things varies on different
Maw-v ~» .n :-..~‘FL‘I“

occasions and the change in attitude, from occasion to occasion often de—
pends upon precisely what is being sought.

Tb see a thing we must adjust our visual apparatus in a cer-
tain way. If the adjustment is inadequate the thing is seen in-
distinctly or not at all. Take a garden seen through a window.
Looking at the garden we adjust our eyes in such a way that the
ray of vision travels through the pane without delay and rests
on the shrubs and flowers. Since we are focusing on the garden
and our ray of vision is directed toward it, we do not see the
window but look clear through it. The purer the glass, the less
we see it. But we can also deliberately disregard the garden, and,
withdrawing the ray of vision, detain it at the window. We then
lose sight of the garden; what we still behold of it is a con-
fused mass of color which appears pasted to the pane. Hence to
see the garden and to See the windowpane are two incompatible
operations which exclude one another because they require dif-
ferent adjustmentsJ

Similarly a work of art vanishes from sight for a be—
holder who seeks in it nothing but the moving fate of John and
Mary or Tristan and Isolde and adjusts his vision to this.
Tristan's sorrows are sorrows and can evoke compassion only in
so far as they are taken as real. But an object of art is artis-
tic only in so far as it is not real.

 

 

llbid., p. 95.

2Jose Ortega y Gasset, The Dehumanization of Art Garden City,
New York: Doubleday and Co., Inc 1956), pp. 9-10. In this and later
Chapters, an exploration will be made of the antirealistic nature of art
a Characteristic which Bullough develOped and which both Wagner and Brecht
used in a highly conscious manner.

 

 

 

1:351

15 i‘

17

Beyond this, any time the focus of interest is altered, the per-
ception of a thing varies:{fihhy time there is a concentration upon one
aspect of an art work or a natural object, with an acute awareness of one
mflt within it, it will not be possible for the spectator to view the scene'“
hlprecisely the same way as he did previously; he will be more conscious
of that portion which has been singled out by his mind for particular
attention, and this intimate knowledge of some part will color his percep-
tion of the whole. 3

In illustration, who has not blindly hurried past a small but in-
tmme bit of beauty such as a single growing flower? And how many times
isit possible to pass the same way, preoccupied with the problems of the
nmment, seeing nothing of the surroundings, so far removed from what is
near that one could as well be in a literal vacuum? This lack of atten-
timiis, in part, due to the particular 'practical' frame of mind which
9861‘ of us brings to bear- “11139939951911?!€93tbsflqrist isan
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inattentative, 'using' frame of mind all that is needed is a consciousness
Ofanother's attention turned that way, a chance remark about the color
ofthe flower, a sentimental mood within oneself, or any of a countless
mmber of other possible alterations in that practical mental state to
suddenly he vividly aware of this potentially aesthetic object. .1313”

£1386 izgflfbfiggyHgfwlmglgknflpflgwat something results. from. theelimination. of. _
JEESE£S§E-S9Pcern$ and the freeing of energies in pure contemplation, °F1
Win s.h..°.1§¢3ain..theQllefitlpnpfa ”Siam“. attitUde

As a rule, experiences constantly turn the same side towards
us, namely, that which has the strongest practical force of

 

 

ul

51h

 

19'

18

appeal. We are not ordinarily aware of those aspects of things

which do not touch us immediately and practically, nor are we

generally conscious of impressions apart from our own self which

is impressed. The sudden view of things from their reverse,

usually unnoticed, side, comes upon us as a revelation, and such

revelations,.areflprecisely those of Art. In this most general

sense,.Dist‘g_c*e is a", factor in all Art.1fj‘

0n the other hand, if one should alter the physical distance or

scale involved in a perception, as Aristotle suggested,2 or insert mechani—
cal aids such as scientific instruments between the observer and the observed
then the attitudes held toward the thing perceived may be greatly altered
in a non-aesthetic and non-pleasing manner, as was noted by Lemuel Gulliver
during his voyage to Brobdingnag:

This made me reflect upon the fair Skins of our English Ladies,

who appear so beautiful to us, only because they are of our own

Size, and their Defects not to be seen but through a magnifying

Glass, where we find by Experiment that the smoothest and whitest

Skins look rough and course, and ill coloured.

0r offer a man of common means five hundred dollars for the primi—

tive painting by his Grandfather—for that sentimentally cherished but
not really valued crudity--and watch the shift in mental attitude on his
part from one of mild appreciation to one of purely practical intent. Such
a resultant attitude has nothing whatsoever to do with the artistic proper~
ties of the painting. The owner's interest has been focused away from the
objective characteristics of the painting and toward practical ends in
which the object is involved as a 'tool' for the acquisition of money.

Thus, the aspects of things upon which the attention is focused

does alter the attitude toward those phenomena.

 

1Bullough, op. cat-3139‘s“

2S. H. Butcher, Aristotle ’3 Theory of Poetry and Fine Art, 4th
ed., (London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1927), pp. 31 a 33.

3Jonathan Swift, Gulliver ’3 Travels (New York: Heritage Press,
1960), p. 91-

 

 

jxttl

19

". . . this Distanced view of things is not and cannot be, our

1 . . . . .
normal outlook." It 15 neither practical nor logical 1n the normal sense

of those terms, for

. . if we will have aesthetic activity, we must stand aloof
from all other activity as best we can. Neither must we think
logically, saying, "this picture is (or is not) astronomically
(or zoologically) exact"; nor . . must we connect it with

morality, saying, "this is a bad statue, for it will tendzto
produce sadism in those persons who contemplate it" . . .

({IZZ/hbreover, the Distanced attitude will not be the usual reaction
flernflforthe simple reason that it will involve a greater awareness
q3251;;1’1‘1W345“uspjtl, Most people seem to save themselves a great deal of time

and unnecessary effort by developing standard, habitual reactions to

everyday occurrences .

. . . habit helps to bltmt his [a man's] perception; and his
practical concerns, by dint of repetition, cause him to be-
come almost unaware of their banality. We live then at an
unaesthetic distance from things; in a state of artistic
annihilation, or non-being.

After all, why should one have to devote thought to such mechanical pro—

cesses as tying shoe laces and lowering bread in a toaster? These things
are quite rightly reduced to such set patterns that one is really only

aware of them when the strings are knotted or the toaster refuses to func—

tion. But whenflsuch mishaps occur we’vbecome aware of what a large portion

'of life is given over to unconscious activity of a repetive nature; Every—

one allows so much of his daily routine to slip into this 'locked' sort of

pattern that it might be truthfully said that people are seldom aware of

 

lBullough, op. cit., p. 95.
_ 2Geddes MacGregor, Aesthetic Experience in Religion (London:
Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1947), p. 200.

3P. A. Michelis, ”Aesthetic Distance and the Charm of Contemporary
Art," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. XVIII (1959-60), p. 36.

 

 

 

 

 

 

what they are doing. To be shocked, stimulated or driven away from the
usual reactions, to be forced into a state of acute consciousness is cer—
tainly a novelty, whether it is painful or pleasant. It is one of the
miracles connected with great art that it has the ability to promote just
such a liberation from habit patterns; an art work asks the viewer to live
vividly and consciously, not in his usual half—conscious state.

A Distanced object is not to be used to satisfy practical1 needs
and ends; it is not a tool. While in the inattentive state described above,
people seldom react strongly to anything unless it calls for emergency
action. Art is perhaps the most obvious exception to this idea, for in art

. . . emergency action is no longer required. . . . To be able to

reflect freely upon the profoundly moving work of art, to be freed

in its experience from compulsion to practical action while yet

behaving typically and experiencing the discontent induced by the

relation of emergency action to disequilibrium—-action to some

extent beyond our control and to that extent dangerous--these are

the antinomic factors in aesthetic experience which now assume

primary significance.
If something in the environment obviously threatens a person's comfort or
safety, he will make the effort to adjust to it or avoid it but in the pro-
cess he will utilize the offending object, person or condition as a 'lever'
by Which to 'move' himself. He will use them as tools by which to effect
the changes necessary to restore his equilibrium with the environment and,
in the process, will tend to forget the true nature of the things he is

manipulating; they no longer appear to him as things in their own right

but simply as means to desired ends.

 

 

1"'A practical interest is always one which looks to an end beyond,
Whereas a disinterested interest is one in which there is appreciation of
the evolving order on its own account." Bergram Morris, The Aesthetic
Process (Evanston: Northwestern University, 1943), P- 16-

2 . . . .
Milton C. Nahm, Aesthetic Expemence and Its Presupposttions
(New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1946), p. 479.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

an
it a
else1

est}

me]

he

 

 

21

Just so long as the characteristics of the thing are of no interest
unless they will serve other ends, just so long as there is no wish to
cease activity when one becomes aware of the object, but instead to see
it and immediately begin considering how it may be applied to something
else, for just so long is one assuming a practical and not a Distanced,
aesthetic attitude.

An art object does not lead one to react to something beyond or
external to itself. It simply is. It exists, and that is sufficient.

Since the art object is made to stand 'outside the context' of
normal behavior, any reactions toward it are unusual or abnormal in some
degree, when considered from a practical point of view. Since the observer
should only wish to contemplate the nature of an art object, the abnor-
mality connected with his reaction consists in the fact that he will tend
to ignore any possibilities the object may have for practical use. This
kind of unusual, purely mental reaction may be seen in our relationships
with the objects enshrined in museums.

If anyone should consider picking up an exhibited Indian pot and
using it to carry water from one end of the building to another, the chances
are very great that the guards of the museum would be called upon to en—
force a non-practical attitude, to make it clear to the offender that
Mpot was not to be used, even for the purpose for which it was origi—
nally made. Its function has changed and, as a result, he must never
again, so long as the pot is deemed a work of art, expect it to be useful.
It is to be appreciated, not used.

The guard in this case functions in a rather novel manner since his
Object is not to prevent theft or damage but, rather, to enforce a non-

practical attitude .

 

 

r—i

 

 

°f the art,,291.§.9La§.-12.9§s.ib1e.

22

In the case of consciously created art objects not intended to
have a single practical justification, the reactions can still be most
strange. In a myth, a Pygmalion can fall in love with a sculptured
Galatea. In painting, a representation of the most agonizing of deaths
may not produce revulsion, but instead inspire a true religious exultation.
In music, a totally abstract pattern of sound may force one to seek some
other means of expressing the emotional states which it inspires, ranging
from a tapping of the toes to a joining in the performance. Or, as a
spectator at a play, one may be willing to accept any number of outrageous
proposals as though they were true simply in order to preserve and foster
the aura of theatre which these premises can generate, given the spec-
tator's willing cooperation. All of these reactions, and dozens of other
possible ones, are somewhat irrational when viewed from a strictly prac-
tical point of view.

T—Tb‘achieve a Distanced perception, one deliberately assumes an
attitude of active concentration toward art objggts. A full awareness of
a work of art does not just happen to come into being; it is seldom possi-
ble to gather a complete impression of something simply through the process
0f being exposed to it. Rather, such a complete conception and under-
Standing of the work depends upon some degree of technical training be—
forehand and an intense activity, focused upon the single source of
sensation, during the period of observation. Anmglderstanding“gfmsgme: \

thing as complex as most art °bj99t§..3e9lfii.f§5 an active exertion; no; ,,

 

 

 

Simply a willingness to be affected, but a deliberate concentration of

Mime.” .Vfifl,...M.WQ--W—nv~w,n i .:—:.

:“fj‘gieS, emotions and intellect so that the observer may be as conscious;
""“r'm‘ MMr-Wwww WV/J‘.ur\vn\. -....... WW. .. admin“. ,1.” . .. . . , M.-. :0 “1),“. L

4“}

 

 

 

11d;
mi:

tat

 

 

23

In gathering his forces for the effort of understanding and par-
ticipating in an experience, the percipient must evaluate the kind of sen-
sations offered and determine what percentage of them are sensuous and
what part intellectual. Everyone makes decisions of this sort on an un-
conscious level continuously because not everyone will react to all art
works in the same manner. However, the more consciously the spectator
performs the act of perceiving and reacting to a work of art, the more likely
he is to experience an intense pleasure on several levels of appreciation.
Such a spectator is simply more awake to the possibilities in art and in
himself.

Now what is the state oiimilldhqlfmEllfisidealmspectator. . .? It
is a rather complicated state, a stateflqnf.rdoublfi.consciousness,“

m‘ “NM”.

. . . he is not only taking in pleasurewwith a complete self—
surrender, he is also commanding himself so as to estimate the
quality of his p1easure-—while it is coming in. . . . This by
no means easy mental process requires not only an effort of
913 wil__1,.;,a specialfippixe, but. ,Examine,.aaispeaial,aptitude»?

The knowledgeable person, the sophisticate in the better sense of
that word, brings to the critical act not only his superior fund of in-
formation and his particular sensitization to the nuances of performance
or form but also a consciously adopted attitude made up of a desire to
experience nothing but the best and a pardonable pride in his ability
to perceive this new experience on all possible levels. This attitude is

one which those who are aware of it deliberately assume because of the

rewards it offers.

 

1A. B. Walkley, Dramatic Criticism (New York: E. P. Dutton and
Co., 1903), p. 34.

 

 

gait

gossi
fiat]

3114

:51

 

 

 

24

rqude is achieved by two stages, negative and
MW .

Mew-manneq- Mafl'“ “

positive or inhibitory and elaborative.1 The first stage is an inhibi-
..—-—--—--
tory one. It is necessary to concentrate upon the work under considera-

tion to the point of excluding everything else, in so far as this is/

possible with a human's constantly shifting focus of attention.’\"Contem-

W). is selective, and when an objectm is attended t_,o whatever \

a. ...
__u-
a.\‘~'~"--' NM“ “. .._—-«'

 

'fi.. .

\‘wguw.—,

is not relevant to it must be suppressed and excluded frgm int. "2 One

M

 

Wflwm- -H‘W*_"'I,_

must deliberately and drastically reduce the number of objects to Jfii‘Z—hm”

he attends and pinpoint his mind upon the thing under con51deration.
WM

.—I.».s~ M... .

It must assume such primary importance to the viewer that, for the moment,

it is the only thing he wishes to observe or ponder. ~. \1

The work itself must be strong enough to suggest that it is (p

WWh-um .

wmmmmfi- w: - V.—

 

fascinating, complex, and complete enough to reward contemplat1on if One. \ r

WW5 wmmvwwkum,mr haw—- mar-“3'1" ‘ ”L cam-a -. mm ""-"

will but remain within its sphere of influence. The art object must force

“ wwwaumwa-Mwm—W my"! “ac-1.1;

a")!

the spectator to accept it, itself, as marking out logical boundaries with-

 
      

in whic his mi an motions may fupction andflthe areas__t_o which the

percipie_t's thoughts may fly must all be encompassed by the object in
W V1.1“, M... .... ,

 

some manner. Only if this is true, only if the art work dictates to what
M

the viewer may attend and how the viewer must perform that act, and pre-
scribes the only allowable emotional reactions toward what is observed,
only then may it be said to be a fully organized and completely realized

effort. In a field of such power, one can react only within the frame

of reference supplied by the work.

M

—.__._

1The inhibitory phase will be discussed in some detail first, then
the positive aspects of Distancing will be examined beginning on page 28

2Morris, op. cit., p. 15.

 

 

 

 

 

be s
flogt
1! St
Iii

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21:11

25

However, there are many lesser creations which are still worthy of
perpetuation but which do not grip a spectator. with such an overpowering
ferce. To these works (and, of course, they are in the majority among
art efforts), the observer must bring a desire to react in the proper manner,
he must adjust his thought processes until he grants the work the respect
due to it at whatever level of perfection it exists.

Regardless of whether one is forced into the proper reaction by

 

the strength of the art creations or whether he consciously chooses to
adopt the sophisticated attitude which grants those necessary concessions,

he still must isolate the art objects from the many possible distractions

which surround and pervade them and approach‘them as ends in themselves,

not as means to accomplish ends other than themselves. ". . the aesthetic 1
Stitudehconsists in treating objects as terminal, as endssrather than”:

as means . "1
«11.111

The art consumer must‘not be swept away by the emotional content

“if thggpgrki. How easy it is, in the surging operatic-symphonies of Wagner,
in the lush roundness of a Rubens figure, or in; the climactic scene in a

I§P~Q§§§§91flilliam$ play, F0 relax and merely re5pond to the immediate,

"emotionally based appeal of the works. How easy it is to derive such great

and Yet such obvious delight from what the artist is doing to one's emo-
tional stability. If the auditor—spectator ”reacts only man emotional; {5
were, __EYSB....E’.1E'1..E*—‘EE9,15-5“?$1793.??? oppqrrmitx for such a responseye ..
dfff—fflffiartsistanInjustice For the percipient here 9.53.5. thework; .119,“
£9f§::ngti.cgnteflmplateNit. file regards it as a: Substitute stimulus and makes

0f it a mere means to emotional release, like Eliffiff'iffhhiflgn-Qf-Ian—132911». ,

V-~“m~m~;‘--.~ “4., -. I 1...».
!

1Lester Longman, "The Concept of Psychical Distance,'.' Journal of
Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. VI, (1947), p. 34.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course the creator is appealing for an emotional involvement and
hmmstly desires it, but since each of these artists offers at least some-
flfing beyond emotional stimulation, it is a part of the respondent's duty
hiexperiencing these creations to remain sufficiently objective so that
lw may be aware of the additional elements included in the work.

To enjoy a play as a play, at the same time we enjoy it for the
story which it tells or for the manner in which it is being per-
formed, means only that we admit the dramatist s_ presence by

being ge ithgr 1ncurious aboutv nor unconsc1ous of, the play-
wgiting, which has gone into his script. It does not mean that

we are deaf to what the play has to say, that we lessen our
absorption in its human values, that we fail to reSpond to the
persuasion of its action, that we subtract from its pleasures

as entertainment, or that we prattle off dull technical terms

in an arbitrary fashion as if we were embryonic Freytags. It
merely implies that when we see a play we are as prepared to ap—
preciate the dramatist's contribution to the story he is advancing
in his chosen medium as we would be to admit the importance of
Leonardo's contribution as a painter to the coloring, composition,
and quality of such a picture as I'The Last Supper ” which is

quite another thing from the story that it tells.

Tosay that one has experienced and now understands the efforts of even

flm most emotional of artists, like Wagner, it is necessary for the spec-
M,, -—‘*\ ’z—ax “”11. _ .» '

tator to think about the creations so that he may see how the intricately
\4“u“-\,__~’ 1.. ._,.,. ..

\interwoven strands lead to such stunning emotional effects. With0ut a
gunmding in the elements being manipulated, without being able to state
the formal aspects of these works, without understanding the careful
pyramiding of details which force one to the solution which the artist
has selected for his basic problem, the viewer has no right to say that
he knows or underStands a given work or artist.

Of course there is an emotional content inherent in many art

works but it is neither the sole nor the sufficient cause for considering

R

1John Mason Brown, The Art of Playgoing (New York: W. W. Norton

and Co., Inc., 1936), pp. 109-110.

 

 

 

 

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27

a thing to be artistic; emotion is only one of the raw materials of the,_
arts and, as such, it must be kept from exceedingvits proper place in the
scheme (lithe whole; One has to experience the emotions involved in the

\ piece but it is equally necessary "txgmcontrol the degree to which one re-
sponds and temper such reactions with a touch of intellectual appreciation.
A work of quality can withstand unemotional scrutiny.

One can block the emotional power in the work by concentrating
upon those aspects of it which are not emotion-laden, those aspects which
serve as the reservoir for the emotional force. It is also possible to in-
sure that these objective features of the experience are not distorted by
the emotional states suggested by the work. One can be aware, in a clear
and lucid manner, of the aspects, conditions and features which actually
exist in the piece without assuming the existence of any of them where
they are not, and without enlarging them beyond their normal limits when
they are a part of the work.

It is a familiar experience to most people to have much of the
emotional content of a work supplied by themselves from a strictly per-
sonal and private backlog of experience. Who has not, at one time or
another, visualized various activities and mentally attached them to a
totally abstract piece of music? Who has not selected, with the approval
Of a sweetheart, ‘our song' and forever after attached more meaning and
value to the composition than perhaps it really deserved on the basis of
its intrinsic merit? This list of misunderstandings and improper reactions
could be greatly extended, to the point where it could be demonstrated
that every art is subject of such distortions, but it hardly seems nec—
essary, the consciousness of such activities, even if they are not rec-

Ognized as being inartistic and unaesthetic, is too universal to warant

 

 

51:!

 

 

 

28

further commentary or illustration. The point to be made is that all of
these self-conscious, private and petty reactions have nothing to do with
the real nature of the art work which triggered them. They were neither
a part of the artist's intention nor were calculations made, by the artist,
to accommodate them within the actual framework of the artistic experience.
They represent intrusions into the artistic transaction which, because they
are foreign matter, pose a definite threat to the real art object; it may
not be able to retain the balance and poise provided by the artist if it
is burdened with all of these extraneous associations and the end result
may be the total failure of the object or experience to stimulate the
viewer artistically. This result, then, would occur neither because of
the nature of the thing observed nor because of the failures of the
artist, but simply because of what the spectator allowed to happen both
to himself and to the art work when it stimulated him. This is grossly
unfair both to the creator and to his work.

The only answer to this problem is to prevent it from arising
by the spectator refusing to be swept away into fantasy, drawn into
revery, 335., or, in short, by concentrating all of his being upon the
problem of observing and reacting to exactly what, and only what, the
artist prepared for his perception: the objective aspects of the work.
The perceiver has to think about the work, not just feel about it.

The second phase of Distancing consists of the elaboration of
the experience on the new basis created by the inhibitory action of Dis-

tance} of developing a consciousness of the nature of the art work as an

 

art object. Once one has succeeded in eliminating the external distractions

 

 

W

1Bullough, op. cit“, p. 95.

 

 

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Sim

Till

 

 

 

29

and in mastering his unreasoning reactions toward the work of art, he can
hardly be said to have understood and appreciated it fully. The first
phase in the establishment of a Distanced attitude is largely preparatory,
only a prelude to the development of a true and full awareness of the
piece. The second phase--the realization of the content, the form, the
manner of presentation, e_t_:_c_., in a discriminating way (an act which is
possible only because of the preparation afforded by the first phase)--
is, at least, equally important. This is the reason for desiring to ex-
perience a Distanced relationship, not just because Distance is a neces-
sary condition for art but because a reduction of emotional impact frees
him, as a spectator, as a critic, and co-creator with the artist, to re-
spond in so many other ways, to develop so many varying perceptions of
the art object. By Distance, one is released to explore and savor every
aspect of a work, not just its emotional content. The respondent's mind
is released from the over-powering assault of the emotions and permitted
to function so that he may understand the work and thus appreciate it
rather than just experience it.

The elaboration mentioned is the development of a high degree of
awareness of the specific elements which belong to the work, particularly
of the formal aspects: there should be a consciousness of the implica-
tions which properly belong to the work and a comprehension of the
standards of value proposed by the object or experience, standards which
Will form the only valid bases upon which the work may properly be
judged. And, rather than an intense involvement in the emotional aspects
of the piece, the spectator should strive for the conscious cultivation
of a rational aloofness which imderscores; the differences which set

an art work apart from both the viewer and the rest of the world, what

 

 

 

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30

aestheticians are fond of calling the 'over-against‘ attitude. The only
way to become aware of all of these elements is simply by addressing the
attention to them, not in an inventorial manner, but recognizing that
they do exist and realizing the part they play in the spectator's reaction.
This concentration upon technique, upon formal, organizational
means, and upon the things which may correctly be imputed to the art piece
is not intended as a disparagement of the often1 emotional content of the
thing observed. It is intended to stress the fact that form is a vital
contributory factor in conveying the content of the work. Yet of these
mutually interdependent elements, form may well be the more important for
all of those theories in aesthetics which recognize some sort of 'signifi-
cant form' for the art work ultimately arrive at the conclusion that the
form itself is the distinctive artistic element, the thing which has
shaped the content into an artistic expression. A good and a quite bad
art work could resultlfrom the manipulation of the very same content by
two different artists. If the content is not the deciding factor which
determines the quality of the piece, then the manner in which it is for—
mulated must be the specifically artistic factor. The artist's particular
emphasis within the material, his organization of such things as the

2

unity, variety, harmony, contract, etc., and his skill and technical

 

1The content of an art work may or may not be highly emotional in
nature. Most Romantic art can generally be said to be emotional in its
content while Classic art tends toward greater reserve, toward convention-
ality, abstractness, idealization and, consequently, Distance.

2While the author acknowledges that discussion of such factors
may be no more frequent in artistic circles than the consideration of
representational content in paintings, these factors are still the basis
even f0? the free and intuitively derived forms of modern art. Analysis
of any art work is impossible without reference to such terms. M“

 

 

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31

perfection in the presentation of the content become the primary things
to be observed and to which the observer will respond.

All of these factors come under consideration in the Distanced
attitude along with the content which they mold. Because of the re-
lease from the emotional bondage of the content which is afforded by
Distance, one can attend to all parts of the work and can realize a
totally synthesized interpretation of the object. This multiple con-
sciousness is the very essence of Distanced contemplation.

As in the theory of empathy, to be discussed below, any subjec-
tive reactions which are still permitted to function are interpreted, by
3239-9955.of“Lobjectification' , aswcharacteristics of the thingviewed.
MEEPXY‘ER'.§-§S&}S {3991?}?,?e§1,..99}“t of interest when viewing an art
M. /\Wh~atfis neededis an awareness of an emotional state, preferably
a‘S/fn‘apparientcharacteristic of the object rather than as having any-
thing to do with the spectator. If the onlooker refuses to concentrate
fiattention on hiswemotionalfl states, but, instead, _ assumes an“ objective A
31:13:15»toward”them-sands."projects these emotional states outsidegof himself
indintotheart‘objectwwhich stimulated them, hemwill have the center of
ipt‘ere—st properly located".

There, then , iminifi .131 ,._93<_129§71E1.9!}..9f..-the...pe.1:a.gr.aph§.which

contain the concept of Psychical or Aesthet ic “Distance:
W-wwmmiwfiwpn. _ ,,,,.__N_u_,_m__,”1...... ,.,.1.,~...,_...... .. w- "Wm. .._ ..,, . W. _ > .,

DEFINITION OF EMPATHY
Obviously, the last point made about Bullough's definition of
Aesthetic Distance is the juncture at which the idea of empathy actually
enters this discussion. A clear—cut definition or two would seem to be

the first requisite to demonstrating the relationship of these theories,

 

 

 

. so:

 

32

' Empathy, or Einfzihlmg, for they are the same idea, the former
being simply‘an artificial English word coined from the Greek elements
”em—pathein" (in-feeling) as a rendering of the German Einfiz'hlmg,1

. . . denotes tjge,_,subconscious...act ofprojection by which we
attribute to an object our own kinesthetic. sensations, motor
$21535:de5, emotions, attitudes, and...thoughts, perceiv-
ipgfltbhgseumental features as ifthey belongedto. the object
and fermeiwhatwhas been called its "tertiary qualpities.p'.’\‘2

0r, using another definition: "Empathy is the tendency to regard kin-

wflw'uconee. -. -— -. . ,..-..—w---~—s ~ A'eflw-WA

 

aesthetic reactions and incipient reactions that are a part of the ob-

 

server's bodily condition as if they were perceptual aspects of the

v M-.‘ _ ...n ._—v , "

ect."3

. “ ‘7
_ , . -fihH-‘.I‘.~'___‘ _u

.9“
When one experiences an empathic reaction to anything in the ex-

.temalworldwhe consciously desires to attend specifically to that thing,

thereby gaining a clear and distinct perception of the object or entity

and there is also an emotional state generated in the observer which,

immediately and through a process of 'projection,‘ is transferred to the

object with such vividness and clarity that it seems, to the observer,

to be a part of the thing perceived. This transference of physical tension

or of emotion from one person to either another human (where it is as-

cribed as the emotional state of the person observed)4 or to an inanimate

object or conceptual scheme (where it will then impart a degree of animation

*—

“yawn.“

, filmeflwggfl. i'empathydl "35.19%?“ by the Cornell psych_ologist..Edward,;.._,.':‘-;..3 .
,Wyener. See his wliege.times 0n. the. Experimental.-Psychalogywafithe. ~

Inn-"~0- N-J""~ a

Thougigg_wzzg~§ge_s§é§“(Few,..¥9.£!s . -.Macmillan.-Co..-,119.09}erPR;2—122

2Dagobert D. Runes and Harry G. Schrickel (eds.) , Encyclopedia of
the Arts (New York: Philosophical Library, Inc., 1946), p. 320.

3Harold Newton Lee, Perception and Aesthetic Value (New York:
Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1938), p. 91.

4Note the importance of this ascription to the art of the actor.

 

 

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:2 st;
in: 1

bat}

 

 

33

and 'humanization') occurs automatically and on an unconscious level, so
that the observer is never aware of the fact that he is supplying the
emotion. Instead, the emotion, say the fierceness of an African ceremonial
mask, seems to reside in the object itself, only to be perceived by him.
Not only do difficulties arise in any discussion of empathy because
all of the original statements of the theory seem designed to explain
the animation of inanimate objects, thus making it awkward to transfer
the intent of quotations from the original sources to a consideration
of stage performances, but also the process is further complicated by the
fact that there is not one, but rather,,several equa_l_ly__-va1..i,du_,T§Qh09l§lib9fm_
My. A reference back to the two quotations with which this section
began will clearly show that they are explanations of what Ruskin described
as the 'Pathetic Fallacy,’ of a process of anthropomorphisation, of the
projection of a viewer's own vitality and inner essence onto Specific
objects in the external world in order to humanize and activate those
objects. A close examination of the two quotations will also reveal that

they are derived from the two most widely acknowledged 'schools' of empathy,

 

the "objectified ego" (or mental form) and the ”inner mimicry" (or physical
form), and differ radically in what they are describing as thevmechanism

involved in an empathic activity.1

——._

‘___.

1The varying explanations of empathy are usually blended in most
madam definitions. Both types must be included in the definition adopted
1n this study also, with perhaps the greater emphasis placed upon the
"objectified ego" form. The necessity for the inclusion of a discussion
of both forms will become apparent when Richard Wagner's use and Bertolt
Brecht's partial rebellion against empathy are discussed.

 

 

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34

SCHOOLS 0F EMPATHY THEORISTS
In spite of a number of small groups of psychologists and aesthe-
ticians which consider empathy to be (1) normal recollection based on

association by similarity,1 (2) ordinary fused association,2 and various
\.

\\.

other readily identified mental activities,3 the empathy theorists may

generally be d1v1ded into those who believe that it is a prOJect1on of the 1

pair:

objectified ego and those who believe it to be a matter of muscular mimicry

 

The chief psychologists~turned-aestheticians of the objectified
ego theory are Theodore Lipps and Johannes Volkelt. The inner mimicry
group is best represented by Karl Groos, Victor Bosch and Vernon Lee.
Vernon Lee, unlike the others, is not a psychologist but a theorizing

painter.

THE OBJECTIFIED EGO THEORY OF EMPATHY

23m his_,$F§9.i§§-.3£2951.931 ,i‘lulwusiop‘sf Theodore Lipps came to the
conclusion thatafLs-pectator's pleasure in,aesthetic“object‘smwas, in reality,
a“..‘i’12.2XE§Dt.pf his, .qwn_39.t_iyi,,,t,x,_as.he._912§e,17ve.d it. in..£h9§e-.9bjestjs. that
the spectator prOJected his self '5 movement, str1v1ngandw1111ng1nto

those inanimate things he observed closely. As Lipps put it in his widely

._ .5, _ ,_ .4»;» L":

repeated catch-phrase: 2/ "Aesthetic enjoyment is objectified self‘enjoyment,"
that is to say, Lipps believed that

Tie/aesthetmnjoyment is not enjoyment of an object, but en-
joymenLoLLsle. It is an immediate feeling of a value that

 

1Examples of men who adopt this position are Locze, Fechner and
Siebeck.

2For this type of exposition, see Kulpe, Stern and L. A. Reid.

3The most prominent variations appear in Meumann, Langfeld, Bart~
lett, Freud, Sterba, Winterstein and Arnheim.

4MacGregor, op. cit., p. 84.

 

 

 

h 1
ha!

53161

 

 

 

 

35

is lodged in oneself. Butwthis is not a feeling that is
related to an object. Rather, its COEIaCteTi€219-..E°Il§i$§

elihiS--that there i§.nd1§sR§?ati°n in EE:59FW¢§D my pleasedl

egund that With which}: avmflp1§a§ed,1n1tbotl11 are one and

the same‘swe'l’fn,mt"h‘éwihhh5diately experienced ego.

Or, to reduce this concept to individual phases, empathy
. consists on a closer analysis, of two essential factors;

on the one hand, there is a feeling such as pride, melancholy,

or longing in our own minds, our inner auto-activity, and on

the other, a projection of this feeling into an object which

expresses our spiritual life and in which it unmistakably

lies.
Once this projection has been accomplished, the spectator attributes the
sensations which he experiences entirely to the artistic object mder
observation. At the same time he naturally experiences these sensations

with such a degree of intensity that he feels himself to be living through

the characteristics of emotional states presumably embodied in the art

 

object. An empathic state in which the observer's feelings, desires, and
emotional reactions find another home in an external object, a condition
in which he seems to find his personal characteristics reflected back to
him from a thing is the very essence of this projective, spiritual form of
empathy. In it, as Lipps says, "the antithesis between myself and the

object disappears, or rather does not yet exist."3 Lipps ". . . makes

 

1Theodor Lipps, "Einfflhlung, innere Nachahmung, und Organempfin-
dungen" was originally published in the Archiv fur die gesamte Psychologie,
Vol. I (1903) but is quoted here in the translation given in A Modern Book
of Esthetics, ed. Melvin Rader (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston,
Inc., 1960), pp. 375-376. An alternative translation of this key article
appears in E. F. Carritt (ed.), Philosophies of Beauty from Socrates to
Robert Bridges (Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1962).

2Theodore Lipps, Asthetik: Psychologie des Scthen und der
19471815, (Vol. I; Hamburg and Leipzig: L. Voss, 1903—1906), p. 368. The
translation was made by the present author.

3Lipps, "Einffihlung," p. 376.

 

 

 

 

less

iv: a?

s_

 

 

 

 

36

the essence of the matter the immediate and unreflective objectification
and transfer of the sense of activity."1 When that transfer is accomplished,
one can say that "empathic feelings are those I have in the object, not
those I have about it.”2
To the basic emotional, projective reaction involved in empathy,

Johannes Volkelt added a sense of abstraction:

. . . the object as a rule acquires a symbolic significance by

analogy with something else it resembles, and then we have

symbolical Einf'zihlmg [symbolische Einfuhlimg]. . . . this

variety applies to the whole realm of nature,—-with the excep-

tion, of course, of our fellow-men--wherever, in fact, we

animate and humanize the sub-human, as well as to the greater

part of art. . . 3
Thus, Volkelt, while generally agreeing with Lipps explanation of the
experience, also finds in it some degree of association with other objects

and experiences outside of the immediate transaction. This element dis-

tinguishes his version of the objectified ego theory from that of Lipps.

JEEINNER. MlMICRY THEORY OF EMPATHY'

The second main principle of empathy mentioned earlier can be ex-
emplified clearly in the writings of two people: Karl Groos and Vernon
Lee. In contradistinction to Lipps' imaginative 'feeling into' the work
of art, these authors would maintain that empathy is based almost wholly

uPon the physical changes which the observer experiences within his own

 

 

. 1Elizabeth Kemper Adams, The Aesthetic Experience: Its Meaning
tn a Emotional PsychoZOgy (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,
1907), p. 83-

213. M. Bartlett, Types Of Aesthetic Judgment “Md”: Ge°rge
Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1937), p. 46-

3Johannes Volkelt, System der Xsthetik (Munich: C. H. Beck [Oskar
Beck], 1905), Vol. I, pp. 202-203, as translated in Earl of Listowel, A
Cmtical History of Modern Aesthetics (London: George Allen and Urwin,
Wk. 1933), p. 73.

 

 

 

 

 

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’ilit

 

 

 

 

 

'MM

37

body while reacting to an art work, upon his consciousness of his “inner
mimicry," of the positions and forms of the art work.

As Groos puts it:

There is . . . activity, and that in the common sense of the
word as it relates to motor processes. It is manifested in
various movements whose imitative character may not be per-
ceptible to others. In this instantaneous perception of the
movements actually in progress I find the central fact with
which blend, on the one hand, imitation of past experiences,
and on the other the perceptions of sense.1

/

 

So 6330: conceives if F133.9’.‘.‘PatbL.P.£9.EPr§.-§aafi an extremely complicated one
in which there are physical adaptations occurring at the same moment that
sense perceptions blend and fuse with associations and develop symbolic
overtones. He does not wholly discount Lipps' version of the theory; he
merely feels it to be incomplete, to be lacking a recognition of the fact
that the spectator feels "a tendency to be or to do what the object seems
to be or to do."2

The English artist Violet Paget, writing under the pen name Vernon
Lee, is one of the outstanding, and certainly one of the clearest, expo-
nents of the inner mimicry theory. Essentially, she does not extend the
theory but merely clarifies the muscular reaction involved in inner
mimicry through the use of extended descriptions of the process by which
an observer experiences such relatively uncomplicated aesthetic objects
as Grecian urns and mountains. Here, for instance, is a part of her dis-

cussion of how a viewer might come to feel that a mountain rises before him:

The rising of which we are aware is going on in us. But, as the
Reader will remember also, when we are engrossed by something

 

1Karl Groos, The Play of Man, trans. E. L. Baldwin, ed. J. M.
Baldwin (New York: n.p., 1901), P- 328-

2Aram Torossian, A Guide to Aesthetics (Stanford, California:
Stanford University Press, 1937), p. 23.

 

.r
‘ may-”I"

 

 

h

 

 

 

38

outside ourselves, as we are engrossed in looking at the

shape (for we can look at only the shape, not the substance)

of that mountain we cease thinking about ourselves, and cease
thinking about ourselves exactly in proportion as we are think—
ing of the mountain's shape. What becomes therefore of our
awareness of raising or lifting or rising? What can become of
it (so long as it continues to be there!) except that it coales-
ces with the shape we are looking at; in short that the rising
continuing to be thought, but no longer to be thought of with
reference to ourselves (since we aren't thinking of ourselves),
is thought of in reference to what we are thinking about,
namely the mountain, or rather the mountain's shape, which is,
so to speak, reSponsible for any thought of rising, since it
obliges us to lift, raise or rise ourselves in order to take
stock of it.1

 

Lee's version of inner mimicry empathy, based as it is upon the
physical tensions in the observer's body and his awareness of the soaring
quality of the mountain only because he is forced to adapt himself physi-
cally by raising his eyes or his head, is developed and extended by re-
ference to the association principle mentioned by Groos.

That present and particular raising and lifting is merely the
nucleus to which gravitates our remembrance of all similar
acts of raising, or rising which we have ever accomplished
or seen accomplished, raising or rising not only of our eyes
and head, but of every part of— our body, and of every part
of every other body which we ever perceived to be rising.

Hithis version of empathy, then, the Viewer seems to be more af-

‘q-«. r“

fected by the transaction than is the object whereas in Lipps' version

W...‘ w... ——.......u--- .._ -mr

0W -- --~ -—.... ”a."

of the act, the very meaning and nature of the object may be changed by

Mr" MW“... pm F...-
‘W '--' IrhlIr- u

the emotions projected by the spectator at the time of viewing. Inner
MMth-HH "flu“ ‘Hw.-.-'D

mimicry appears to give a description of the means by which human beings

grasp the nature of most of the objects which they observe in the external

M.—

. 1Vernon Lee, The Beautiful (Cambridge, England: Cambridge Uni-
ver51ty Press, 1913), pp. 62-63.

21mm, p. 64.

 

 

 

 

 

5: clc

«if 1’

39

world1 including art creations. Lipps' 'feeling into' seems to explain why
a Spectator should assume that certain objects are more valuable to him as
reflections of his own nature. One theory is concerned with the physical
and the other with the mental activities as a means of knowing and reacting

to objects. While both concepts are known as empathy, they are diametri-

 

cally opposed in their manner of operation and always have been acknowledged
to be so.

Mpg; presentrday theatrical ..commentators~--seem-to. .b lend these
two types of empathylintheir explanations, it was necessary for the pre-

r.“ ”M . ~-

sent purposes to differentiate them. As will be noted in the chapters

 

dealing with the theories of Wagner and Brecht, Wagner consistently sought
from his audiences that disembodied projection of the will or ego which is
i so closely identified with Lipps. On the other hand, Brecht took excep-

tion to and rebelled against the display of movements and states of being

 

which could only be brought about by inner mimicry. Distinctions made

 

among the various types of empathic responses will also be useful in
clarifying the exposition of other parts of the theories of Wagner's

Gesumtkmstmerk and Brecht's theories of Epic Theatre.

DEGREES 0F EMPATHIC RESPONSE

These degrees of empathic response represent various levels of
Mm,fl-WM.__-M"'-flukfi_' “---—--....._....... .... .....‘.......-c—4-m._.-~_‘

absorption in the spectator's empathic contact with the outer world. These

. ...—'_o-‘A - -

 

-

“M

tYpes or levels of participation, first noted by Groos, but named by

 

“a _ ._._-.—-q-—~polg—~—r-v---

‘—

" 1'lhe concept of empathy explains more than just aesthetic reactions.
One must not conclude . . . that the theorists of empathy have not them-
selves recognized E'infilhlmg as transcending aesthetic experience in its
e"Planetary scope. Nor have they stinted their efforts to differentiate
aesthetic and non-aesthetic empathic experience." Nahm, 0P. citu P. 458.

 

m cm
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40

Richard MHller-Freienfels in his Psychologie der Kunst,1 are usually called
the "ecstatic," the "participator" and the "spectator." This arrangement,
of course, represents a decreasing scale of involvement, ranging downward
from the person who is so caught up in what he is experiencing that he is
not conscious of anything else (he is virtually dominated by the observed
thing), through the more moderate position of the person who projects
himself properly, draws quite a sufficient degree of pleasure from his
participation and yet does not become hypnotized by the object or event,
all the way down to the person who is only vaguely and sporadically in-
volved. A percipient who experiences the ecstatic state is empathizing
to the point where he may not think at all; the whole of his being is
directed toward sensing or experiencing, not analyzing or comprehending.
The participant, or Mitspieler, while watching a play does not become en-
tangled in the personality of, for instance, Othello, but rather, he will
place himself imaginatively, first in the part of one actor and then in
that of another. He samples all roles and experiences the play from a
multiplicity of points of view. And finally, the spectator or Zuschauer
is the character generally ascribed to the professional critic; it is that
condition in which the empathizer (if he may truly be called one) retains
a constant awareness of his own identity and only develops an intermittent
and superficial similarity with the actors he watches so cooly.

Of all of these forms or degrees of participation, the first, the

ecstatic, is what is generally meant when reference is made to someone

m

 

. 1Richard Muler-Freienfels, Psychologie der szst (two vols. ;
LelPZig: B. G. Teubner, 1923), p. 132. This phase of the discussion can
also be checked in Downey, Morris, Katz or Langfeld. While the terms
chosen characterize the people in the audience who respond in varying
manners, the descriptions are also used to indicate the intensity of the
involvement.

 

 

 

 

eIlla
ll ag
lllSl

lllt?

llll

 

41

experiencing a true empathic state or condition. This, again, is what
Wagner desired from his hearers, a deep, all-encompassing commitment, and
it is exactly what Brecht chose to oppose in his theories. Brecht's
earlier formulations of his position presupposed that the best Spectator
attitude was that of the Zuschauer, though he later mellowed into an

acceptance of the more moderate activity of the Mitspieler.

THE OPPOSING FORMAL ELEMENTS

From what has been said, it should be apparent that the empathic
portions of an art work are those which vitalize and humanize the art
object or activity; they are the elements which allow the audience members
to feel that, for example, the play being presented, bears a real rela-
tionship to them. Empathy permits the viewer to find parts of himself
reflected back from the stage, parts which prompt a clear fellow—feeling
and a definite association of himself with the characters. Whether this
close and perhaps vital connection with the thing viewed is a sufficient
explanation of aesthetic phenomena depends, apparently, upon the group
of aestheticians or philosophers with which one happens to associate
oneself. This study, devoted to an explanation and application of still
another aesthetic theory does not accept empathy as a sole and sufficient
explanation of what happens during the perception of artistic activity.
Empathy, here, can be regarded only as an incomplete or "an embryonic
aesthetic."l It seems

. . . to be the result partly of undue concentration on the

visual arts, particularly of sculpture and architecture,
and partly of mistaking what is undeniably at some times a

M

 

lNahm, op. cit., p. 462.

 

 

 

42

contributory factor in the appreciation of art for the essential
and sole sufficing one.

Empathy explains much but not all that a spectator may be aware of during
his contact with anything artistic. This theory applies almost completely
to some forms of art (those most concerned with content), and somewhat
less successfully to other (to the abstract and form-conscious arts). Em-
pathy describes the reactions expected of Spectators during certain art
periods (for example, the Romantic or naturalistic), but not in others
(like the expressionistic or Brecht's sociological -economic-scientific
phase). It will serve marvelously to describe many of the facets of the
Romantic musician Wagner, but completely fails to convey all of the aspects
of the more 'realistic' poet Brecht.
The theory of empathy . . . seems to me to hold a certain validi-
ty for the manner and spirit in which a certain type of artist
conceives his works and approaches his artistic activity. I
refer to those artists and their works which are variously des-
cribed as Gothic, romantic, Dionisian [sic], striving, senti-
mental and so on. It seems to me less adequate when applied to
artists and works of art usually described as classic, Appolonian
[sic], or to a primarily decorative art, or to the abstract and
hieratic arts.2
01‘, one might add, to arts such as Brecht's which are intended to be prac-
tical and political. In short, there is something missing if one accepts
empathy as an explanation of art; something more is needed before a great

number of art creations can be explained adequately.

. . . this modern aesthetics, which proceeds from the concept
of empathy, is inapplicable to wide tracts of art history.

“

lBartlett, op. cit., pp. 198-199. While Bartlett appears to be ex-
cluding such art forms as music, acting, etc., he is merely pointing out
the fact that none of the original proponents of the empathy theory used
examples of art forms which evolved the art product through a time span.
They always mentioned concrete, visible, permanent artifacts, not processes.

.ZPepita Haezraki, The Contemplative Activity (London: George Allen
and Unwin, Ltd., 1954), p. 45.

 

 

 

Its
feel

hm

str

lstm
in"?
Eng]

hm-

hflnzfi-

 

43

Its Archimedian point is situated at an: pole of human artistic
feeling alone. It will only assume the shape of a comprehensive
aesthetic system when it has united with the lines that lead
from the opposite pole.

We regard as this counter—pole an aesthetic which pro—
ceeds not from man's urge to empathy, but from his urge to ab—
straction.

What is this process of abstraction except the creation of ”an
abstract and general image, which conjures impressions into a law-abiding

form"?2

In other words, then, the super-sensual perception of things
through the process of empathy is to be balanced by a manipulation of those
factors which allow the spectator to isolate and define the thing to which
he is to empathically respond. Even the one person who has done the most
to establish the theory of empathy in the area of aesthetics, Theodore
Lipps, recognized, at least at one period in his reflections, that the ab—
stracted, formal elements were, and are, a necessary part of an aesthetic
reaction.

. . . at the very beginning of his Asthetik he introduces sur-

reptitiously a number of purely formal principles, the laws of

miformity, of unity within a manifold, of monarchic subordina-

tion, in Spite of a persistent reiteration elsewhere that aes-

thetic Einfiflzlwzg or sympathy is the unique and uncontested source

of aesthetic delight . 3

There was, therefore, at least a momentary acknowledgment on the part of

Lipps that the universally respected principles of unity, harmony, variety,

contrast, rhythm, etc., play a valid and decisive part in our reactions to

 

1Wi11iam Worringer, Abstraction and Empathy, A Contribution to the
Psychology of Style (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, Ltd., 1953), p. 4,

2C. G. Jxmg, Psychological Types, or The Psychology of Individua—
tion, trans. H. Godwin Baynes (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., Inc.,
1924), p. 368. The empathy process (extraversion) and Wagner‘s world-
thoughts are also discussed by Jung.

3Listowel, op. cit., p. 170.

 

 

 

m olje
mph
laps .
la abs
lens

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imlel
lllYl‘

mil

ism

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44

art objects and activities. It is necessary before the observer may claim
a complete realization of the art thing that he form not only perceptual
images (grounded on the act of empathy) but also conceptual images (through
the abstraction and organization of its components) about it. A spectator
learns to know the art object in many ways before he fully knows it, and
the formal aspects of it are not the least important ones.

The abstractive or form—realizing process is offered here as a
complementary and opposing process which also functions in aesthetic
activities. These two processes, emotional involvement and non—involved

cognition can be regarded as opposite poles of a single process.

 

DISTANCE IS A MEAN BETWEEN
5, TOTAL IDENTIFICATION AND TOTAL ABSTRACTION

In this studyJ—the concept of Distance, which according to Bullough
admits of degrees, can and will be taken to be a method of roughly measur-

\_......_,.._.....«u u -1

ingflthe relative degrees of empathic involvement or abstractive dissocia-
tion desired as a response from the spectator of an art work)

If a continuum is visualized, then total involvement might be
assumed to be on one end of the scale in the more emotional areas which
the device can record, while the process of abstraction would tend to draw
the spectator into the cooler, more intellectual regions at the opposite
end. The name of this instrument of measurement is Aesthetic Distance.

It should be noted that readings of the relative intensity of
either identification or abstraction can be made from either end of the
scale. One can speak of more involvement or less abstraction and mean
exactly the same thing. And conversely, a greater degree of abstraction

Will bring about a reduction in the empathic involvement and can be

 

 

msto

stated 1

lmlal
l m

hates
why u

smutl

ma:
Sled

lmt

 

45

understood to imply precisely that. The increased abstraction may be
stated in degrees of lesser emotional response.
This approach, while it does represent an extension of Bullough's
formulation of Aesthetic Distance, is not entirely without his support.
(He was well aware of the scale- like function of the theory and what he
denotes as "Under- -Distancing" is simply the extreme ecstatic state of em-
pathy while his opposite concept of ”Over-Distancing" represents an ab—
straction to excess.\ Bullough deals generally and throughout his article
on Phychical Distance, just as this study will, with the form-giving pro-
cesses of creation and the form-perceiving processes of appreciation.
This is the end of the scale which is stressed since Distance in its every
statement, tends to limit the emotional and emphasize the intellectual.
This is an unfortunate semantic entanglement caused by the selection of
the key word "Distance" which always implies a withdrawal from the emotions
contained in, or a withdrawal from the work itself. Bullough does, though,
specifically say that this theory provides the basis upon which empathy
functions.
It [Distance] is essential to the occurrence and working of
'empathy' (Einfllhlung), and I mentioned earlier its connec-
tion with Witasek's theory of Scheingefllhle which forms part
of his view on 'empathy' . The distinction between sympathy
and 'empathy' as formulated by Lipps is a matter of the rela-
tive degree of Distance. Volkelt's suggestion of regarding
the ordinary apprehension of expression (say of a person's
face) as the first rudimentary stage of Einfilhlmg, leading
subsequently to the lowering of our consciousness of reality
('Herabsetzzmg des Wirklichkeitsgefilhls') , can similarly be
formulated in terms of Distance.

As has been shown, and for the purposes of this work, empathy

Will be considered to be a complimentary theory to Aesthetic Distance, but

 

 

lBullough, op. cit., p. 128.

 

 

‘usisf

Mes 1

iishin

7M

Egan

aesth‘

Jon—.10. fi'

 

EL

46

one upon which Aesthetic Distance imposes boundaries and establishes the

basis for its proper functioning.

UNDER-DISTANCING AND OVER—DISTANCING

This section will detail the problems created by the excessive

poles of ecstacy and total abstraction mentioned above.
If the reader accepts the concept of Aesthetic Distance as estab—
lishing a scale which ranges between the attitudes of extreme involvement

and excessive abstraction, then this scale appears to mark out those limits

within which a viewer can perceive aesthetically. What would happen if the

operational limits Aesthetic Distance should be exceeded? The result,

regardless of how it happens, is a cancellation of the Distanced, the

aesthetical 1y correct, state .

I ,.

W. . .

/ \There are two ways of losmg Distance: either to 'under—d1stance’
m‘fiki- distance'_. ’Under- -distancing' is the commonest fail—
ing Wot" the subject an excess of Distance is a frequent failing

\ of Art, espec1ally in the past.

The beholder must develop a certain optimum Distance in relation
to a work of art a Distance which is neither too great nor too small.
There is a strong tendency on the part of spectators to form empathic

contacts with art works or elements within them and consequently to reduce

the Distance beyond permissible limits; if this occurs, the reaction to

the object or experience will be either too subjective or too practical.
In Spite of the time, effort and imagination expended upon them, few

readers of Playboy magazine would regard the center-fold nudes as examples

0f artistic photography. The reaction to them typically is too practica1

0n the other hand, a good

~————__._

for them to achieve the status of art.

1Ibid., pp. 100-101.

 

 

 

 

 

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Cur-Di
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mm

3551

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

percentage of the storehouse of art upon which the public can draw for

aesthetic stimulation, particularly today, tends to be overly abstract,

leaving them no point of contact with the piece. If the observer is

Over-Distanced, either by the nature or content of the work (as in the
sensitive spatial relationships of a Mondrian composition), or by his own
particular preferences and background, he will be so unmoved by the work,
so withdrawn from it, so objective about it that it will have no effect

upon him. In either case, he has moved away from the proper aesthetic

attitude necessary for true appreciation.
To begin an examination of these excessive states, attention will

be given here first to UnderaDistancing. This is more likely to be of

importance in the conventional theatre than is the opposite possibility,

Over—Distancing.

There is, of course, no doubt that, speaking generally, theatri-
cal performances eo ipso run a special risk of a loss of Distance
The

owing to the material presentment of its subject-matter.

physical presence of living human beings as vehicles of dramatic

art is a difficulty which no art has to face in the same way.1
That is, Bullough believed that the utilization of the actual, physical
human being in order to present the story leads to a greater possibility
of identification with the characters and, consequently, a much greater

possible loss of Distance than in any other art form.

While the medium chosen as a vehicle for the art content may cause
Problems, it is the artist's particular function to force both the form
and the content to assume a recognizably artistic condition, to establish

a correctly Distanced state for the art work.

It may be called part of the artist's job to help the beholder
keep in mind that a work of art is a work of art, that is, a

M

lIbid. , p. 104.

 

 

 

farce
Whole

inal

 

 

48

specially created and therefore "artificial" something. If, on
'the other hand, in his enthusiasm for ”realism" he gives us too
convincing an illusion of nonart reality, the art suffers pre-
cisely because it has not invoked in us the beholders the kind
of attitude that is necessary for art to function aesthetically.

And to apply this to the present consideration, one might say that

. . . theater art must be neither so "real" that it deludes or
deceives the spectator, nor so ”close" (physically or psycho-
logically) that it jars him out of his imaginative illusion and
brings him back to an actual world, with its everyday values,

desires, and frustrations.2

Such a reaction is, of course, conceivable in any production which touches

upon anything in the Spectator's background with which he personally iden-

tifies himself quite closely. Bullough gives the illustration4 of a man

who has occasion to doubt the fidelity of his own wife attending a per-

formance of Othello. Almost automatically such a spectator would be

forced to lose his Distance, would be unable to view the play as an artistic
whole but instead would relate it specifically to his own background and,
in all probability would identify himself completely with the single

character of Othello, thus obtaining a very unbalanced view of the whole

work.
Not only can personal matters of this nature affect the spectator

but many other possible elements in a production could cause a loss of

Distance. For instance, again referring back to Bullough:

__‘1

11bid., p. 104.

. 2James L. Jarrett, The Quest for Beauty (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:
Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1957), p. 1I3.

3H. D. Albright, Working Up A Part (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co.,
1947), p. 120. These quotations refer to conventional, representational

Staging, the form most likely to provoke Under-Distancing. Presentational
Theatre on the other hand, has 'built-in' Distance devices which make this

form of theatre tend toward Over-Distancing.

40p. cit., p. 99.

 

 

 

21 the
failure

diffs

 

To imitate nature so as to trick the spectator into the decep—
tion that it is nature which he beholds, is to forsake Art,
its antirealism, its distanced spirituality, and to fall below
the limit into sham, sensationalism or platitude.1

 

So the entire naturalistic-realistic style of a production could cause a
failure of the very illusion for which it strives too strongly. There is
a difference between the reality of the art object (as a self-contained
* unity) and the world outside the bounds of the object but when those

artistic limits are broken even by the style of the production, then the
art object ceases to be artistic.

According to the same author, it is also dangerous to touch upon
many things having a practical relationship to the spectator's life. For

instance ,

.. . it is safe to infer that, in art practice, explicit refer—
; enceS‘to organic affections, to the material existence of the
body, e5pecially to sexual matters, lie normally below the Dis—
tanceelimit, and can be touched upon by Art only with special pre-
cautions. Allusions to social institutions of any degree of per-
sonal importance--in particular, allusions implying any doubt as
to their validity--the questioning of some generally recognized
ethical sanctions, references to topical subjects occupying
public attention at the moment, and such like, are all dangerously
near flhe average limit and may at any time fall below it, arousing,
inStead of aesthetic appreciation, concrete hostility or mere
amusement.2

But, regardless ofthe specific reason for the Under-Distancing, if this
disastrous result occurs, the spectator's attitude will no longer remain
one of disinterested contemplation of a recognized art work. Instead, the
attitude will lose its objectivity and the viewer will become personally,

emotionally involved or he will react to the art work in a practical

manner .

 

 

1Bullough, op. cit., p. 107.

21bid. , pp. 101-102.

 

 

 

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to 1
por
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listanc

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More generally, when Distance is minimal the reaction to works
of art is pragmatic rather than aesthetic. Art is transformed
to pin-up and propaganda, magic and ritual, and becomes an im-
portant determinant of belief and action.1
This is not art‘s dominant function, therefore the emphasis in an Under-
Distanced state is misplaced. ”When this derealization is lacking, an

awkward perplexity arises: we do not know whether to 'live' the things
or to observe them."2
The explanations for this confusing state are many, but one of the
clearest is the philosophical one offered by Susanne Langer. According
to her, the content of a work of art, through its particular form,
. . . has been symbolized for us, and what it invites is not
emotional response, but insight. "Psychical Distance" is

simply the experience of apprehending through a symbol what
was not articulated before.

 

Consequently Under-Distancing can be explained in this fashion: "It is,
in fact, a confusion between a symbol, which lets us conceive its object,
and a sign, which causes us to @1112; what it means."4

Assuming that enough has been said at this point about Under-
Distancing so that its definition is clear, it is now necessary to turn to
the other end of this scale and examine the effect of Over-Distancing an
art work.

The conditions which will typically be found to exist in this

state are these:

 

__
'—

. 1Ernst Kris, Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art (New York: Inter-
nat1onal Universities Press, 1952), p. 256.

2Gasset, op. cit., p. 26.
ssusanne K. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key (New York: Mentor
Books, 1951), p. 181.

41bid.

 

 

 

 

he
sel
bee
gee
til
am
'11er
mien

event

entie

 

When psychic distance is maximal, the response is philistine

or intellectualistic. At best, the experience is one of

passive receptivity rather than active participation of the
self. No contribution comes from the side of the audience
because the interpretation follows the principle of the
dictionary, as determined by the current conventions of the
genre. 0r, indeed, there may be no effort at interpreta-

tion at all, and the work rejected out of hand as unintelligible
and worthless.1

Surely the reader will have noticed how apt a description this is of the

audience reaction to a good deal of present day theatrical effort of an

avan______t_ gard______p_ nature .

HIM. -h'u-'

 

2 Over- Distancmg can result from many causes, among which one might

mention:

/ 1. An extreme awareness of... the..ta technique. used .by the

K‘ W “W“‘TW‘
} artist or incorporated 1n the mart work»

"'.w o“.
( ”'1”me 14:11::‘L'1 3, w, “1 £11.04-

6 2. W115 too. ...—,,£1n1sh.ed.,--...too -.~forma=l .,.- too
[organize-1:” or too static”

.4 'w-s 7W
J.l’

 

3. ”The wcongepts andmlegends of the past thus recalled

or!

are 1mrelated to the exper1ences of the age. "2

 

4. There are no cultural ties between the audience and
the ar’t‘me'iork",”i“:e: ,”’it' comes from an unknown background.

5. The conventions which operate within the work are
not familiar ones to the viewer.

Regardless of the specific cause of the Dyer-Distancing, the primary thing

to note is that the spectator sees nothing of himself reflected from the

stage, he can find no point in the proceedings offered to him, or the

art objeect presented for his inspection, with which he may identify him-

self or with which he can empathize. While the spectator may identify

intellectually with an art object with no emotional experience at all,

h

 

1Kris, op. cit., p. 256.

2Michelis, op. cit., pp. 29-30.

 

 

 

than

19015‘

itetit

11th 5

Estate

ettti

elude

it tt

tat

 

 

52

such an Over- Distanced reaction does not represent a totally realized

response (because most art objects or acts involve some emotional content.

Nu...

*«v

The ultimate effect of this process of abstracing to excess is

identical with that of Under-Distancing: it destroys the relationship

which should exist between the spectator and the art work

In summation; one may roughly equate the extremes of the properly

Distanced state with the terms affective and cognitive. Both of these

reactions may be disrupted by any degree of excess.
The consequence of a loss of Distance through one or the other
cause is familiar: the verdict in the case of under— —distancing
is that the work is 'crudely naturalistic, 'harrowing,‘ 're-

puls1ve in its realism.‘ An excess of Distance produces the
impression of improbability, artificiality, emptiness or absurdity.1

DISTANCE LIMITS
The idea of a Distance—limit, another of the basic concepts in-
cluded in Bullough‘s statement of the theory, has virtually been defined
in the exposition of Under- and Over-Distancing. ance these outer limits
have been set, then the area which remains between these extremes is that

area within which an art work should properly function and within which

the viewer should be emotionally 'placed' while viewing the work). Both

the object and the subject, then, are controlled by the limits of accept-

able Distance. Violations of those limits will lead to Under- or Over—

Distancing, as the case may be.

As this term Distance-limit is normally used by Bullough, it does

not indicate the whole range of acceptable variation, but rather the very
outer limits of that area, the point at which proper Distance would be~

come Under- or Over-Distancing. As he explains it in terms of the viewer:

 

lBullough, op. cit., p. 101.

 

hem

eloser

tmti

 

 

 

53

The average individual . . . very rapidly reaches his

limit of decreasing Distance, his 'Distance-limit',

i.e. that point at which Distance is lost and appre-

ciation either disappears or changes its character.
In the practice,therefore, of the average

person, a limit does exist which marks the minimum at

which his appreciation can maintain itself in the

aesthetic field, and this. average minimum lies con-

siderably higher than the Distance-limit of the artist.1
Presumably, an artist would also be able to follow pure abstractions much
closer to the other limit, just short of Over-Distancing, more easily than
could the average person. The artist, one assumes, is more likely to
interest himself in an abstraction, in a work completely devoid of 'pic-
turization' than is the typical viewer. While the Distance-limits, those
defining outer edges of the properly Distanced state, may vary from person
to person because of training, sensitivity, and many other factors, such
limits do exist for each person in relation to each art work.

1 The Distance-limits mark off those points beyond which the artist

may not go and expect the usual spectator to comprehend and control his

emotions in regard to the work.

,a-

'\ AESTHETIC DISTANCE AS A RESTATEMENT
“ 0F ARISTOTLE'S GOLDEN MEAN

As a result of" the previous discussions of Under- and Over-
Distancing and the Distance-limits, it should be clear that these elements
describe and define an area of balanced emotionality and abstraction, an
area in which all elements may function in a proper relationship. Thus,
within this area, a state of balance results in which none of the elements
are present to excess, to the point of dominating the others.

This idea that artistic objects or acts may incorporate elements

derived from the extreme limits of the content and. form used but that the

“_—

lrbw.

 

 

54

art creation basically exists, as a whole, in the poised, balanced middle-

ground of artistic creation and perception is a very ancient one. It

 

harks back at least t‘o__AriJstotTe“who proposed thef”Doctr1ne of flaw 11E;

 

as a guide in such diverse areas as medicine, morals and art. He said:
. . . every art does its work well--by looking to the inter-
mediate and judging its works by this standard (so that we

often say of good works of art that it is not possible either

to take away or to add anything, implying that excess and defect
TK destroy the goodness of works of art, while the mean preserves

|

t

 

it; and good artists, as we say, look to this in their work) . . .1 ‘

/If we acknowledge that total identification or Under-Distancing is an excess \1;

of empathy, while total abstraction or Over Distancing is a defect of em-

 

AH.._...‘. I'M-“‘14 puns,
WWW-shun» A». KW . ‘rn... N nv

1‘" u‘Vfi-m WW" 4"

pathy, then it becomes obvmus that Aristotle ant1c1pated Bullough s for-

 

“Mam“. "m

mulation of the Distance concept by several thousand years.

-—.
q"-'--.- -,.. .- a

In his discussion of ethical considerations, Aristotle further de-
veloped his idea of 'nothing too much' by suggesting that when we find our-

selves approaching too close to what we may now define, in aesthetic per-

~--.¢...\~

 

caption, as one of the Distance-limits,2{"We must drag ourselves away to

. /

the contrary extreme; for we shall get into the intermediate state by
drawing well away from error . . ."33'. This is precisely the method

suggested by Bullough for achieving the rationally balanced perception

which is the very heart of the properly Distanced state. This is the

 

reason for all of the suggestions included in this study for blocking

the power of the highly emotional and empathic parts of art works:

___1

by

1Aristotle, "Nicomachean Ethics," The Works of Amstotle,
Volume II, Great Books of the Western World, ed. Robert Maynard Hutchins
(Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 1952), p. 352.

2"This is an aesthetic equivalent of Aristotle' s comment in regard
to ethics.

3Ibid., p. 355.

 

 

 

ting so
11)‘ t p
11 the
the
tart
she
1e tee

time:

 

 

 

55

doing so, a spectator is removed from the aesthetic error of attending to

only a portion of an art work and is released to savor and to respond to

all aspects of the creation.

 

So much, then, is plain, that phe inntermediatewspate“ism“,inall __ 1,
things to be praised, but that we must incline sometimes to-
wards the excess, sometimes towards the deficiency; f'or so
shall we most easily hit the mean and what is right.1 J
The mean or the Distanced state is the condition to be sought for the
clearest and most complete understanding and appreciation of any art work.

FI/h:theory of Aesthetic Distance, then, is a generalization of

Aristotle's Doctrine of the Mean, as that doctrine applies to matters of

J

311.1

'3‘.“

METHODS OF DISTANCING

How does one, beyond the hints which have already been given,
actually achieve a properly Distanced relationship with an art object?
There are many factors which will have a bearing upon this activity, some
of which are under the direct control of the percipient and some of which
have been manipulated already by the artist so that the spectator need
only be conscious of them; still other factors are beyond the control of
either the percipient or the artist. Some of the factors which would fit
under each of these categories will be listed, reserving many other sug-
gestions, evolved or stressed by Wagner or Brecht, for Specific applica-
tions in later chapters.

Among the things which are not subject to the control of a single
individual are (l) the sum total of the conventions of an art form in a

given period and (2) the passage of time.

L

1rental.

 

 

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Es net
Brecht

filth

131' 31‘

f

is

 

 

 

 

 

S6

The conventions, which will be studied in connection with both
thelustory of the styles against which Wagner and Brecht rebelled and
thelmnhods of staging of Richard Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk and Bertolt
Brmflufls Epic Theatre, represent codifications of the sense of Distance
whhfilan era feels necessary for its appreciation of art; they are
averages of the Distance used by the finest and most representative
autists of a period, averages which, if they are applied to other art
creations, ought to mold them to the perceptive abilities and tastes
ofthat society in that period. No one artist or arbiter of taste alone,
xu>nmtter how powerful or original he may be, can, by himself, completely
aflter such universal opinions concerning the proper methods and devices

cn'art. Both Wagner and Brecht offer instructive examples in relation to

this point.

 

Time, as has been noted, is a strong Distancing factor. Bullough

acknowledges this by saying:

. temporal remoteness produces Distance, and objects re-
moved from us in point of time are ipso fhcto distanced to an
extent which was impossible for their contemporaries. Many
pictures, plays and poems had, as a matter of fact, rather
an expository or illustrative significance--as for instance
much ecclesiastical Art-~or the force of a direct practical
appeal-~as the invectives of many satires or comedies-~which
seem to us nowadays irreconcilable with their aesthetic
claims. Such works have consequently profited greatly by
lapse of time and have reached the level of Art only with
the help of temporal distance, while others, on the contrary
often for the same reason have suffered a loss of Distance,

through over-distancing.

 

Those adjustive mechanisms under the control of the spectator--
OJ a proper positioning in physical space, (2) a shifting of the point

ofxdew, either physically or mentally and (3) a transferral of interest

__—

h

1Bullough, op. cit., p. 103.

 

 

 

In I'm

hear!

 

 

57

from the senses to the intellect-—have all been discussed sufficiently
in earlier sections of this study.

The artist's activities, since they determine the degree of Dis-
tance which is inherent in the work, deserve a more extensive treatment
here as a prelude to the considerations which will fill the remainder
of the work.

Not only does the artist directly influence the Spectator's per-
ception in all three of the categories just mentioned by arranging the
formal elements so that the proper position must be assumed before the
work will be intelligible, by inviting various perceptions of the content,
and by consciously abstracting the content and ordering it so that the
spectator is aware of a guiding intelligence behind the work, but he also
imposes a specific style upon the thing which he has fashioned.

To be fully appreciative of a work of art, the spectators must
be conscious of the fact that they are observing an art work. Again,
the explanation that if they are not aware that they are observing an
art creation, they may tend to react to it as though it were a part of

reality, comes to mind. Bullough makes a specific point of just this

idea,

To say that Art is anti-realistic simply insists upon the fact
that Art is not nature, never pretends to be nature and strong-

ly resists any confusion with nature. It emphasises the art-
character of Art: 'artistic‘ is synonymous with anti-realistic"
it explains even sometimes a very marked degree of artificiality.i

The artificiality of which Bullough speaks is that which is derived from

the consciously selected style, manner and technique in which the art

work is rendered. It is those very elements which the artist has contributed

 

lIbid. , p. 106.

 

 

 

la the
mrydz
mail

mist

 

 

 

 

 

 

to the art work which set it apart from the unaesthetic confusion of
everyday life and thus make of this art work an entity which is more self—
contained, more easily perceived than the average. Not only must the
artist supply these characteristics in his creation but he must also
force them upon the viewer's attention to such a degree that the spectator
will realize that this is an art creation. If the artist does not impress
the percipient with the artistic qualities of his work, he will fail to
place the spectator in a properly Distanced relationship with the piece
and his art is likely to fail as art.1
The artistic qualities are simply those which result from the art

elements, the style, of the work. So this argument ultimately comes down
to the fact that

. . . "style" itself as well as "stylization" is a distancing

factor: the singleness of the style of a work of art con-

trasts with the multiplicity of styles and the lack of styles
in non—aesthetic life.

An art work is recognized as such primarily because of the non—
realistic, artistic style of the object. How does the artist give to
his work that quality called style? In part at least, style is created
by reducing the number of elements to be considered and then organizing
what is retained. This process of cutting and paring away the extraneous

connections and cross-references in a work has been mentioned above as a

device for creating Distance.

~

1Even a naturalistic play can be self-contained and thereby set
apart from the 'real' world of the experiencer as much as a more abstract
creation, but the naturalistic style always involves a greater chance of
Under-Distancing and consequent loss of artistic character.

2Jarrett, op. cit., pp. 115-116.

 

 

:me
is gem

eiezen‘

m ._. 53 _W.

 

59

Once the selection suggested in the process of abstraction has been
completed, then the artist faces the task of unifying what remains. Unity
is generally held to be the first and perhaps the foremost of the formal
elements in an art composition,

. for, every kind of visibly intentional arrangement or uni—

fication must, by the mere fact of its presence, enforce Distance,
by distinguishing the object from the confused, disjointed, and
scattered forms of actual experience.1

The unification of all of the elements, since it may be effected
by many different methods, is by no means a simple process. Bullough
noted many of the means to accomplish this end:

By unification of presentment are meant such qualities as sym—
metry, opposition, proportion, balance, rhythmical distribu—
tion of parts, light—arrangements, in fact all so-called 'formal'
features, 'composition' in the widest sense.

Beyond all of these formal elements and the unification which they
create, an art work, in order to be successful, must contain percentages
of the known and familiar and also percentages of the novel and the striking.
The degree of balance achieved between these opposites, usually through the

form given to the content, has a Distancing effect, as well. Bullough
speaks of these opposing forces as the typical and the individual;1 "His-
torically the 'typical' has had the effect of counteracting tmder—distancing
as much as the 'individual' has opposed over-distancing."2 He appears to

feel that both of these factors contribute to establishing the proper

Distance-limits within which the work may function and apparently regards

 

1Bullough's choice of descriptive terms in this case is not as
clear as it might be. What he means by the ”typical" is that which is nor—
mally true in the experience of the average person, the universally true.
See the next to the last paragraph in this section for a complete descrip—
tlon of this generalizing attitude. His usage of the term ”individual"
Implies the specific, discrete, concrete elements with which one may sym—
Pathize and identify himself.

2122721., p. 117.

 

 

 

 

 

 

:11 of
he 1
m.

toperc
:euuss
mov'u

inn.

 

60

both of them as somewhat restrictive. That is, they establish the proper
degree of Distancing by their equal and opposite pulls in divergent direc—
tions. Both the individual, because of the spectator's greater ability
to perceive a sharply etched, highly distinct entity, and the typical,
because it creates a bond between the viewer and all other people, thus
removing the emotions being considered from his particular life, are
important in the creation of Distance.

Still other factors contributed by the artist and properly re-
garded as a part of his style might include the changing of a concrete
object to an abstract concept and a reduction of the emotional intensity
of the subject of the work. Few artists look at the world of physical
reality in such a manner as to perceive only the physically tangible as—
pects of the things contained therein; instead, each artist usually tries
to penetrate to the essence of reality. He sees not only what is actually
present but what is implied or instanced by this object and it is this
elusive referential aspect of reality which he attempts to convey through
his work. If he did not capture the allusions of his subject then he
would depict only the gross, earth—bound aspects of it and his work
would be correspondingly flat and dull. If he grasps and communicates
the content of reality which, as Langer says, can be symbolized through
art, then he will succeed in transmuting objects into perceptions, things
into thoughts, and art into abstractions. He will remove his audience
from the literal reality of his subject to a Distanced mental state in
which they can see his version of what exists; they will see the world
filtered through his personality and brought into conformity with a single
conception of reality. It is this over-mastering ordering of the universe

according to the perceptions of one person which enables spectators to

 

 

 

 

 

mot

J3 SI!

indie

ire:

 

61

distinguish one artist's work from another, solely by the style employed.
It is this, which, in large measure, i_s_ the style of the artist: his par-
ticular way of changing real things into symbolic abstractions which conform
to the key concepts of his mind.

If all of these methods of abstracting are utilized, the work
cannot escape some degree of Distancing. Both Wagner and Brecht evolved
or stressed specific versions of these concepts, versions which will be
studied and explained in the chapters dealing with the theories of these
men. Those factors which would cause a violent, unreasoning, completely
emotional reaction are removed and the object or experience is subordinated,
not to the iron rule of the particular emotion, but to the more general
mood to which that emotion belongs and of which it forms a small subdi—
vision. Or one can say that, by the process of universalization, by as-
cribing the reaction to a larger whole, by enlarging the scale and range
of the piece, the spectators are sufficiently Distanced to be able to per-
ceive the comforting knowledge of categories; they can see that this shock-
ing, stirring, or upsetting event has its place alongside many another which
is less disturbing and draw repose from their expanded awareness and from
the solidity which the other, less extreme members of the same group can
offer them.

In all of these ways can the work, the artist and the spectator

create Distance .

SUMMARY
This chapter was devoted to a definition and exploration of some
0f the many aspects of the philosophical and psychological theory of
Aesthetic Distance. That theory proposes that if one is to view an art
creation with a maximum of profit, that a particular state of mind is

necessary on the part of the spectator.

 

:1 phi

1 me:

:11

 

62

The attitude required of the viewer is.a complex one, achieved in
two phases. In order to isolate the art object for concentrated study, it
is necessary first of all to divorce it from the hectic rush of normal life.
Wm must disregard and suppress all external and causal relationships
which might be prompted by the art work, ignoring all practical, logical
imes of the object. It must be isolated from the remainder of the world
unsuch a manner that the work is not assumed to have any purpose outside
ofits own existence. It should never be regarded as a means of accom-
pliflfing something; the work is an end in itself and must be valued to
the extent that the viewer is willing to grant it an existence which does
not require further justification.

Agfithe‘same_£img and as a part of the process of isolating the
work, it must be separated mentally from the viewer. The spectator must
feel that he is not physically involved with the work, that it is not con-
nected in any normal manner with his actual self. Carrying this isolating
activity still further, the spectator should observe the art creation in
mlobjective manner and concentrate upon the object exclusively. If the
viewer should experience emotional reactions to the art work, he will pro-
ject those emotional states onto the work itself so that the viewer's
subjective reactions can be interpreted as characteristics of the thing.
Since the emotional aspects of the artistic transaction are then assumed
to belong to the object rather than the beholder, the observer is freed to
cultivate a rational aloofness in regard to the emotions depicted. He can
come to understand emotions which he can see given objective form in the
art object. The viewer is divorced and removed from the emotions in some

degree.

 

 

 

 

m 1|
psiti
the an
tion,

is it

63

After this negative or inhibitory phase, in which control is gained
over the distractions inherent in the viewer and the environment, then the
positive elaboration of the art object as an artifact is begun. In essence,
the audience members are asked to drop their habitual patterns of percep-
tion, those inexact generalizations of perception and really to look at
the work as a single, individual, specific thing. If they bring to bear
a certain amount of specialized knowledge and analytical understanding,
they will grasp all aspects of the work. They will realize the parti—

cular content, form and manner of presentation. They will be aware of

 

the artist's efforts to shape this thing into an art work; they will realize
how this thing differs from any normal object and they will, therefore, grasp
the anti-realistic nature of a piece of art. If they take their time looking

at it, really contemplate it, but remain mentally active all of the time,

 

sensing out the relevant associations but disregarding the irrelevant ones,

. noting the technical perfection of the work and watching the evolving
order within the object, evaluating as well as perceiving it, then they
will develop a highly conscious multiple awareness of all parts and rami—
fications of the art object. This is the point to be sought during the
elaborative phase of the Distancing process.

The end result of this process, of the two phases of Distancing,
is a highly sensitized and aware state of being for the viewer. This
state is a more conscious one than most people usually adopt toward any-
thing. If the beholder can achieve it, he will experience the art work
on all possible levels rather than being caught up simply in the plot
line of a play or the content of a painting. The personal and human as—
pects of the work, which invite empathic contact, are important in a

Complete comprehension of a work; they must be understood, felt and

L‘

film

the as

64

appreciated-~but they are not the whole of the creation. They are just
a part of the work in the same manner that excessive empathy is one of

the aspects of the Distancing process.

 

 

 

 

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5119‘
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CHAPTER I II

WAGNER'S THEORIES

Wagner found much in his country, in his period1 of which to com-
plain. In conents scattered throughout the whole of his writings at
least up to 1851, he leveled his verbal weapons at the formal nature of
the church; at the evil influence exercised upon music by the Jews; at the
obvious inequality in the distribution of wealth; at the lack of truly
human emotion in everyday life (a result, he felt, of the suppressive
society); at the terrible state of the Court theatres; at the lack of
training of singers; at the miserably bad translations of opera libretti;
at the formal nature of the art creations and of the audience responses
to them; in short, at virtually everything in society which had a bearing
upon himself, his ideas, and his creations. He found conditions so bad,
that there was, he felt, no hepe for the execution of great art works.

In a day when musicians were still dependent upon the patronage
of the nobility, when the majority of artistic efforts took place in the
small, relatively ill-equipped royal theatres scattered throughout each
principality, it did not take long for the multitude of irritations which
Wagner felt in his everyday life to condense around the structure of the
aristocratic state itself. And, indeed, this was precisely where he
localized the troubles of the world. The social structure, Wagner thought,

should exist to promote the proper conditions for valid living and creation,

M

_—

1Wagner's life span was from 1813 to 1883.

6S

 

 

 

lill

 

66

but
The state . . . far from being any such plastic pliable
surrounding, was a dogmatic, rigid, enchaining and overbearing
power, dictating to the individual:
Thus have you to think and act!1

A man as individual, as ego—centered, as Wagner had to oppose such a
society. Feeling himself, an eminently individual and creative person,
to be hampered by the State, and, like most Romantics, believing fully in
Rousseau's 'noble savage' concept, it didn't take Wagner long to draw the
obvious conclusion: "It is then essential for us to annul the State and
create afresh the free individual."2

Hardly one to merely talk or write in a revolutionary vein, Wagner,
like Brecht in a later generation, threw himself into the task of bringing
about ”the great and inevitably approaching social revolution."3 He
joined a Left-wing political organization in Dresden, worked himself into
a position of power within the group and actively began planning and
arming for the revolution.4 The idea of Wagner ordering the manufacture
of 1500 grenadess or taking a rifle to the barricades when the revolution
did break out are startling images but, nevertheless, apparently true.

The reason ultimately given by most writers for Wagner's partici~

pation in the revolution of 1849, is that it, like his writings at a

 

. 1Richard Wagner, Opera and Drama, trans. by Edwin Evans (London:
William Reeves, n.d.), p. 348-

2Ernest Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist (New York: Garden City
Publishing Company, Inc., 1941), p. 201.

. sRichard Wagner, Wagner on Music and Drama, A Coppendium of
Richard Wagner ’3 Prose Works, trans. H. Ashton Ellis, ed. Albert Goldman
311d Evert Princhorn (New York: 15. P. Dutton and Co., Inc., 1964), p. 68.

4See Robert Giddings, ”Wagner and the Revolutionaries,” Music and f
Letters, Vol. 45, No. 4, October 1964, pp. 348-358. 1'

513%., p. 353.

 

 

12:11

18M

PM

that

 

 

 

67

later period, was intended to bring into existence the conditions under
much he, personally, could work and have his creations staged. Wagner
said:

.. . it was necessary, above all things, to aim at the destruc-
tion of that constraint which we find among the public, hampering
the feelings, and fatally destructive for the artist's purpose.
Since I was compelled to see that the reason of this constraint
was deeply rooted in the elements of our political and social
life; and that only a complete change in that life would bring
about the natural birth of that art which I had in mind; . . I
had to make the demand for such a change, as the first thing to
be striven for, and to lay special stress upon it, as I did in my
earlier writings (”Art and Revolution” and "The Art—Work of the
Future”). . .1

Assuming the success of the revolution prior to the event, ”Wagner
declares that real history will begin under a 'communist' new order when
mm will be governed by a genuine historical understanding and not by
myths such as divine right and the sanctity of property.”2 He fu11y ex-
pected, through the destruction of the aristocracy and the monied class,
that he could look

. . . forward to the time when man shall be free from care for the
material things of life, with which the collective wisdom of the
community will supply him; and ”then will man's enfranchised energy
manifest itself in artistic impulse.” Every man will become an
artist, and the expression of the artistic emotion of the whole
community will be the drama.3

. . . then will theatrical performances be the first associate

undertakigg from which the idea of wage or gain shall disappear
entirely.

 

 

1Richard Wagner, ”Musical Criticism. Extracts from a Letter on
that Subject to the Editor of the 'Neue Zeitschrift fflr Musik, '" Art Life
and Theories, trans. Edward L. Burlingame (New York: Henry Holt and Co.,
1875) pp. 235 236.

2Eric Bentley, "Richard Wagner, Siegfried, and Hitler, "A century
of Hero- Worship (Boston: Beacon Press, 1957), p. 174

3Newman, hhgner as Man and Artist, p. 184.

4Whgner on Music and Drama, p. 68.

 

 

than
is he

so sh

h I:
he s

5101

 

68

In order to bring about this state of things, Wagner was willing to risk
his life in the revolution, was openly and avowedly a part of it. When
the whole undertaking col lapsed and the revolutionary authorities were
branded criminals, Wagner was the only member of the ruling inner group
who managed to escape across the border to safety, but political exile.
Settling in Paris and Zurich, where he was cut off from the German
theatres and where he was also unable to secure productions of his work,
it became necessary for him, once again, to begin rearranging conditions
so that they would be more propitious. "When political action failed him,
he immediately carried his rebellious spirit into the world of art, sub-
stituting an art revolution for a political upheaval."1 "From attempting
to reform the whole of society Wagner set himself the task of reforming
the music drama and turning it from a mere entertainment into the expres-
sion of the social conscience.”2 Since he could not do this by example,
not being able to gain a stage, it became necessary for him to explain,
to theorize, to write and to debate the nature of the music or the art-
work of the future, thus providing the majority of his formal essays.
These articles were a means of livelihood during the five years from 1849
to 1854 and served to introduce him to a larger public. In addition,
they allowed him to clarify his own thoughts about the creative process.
' Since he continued the battle with society in his art theories,3

his writings of this period carried many generalized attacks on elements

_E
‘_.—_-

. 1Albert Goldman and Evert Sprinchorn, "Introduction," Wagner on
Music and Drama (New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., Inc., 1964), p. 19.

2Giddings, op. cit., p. 357.

5"Human society must _be thoroughly reconstructed, and this can
only be done with the aid of art. . ." Houston Steward Chamberlain,
Richard Wagner, trans. G. Ainslie Hight (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott
00.. 1900), p. 192.

 

 

 

hside
11 3:1

Hit 0‘

hdicz
htiw

hst ‘

 

 

69

outside of the strictly artistic field. But after renouncing politics
and active participation in revolutionary actions as much as he could,1
most of his social concern was directed toward the evils of the operatic

stage and what might be done about them.

EXISTING EVILS IN THE OPERA

Wagner summed up his objections to Opera in a manner which clearly
indicated how much a man of the theatre he was, as well as being a super-
lative musician. "The error in the art-genre of Opera consists in the
fact that a Means of Expression (Music) has been made the object, while
the Object of Expression (the Drama) has been made a means."2 He felt
that the ornate music of the period, the "naked, ear-tickling, absolute—
melodic melody"3 had usurped a position of power which it should not have
if the highest ends of theatrical art were to be served. He wanted to
demote music from its position of domination and restore the balance which
he believed should exist among the arts in the theatre or opera. His
bitterness at the condition of Opera was apparent:

In Italy, where the opera was first elaborated, no other
task has ever been set befbre the musician than to write a num—
ber of airs fbr special singers, in whom dramatic talent was en-
tirely a secondary consideration;--airs that should give these
virtuosi an opportunity to bring into play their several specific
vocal powers. All that poetry and scenery contributed to this
exhibition of the performer's art, was an excuse fer time and
place for it; with the singers alternated the dancer, who danced
precisely the same that the other sang; and the composer had no
other task than to contribute variations on a certain selected
type of tune. Here, therefore, there was complete agreement in

~—

1"I promise you to leave politics on one side as much as possible
and therefore shall not compromise you or any one else. . ." Richard
Wagner, Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt, letter of June 5, 1849, p. 25.

’

2 . .
Newman, Wagner as Man and Arrest, p. 193.

31bid., p. 195.

 

 

 

 

111
com
ist
he
by
hi

hohje

mic :

 

 

70

purpose, down to the smallest detail, because, while the composer

composed for certain fixed voices and their individual character—

istics, these, in turn, showed him the character of the variations

he must make. In this way the Italian [opera] became an art—genre

by itself, which, while it had nothing to do with the true drama,

had also nothing to do with true music. . .1
1h objected to an exaggerated awareness of the melody-line (in his view,
mmic should only be used to underscore the emotional aspect of the drama)
and he found fault in the closed song-form used for each aria. What, he
asked, happens to the theatrical illusion

. if a strikingly beautiful and noble musical phrase suddenly

terminates in the regulation cadence with the two customary runs

and the forced final note, with which the singer unexpectedly

abandons his position toward the person to whom that phrase was

addressed, in order to turn directly to the claque and give it

the signal fOr applause?2
There were at least two objections here to the rigid and formal nature of
the operatic set-piece: one was that the drama was continually broken by
repetitive pauses at the conclusion of arias which were themselves, some-
what ridiculous when repeated over and over again throughout a two to four
hour span and the other was that they permited the prime donna or the
leading tenor tO step outside of the role (breaking the Aesthetic Distance
ofthe opera) to address the audience directly.

Beyond these basic problems of Opera as a whole, when this form
was transplanted from Italy or France (the two dominant Operatic countries
filthe first half of the 1800's) to Germany, specialized difficulties com-
Pounded the faults, virtually assuring that no operatic drama could be

intelligible.

What had been arranged for the best Italian singers, with special
regard to their individual capabilities, was sung by singers without

 

 

 

1Richard Wagner, "The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories,
p.135

2Ibid., p. 186.

 

 

To cc

at!

 

71

instruction, without vocal flexibility, in a language entirely
the opposite of the Italian in character,--and generally sung
with laughable distortions.--French operas, dependent upon the
pathetic declamation of pointed rhetorical phrases, were pro-
duced in translations which had been made by literary penny-a-
liners at the lowest price, generally without regard to the
connection between the declamation and the music, and with
nfistakes in prosody that were calculated to make one's hair
stand on end; a circumstance which put an effectual end to the
develOpment of a healthful style in the perfOrmances, and made
both singers and audience indifferent to the text of the operas.
Awkwardness on all sides arose from this; there was nowhere an
operatic theatre to serve as an example and to give the tone;
the education of even the obtainable voices was faulty or en-
tirely wanting; everywhere artistic anarchy prevailed.1

 

 

To correct all of these problems was the task Wagner set himself. It seemed
obvious that the way to avoid mangled translations and to circumvent an
inability of the German throat to adapt to a melodic line created in the

more liquid Italian manner was to create a body of Operatic literature in

 

I the German language.2 No translations would be necessary and the musical

I pmrases would fit the German singers as no others could. If the formal
nature of the opera could be changed so that the story became all~important
muL if'the singer and the audience could be taught to listen to the words
multo gra5p the content of the tale, then the opera might be improved.

But there were other stumbling-blocks, or rather, other phases of
dds same problem which drew wagner's fire. Foremost among these was the
inter imbecility of most operatic libretti. One could never ask the audi-
ence to pay attention to a musical play in which the libretto was "a

monstrous motley, historico—romantic, diabolico-religious, sacro-frivolous,

‘n‘
———-—

1122M. , p. 137.

201’? course there were other German Operas such as those of Mozart
and Weber, which Wagner regarded highly, but they did not dominate the
Operatic repertoire even in Germany.

 

 

 

 

 

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worth

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l‘itet

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‘
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72

1

mysterious-brazen, sentimental—humbugging, dramatic hotch-potch." Yet,

according to Wagner, that was the sort of plot which men like Scribe
furnished for Meyerbeer. The basic faults here were: first, that
allowances had to be made within the plotline for the insertion of the re-
quisite number of arias, duets, quartets, ensembles and ballets, thus
making the development of the action in a rational manner an impossibility;

and secondly, since this irregular and impossible form was considered sac-

 

rosanct by the musician, the dominant member of the creative pair, he for-
bade the poet to alter it. Add to this that the musician felt fully
? justified in altering or treating the story or the specific poetry as he

chose,2 and one can understand why "real poets, with rare and unfortunate

exceptions, have never had to do with the opera at all.”3

Assuming that this sort of script ever managed to achieve the stage,
it there underwent still another change for the worse in Wagner's eyes.
Having lost all contact with the real world, the libretti of that day in—
vited the display of marvels of staging in compensation for the lack of a

real story.

. the accusation may be brought against the Opera, that in it
a mere succession of effects, designed to work upon purely sensuous
emotions, suffices, if there be only an agreeable variety of con-
trasts presented, to successfully conceal the absence of any in-
telligible or sensible action.

 

 

1Wagner quoted in Alphons Silbermann‘, ”Wagner and the Creation Of
the Gesamtkunstwerk," . . . 0f Musical Things (Sydney, Australia: The
Grahame Book Co., 1949), p. 78.

2"The usual course is for the melody to do what it likes with the
verse; to dislocate its rhythm, ignore its accents, and drown its end-
rhyme, according to its own pleasure." Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist,
1:. 254.

3Wagner, "The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p. 150.

2 4Richard Wagner, "The Purpose of the Opera," Art Life and Theories,
P- 08.

 

 

 

 

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i‘lthin it
its hash

“Pita bet

”mush

 

73

Why, indeed, is the audience of a first-class concert in a

much better state than the audience of an opera (lyric drama,

or some other fabrication)? Why is an overture listened to

with peaceful contemplation in a concert hall, whereas, at

the opera, it is performed for people preoccupied with every-

thing else but the music? Could it not be that in the trans-

plendent opera house, the technical methods employed have

created an atmosphere unsuited to any kind of contemplation

whatever, while the hall dedicated to concerts leaves the1

reSponsibility for contemplation to each listener's soul?
Wagner felt that such display would either have to be eliminated or some-
how integrated into the story so that it made sense and served to further
the action. It could not merely exist as a concession to an audience which
had come to expect miracles in stage painting. Effects had to be justified
by the purposes they served. They had to belong within the show. Never
should they attract the audience's attention to themselves to the point
of imbalancing the whole of the production.

Wagner became convinced that the basic problem underlying these
objections was that each element in the opera was functioning solely for
itself. He decided that not since the pristine period of the Greek tragedy
had all of the arts of the stage really been used in a total synthesis;
that, instead, each art had deve10ped independently to the limits of its
particular medium and that when each of them was forced to take a part
within the opera or the drama, it did so grudgingly and without giving up

its basic character in support of the over-riding function of drama. "Thus

opera becomes the mutual compact of the egoism of the three related arts"2

Of music, poetry and acting. To correct the faults of conventional opera

_—

. lAdolphe Appia, Music and the Art of the Theatre, trans. Robert W.
C?rr}gan and Mary Douglas Dirks (Coral Gables, Florida: University of
Miami Press, 1962), pp. 182-183. Appia here amplifies some favorite

concepts of Wagner.

zWagner on Music and Drama, p. 124.

 

 

 

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74

and to create "the true art-work--the 'art-work of the future'——[the

may way] is to reunite these arts in the music-drama.”l

THE GESAMTKUNSTWERKZ
(THE TOTAL ART-WORK)

Wagner announced his creation of a new art fbrm, the Gesamtkunst-
umrk, by defining the opera as ”an art work complete in itself, in which
all the parts and contributions of the related and utilized arts meet
and disappear in each other, and, in a manner, form a new world by their
owndestruction."3 A contemporary aesthetician's approach to the same
basic concept may clarify Wagner's position:

. the very terms of the subsidiary arts, as employed in the
combined arts, are transformed by the aim of the particular com-
position, . . . the work of art as a case of complex or combined
art, must have, in order to be clearly anything at all, its own
transforming intention and expressiveness, its emotional tone,
its specific character, its point, in short, upon which every
subsidiary constituent, from aesthetically elementary patches
of color, or single sounds or shapes, through all the structural
possibilities to completed artistic wholes of the major or minor
arts, must be focussed in a felt perspective which so transfbrms
them all as to make them appear, separately taken or actually
removed from this complex set of technically achieved and ex-
pressively dominated structural relations, tawdry, ugly, point-
less, and deformed.

Wagner sought an integration so complete that the imagined ”egoism”

0fthe arts would vanish and each would function only to the degree needed

 

1Henry T. Finck, hbgner and His Wbrks (2 vols.; New York: Charles
Scribner‘s Sons, 1916), p- 295-

2Other synonomous terms include "music drama,” ”tone drama,” "word-
tone drama," "Allkunstwerk," and ”Art-Work of the Future.”

_ 3Wagner cited in W. J. Henderson, Richard hagner: His Life and
ms Dramas (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1901), p. 175.

4D. W. Prall, Aesthetic Judgment (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co.,
1929), pp. 277-278.

 

 

 

 

 

75

to achieve the desired end. And, rather than feeling this to be a restric-

tion upon each sub-art, Wagner assumed that only in such a close relation—
flflp could each art really reach its ultimate development.

Wagner speaks of the ”changeful play” of the arts which
goes on in the drama in a very fine passage in das Kunstwerk der
Zukunft: ”SO, completing each other in changeful play, the sis-
ter arts will disport themselves together, in pairs or singly,
as is required by the dramatic action, which alone prescribes
the measure and intention. Now the plastic movements of the actors
pause to follow the passionless musing of the thought,--now the
thought comes forth to life, and finds direct form in the gesture;
now the stream of feeling, the thrill of wonder, will be rendered
by music alone; now all three in common embrace will carry out
the will of the drama in direct and puissant action. For there
is but one thing which all the arts here united must desire, if
they would freely exert their powers, that is the_drama; their
only concern must be to fulfil its intention.

While the over—riding concept was of a blending of all arts, the
reader undoubtedly~will have noticed in the above quotation that emphasis
was laid upon only three. The explanation for this was that in Wagner's
eyes ”the whole man is the man of intellect (speech), heart (tone) and
body (gesture). Thus the three primeval intertwining sisters of art are
Dance, Tone, and Poetry: and true art is a union of the three.”2 A union,
it should be noted, which would have unspecified and varying emphases at
different periods in Wagner's productive life. At first, Wagner laid
stress upon the poetry and the music:

. I had thought it possible to construct, by the equal and

mutual mingling of poetry and music, such a work of art as must
produce an irresistibly forcible impression in its scenic pro-

duction,--and should produce it in such a way that voluntary re-

flection should disappear before it, passing into purely human
emotion.3

 

 

1Chamberlain, op. cit., pp. 214-215.
2Newman, wagner as Man and Artist, p. 187.
3Wagner, ”The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p 165

Note that in this, as in so many of his statements, Wagner is concerned
With the generation of non- -abstractive, highly emotional, empathic states.

 

 

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hit
that

:ett

5131

hi

 

 

76

Only later did he decide that a perfect blending, in equal partnership,
of words and music was not only unnecessary but impossible. Then Wagner
shifted his attention to the relationship between action and the music to
produce a definition of the Gesamtkunstuerk which still contains all three
elements but in significantly altered proportions. The music drama was
later regarded as "a dramatic-musical improvisation of perfected poetic
value, embodied in a fixed form by the highest artistic thought."1 From
this point on, great emphasis was laid upon the acting, the 'miming' of
the work. But, throughout the whole of the evolution of Wagner's
theories, the one basic constant was the value of music. Sometimes it
was only as important as the other arts, sometimes, as in the later
phases when Wagner was under the influence of SchOpenhauer, it was the
dominant factor in the combinatiOn, but music was never less important
than the other elements.2 Whatever the shifts in theory, whatever the
philosophical pressures which he felt outside himself, some of the modi-
fication of Wagner's theories probably resulted from the varied require-
ments which he found in different plots. Some of this shifting of theory
was the result of facing tasks which called for varying balances of
elements. After all, the basic concept called for the use of each factor
only to the limit of its expressiveness within the drama and no further.
Different dramas would mean different balances.

Some mention of the balance between the abstractive and empathic
Parts found in the GesumtkmsWerk, as a whole, should be made before

developing a more detailed consideration of the elements which comprised

 

 

——_—

1Wagner, "The Purpose Of the Opera,” Art Life and Theories, p. 326.

2"Music stands in the same relation to the complex of other arts
as religion stands in to the church.” Wagner, cited in Chamberlain,
op. cit., Po 2070

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amp-n):—

 

77

theidufle. Naturally Wagner had something which he wished to communicate
toius audience in the music dramas; they do have an intellectual as well
msan emotional content and therefbre represent the end result of an ab-
stractive process.

There was abstractive material present in large quantities in any
mweof Wagner's Operas but this was not the primary factor in his calcu—
hnfion of effects. Theoretically, he stressed the empathic end of the Aes-
anic Distance scale in every part of the Gesamtkunstwerk because he felt

that

. . . to the man of passion who is engaged in spontaneous action,
nothing is intelligible but what addresses itself to his feeling;
and that, were it to desire to appeal to this man's understanding,
it would, by assuming something from him which itself can only
acquire in course of its communication, be obliged to remain in-
comprehensible.i

'flus stress upon the emotional, empathic aspects of his work was repeated
(xmstantly until "thought entirely dissolve[s] into the feeling."2 He
felt that

The mind will tell us
So it is!

1nd only when the feeling has told us
So it must be!3

Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk, particularly as it was given its fullest
mulnmst complete explanation in Opera and Drama,

. . . is predicated on the assumption that it can communicate
only to the senses and through them exclusively to the emo-
tions. Reason, the conceptual and intellectual, are to play
no part. "The combining intellect must have nothing to do
With the dramatic work of art. In the drama wehmust become
knowers through feeling..... . This feeling, however, becomes

 

 

1Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 364.
zhagner on Music and Drama, p. 188.

3Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 367.

 

 

 

 

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mt,
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78

intelligible to itself only through itself; it understands

no other language but its own. Things which can be explained

only by the infinite accommodations of the intellect are in-

comprehensible and disturbing to the feeling."1
As was pointed out earlier, Wagner was theoretically among the most ex—
treme in his reliance upon sheer emotion, but he was actually among the
most consistent in his application of devices to achieve a properly Dis-
tanced response. Throughout the remainder of the discussion of Wagner's
work, it will be apparent that he called for an ecstatically empathic
condition on the part of the audience but, paradoxically, the involved
musical structure he evolved to reinforce his dramas, required an extremely
conscious and Distanced perception in order to be intelligible at all.

To remedy the faults which he found in the Italian opera, Wagner

devised the Gesamtkunstmerk, a blending and balancing of music, poetry,

and acting in such a manner that none of them dominated the relation-

ship and all contributed toward the understanding of the drama.

DRAMA
Wagner found much Of the poetic writing for the stage of his day
empty and meaningless. He felt that the poet wrote intellectualized
poetry divorced from music, just as the musician composed without the
aid 0f Poetry. Each was completed separately and then forced to blend

for the stage. In Wagner's eyes, the inevitable result was disaster.

He Proclaimed, in Chamberlain's paraphrase:

The relation of music to poetry will cease to be illusory when

there is no longer any trace of an endeavour to coerce the abs;-
lute language of the understanding and the absolute language 0
tones into an impossible "marriage," when rather both--

“‘_—

1Jack M. Stein, Richard Wagner and the Synthesis of the Arts
(Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1960), p. 68.

 

 

 

 

79

word and tone——spring spontaneously from a single higher purpose;
this creative purpose is the drama.

What he meant by the word “drama” was the word—tone drama, a more complex

and difficult form than a conventional play.

. only that poet can succeed in it, who fully appreciates
the tendency of music, and its inexhaustible power of expres—
sion, and therefore so composes his poem that it can penetrate
into the finest fibres of musical texture, and completely dis-
solve the spoken idea in feeling.2

Wagner chose the subjects he would develop into the Word—tone drama,
mute predictably, on the basis of an empathic resonance:
Nothing touches me seriously . . . save in so far as it awakes
in me fellow—feeling, that is, fellow—suffering. This com-
passion I recognise as the strongest feature of my moral
I being, and presumably it is also the fountain—head of my art.3
I There had to be an emotional note sounded within him by the topic and once
a plot had occurred to him, it had to be of such a nature that he could

immediately see the musical and the poetic aspects as parts Of a single

whole, a complete drama.

I can conceive a subject . . . only when it comes to
me in such a form that I myself cannot distinguish between
the contribution of the poet and that of the musician in me;
and its completion in word and tone is simply the ultimate
realisation of something that had originally presented it—
self to me only in vague outlines. This is the foundation
of all my productive and more particularly my musical-
productive, power.4

In Spite of the length of the operas which grew from these subjects
Wagner did concentrate and was highly selective in the development of his

dramatic ideas. All purposive writing is selective and it is the

 

1Chamberlain, op. cit., p. 211.

2Wagner, "The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p. 160.

 

3Wagner quoted in Newman, The Wagner Operas, p. 666.

4Ibid., p. 190.

 

 

 

 

80

selective nature of playwriting that unifies it as an abstracting process,

bringing into the play the other end of the Distance scale: the non-

empathic portion. Extreme concentration1 in a drama often leads to ab-

stractive symbolism and it did in Wagner's case.

Wagner consciously abstracted in order to create the symbols which

he employed. In his View,

Only the purely human drama . . . is the perfect drama.

The purely human is "that which constitutes the nature
of the human species as such,” ”that which is freed from all
convention, all historic formality”; it is that from which
”all that is particularistic and accidental” has been removed. .
A purely human action is one from the motives of which all
petty and indeterminate elements have been discarded, and from
the substance of which all extraneous matter, everything of
the nature of pragmatic history, of political convention and
dogmatic religion has been removed.2

He was seeking a remarkably purified and basic concept upon which
to found each of his music dramas. This kind Of searching for essences
and discarding of accidentals would almost have been forced upon Wagner
the moment he chose to regard himself as a poet capable of writing his own
libretti. As John Mason Brown put it, ”essences rather than appearances
are the preoccupation of the dramatist possessed, however slightly of the

Poet's vision.”3 Then, too, Wagner quickly realized that the time limita-

5 tions in performance and his desire to say something of importance to his

 

' 1"In a sense [the playwright] does for his selected materials what
time and perspective might be expected to do: he brings to the fore the
Significant. It is this lifting out of its context Of less meaningful
events that makes a drama, especially a drama as we know it on the stage,
because the restrictions of the theatre force the playwright to be the most
selective of all storytellers.“ Frank O'Hara and Margueritte Bro, Invi-
tation to the Theatre (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1951), P- 4-

2Chamberlain, op. cit., p. 204. All quotations within this para-
graph are from Wagner himself.

30p. cit., p. 156.

 

 

 

 

to:

9

103

 

81

mfliences required a condensation which virtually forced abstraction and
symbolization.

A strong dramatic action, in which a chain of situations lead

to a climax and a denouement, was best left to the Spoken drama;

music drama should deal with ideas rather than actions, should

be concerned rather with eternal truths than with individual
human destinies.

Deleting the historical, factual material and eliminating the
purely personal in order to strive for a more universal meaning probably
would have led to symbolism even if Wagner's libretti had not been poetic
drama; but they were and ”the ground upon which the poetic drama rests is
that of symbolism, and in the lyric play this, by reason of the flexibility
of music, may reach its highest elevation.”2

Wagner, like every other
artist

. strives to preserve whatever suggestion of reality is
necessary to the truth of his message and to the production
of the proper empathic response, but no more. All superfluous
elements of reality he tries to eliminate, lest they remind

the observer too forciblg of his own affairs, and thus destroy
his sense of detachment.

In place of the deleted elements, Wagner offered through the power of his
music the expansion of the retained, symbolic kernels of the situations.

In Wagner's libretti, then, one encountered basic situations stripped
to their essentials which could be presented as complete symbols. This led

to a concentration upon the perception of the detail of a situation rather

than upon how this situation had to evolve.4

 

1Geoffrey Skelton, hhgner at Bayreuth (London: Barrie and Rockliff,
1965), p. 28. It should be noted that Wagner actually sought both empathy
and abstract ideas (both ends of the Distance—scale). His descriptions of

his desires varied just as the proportion of these factors did in different
Operas.

2Henderson, op. cit., p. 205.

3John Dolman, Jr., The Art of Play Production (New York: Harper
and Brothers Publishers, 1946), pp. 27—28.

4This idea, also, was to be a principle of Brecht's type of theatre.

 

 

 

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82

Wagner's most original contribution to dramaturgy in the nine-
teenth century was the perfection of the demotivated drama, a
drama that Speaks to us in anagogical terms and in which the
story and characters are meant to serve as mediums between us
and a larger, profoumder, and truer world.1

Abstractive symbolism was more than just a compositional method with

Wagner: it was also the means of projection for his ”world—ideas,” the

method by which he communicated the philosophical concepts or universal
elements which were to be instructive and regenerative fbr the German
people.
Aiming at interpretation rather than portraiture of
life, Wagner's dramas, like the Creek, are made up of long
scenes, generally between two or three characters who impress
us as types rather than individuals. Far from being mere per-

sonifications of abstract qualities, they past through bitter

agony and wildest ecstasy, yet convey a suggestion Of univer-
sality.2

These universal, Distanced types were placed in simplified, highly

selective scenes which were not expected to evolve rapidly into another

forward-moving situation. The scenes, which placed befOre the senses

typifying conditions, were so stripped of outward, motivated action that
the majority of the time occupied by the scene could be spent exploring a
single strong emotional situation, building it into such a psychologically
rich thing that this one event became symbolic of a major aspect of life
itself. All of the abstractions employed, stripping away layer after
1aYer of accretions, provided just the essence, the core, of a situation
which could be displayed with enormous precision. To have the symbol

make its full impact upon the viewer, Wagner also felt it necessary to

 

1Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., P- 26-

2Pearl C. Wilson, Wagner's Dramas and Greek Tragedy (New York:
COhmmia University Press, 1919), p. 17.

 

 

 

83

‘u3expand the symbol to its greatest possible magnitude, thus giving the

viewer a condensation of life in a larger—than-life—size form.
Actual life can only understand this condensed ferm
of itself when it appears magnified, strengthened and extra-
ordinary in comparison. It is just the diversity of action

and the distribution over time and space which prevents man
from understanding his own life's activity.

wagner worked quite consciously at the process of creating a frame-
work for the word-tone drama. He spent much of his time while writing the
smetches, the verses, the corrected verses, etc. seeking the proper symbol
narepresent his thoughts. Once found, though, he devoted himself to
(flothing that abstraction in such a sensuously rich verbal and musical
fifluic that its comprehension by the audience would be entirely empathic

and intuitional.

By casting his dramatic poem in a fOrm in which it penetrates
into the most delicate threads of the musical texture, the
poet can so completely capture the emotional sympathy of the
listener by the visible perfbrmance of a life-like action that
the listener is transported into an ecstatic state in which

he no longer feels his connection with the causal world and
submits himself to the new laws which are revealed to him by

the music.
POETRY
Wagner created a distinctive, Distanced type of poetry by barking
back to the poetic style of the prehistoric period of the Germanic myths
\duch he selected as plots fer his word-tone dramas. A good portion of

(here and Drama, the major theoretical statement of the principles of the

M

 

. 1Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 379. It should be noted that this
15 a clear statement of two of'the principal factors involved in the pro-

cess of Distancing: the clarity of the perception and the divorcement
from normal activities.

2Wagner quoted by Stein, op. cit., p. 153.

 

 

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Gesamtkunstwerk, is devoted to the exact relationship of individual vocal
sounds and their musical setting in this 'new' type of poetry.

Wagner flatly rejected, for his purposes, both normal speech, as
not being sufficiently emotional, and normal poetic forms, as being too

mechanical.

The language of today is the means by which intellect addresses
intellect, and as such cannot be used in the ideal drama.

But if the art—work of the future cannot use the ordin-
ary language of today, neither can it use modern poetic verse,
because of its artificial rhythmic patterns, which are fOreign
to the genius of the language, and rhyme, which throws into

relief, not the essential part of the phrase, but the last word
in the line.

 

Wagner's negative reaction toward the standardized Shakespearean
blank verse form would probably have delighted Brecht, who shared Wagner's
aversion for the metre used. Wagner said, in referring to his rejection
of the standard beat: ”We mean the so—called Iambic measure; in which it
is usual for our speech to appear before our eyes (and unfortunately our
ears also) like the apparition of some five-footed monstrosity."2 He had
two basic objections to the iambic, other than its artificiality and what
he felt to be, its musically useless stress. Wagner pointed out3 that
actors either spoke iambics as simple prose if they wished to appeal to the

intellect, or if they didn't grasp its meaning, they stressed the beat and

 

the result was a kind of melody without either tone or intelligibility.

Either way, the form did not serve its intended purpose.4 The second

 

‘_...—

1Ibid., p. 70.

2Wagner, Opera and Drama, ii. p. 426.

3172id., pp. 428-429.

4The relationship of iambic metre to both poetry and music is, of

course, far more complex than Wagner suggests here. In an effort to clear

the way for his 'new' poetic form, he oversimplified this form in order to
degrade it.

 

 

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85

major objection was that when musicians set iambic verses to music, they
could and did arbitrarily select a rhythm for the music, one which might
have nothing to do with the iambic pattern; and the combination worked.
If there were anything particularly sacrosanct about iambics, if they
really were a vital form, then this imposition of a varying musical rhythm
upon words presumably composed with another beat in mind would not be pos-
sible at all. The result would be cross-rhythms or chaos. Instead, one
hears only the musical beat and even the idea of iambics could be lost.
Thus, this pulsation was not a basic and overriding metre: any other
could work as well. Since this style of verse-composition was the dominant
one "the ideal perfecting of the opera that had hovered before many bril-
liant minds, could only be conditional upon an entire change in the charac-
ter of the poet's part in this art-product.”1

To find the precise nature of this required change in poetry, Wagner
mentally plunged backward through timeujust as he was to do when seeking
story lines-~to the poet of the ancient world, to his methods of composi-
tion and delivery, to his verse-form and to the presumed origin of his
language.

Wagner managed to link several aspects of his all-embracing theory
by a concept which was to be a basic principle of the later Brechtian
theatre as well: the narrator,

". . the narrator is the real poet." The narrator has at

his disposal, not only language, which is the highest, but
at the same time the most strictly conditioned faculty of the
P081: ; his words are accompanied by rhythmic movements of the
b0d)’, defining gestures; the words themselves too are sung,
“Gt Spoken. Wagner calls this language of gesture:2 "the

 

 

1Wagner, ”The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p. 150.

2Note the parallel opinion when Brecht stresses both gesture and
gestus. Both of these concepts will be defined and illustrated in the
chapter on Brecht's theories.

 

 

 

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86

most realistic of all arts," and to the language of tones alone
belongs, according to Shakespeare, the power "to hale souls out
of men's bodies." It is thus that the primitive poet sings; he

does not confine himself to words and concepts, he is at once
singer and representer.1

The reader will see by the end of this chapter why this linkage of such
diversified activities in a single myth-generating minstrel struck Wagner
as being important. The point to be noted at the moment is that this
narrative poet, this embryonic actor, according to Wagner, sang his primi-
tive tongue. This assumed fact prompted Wagner to assert that singing was
quite ancient; that, in fact, the evolution of language out of a type of
singing was entirely possible.

In Opera and Drama Wagner developed the idea of language evolving
out of an echoic beginning, based, in his mind, almost exclusively upon

the vowel sounds.

In these vowels, when we think of them as divested of their
consonants, and imagine them as merely the expression of a
manifold and graduated exchange of the various kinds of inner
feelings, ranging from the painful to the joyful, we acquire
a picture of that first emotional language of mankind which
could certainly have only consisted of a joining together of

expressive intonations; presenting themselves, entirely the
character of melody.2

He assumed this to have been the point of origin of all emotional language
because any involuntary expression of our inner conditions, he observed,

was likely to call forth an inarticulate, vowel-based sound (the scream of
fear, the wail of anguish) which "awakens a corresponding interior feeling
in all men within reach of the sound of it."3 If primitive man understood

such sounds as well as we do, then here was an obvious point for the

“-

1Chamberlain, op. cit., pp. 199—200.
2Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 397.

31bid., 11., p. 473.

 

 

 

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sound

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In

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87

beginning of the transmission of the all-important feeling-states from one
person to another. Language, Wagner said, was born in the sung vowel
somuL but came to absolute distinctness only with the addition of the
(fivisive consonant, that cold abstractive sound.

He then tried to combine his stressed-vowel language with the
manner in which our relatively perfected (but emotionally cold) modern
tongues diSplay intense emotional states, and from the blending, to de—
live the length of his 'human' poetic line, the manner of its delivery,
its accentuation, and all other necessary elements from which to build a

poetic form.

True attention to the mode in which we express any
superior excitement of the feeling in ordinary life will pro-
vide the poet with a reliable standard for the number of
accents in a natural phrase. At moments of outSpoken passion
we disdain those considerations upon which the drawn-out modern
phrase depends, invariably seeking to express ourselves with a
single breath, and in as short, concise and definite manner as
possible.

In this compressed mode of expression the strength of
our emotion causes us however also to employ a force of in-
tonation far greater than usual, simultaneously with which we
group the accents together more closely. We also raise our
voice animatedly to a higher pitch for the purpose of pausing
upon those accents to which we wish to give special weight, so
as to cause such accents to impress the feelings of ophers in
the same degree that we wish them to express our own.

muscan see here an attempt at deriving a foundation for many of Wagner's
"Blodic and musically rhythmic devices, as well as poetic ones.

When Wagner wished to write a poem as a basis for a music drama,
lus intention was always to achieve the maximum emotional effect. If he
ibund a greater degree of emotionality in his vowel-language than in

nudern German, then it made perfectly good sense to him to adopt this

 

 

 

1Ibid., p. 456.

 

 

 

88

primitive manner of Speaking as his poetic mode, to eliminate as many con-
sonants as possible, and to manipulate the word order so that most of the
'unintelligible,‘ but syntactically necessary, connective words were elim-

inated. This reduced the number of words, concentrated the emotional,

 

immediately perceptible atmosphere and allowed the human voice to move
from one vowel to another with relative ease and with an unbroken flow.
The forcefulness of this style can be most clearly experienced, perhaps,
in the first two acts of Die WalkzZre.

Wagner realized that this form of compressed language would seem
poetic only to some elements of his audience, so he sought a form which

would work with the other principles he had so painstakingly derived. To

 

fit the nature of the speech, the poetic form had to come out of the an—

cient past when that type of speech was still common. He found the form

 

he wanted in Stabreim or staff-rhyme.1 "Wagner saw in the staff-rhyme the
first attempt to systemise into poetry the elevated Speech of emotion, and
he discerned in it technical features admirably suited to his p1an."‘2
The characteristics of Stabreim are easy both to state and to hear
in a word-tone drama which employs this form. The basis of the form was
alliteration or the rhyming of consonantal sounds and the particular
patterning of the repetitions was specifically given for the older writers.
Staff-rhyme such as was used in ”Beowulf" or in the poetry of Caedmon had

its initial sound repetitions

. so arranged that in every couplet there should be two
principal words in the first line beginning with the same

 

M

1The attempt to use quantitative verse forms was obviously not a
new development with Wagner. It had been tried in a number of languages.

2Henderson, op. cit., p. 203.

pm

 

89

letter, which letter must also be the initial of the first word
on which the stress of the voice falls in the second line. The
only approach to a metrical system yet discovered is that two
risings and two fallings of the voice seem necessary to each

perfect line.1
Wagner did not follow the patterning consistently, often using
more alliteration than the staff-rhyme form required, but also, on oc-
casion using it precisely as defined and with great compactness of form.

Turning to the libretti for an example, the eye lights first upon Die

Walkit're and the Act 1, scene 3 disclosure of the presence of the sword

Nothung by Sieglinda. She says:

Eine Waffle lass mich dir weisen--
0 wenn du sie gewann'st!

Den hehrsten Helden

Dfirft' ich dich heissen:

Dem Starksten allein

ward sie bestimmt.

O merke was ich dir melde!--

Der Manner Sippe

Sass hier im Saal... .2

In both lines three and four and in lines seven, eight and nine there are
parallel pairs of alliterations employed in exact accordance with the
rules. The apparent interlocking of these words, intended to suggest a
relationship among them as well as an alliteration, was audible and always
present, even when the music only supplied the rhythm which normally be-
longed to these spoken words. These were flexible groupings of words
which retained their distinctive 'poetic' character (alliteration) while
allowing the music the greatest latitude in all other respects.

. . . these lines of staff-rhyme have no metrical domination
over the music. . . . the lines of the verse do not set the

h

lIbid., p. 201.

2Richard Wagner, The Authentic Librettos of the Wagner Operas
(New York: Crown Publishers, 1938), p. 151.

 

 

 

 

ml
aeces
taxes

in

 

 

 

limits fbr the phrases of the music as they do in the old
song forms . . . the composer is entirely free in his
phraseology, while he can never quite obliterate the rhythmic
basis of the verse. This plasticity was of inestimable im-
portance in the Wagnerian system, with its endless melody,
its independent accompaniments, and its disuse of the old

forms . 1

Having accepted the flexible staff—rhymeform, Wagner, with his
usual thoroughness, developed it a step farthur, a step which was almost
necessary for its employment in music. He harked back to his vital in-

terest in the vowel sounds and required that they, also, should rhyme.2

According to Wagner, the poet

. could render this comprehension by the sensuous under~
standing more throughly practicable by binding the vowels,
just as he had previously bound the consonants of the accen-
tuated root-words in their turn, into a rhyme; thus opening
up their intelligibility to Feeling in the most definite
manner.

Naturally, the open sound of the vowel would be important for the sustained
quality of any vocal lyric but its maximal use in the Wagnerian style of
composition was necessitated by the long-sustained lines of the melodies.
The composer therefore laid particular stress upon the vowels being linked
intimately with their surrounding consonants and upon changes in the vowel
sounds following the repetitive consonants in the alliterative verse form.
By continuous rhyming shifts of the vowels, the attention of the listener

was brought back to these basic emotional sounds which were merely separated

k

1Henderson, op. cit., p. 204. The old forms referred to are those

of the conventional songs which are based upon the repetition or doubling
0f.a one or two bar musical phrase to build the song to the proper length.
This conventional form automatically determined the length of all prior

Wagnerian melodies .

2To keep Wagner's contributions in reasonable perSpective, it
should be noted that assonance is as old and persistant as alliteration in

Poetic technique .

3Wagner, Opera and Drama, ii., p. 488.

 

 

 

 

n it
fie m:

min

 

 

hno intelligible words and linked into groups by the consonants. With

the rhyming vowels, Wagner had arrived at the last of his purely poetic

requirements for a verse form.

Thus it is by resolving the vowel of the root-word,
as accentuated and subject to initial rhyme, into its natural
element of musical tone, that the poet attains to certainty
in commencing to apply the tonal language. From this moment
he has no further need to arrange the relationship of accents
according to a measure recognisable by the "eye” of the sense
of hearing, because the vowels haverumvbecome musical tones
and thus themselves present the necessary relationship re-
quired for the quick reception of sensations.

To sum up this consideration of Wagner's poetry, one would say

that

The three most prominent characteristic features of
his theoretical verse form are alliteration, condensation,
and free rhythm. Alliteration, Wagner contends, can--and
in more primitive times did-—express an intuitive perception
of the relationship between different objects or qualities
(as in ”Lust” and ”Leid”). Condensation of the language per—
mits a higher percentage of root syllables, which, according
to Wagner's (and the Romantic) theory, derive from the early,
intuitive stages of language development. It also eliminates
to a large extent elements such as conjunctions and preposi-
tions, which bear no emotional quality. Free rhythm replaces
the regular rhythmic pulsation of most poetry with normal
speech rhythm, thus making possible an endless degree of sub—
tlety in accentuation for purposes of emotional shading.2

Poetry, because of its variance from normal speech, its concentra—
tion and its formality, is a Distancing device of great potency.
Poetry has the advantage of prose in its formal appeal and
consequently in the distance induced in the reader. The
value of this for the aesthetic effect has been so clearly
recognized that those modern writers who are in revolt

against conventional forms of poetry have cast prose in a
form which brings out the sound and rhythm values. . 3

libid. , pp. 489—490.

2Stein, op. cit., pp. 69—70.

3Herbert Sidney Langfeld, The Aesthetic Attitude (New York:
Harcourt, Brace and Company., 1920), P- 95

 

 

 

 

hgi

such

 

 

 

In essence, poetry is a method of divorcing and isolating these depicted
events from the flow of everyday life. No one Speaks poetry habitually,
concentrating and coloring images and, perhaps, seeking emotional responses
to the basic elements of the language. Once the ear is attuned to this
type of Speech, it may be charmed but the mind can never fail to be aware
of the difference between this method of Speech and all others. The
peculiarity of the poetic patterning causes one to be aware that the thing
perceivediis an art creation. Poetry does not belong to the real world.
"Peotry is life at the remove of form and meaning; not life lived but life
framed and identified."1 Thus, poetry is life which is Aesthetically

Distanced through form.

THE MYTHS
Wagner had many reasons for believing that the legendary or mytho-
logical were proper subjects for his music dramas. He felt a need for
such material as would be immediately intelligible, material either so
simple that it could be grasped without strain or so basic and universal
that it would have already been perceived by the viewer from his own life

and background .

In drama, therefore, an action can be explained only when it
is completely vindicated by the feeling; and it thus is the
dramatic poet's task, not to invent actions, but to make an
action so intelligible through its emotional necessity that
we may altogether dispense with the intellect's assistance
in its vindication.2

Wagner, like Brecht and so many other dramatists, did not feel that his

task as a poet and dramatist necessarily involved the generation of plots.

k

. 1Richard P. Blackmur, "A Critic's Job of Work," Problems in Aes-
thetics, ed. Morris Weitz (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1959), p. 660.

2Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 189.

 

 

 

 

 

has con
ht the pi
nbe prir
It
then there
had histo:
nths. A
that, h
tevelopne
too many
the intel
for
Where
the v
has 2
Had 1
then
Pitt
and (
hth his:

temp

Which I!“

to the e
\

ittail w
flitt pi

 

 

 

93

He was content to reshape ideas which already existed, provided that they

had the proper emotional increment. "The poet's attention has therefore

to be principally fixed upon the choice of action. . ."1

 

If Wagner had no intention of consciously constructing new plots,
then there was a necessity for a return to the past, and to either what
had historically existed or to what the people had formed in their racial
myths. After his rather uninspired brush with historical material in
Rienzi, Wagner turned emphatically away from this possible avenue of
development. There was too much of a detailed nature involved in history;
too many facts would have to be included: the drama would be crammed with
the intellectually valid but the emotionally useless. Wagner had no use
for

. . the vast mass of incidents and intricate associations,
whereof no single link could be omitted if the connection of
the whole was to be intelligibly set before the eye, [this]
was adapted neither to the form nor to the spirit of drama.
Had I chosen to comply with the imperative demands of history,
then. had my drama become an unsurveyable conglomerate of

pictorial incidents, entirely crowding out from view the real
and only thing I wished to Show . . .

 

Both history and the rather sprawling romance were too overburdened with
detail. Both of them were unacceptable to Wagner.

This left Wagner free to re5pond to the temper of his time in
which "The demand grew for the theatre as a refuge of 'the lost sense of
myth,‘ a place to 'forget the incidental and cast memory once more back

to the eternal. "'3 His thoughts turned to the basic drama of our

flu

1Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 367. The reference here is to plot
detail which embodies a specific thought. This statement does not con-
flict with the earlier point of avoiding physical action in favor of ideas.

2Wagner on Music and Drama, pp. 265 -266.

3Allan Lewis, The Contemporary Theatre (New York: Crown Publishers,
Inc., 1962), p. 219.

 

 

hi1

m—‘HfiI—OE‘

he

Eli

94

civilization, the Greek plays, where
. . he found that Aeschylus and Sophocles had used the great
myths of their people, and that by doing so they had brought
their theatre into direct relation with the national life and
thought. Why, then, could not he, by using the myths of the
Teutonic races, create genuine works of art and re-knit the
bond between the stage and the national heart?1
Not only did the myths go directly to the heart of human relations
Inn they also had a timeless, Distanced quality which would strike an art-
ist as sensitive as Wagner. In spite of the paradox of Wagner's desire for
:hmmdiacy of emotional contact and the temporal distance of such subjects,
the latter ”is a strong factor in preserving the [Aesthetically Distanced]
attitude. Pictures, plays, statues, which represent the life of the past
gwnerations hold the observer in the land of beauty with little difficulty.”2
The timelessness of these tales strongly suggested the eternal.
Only the archetypal situation, which existed at the beginning
of time and which would always exist, could serve Wagner's
purpose of presenting life as the "resultant not of arbitrary
forces but of eternal laws." And the archetypal situations
could be found only in myths.3
Wagunrwas interested in using these tales for didactic purposes,4 both for
the inculcation of national pride and for the embodiment of basic problems
0flummn life for which he felt he could point toward a solution. ”This

nude his dramas interpretations rather than representations of experience,

andlus characters typical rather than individual.”5

nu—h

 

1Henderson, op. cit., p. 184.
2Langfeld, op. cit., p. 75.

' 3Geldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 25. This was one of the
Whats upon which Wagner and Brecht differed: Brecht denied eternal laws
Of this sort.

. 4"Only in the most perfect artwork therefore, in the drama, can
durinsight of the experienced one impart itself with full success . . .“
”097191” on Music and Drama, p. 188.

5Wilson, op. cit., p. 14.

 

 

 

reti

for

of

95

In the myth Wagner, along with many other artists of his period,
found the ideal plastic substance from which to create anew.

The rediscovery of myth provided the Romantic artist
with an ideal solution to his problem, for myth arose from
psychological depths even more profbund than those plumbed
by self-reflection, and myth likewise provided character,
action, and locale of a kind suitable fer epic or tragic
treatment while remaining distinct from even the most idealized
representations of actual life. Myth, as a symbolist critic
has said, could "satisfy the intellect while safeguarding the

rights of the dream."1

 

From The Flying Dutchman on, throughout the remainder of his career, Wagner
relied upon the legendary, the mythological and the religious as the sources
for his symbolic vessels of meaning.

The application of the concepts of empathy and Aesthetic Distance
to mythological material is easily made. "In general it may be said that

a play dealing with exotic or tmfamiliar places and characters will bear

 

stronger empathies than a play dealing with everyday life."2 By removing

the incidents of the drama from the normal Sphere of everyday life, it is
then possible to increase its empathic content without having the audience
members project themselves into the Situation too forcefully. The lack
<fi?contact with the period or location prevents the audience from reaching
mnecstatic empathic state too easily. For this reason, the removal in
time of the plot lines in the Wagnerian dramas allowed the composer to
mnwmcharge the emotional atmOSphere of the poetic lines as well as of the
nmsical lines. The gods, demi-gods, giants, dwarfs, dragons and other
assorted creatures Obviously did not dwell in this sphere, so if Wagner

hmithem engage occasionally in adultery, incast and various other

.—

1Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 21.

2Dolman, op. cit., p. 222.

math:

to uh

tluded

 

 

 

 

 

empathically questionable activities, the Distancing helped the audience

to maintain its emotional balance.

Other factors in the myths which helped to create Distance in-

cluded these:

. . . a play that is fancifully or idealistically treated will
bear more empathy than one realistically treated. The material

: nmy be familiar enough, but if the spirit is one of idealization,

t that in itself helps to preserve aesthetic distance. All other

3 things being equal, a costume play is less likely to break down
under excessive realism than a play in modern dress; a play
in verse is less likely than a play in prose; a play in the
heroic mood is less likely than one in a plaintive or pessimis-
tic mood. A little study of such contrasts will reveal a great

deal about the balance of empathy and aesthetic distance.

Wagner used every one of the Distancing devices mentioned above and then

added the sheen of a new method of musical composition to an already com-

plex and sophisticated art creation. In this massing of detail which

produced an almost infinite number of aspects to which the audience might
h attend, Wagner seems a good example with which to support Bullough's state—

ment, "In general the emphasis of composition and technical finish increases
with the Distance of the subject-matter . ."2

The works which Wagner created are so complex that

The problem with Wagnerian stage art is how visually

to present the different levels or planes on which it exists at
one and the same time. Here the treatment of allegory and sym-

bolism of Christianity or of classical myth was of course familiar
to medieval audiences. A spectator of the "Ring" has no such
levels or terms of reference. He has to bring, so to speak, his

own contribution to a work of symbolic art.

1Dolman, op. cit., pp. 222-223.

ZBullough, op. cit., p. 115.

. 3W. H. Haddon Squire, “Wagner's 'Endless Melody,” The Christian
Seience Monitor Magazine Section, August 5, 1950. P~ 7.

 

 

not

how

the

97

This multi-layered reality exists in large part because of the starting

point in myths which had grown in complexity, profundity and references

for- hundreds or thousands of years. The Ring spectator who comes from a

social backgrOLmd other than the Germanic does have to supply content
which Wagner, and presumably most modern Germans, learned as children.

But these nationalistic operas were written for the German people.

The Germanic myths were a perfect choice for his purposes: simple,

emotional, symbolic, eternal, and strongly national.

THE MUSIC

The things which were radically different about the Gesamtkunstwark

flowed from Wagner's conception of music and of the relative importance of

the various performing agencies. It was in his music, rather than in his

dramas, that Wagner made his permanent contributions and where his theories

have been most influential. The most important of these contributions was

the Leitmotive which grew out of practices which the composer evolved

while writing The Flying Dutchman.

This first principle was that the musical expression of a par-
ticular mood, having been found, should be retained. "When a
nwntal mood returned," he says, "its thematic expression also,
as a matter of course, was repeated, since it would have been
arbitrary and capricious to have sought another motive so long
as the object was an intelligible representation of the sub-

ject and not a conglomeration of operatic pieces."
This first principle of repetition was a step in the disposition of the

set display-piece, the aria, since the aria was a complete musical entity

Which never reappeared in a conventional opera. At the same time this

Principle began the shaping of the musical form of the work and started

the process of endowing a given theme or motive with many layers of

 

1Henderson, op. cit., p. 186.

 

 

 

att
hitr
har

real

 

 

meaning as it recurred in varying settings and consequently acquired dif-

finent shadings of meaning. The ”musical repetitions were bound to become

lumerous and to acquire from the text a direct and unmistakable signifi—

cance . . ."1

When the rather lengthy themes used in the early works were
shortened and were repeated often enough, they became Leitmotives, ”the
musical incarnation of a situation, a character, or a mood, from which

afll conceivable tonal and psychological mutations would follow later as a

nutter of course.”2 In short, the motives became "symbols, and hence ar-

tfixrary signs, but not more arbitrary than words. All language is arbi-

trary convention. Only the emotional elements at the bottom of it are

real, absolute, universal."3

The onlooker, who reads these symbols, will feel the emotions
which normally accompany awareness of such symbols and their
meaning and not the feeling which would have accompanied the
events signified, were they actually taking place. . music
symbolizes emotion; "music sounds the way emotions feel."

Thus the listener's emotive set is that which accompanies
awareness of music-aS-symbol-of-such-and-such. The empathic
responses to a work of art are, then, always elements within

the larger whole re5ponse to the symbol.

That final statement contains the link between the leitmotive and both

elements of the Aesthetic Distance theory.

The Leitmotives of a Wagnerian opera

lIhid., p. 188.

2Newman, The wagner Operas, p. 195.

3Henry Edward Krehbiel, Studies in the wagnerian Drama (New York:
Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1902), p. 21.

4Edward G. Ballard, Art and Analysis (The Hague, Netherlands:
thrtinus Nijhoff, 1957), p. 105.

 

 

and ag
the ea
the ob
sion 0
is for
inn these
if netting
tarts. He
natives ll
rhythmic :
50 th:
all ti
and it
only
of pa
from
If this k
Knives 5

mil bece

tree but

it 0am

The 1
has w:
h the Vt
the ObVll
histra,

\

Ping (Ne

 

99

. are the easier to learn because they are repeated again
and again; and the main ones are so emphatically impressed on
the ear whilst the spectator is looking for the first time at
the objects, or witnessing the first strong dramatic expres—

sion of the ideas they denote, that the requisite association
is formed unconsciously.

From these germinal motives, with their continually increasing increments
of meaning, Wagner wove virtually the whole of the musical texture of his
works. He bound the whole together through the repetitions of these

motives in endlessly varied permutations and transformations, melodic,

rhythmic and harmonic .

So that this unity consists in a tissue of root themes pervading
all the drama, themes which contrast, complete, reshape, divorce,
and intertwine with one another as in the symphonic movement;
only that here the needs of the dramatic action dictate the laws
of parting and combining, which were there originally borrowed
from the motions of the dance.

If this kind of writing is properly done, the musical symbols or "leading
motives serve simultaneously a psychological and a musical purpose . . ."3
They become the most meaningful element in the drama and they allow a

free but repetitive form for the musical portion of the music drama.

THE ORCHESTRA

The most startling thing about the motives to be used in Wagnerian

operas was that, in the majority of their appearances, they were not given

to the vocalists. Since Wagner's inspiration was symphonic in its origin,

the obvious placement for the development of the motives was in the or—

chestra, not on the stage. Wagner had many reasons for this approach

 

. 1Bernard Shaw, The Perfect Wagnerite: A Commentary on the [Viblung's
Rhng (New York: Brentano's, 1929), p. 119.

2Wagner on Music and Drama, pp. 229—230.

3Newman, The Wagner Operas, p. 493.

 

 

 

100

but among the clearest were these:

The poet's duty is to awaken in us a warning mood . . .
so that, by means of its longing to become definite, we may be
converted into his necessary co—workers in creation of the art—
work. By causing us to feel this longing he acquires, as to-
wards our excited sensibility, the conditioning power which
alone can render it possible for him to give the required form
to the characters he has in view, in full correspondence with
his intention. It is in evoking such moods as the poet finds
necessary for the purpose of securing our cooperation that ab-
solute instrumental speech has already proved itself all-powerful;
for it was precisely in the excitement of indeterminate and warn-
ing sensations that its peculiar effectiveness consisted . . .
If we must regard that artistic form as the highest which can
be comprehended entirely without reflection, and by which the
conception of the artist is most clearly communicated to the
emotions, then, if we desire to find this ferm in the musical
drama . . . , the orchestra of the symphonist is the marvellous

instrument that alone can make a presentation of this form
possible.2

The purpose of the augmented, Wagnerian, symphonic orchestra was
to absorb and manipulate the motives, with all of their abstract, symbolic

implications, thus granting to the orchestra the ability to participate in

the development of the drama. If it possessed the power of utilizing the

symbolic language of the motives, then the orchestra could comment on the
action taking place on the stage, could overlay this action with still
further implications by cross—reference to the qualities, attributes, con-

ditions and personalities denoted by the motives. The orchestra could

Speak, saying precisely those things which the characters were unable to

or would never commit themselves to saying. ”. . . we have plainly to de-

note this speaking faculty of the orchestra as the faculty of uttering the

unSpeakable.”3

 

1Wagner, Opera and Drama, ii., p. 590.

2Wagner, ”The Music of the Future,” Art Life and Zheories, p. 181.

3Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 217.

 

 

 

 

101

lb expected the orchestral transmutations of the motives to supply not
mfly the musical fabric but references back to the motives' points of
origin and, through the tendency of one phrase to lead inevitably to an—

other, foreshadowings of the necessary development of the drama, musically

and dramatically.

We have already acquired from the orchestra the capa—
bility of awakening warnings and remembrances. We have con-
ceived Warning to be the preparation for an appearance announc-
ing itself finally in gesture and verse-melody. Remembrance,
on the other hand, we have taken as derived from it . . .1
It is quite clear to see that Wagner thought of these as com-
plimentary and equally important functions of the orchestra,
yet it is equally plain that the reminiscences could be much
more precisely defined and that they were a far more effec-
tive integrating device. The motifs of reminiscence are the

theoretical prototypes of what are now universally termed
"Leitmotifs, ” .

The key use for the motives was that of reminiscence. It is
always relatively easy to cast the thoughts back to what has transpired-
it is not always so easy to predict where the musical flow must go next

particularly in Wagner's later works where the transitions between any

 

two motives might be most abrupt and justified only by what was occurring

/
on the stage. ‘

When a motive of reminiscence functioned in the preScribed manner

The sounding of this motif unites a non-present conditioning
emotion with the present one conditioned by it.
The genuine motifs of reminiscence, then, are a power-

ful device for binding together and tightening the structure
of the musical drama .

The orchestra could expound a motive of reminiscence, or one of

Premonition, at any moment within the score. The reason for its use

1Wagner, Opera and Drama, ii., p. 602.

zStein, op. cit., pp. 74-75.

31bid., p. 77.

 

fight be t‘
light be t
orchestra
hpotent l1

hieh all

when 1
point
wide
to the
chest
exact
the a
pose

word-
point
daily
sates
and f
mains

1
the prim

full} in g

102

nught be that: (1) an object or a place was mentioned, or (2) a character
nfight be thinking of things other than those under discussion (and the
(nthestra 'told' the audience of it), or (3) the orchestra, in an om-
rfipotent manner, could infbrm the audience of the nature of something of
lunch all characters on the stage might be ignorant,1 or (4)
. motifs of reminiscence [might] be used only at moments
when the emotional level of the melodic verse falls to a
point where its relationship with ordinary Speech is most
evident; that is to say, when it makes its appeal primarily
to the intellect. At these moments, the motifs in the or-
chestra were to keep the emotional level high. His [Wagner's]
exact words are, "The orchestra is the medium fer maintaining
the unity of expression at all times. Wherever, for the pur-
pose of defining the dramatic situation more clearly, the
word-tone language of the actors must . . . descend to the
point where it reveals its kinship with the language of
daily life as a medium of intellect, the orchestra compen—
sates for this by its ability to convey the reminiscences
and forebodings musically, so that the awakened feeling re-
mains in its uplifted mood.”2
In this manner, the orchestra, working with the motives, became
the primary focus of attention and the primary generator of the Distanced

form in a music drama.

MELODY

Since the normal operatic aria was banished from Wagner's later
hunks and the bulk of the music was made up of two, three, and feur bar
Imnives, in infinite combinations, the question often posed was whether
hhgner's operas were without melody. The answer to the question depended

Immn the nature of the definition one gave to the word melody. The

 

 

‘_—

. lThe first example of such a use of motives which comes to mind

15 in the conclusion of Act I of Rarsifal. Neither Gurnemanz nor Parsifal
realize that parsifal is indeed the destined redeemer in the play. But if
the audience knows the Redeemer motive, they can scarcely fail to hear it
msthe orchestra plainly says that Parsifal is the desired ”pure fool."

2 .
Stein, 0p. Ctt., pp. 96-97.

 

 

 

alder, pat
wharatie
ofthe ”S;
histersiz
these and
he opera
primary ch
elody, h
interplay
expressed
teristics
In 5
limit
Wagne
ing 1
itse]
1ati<
helm
of a

1

51h as .
listener
and dist
thuld be
he ”10
Wists a
halts “0
hey mg
\

103

cflder, pattern-type melody, based upon the dance and its rhythms, was
comparatively rare in the mature Wagner's creations; one thinks perhaps
ofthe ”Spring Song” in Die malkfire, of the "Quintet" or the "Prize Song” from
Meistersinger, or of "Siegfried's Funeral March" from Gb’tterdc’imerw’zg;
these and some few other portions of various works function outside of
the operas as independent musical creations. But this was not Wagner's
primary concern. While he was perfectly capable of writing this type of
nelody, he was much more interested in evolving his melodies from the
interplay of the motives of the drama. This led to a new type of melody,
expressed in a different manner and with some rather surprising charac-
teristics.

. . . the Wagnerian melody is not subject to the laws of regu—

lar symmetrical construction, nor forced to move within the

limits of one tonality, nor yet to end with a perfect cadence.

Wagner's melody is free and infinite in the sense of not be—

ing finished, that is to say, never ending and always liking

itself to another melody, thus admitting of all possible modu-

lations. It is, if you prefer, an uninterrupted sequence of

melodic contours, or broken bits of melody having more or less
of a vocal character.

Writing in this style one would seldom achieve a beZ canto line
such as the Italians or the French composed but, on the other hand, if the
listener had‘the attention-Span and pattern sense to recOgnize the repeated
and distinctive elements, an entire act of one of Wagner's creations
could be regarded as a single continuous melody. The precise nature of
the melody depended upon no formal consideration, but rather upon the
twists and turns of the plot line. Thus the melody and its sequence of
parts would never be the same for any two Wagnerian works, even though

they might deal with aspects of the same action, as in The Ring, and be

 

‘_.-
fl

1Lavignac, op. cit., pp. 237-238.

 

 

 

:nposed n
his math:
and its ft
he was 2
Bath, and
nition of
eledy, tl
the the
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Ltd‘n 19

 

composed of motives the audience had heard before. " . . . in following
this method a richness and inexhaustibleness [sic] are added to melody
and its form, of which, without this method, one can form no idea."1
Here was a contrapuntal, polyphonic method at least as rich as that of
Bach, and with the same demand for strict audience attention and recog-
nition of technical mastery. To be fully aware of the nature of such a
melody, the audience had to be highly Distanced at all times and, to de-
rive the maximum of communication from the music, it had to be actively
engaged in abstractive activity, rather than simply responding to the
sensual aSpects of the sounds.2

This conception of melody, growing out of the leitmotive and
centered primarily in the orchestra, called for a number of realignments
in the balance of the opera as a whole. The leitmotive has been "charged
with having transformed the operatic score into symphony with declamatory
and pantormimic accompaniment."3 If the melody was to be located some-
where other than in the singer, then quite often "the singer . . . [was]
allotted a form of recitative known as Sprechgesang; but this itself de-
mands melodious delivery . . ."4 Finally, with the involved melodic
themes "became a descriptive essence of the drama itself; often so

graphically indicating the nature of a character's thought that his

 

1Wagner, "The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p. 174.

_ 2This is not what Wagner's theories indicate that he wanted but

it is the inevitable response of the audience if it is to understand and
rfiSpond to the music. There is an obvious conflict between Wagner's stated
aim and the specific method he used to achieve his purposes.

3W. J. Henderson, Preludes and Studies (New York: Longmans,
Green and Company, 1894), p. 51.

4Audrey Williamson, Wagner Opera (London: John Colder [Publisher]
Ltd., 1962), p. 72.

 

 

 

that
area

in fel

he a
ton nn
hieh

seenin

eased
absel
nelod

tan b

105

lfis words are almost superfluous."1 But all of these shifts in emphasis
were accomplished in a Geswntkwestuerk and a balance was struck which can
be felt if it cannot be formally described.

Not all of the music in a music drama was strictly derived from
the motives; there was in this, according to Lavignac, the possibility of
too mudh tension.2 So, instead, there were occasional set-pieces (melodies
infich could be given to the organ-grinder, as Wagner said) and ”purely
scenic music, such as that of the sailors in the first scene of 'Tristan
Lmd Isolde,’ or the 'Waldweben' of 'Siegfried.'”3 These elements either
eased the tension or painted mood-pictures with a few deft strokes of
absolute music. It was in such scenic music and in his motive-based
nedodies that Wagner "found an agency for symbolism in the poetic drama
far beyond the loftiest dreams of the poet of the Spoken play."4

Here, again, one is made aware of the multi-layered, abstractive
mulsymbolic activity pitted against the super-sensual and empathic tech-
nique which Wagner evolved. The tension generated between these activi-
ties pulling the viewer in opposite directions is half the fascination of
hhgner's work. It is also the factor which positions the audience member

Properly in relation to the extremes of the Aesthetic Distance scale.

FINAL MUSICAL CONSIDERATIONS
Three final points of importance to this study should be made in

regard to Wagner's musical methods. They concern his Special use of key

——k

 

lIbid.
2Lavignac, op. cit., p. 246.
3Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 189.

4Ib12d. , p. 206.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

nlatic
wine
m n

tlnnsh:

he
“ath]

106

relationships, the length of his operas, and the fact that his leit«
motive system is based upon an abstractive use of the memory rather than
upon mere emotion. "In the musical poetic verse, by means of key rela—
tionships expressed through modulation from one key to another, a more
extensive alliteration is possible."1 Indeed, Wagner used alliterative
key relationships,2 assigning like-natured themes to the same key in
their original introduction or restricting the variations of a theme to
given keys, in order to produce, for the musically minded, the same effects
of linkage which he achieved through normal alliteration in the poetry.
Secondly, for those who were capable of following such subtle matters,
the composer again provided an abstract, symbolic method of perceiving
relationships which could be stated in no other manner. Such perceptions
could come only to the trained ear which was supported by a highly Dis-
tanced mind.

Since "Wagner conceived the music to be inseparable from the speech
[the dialogue of his works] and therefore to be completed only at the end
of the drama,"3 he might well speak of continuous expression and boast:
”We have shown it as a thing by all means possible . ."4 What is not
generally remembered except by those who are bored by Wagnerian perform—

ances, is the actual length of time involved in this flow of continuous

expression. The Ring of the Nibelungen is actually a single composition,

 

1Stein, op. cit., p. 73.
2" . . the Walhalla motiv affects keys abounding in flats; the

Sword appears most often in C major; the Fire much prefers sharps; the
Walkyrie sleeps in E major, etc." Lavignac, op. cit., p. 246.

 

3Henderson, Richard Wagner, pp. 186—187.

4Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 230.

 

 

hiour part5, a d”
performance, with ea
line being shorter.
is almst unbelievab
inaneestatic, empa
not even a Wagnerian
span in which the we
thing the audience
isbound to turn to
Father-dragons which
tub-octave leaps, et
fatigue of the poem
lhedraua through me
The part to
straction and the g1
but this chapter bu‘
, . . if the li.
Whip, the £0
us more securel

Intensity of hi
555 to the com

n'
his, of course, wa
mm ”3M5 his an
innate thOUghts an

stipulated a Chain

Miner's demands

has the °°mpos
effing ) fire

1
Haezrahi,

107

in four parts, a dramatic symphony which extends over fourteen hours of
performance, with each sub—drama lasting around four hours, the prelude
alone being shorter. The Span of comprehension demanded of the auditor

is almost unbelievable. Certainly no one could remain, as Wagner wished,
in an ecstatic, empathic relationship with anything for such a period,

not even a Wagnerian score. Somewhere during the performance, the time
span in which the work is cast will prevent Wagner's intention of hypno-
tizing the audience throughout the performance and the auditor's attention
is bound to turn to other things, usually to flaws in the performance:
Fafner-dragons which are merely laughable, missed notes in the almost
two-octave leaps, etc. When this sort of break occurs through sheer
fatigue of the powers of perception, the auditor has to be lured back into
the drama through means other than empathy, through ideas.

The part to be played in the perception of Wagner's works by ab—
straction and the generally Distanced attitude has been implied through-
out this chapter but it can, perhaps, be summarized by two quotations:

. . . if the listener does not remain conscious of the crafts—
manship, the form, the art in the music he hears, then as he
is more securely bound by the enchantment of sound and as the
intensity of his enchpntment grows it comes to owe less and
less to the composer.
Hus, of course, was what Wagner thought he wanted but, in reality, no
artist wants his audience to drift away from the art work into their own
private thoughts and pay no attention to the art object once it has
stimulated a chain of reflection. The mutually contradictory nature
of Wagner's demands are made quite clear here:

Does the composition, as a whole, touch the emotions, quicken
the fancy, fire the imagination?" If it does these things, we

 

1Haezrahi, op. cit., p. 47.

 

 

 

 

my, to a great
intellectual pr
are conditioned

which it is the
of memory is ca
any other art,
which repetitio
l‘hellistanced attit

and emotional music

An attempt
lapel-'5 all-embrac
of these parts refei
Distance and its sul

The history
gene into art cham
me sketched in on
Upon the social and
hewhole. This 5«
its which Bertolt B

The central
entered, in Wagner
tutional, symbolic
hlile the convent'
Iltdnuna was. We
it to the usual op

hasenging of its

lhehbiel,

108

may, to a great extent, if we wish, get along without the
intellectual processes of reflection and comparison, which
are conditioned upon a recognition of the themes and their
uses. But if we put aside this intellectual activity, we
shall deprive ourselves, among other things, of the pleasure
which it is the province of memory to give; and the exercise
of memory is called for by music much more urgently than by
any other art, because of its volatile nature and the role
which repetition plays in it.

The Distanced attitude is important in even this most designedly empathic

and emotional music.

SUMMARY
An attempt has been made here to explain most of the aspects of
Wagner's all—embracing Gesamtkunstwerk theory and to demonstrate how each

of these parts referred in one way or another to the idea of Aesthetic

 

Distance and its sub-divisions.

The history of Wagner's revolutionary activity and of its diver-
gence into art channels and the history of the Gesamtkunstwerk concept
were sketched in order to show that Wagner's ideas were firmly grounded
upon the social and artistic ideas of his day and of the Romantic period
as a whole. This section also clearly indicates attitudes and circumstan—
ces which Bertolt Brecht was to duplicate two generations later.

The central core around which the Gesamtkunstwerk was always
centered, in Wagner's mind, was the Drama. The telling of a concentrated,

emotional, symbolic tale was the sole purpose announced for a music drama.
{Mlike the conventional opera, music was not the focal point of interest:
the drama was. Wagner refused to distort his plot line or to restrict
it to the usual operatic form because this would have resulted in a

lessenging of its dramatic effectiveness. He refused to give the audience

 

1Krehbiel, op. cit., p. 35.

 

 

nthe singers mere
heather standard a
story.
And it was this
of the subject,
with it in the
together, you of
"innovation" re

Wagner com
the ease with which
msical ends and be
linstrel-poet of th
should be.

His form of
ten-classical stage
to particular vowel
his poetic line was
odified somewhat in
hole of his poetry
rhythm and vowel st:

lhe sources

ligious sytdaols and

the beginnings of ti

    
  
   
   

Served repositories
touching upon arche
tionships. Wagner

People, in their a

lWagner, "

109

or the singers mere display pieces or to bow to their wishes in regard to
the other standard aspects of opera. He was determined to tell a dramatic
story.

And it was this doing away with all ”concession" in the matter

of the subject, which made it possible for me to also do away

with it in the musical execution; and in these things, taken

together, you will perhaps find the best example of what my
"innovation" really consists in . 1

Wagner composed his dramas in poetic form because of tradition,

 

the ease with which poetic lines, of the right sort, could be adapted to
musical ends and because he thought he detected in the myth-generating
minstrel-poet of the ancient world a basic prototype of what an artist
should be.

His form of poetry was radically different from Shakespearean or

nee-classical stage Speech, growing, as it did, out of his sensitivity

 

to particular vowel and consonant sounds. The form he finally gave to
his poetic line was that of the alliterative Stabreim or staff-rhyme,
modified somewhat in order to give more prominence to the vowels. The
whole of his poetry was characterized by alliteration, condensation, free
rhythm and vowel stress.

The sources for his plot-lines were ancient myths, legends, re-
ligious symbols and other artifacts of the long-vanished days which marked
the beginnings of the Teutonic peoples. By drawing upon these orally pre-
served repositories of the folk—wisdom of the people, he could be sure of
touching upon archetypal situations. which would display basic human rela-
tionships. Wagner could deal with basic ethical problems and show how his

People, in their aggregate wisdom, had decided that such things should be

 

 

1Wagner, “The Music of the Future," Art Life and Theories, p. 188,

 

hidled. By so doi
slnsical form easi
It the same time.
ill.

The music w
ventional part of h

style mnsic since i

 

the dramatic action
tion of a purely

In lieu of
stituted a series 0
Ihich were intended
places and things w
Sybols, used to or
the orchestra, and
resulted, in their
lhldh could be sust
length of an act.
the plot of the drz
and avoided all um
entirely dependent

on the stage.

 
 

The action
lsanethod whereb

lSical developmen

ofsword-tone dr

 

110

handled. By so doing, he secured material which he could translate into

a musical form easily and he felt that he would be fostering national pride
at the same time. The myth was the most natural subject in the world for
him.

The music with which he clothed his dramas was the most uncon-
ventional part of his creations. Wagner rejected the formal, pattern-
style music since it lacked the flexibility which would allow it to follow
the dramatic action and it was likely to lead into unnecessary ornamenta-
tion of a purely musical and non—dramatic sort.

In lieu of the usual sort of music used in operas, Wagner sub-
stituted a series of extremely short musical phrases, called leitmotives,
which were intended to depict some aspect or characteristic of people,
places and things which played important parts in the drama. These musical
symbols, used to create forebodings and reminiscences, played primarily by
the orchestra, and used in every conceivable manner and transformation,
resulted, in their interweaving, in the generation of a continuous melody
which could be sustained in unbroken emotional intensity for the entire
length of an act. Because of its origination out of the intricacies of
the plot of the drama, such a melody had no formal or symmetrical shape
and avoided all unnatural repetitions. Its character and complexity were
entirely dependent upon the requirements of the emotional states depicted
on the stage.

The action of the dramas was clearly visualized by Wagner, often
as a method whereby he could find points upon which to secure the further
musical development, but he never theoretically explained the generation

of a word-tone drama's action.

 

 

 

 

 

JVWAEW“ " '

'lhe conscio

ion the eliminatio.
epothic responses.
explanation of many
stately aware of th
his selection of ta
densatiou and magni
indifferent time

could he have subcc

 

which he wrote and

V audience of the as

lone specifically

vious operatic nuts

ahaguerian opera

dramatically, will
have tried to deny
all other art. Th

notional in the G

 

111

The conscious intent on Wagner‘s part, in all cases, seems to have

been the elimination of thought and the emphasizing of completely emotional,

empathic responses. This was his announced goal; this was the apparent
explanation of many parts of his theory and his practice. Yet that he was
acutely aware of the necessity of Aesthetic Distance was amply shown by
his selection of tales from other times, which, through a process of con-
densation and magnification could show types, not individuals, operating
in a different time scale to present eternal truths in a poetic form. Nor
could he have subconsciously escaped knowing that music of the complexity
which he wrote and dependent as it was upon the conscious awareness of the
audience of the associations and intimations of each motive, demanded a
more Specifically chosen Distance than did the formal nature of all pre-
vious Operatic music. The audience m_u_s_t_ think during the performance of
a Wagnerian opera or the whole point of the creation, musically and
dramatically, will be missed. Aesthetic Distance, much as Wagner might
have tried to deny it, was just as important to his works as it is to

all other art. There was a balance struck between the abstractive and the

emotional in the Geswntkunstuerk.

hllhli |

 

 

 

 

 

Having cons '

theories, even in t
dnpter, one might
Would result from t
cold and forbidding
his sole purpose in
theories was just 11
Ihich he subconscio
point of those work
reetly affect the e
lectual participatii
In Wagner‘s
has the thing and t‘

advised to begin th
m

1" . . . I
odindubitable to
theoretical prob]
the consciousness .

‘ 2"And it is
htpoet's insight

will address
losses. It will 1):
lHill be a true 5
lIan, Wagner as l

 

CHAPTER IV

WAGNER'S OPERAS

Having considered Wagner's extremely involved and exhaustive
theories, even in the highly condensed form presented in the previous
chapter, one might well come to the conclusion that the dramas which
would result from the application of such detailed theorizing would be
cold and forbidding. Of course, Wagner's works are anything but that.
His sole purpose in evolving such highly intellectual and abstractive
theories was just to put into concrete form the techniques and devices by
which he subconsciously and instinctively wrote his major works.1 The
point of those works, as has undoubtedly been stressed enough, was to di~
rectly affect the emotions of the auditors, not to stimulate their intel-
lectual participation . 2

In Wagner's mind at the time he wrote his major operas, the play

was the thing and those seeking some acquaintance with his work are well

advised to begin their studies with the libretti. Even if the reader

1” . . . I felt myself compelled to treat what had become certain
and indubitable to me in my own artistic observations and production, as
a theoretical problem, in order to make it entirely clear to my reflec-
tive consciousness." Wagner, "The Music of the Future," p. 161.

2"And it is only in the most perfect art-work, the drama, that
the poet's insight into life can find complete expression, because this
drama will address not the understanding, but the feeling, through the
§enses. It will present the poet's view of life physically to the eye;
It Will be a true emotionalisation _o_i; the intellect." Wagner quoted in
Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist, pp. 201-202.

 

112

 

 

 

 

names, as most pe

Id only secondaril
ml: is still imp
the text the music
ndude vital. B
poetry."2 Therefo
ennination of the
donut among many
If these w
is Iade that they
right be. As a re
will be given and
Aristotle's divisi
[4) diction, (5)
iron sense to be
tossion which is d
Before con
Stress to the reac‘
ioall of them; in

section will be an

M

1"The mus:
hot the perception
‘W. Wagner as

me (New York:

2llenderso

 

 

113

assumes, as most pe0ple seem to today,1

that Wagner was primarily a musician
and only secondarily a poet or a playwright, the study of the texts of his
works is still important: "By the text the music must be measured. By
the text the music must be understood. By the music the text is illuminated
and made vital. But every measure of Wagner's music is explained by the
poetry."2 Therefore, it is proposed that this chapter be devoted to an
examination of the texts, with attention paid to the music only as one
element among many for the furtherance of the dramatic action.

If these works are to be regarded as dramas, then an assumption
is made that they may be criticised and evaluated, much as any other play
might be. As a result, a sketch of the plot of the work to be considered
will be given and then it will be more closely examined on the basis of
Aristotle's division of a drama into (1) plot, (2) character, (3) thought,
(4) diction, (5) music and (6) spectacle. The cements offered here are
in no sense to be regarded as a complete criticism, but rather as a dis-
cussion which is dominated by the idea of Aesthetic Distance.

Before considering the dramas individually, it may be well to
stress to the reader certain aSpects of these plays which apply equally

to all of them; in this way a certain amount of repetition within each

section will be avoided.

 

1"The musician in Wagner ruled the poet is plain enough to us now,
but the perception of this truth was always denied to Wagner himself."

Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist, p. 216. "Wagner the musician invariably
prevails. He is better than his theories, better than his philosophy,
better than his drama, essential as those are.” Lawrence Gilman, Wagner '3

Operas (New York: Farrar and Rinehart, Inc., 1937), p. 104.

2Henderson, Richard Wagner, p. 219.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are 51
either an Opera or 1
:heSpectator'S 1‘83'
The inn

outward meanS,
tance to the 5P
dialectics of C
iii of these appl)’
are obvious in the
play. All will be
discussion, along w
wfle,etc., but ti
isthat of symboli:
bhile Wagner is re:
asynbolist playwr
not exist on two 0
this aspect of his
bother Wagner con
”ml debatable,
“0" Smbolic the w
andmethods are d(
of his "01k. Sub:

i - .
sMaintained whe;

lbiichelis

2
that "becordi-
on we may find ‘
, h?" 0 nak
vp‘ at” p 131W

3
Ballard,

114

There are stylistic features imparted to any work intended as
efither an opera or as a music-drama which will determine in large measure
the spectator‘s reaction to the work.
The inner means which art possesses do not, like its

outward means, impose, but merely suggest, the aesthetic dis-

tance to the Spectator. These means are rhythm, harmony, the

dialectics of composition, symbolism, and chiefly, style.
All of these apply quite clearly to Wagner's efforts, some of them being
nmre obvious in their application to a musical work than to a normal stage
phnn All will be considered at various places throughout the following
<fiscussion, along with comments on the outward means, such as staging,
scale, etc., but the factor which the author wishes to stress at the moment
is that of symbolism, a definite and conscious method of producing Distance.
iWfiJe Wagner is regarded as a Romantic composer, he must be classified as
a symbolist playwright. There is no one of his mature works which does
not exist on two or more levels at the same time. Wagner was aware of
this aspect of his work and used it for ethical and didactic purposes.2
hhether Wagner consciously chose symbolism as a Distancing device is cer-
tainly debatable, but he did employ it and he spared no pains to point out
how symbolic the works were. Most of his prose expositions of his ideas
and methods are dominated by wagner's own awareness of the symbolic nature

OfIfis work. Subconsciously he must have known that ”Aesthetic distance

is maintained when the symbolic status of the object is acknowledged.”3

 

 

1Michelis, op. cit., p. 15.

2”According to Wagner, then, true art possesses such a dignity
that we may find the highest instruction even in its ruins; they teach us,
not how to make works of art, but how to fashion our lives. Chamberlain,
OP- cit., p. 191.

3Ballard, op. cit., p. 104.

 

 

 

 

 

hisenotionally or
use and the symbol
To further
ordisinterestednes
won and covert, h
Each nanifestat
self in order 1
for it is in th
arousal to syn;
to an instincti
his quotation doe:
aspect of art work:
use from a dispas:

0f the production,

which results from

. It is
into three per
earl}: works ar
Hollander,” w]
of the renainj

It is this Plan wl
1" the fi:
sane chamCterist

similarities of t

\

1
Wagner ’

2
Hende TS 0

115

'flfis emotionally oriented artist fully acknowledged the intellectual pur-
wae and the symbolic intent of his compositions.

To further indicate Wagner‘s awareness of the need for detachment
orcfisinterestedness in order to comprehend the art work and its content,
overt and covert, he said:

Each manifestation in it [the art work] must be complete in it—

self in order that our feeling in respect of it may be pacified,

for it is in this pacification of the feeling after extreme

arousal to sympathy that the very rest is found which leads us

to an instinctive understanding of life.1
This quotation does insist upon the emotional, sympathetic, and empathetic
aspect of art works, but places their ultimate value, derived in Wagner's
case from a dispassionate appraisal of the content after the conclusion

(fifthe production, in the aesthetic repose or the contemplative attitude

which results from using the total range of Aesthetic Distance.

THE EARLY OPERAS
It is customary to divide the artistic career of Wagner

into three periods, the first embracing the production of the

earl works and "Rienzi," the second that of ”Der Fliegende
Hollander,” ”Tannhauser ” and "Lohengrin," and the third that

of the remaining works.

It is this plan which will be followed here.
In the first period there are fbur operas, all bearing many of the

same characteristics. After a thumbnail sketch of the plot of each, the

similarities of the pieces in the group will be discussed.

H

1Wagner, Opera and Drama, p. 366.

2Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 213.

 

 

 

 

oWWOCHZElT (THE W
lhis incomp
thcloneo and Julie
feuding families fa
henhe climbs to t
noon, she resists
bath. While prepa
Prepares to renew 1
When the avenge
chapel and call
rifled lord of
Willing away f:
of her victim,
WIE FEEN (THE FAIR
A human pr

able the latter to
who nether Worl
achance to rescue
and fights his wa)
3011ng love and I
While she Cannot 1

him her in fairy

on ncuusvcwum
ye
.csuwe’ eXCept t

We rebellion du

1Wagller,

116

DIE HOCHZEIT (THE WEDDING, 1832)

This incomplete first attempt at an Opera is a darker version of

the Romeo and Juliet story. At a wedding feast, the son- of one of the

feuding families falls madly in love with the bride from the other family.
When he climbs to the tower chamber where the bride waits for her new
groom, she resists his advances and pushes him off the balcony to his

death. While preparations for the funeral are going on, the boy's family

prepares to renew the feud.

When the avengers of the presumed treachery penetrate into the
chapel and call upon the murderer to declare himself, the hor-
rified lord of the manor points towards his daughter, who,

turning away from her bridegroom, falls lifeless by the coffin
of her victim.

DIE FEEN (THE FAIRIES, 1833)

A human prince who loved a fairy failed the tests which would en-
able the latter to become a human and his wife. As a result she is taken
to the nether world and turned to stone. When the Fates offer the prince
a chance to rescue her or share her doom forever, he accepts the challenge
and fights his way past the monsters of Hell to reach her. Once there, his
song of love and longing moves the stone to tears and the fairy is released.

While she cannot become a human now, the prince has earned the right to

join her in fairyland.

DAS LIEBESVERBOT (THE BAN ON LOVE, 1836)

The plot of this work follows that of Shakespeare's Measure for

Measure, except that Wagner solved the plot complications through the use

Of a rebellion during a carnival.

 

 

1Wagner, My Life, p. 83.

 

 

pLWZI (1840]

Rienzi lead
the corrupt nobles.
Wenzi 35 Tribune,
Wehzi wins a secol
Wople against Rier
around him'

All of the:
adesire 1° perpet'
The young Wagner)
rebel he was to be

His first “‘1
the Er°md~pla
was at fault-

which has been
verity. He aj
his here; he 5
even such 3C“
rahatic signj
must, in me]

our to contel
of the SPeCta‘

baresult, ever;
Wagner was to Teb
forms of complete
we distinctive

evotional molding
hfoitted extrava
of clearly recogr

from the nature (

1Hendersc

117

RIENZI (1840)

Rienzi leads the peOple of Rome in a successful revolt against

the corrupt nobles. Once the defeated nobles have pledged allegiance to

Rienzi as Tribune, they are released. When they renew the revolution,

Rienzi wins a second battle with them. But a former friend stirs up the

people against Rienzi and they finally stone him and burn down the Capitol

around him.

All of these works are conventionally operatic and reflect
a desire to perpetuate the methods of the normal operas of the period.

The young Wagner, the Wagner of his teens and twenties, was not the artistic

rebel he was to become at a later period.

His first artistic beliefs were founded on the theory that not
the ground-plan, but the external treatment of the grand Opera
was at fault. He fancied that he could preserve the element
which has been called "art-formalistic” and yet reach dramatic
verity. He aimed at a consistent embodiment of character in
his hero; he sought to give to all the factors of the opera,
even such accessories as the ballet, a direct and powerful
dramatic significance; but it had not yet come to him that he
must, in order to make a consistent drama in music, sacrifice

form to content, and get rid of the whole mechanical apparatus
of the spectacular opera.

As a result, every musical, and many of the staging elements against which
Wagner was to rebel at a later period were retained here: the balanced
forms of complete, separable melodies; the light, tripping melodies which
were distinctive in and of themselves and which had comparatively little
emotional molding to the action; stock effects such as mad scenes which
permitted extravagant forms of melodic ornamentation; and the derivation

0f clearly recognizable melodic turns from other musicians rather than

from the nature of the dramatic material.

 

 

1Henderson, Richard Wagner, p. 227.

 

While these
through love) which
these were nothing
of opera in that pe
Distanced concepts

clues that he start

on eutecewoe now.)
he FLYING outrun

Act 1. A 1
1h der Decken, the
Woolen sets foot 0:
Winerian narrativ
wind, the DUtChman
all of eternity,
less he could find
ispernitted to C:
savior) but by now
joins him, the Dut
asks for her hand
the DUtChmanls Ve:

bet II.
hdvait'mg for t
m join the work
the ballad of his
hth the return

Ids .
, 181101.18 ”Tang

118

While these works do contain some of the ideas (such as redemption
through love) which were to dominate Wagner's whole creative life, basically
these were nothing but artificial, Over-Distanced, perfectly normal examples
of opera in that period. It was only when Wagner abandoned such greatly
Distanced concepts and tried to replace them with wholly empathic alterna-

tives that he started on the path toward his revolution in opera.

THE MI DDLE PERIOD

DER FLIEGENDE HOLLKNDER
(THE FLYING DUTCHMAN, 1841)

Act I. A storm drives the vessels of a merchantman Daland and

 

Van der Decken, the Flying Dutchman, into a Norwegian bay. When Van der
Decken sets foot on land, he soliloquizes in the first of the famous
Wagnerian narratives. Trying to round the Cape of Good Hope against a
wind, the Dutchman blasPhemously swore that he would do it if it took him
all of eternity. He was thereupon condemned to sail the seas forever un-
less he could find a woman who would be faithful to him until death. He

is permitted to come ashore once every seven years to search for such a

 

savior, but by now he despairs of ever finding a true woman. When Daland
joins him, the Dutchman discovers that he has a daughter and immediately
asks for her hand. The father, having seen some of the wealth on board
the Dutchman's vessel, consents and they both sail to Daland's home.

Act 11. At Daland's house, the girls of the crewmen are spinning
and waiting for the return of the ship. Senta, Daland's daughter, does
not join the work but dreams before a picture of the Dutchman and sings
the ballad of his fate. Erik, the huntsman who loves Senta, arrives to
rePort the return of Daland's ship and to tell of a dream of his about a

m)Hsterious stranger who carried Senta off to sea. Her delight at the

 

idea of the dream-s
ad the suitor arri
iotic fascination.
m as her betrothe
death.

Act III.
Wtenent, can rais
hilt Chorus drive
the shore trying t
Watchman overhears
We releases her fr
WSW his wand
1” father and P11
he Phantom Ship 1'
Wutthuan ascend t(

As can re;
consises WOStIy o
cemed primaruy .
(hamsters. Wagn

Wtc
CSSary feature

119

idea of the dream-stranger being the Dutchman drives Erik away. When Daland
multhe suitor arrive, the Dutchman and Senta gaze at each other in hyp-
rmmic fascination. Senta hardly acknowledges Daland's presentation of the
run as her betrothed, but in their duet, Senta swears to be true till
death.

Act III. The Norwegian crew, celebrating the return and the en-
gagement, can raise no sign of life on the Dutchman's ship until a terri-
:fidng chorus drives them away in superstitious fear. Senta comes down to
the shore trying to escape Erik, who accuses her of deserting him. The
[hmchman overhears this and assumes that Senta's vow is or will be broken.

em releases her from her promise, reveals who he is and boards his ship

to resume his wandering. As he sails away, Senta breaks free of Erik and

her father and pIUnges over a cliff and into the sea, faithful unto death.

The phantom ship immediately sinks, the curse is broken, and Senta and the

Dutchman ascend to heaven.

As can readily be seen, his plot, stripped to its bare essentials,
consists mostly of psychological, rather than actual, events. We are con-
cerned primarily with the internal, rather than the external lives of the

characters. Wagner remarked on this concentration and elimination of un-

necessary features, saying:

In the ”Flying Dutchman" I first really turned my attention

to keeping the action to its simplest features, to leaving out
all useless details such as the intrigues of everyday life;
and, on the other hand to bringing out those features more
broadly, which, seeming to me coincident with the peculiari-
ties of the motives involved, placed the characteristic
coloring of the legendary subject in the right light, in such
a way that this coloring itself became action.

 

lWagner, “The Music of the Future," p. 171.

 

 

 

 

that Wagner sought
of reality which we
acquired the pecul
cmscribed present
and in the remaind
gives as an explan

A condensement
comprehended b
it appears mag
in his busy sc
understand his
brought withir
poet's shaping
is condensed :'
apart! mst Ct
within itself
nWise taken l
”051 intellig

he Very basis of
irrelevm’ Pratt
inserted core of
captured and comp
The rest:
apparent attribue
not only fully 51
developflhnt. Thf
titles and many 0‘
Elmer gaVe for

”Won the wor
décisive “100
with an eXha
draft; 1 was
to hate“ 0n

1
Wagner

120

What Wagner sought, for the first time in this work, was an abstraction
afreality which was still intimately related to the known world but which
aunfired the peculiar lucidity and flavor, the impact, of’a properly cir-
cumscribed presentation of eternal features. He did this in the Dutchman
mniin the remainder of his work for the very reasons which Bullough
gives as an eXplanation for desiring the Distancing process:
A.condensement of the shape of actual life, however, can be
comprehended by the latter only when-~as compared with itself--
it appears magnified, strengthened, unaccustomed. It is just
in his busy scattering through time and space, that man cannot
understand his own life energy: but the image of this energy, as
brought within the compass of his understanding, is what the
poet's shapings offer him fer view; an image wherein this energy
is condensed into an utmost-strengthened "moment,” which, taken
apart, most certainly seems wondrous and unwonted, yet shuts
within itself its own unwontedness and wondrousness, and is in

nowise taken by the beholder for a wonder but apprehended as the
most intelligible representment of reality.

The very basis of the creative act with Wagner was the stripping away of
irrelevant, practical details to leave a clearly stated, interestingly
presented core of truth which struck the viewer with great force, which
captured and compelled his attention completely.

The restriction of the action led to another of Wagner's immediately
apparent attributes: he lingered upon an idea or a situation until it was
not only fully stated but drained and exhausted of any further possible
development. This accounted for the extensiveness of most of the narra-
tives and many of the hour-long scenes or acts in his work. The reason
Wagner gave for such extended development was:

Upon the working out of these fewer scenes, in each of which a
decisive mood was to be given its full play, I might linger
with an exhaustiveness already reckoned for in the original

draft; I was not compelled to make shift with mere suggestion--
to hasten on from one suggestion to another; but with needful

1Wagner on Music and Drama, pp. 192-193.

 

 

repose I 001114
nections requl
understanding '
Wis intuitive gras
ideas and situat‘10
spectator, is a V3
rely upon "mere SU
sions and upon a 1
However, v
music often allows
more apparent in z
explanation. As:
ballad, as effect.
call for logical «
curse upon the new
for his possible

redeeming element

he the Dutchman

which are never c
hWathically dist
hhr, thanks to
usic.

Only one
audience, the ex:
“his needs to l

tension on the p‘

In and his ship

lIbid.,

121

repose I could display the simple object in the. very last con-
nections required to bring it clearly home to the dramatic
understanding.

His intuitive gra5p of the necessity for the exhaustive development of
ideas and situations when one seeks to create an empathic bond with the
spectator, is a valid one. Without such completeness, the creator must
rely upon "mere suggestion," upon the abstraction with all of its allu-
sions and upon a far more Distanced frame of mind.

However, when he found it necessary, the emotional flow of the
music often allowed Wagner to gloss over points or faults which would be

more apparent in a spoken drama and which would, consequently, require

 

explanation. As an example, neither the Dutchman's narrative nor Senta's
ballad, as effective as they are, explain many portions of the curse which
call for logical clarification. Why Satan should be the one to lay the
curse upon the man; who or what the bright angel was who arranged the terms

for his possible salvation; why the love of a faithful woman should be the

 

redeeming element in this situation; what prompted the seven year term or ;
how the Dutchman acquired the ship full of treasure--all are questions
which are never considered within the drama. During a performance, such
empathically disturbing questions are not even likely to occur to the spec-
tator, thanks to the blanketing and emotionally unifying effect of the
music.
Only one other plot element having to do with the attitude of the
audience, the exact degree of Distance they assume in relation to the
event, needs to be pointed out here. It is the apparent lack of compre-
hension on the part of most of the characters of the nature of the Dutch-

man and his ship. No one in the drama appears to be aware of the strange

h
__—__.

1Ibid., p. 267.

blood-red sails am
chorus in Act III,
and the apparent k
the same token, a
actuate for Senta
and yet all but Se
before he leaves i
portrait. Such fl
one of two effect:
turbed by the flat
'reality' of the
tact with the sto
anotherwise acce
hon of the Dista
thS into the fj
hhh depends upc
andaresultant 1
second reaction {
distance -limits.
A good d
hen. The hilly 0
which deserves i
Wanner Would has
lot 11' He is c
hhh‘seekihg, ‘
when there is 8‘
lease, do“ the

attitude. huri

122

blood-red sails and black masts of the Dutchman's ship until the sailor's
chorus in Act III, in spite of their accurate description in the ballad
and the apparent knowledge of the legend on the part of the sailors. By
the same token, a picture of the Dutchman, a picture which is sufficiently
accurate for Senta to recognize him immediately, hangs in Daland's home
and yet all but Senta are horrified by his revelation of his identity just
before he leaves in Act III. No one has noticed his resemblance to the
portrait. Such flaws in the construction of the drama will normally have
one of two effects upon the spectators. Either they will be badly dis-
turbed by the flaws, perhaps to the point of being unable to accept the
'reality' of the characters and events and consequently lose empathic con-
tact with the story, or they will simply accept such lapses as flaws in

an otherwise acceptable art work. One attitude represents the destruc—
tion of the Distanced frame of mind by the intrusion of non-aesthetic ele—
ments into the field of perception and the other displays an adjustment
which depends upon accepting as necessary a greater degree of abstraction
and a resultant reduction in the empathic participation in the tale. The
second reaction creates an attitude which is firmly held within the
Distance-limits.

A good deal has been said already about the character of the Dutch-
man. The only other aspect of Van der Decken's (the Dutchman's) character
which deserves immediate consideration is the deliberate manner in which
Wagner would have him played from his first appearance to the end of
Act II. He is called upon, by the author, to give the impression of a
death—seeking, cursed, infinitely weary and almost non—human person. Only
when there is some hope, that through Senta he may find redemption and re—
lease, does the character relax from his statuesque and highly Distanced

attitude. During the love duet of Act II,

 

. , , his love
the danger she
to him. It cor
passionate rem:
becomes a human
had often given
Suchareduction i
character and repl
attitude of love a
accorded beautiful
Such an effect WOL
sane tine, impart
the words and musf
Wagner knc
hroad strokes of ]
lent actor-singer
tanced to be beli
hhponent of Dalan
Whit , ‘ 'rcz Th
Shim“ increas
Wile traged)
“My does r
can 100k at 1
he
1th WW beinc

Distance in the r

hence the danger

123

. . his love fOr Senta diSplays itself at once in terror of

the danger she herself incurs by reaching out a rescuing hand

to him. It comes over him as a hideous crime, and in his

passionate remonstrance against her sharing in his fate he

becomes a human being through and through, whereas he hitherto

had often given us but the grim impression of a ghost.
Ehmh a reduction in Distance, removing the uncomertable stiffness of the
character and replacing it with the empathy-provoking, thoroughly human
attitude of love afforded a release of tension for the audience which
accorded beautifully with the flowering of love depicted on the stage.
&xm.an effect would draw the viewer further into the drama and, at the
same time, impart at least some of the sense of relief and joy embedded in
the words and music through a shift of his position on the Distance-scale.

Wagner knew that the Daland character was sketched in with such

broad strokes of his musical brush that, without a sympathetic and intelli-
gent actor-singer in the role, this character could easily be too Dis-
tanced to be believable. For that reason he said, ” . . . I beseech the
exponent of Daland not to drag his role into the region of the positively
comic . . ."2 This effect unfortunately could be generated by even the
slightest increase in the already high degree of abstraction employed.

While tragedy places the reader at the heart of the situation,

comedy does not; it removes him to a distance from which he

can look at the absurdities of characters .
hfith comedy being a more abstracted form, any large degree of abstractive

instance in the midst of a more empathic event is likely to seem comic,

hence the danger of the Daland character.

 

 

11'bid., p. 334.
2Ibid., p. 335.

. 3Judah Bierman, James Hart and Stanley Johnson, The Dramatic Ex—
Emrmence (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1958), p. 363.

 

 

 

 

In Senta,
the woman and the
salvation of the D
scale as is requir
ality, never being
following moment in
Santa which none c

Wagner was
so that there was
piece. lhe older
19d Wagner into a
from his work: an
Spread the music,
at that time by a

In the my
shinning Song an (
ballad 0f Senta j
ieitnotiv SYStem
emotional expres:
the motives as a
chestration So t
heuelopnm of a

this Work but it
\

lFinck,

ziienderE

124

In Senta, there is a fine balancing between the loving warmth of

 

the woman and the irrational, mystical urge which drives her on to the
salvation of the Dutchman. Such continuous movement along the Distance-
scale as is required to adjust to the differing elements of her person-
ality, never being sure what the exactly appropriate attitude fbr the
flfllowing moment will be, lends a degree of complexity and humanity to
Sknta which none of the other characters possess in the same degree.
Wagner was still close enough to his early, purely operatic works
so that there was no great change in style in the poetic setting of his

piece. The older, more purely operatic form of verse setting used here

 

led wagner into a formal mannerism that he was later to deplore and banish
from his work: ” . . . the meaningless repetition of words in order to
spread the music, [a device which] would not have been counted as a fault
I

at that time by audiences who cared nothing fOr the words."

In the music, Wagner began the process of composition with the

 

spinning song and the sailor's chorus. Only when he was working on the h
ballad of Senta in the second act did the first principles of the

leitmotiv system occur to the composer.2 Once he had found the right

emotional expression for a person, place, situation or condition, he moved

the motives as a whole and repeated them basically in their original or—

chestration so that they reappeared in a known fbrm and underwent minimal

development of a symphonic nature. This device was used only minimally in

this work but it was to be developed more fully in each succeeding opera.

‘_—

1Finck, op. cit., p. 127.

2Henderson, Richard Whgner, p. 244.

This music
mically from the
responding to it 6
supports the super

"the gr
two ships. . .
"anchored clos
ihreover, the effe
signer must crowd
certain amount of
for Senta must ha‘
sort of normal sc
seen moving upon
house! This sett
finds it impossit
have to accept ti
”it" turn their 2
the fauhh’ Settir
cold toward the r
Thhhnhusnn
“D THE connnsr
Act I.
caverns in the a
“a” °f cWinn

but only after ]

“Hing Upon ch.

1
Geo
[hoard . rge
0n. J. W.

125

This music is lush and romantic and not so greatly different har-
monically from the norm of the period so that anyone would have trouble
responding to it empathically except for that portion of the music which
supports the supernatural parts of the plot.

The great difficulty of the representation is with the

two ships. . . . The stage-directions are that the ships are

"anchored close to the shore," and close to each other . .
Moreover, the effect is repeated; it occurs in both Acts I and _III. A de-
signer must crowd onto the average operatic stage (1) an inlet with a
certain amount of water, (2) a rocky boundary for the body of water,
for Senta must have a cliff from which to jump, (3) two ships in some
sort of normal scale or at least large enough for the crew members to be
seen moving upon their decks, and in Act III (4) a portion of Daland's
house! This setting is so improbable in most theatres that the audience
finds it impossible to believe in the reality of the arrangments. They
have to accept the things shown as being merely symbols of reality and
then turn their attention to other parts of the production. Otherwise,
the faulty setting will cause them to be Over—Distanced, unbelieving and
cold toward the drama as a whole.
TANNHA'USER
AND THE CONTEST OF SONG ON THE WARTBURG (1845)

Act 1. After having spent some months in the sensuous Venusburg
caverns in the arms of Venus, Tannhiiuser, a minstrel—knight, has grown
weary of continuous love and beauty. He pleads with Venus for release,
but only after promising that he will sing her praises alone and then

calling upon the Virgin Mary for salvation, does the heat~filled grotto

 

 

 

__—

1George Ainslie Hight, Richard Wagner: .4 Critical Biography
(London: J. W. Arrowsmith, Ltd., 1925), pp. 131-132.

 

 

 

 

vanish, to be repl
therepentant knig
grave, Wolfram, an
before he vanished
his activities ant
Elizabeth, the La:
his absence does '
Act {1.
h'oliram just befo:
assembled and the
Thunhi'user interr
sings his wild pa
Elizabeth‘s inter
””5 Shared on t
to R0“ and there
Act III.

await Tannhauser'
he is not among 1
hamburg to die <
Persuaded to tel:
as EUilty as he.
Profane love than
having men up

she appears and

“5%“- Venus

htercede fOr hi

“Title; the Po

 

126

vanish, to be replaced by the cool, green valley of the Wartburg. There
the repentant knight is discovered by a hunting party made up of the Land~
grave, Wolfram, and the remainder of Tannha'user's friends from the period
before he vanished. In his shame, Tannhiiuser avoids their questions about
his activities and refuses to join them. Only when Wolfram tells him that
Elizabeth, the Landgrave's niece, refuses to visit their hall of song in
his absence does Tannh'auser agree to follow them to Wartburg castle.

Act II. In the castle, Elizabeth and Tannhl'iuser are reunited by
Wolfram just before the guests arrive for a contest of song. When all are
assembled and the song competition on the topic "What is love?" is begun,
Tannhiiuser interrupts Wolfram's rhapsody of love as worship from afar and
sings his wild paeon in praise of Venus. All are horrified and only
Elizabeth‘s intervention prevents the knights from slaying Tannhiiuser.

He is spared on the condition that he join a group of pilgrims journeying
to Rome and there ask pardon from the Pope.

Act III. In the autumn of the year, both Elizabeth and Wolfram
await Tannh'aiuser's return at a roadside shrine where all the pilgrims pass.
He is not among the absolved who file past and Elizabeth returns to the
Wartburg to die of a broken heart. The ragged Tannhéiuser appears and is
persuaded to tell of his painful journey and the Pope's rejection of one
as guilty as he. According to the Pope, he can no more be pardoned his
profane love than the Pontiff's staff can bear new leaves. Tannh'eiuser,
having given up all hope, now seeks the path back to Venus; but just as
she appears and welcomes him, Wolfram points out Elizabeth's funeral pro~
cession. Venus vanishes. Tannhauser appeals to Holy St. Elizabeth to
intercede for him and he dies. The young pilgrims enter with news of a

miracle: the Pope's staff has borne leaves as a sign of forgiveness.

 

 

 

In this wt
to preparation 0th
the. here are r
the unholy overlap
of which Tannhiiusc
hoes throughout ti
then intensified '
uthallowed love, ‘
hi0 the goddess
hmnhiuser, and t
mason for his de
bl heightening th
that a compensati
necessary, Wagner
hnnhi'user does i

The proce
time-honored Dist

bliity in the am

hi Wagner in Tam
h‘onus tonal-ever h‘
then the Precise
homes a sense

in the earlier 5
ndpropnecies a
Wk’ Tanllhi'user

hi ‘ .
.Ntlpltdt‘eS the

127

In this work the Spectator is plunged into the supernatural with
no preparation other than the wild Venusberg music which follows the over-
ture. There are revels and love-making in Venus' cavern, but there is also
the unholy overlay of the supernatural and the absolute surfeit of emotion
of which Tannhauser complains. Wagner, rejecting sensual love, as he
does throughout this piece, created the display of Venus' seductions and

then intensified them in the Paris revisions, not in order to promote

 

unhallowed love, but to show, first of all, why a man might be induced to
go to the goddess's cave as a motivation for the earlier conduct of
Tannh'aiuser, and then, by exceeding all reasonable bounds, to provide a
reason for his desire to escape. By using both ends of the Distance-scale,
by heightening the initially pleasant empathic response to such a degree

that a compensating movement into the abstract area of the scale become

 

necessary, Wagner provided a reasonable motivation for most of what
Tannha'user does in Act I.

The process of foreshadowing a later development is an ancient and
time-honored Distancing device. It supplies much of the sense of inevita-
bility in the ancient Greek dramas and it is used with great consistency
by Wagner in Tannhiiuser's foretelling that he will sing the praises of
Venus wherever he goes. The effect of such premonitions is a formal one.
When the precise event which has been foretold comes to be, the audience
derives a sense of completion, a release of the tension which was generated
by the earlier suggestions. Such devices as dreams, premonitions, promises
and prOphecies appear to be in the abstractive, structuring range. In this
work, Tannhiiuser's promise returns to haunt him in the contest scene and

Precipitates the c limax.

 

"To Wagner
launhiuser, though
the great dramatic
parched it as the i
that it moves fron
through the forma
served nature of ‘
lied, which, in t
”ill be averted b
cone of it all is
mental reaction.
audience‘s reacti
cured his most at
emotions: " . _
excitement, as re
the interest of (
andail of his ti
tation of his ef;
toward the more

The effe
intended: "He i
fluctuating bEtw

lhoveiling Self-

\

lwilliau

2
1852) P. fighter,

swillizan

 

 

128

"To Wagner, dramatically, this [contest] was the key scene for
lhnnhguser, though he could get no tenor to value it in comparison with
the great dramatic Rome Narration of the third act."1 In fact, he re-
garded it as the key scene of the opera and it is interesting to note
that it moves from the easily empathic meeting of Elizabeth and Tannhguser,
through the formal pomp of the assemblage of the knights and the cool, re-
served nature of Wolfram's song, to the impassioned and excessive Venus-
lied, which, in turn, prompts a fermal attack upon the singer, which can
cmly be averted by an impassioned plea on the part of Elizabeth. The out-
come of it all is the fOrmal resolve to seek pardon, a relatively Distanced,
mental reaction. Wagner prided himself upon his ability to control an
audience's reaction in such a widely varying scene and he felt that he se—
cured his most artistic effects through the calming of such overwrought
emotions: " . . . just in the very gradual calming down of the highest
excitement, as represented in this scene, I discover my greatest merit in
the interest of dramatic truth.”2 In spite of all of his conscious desires
and all of his theories, the very thing Wagner chose as the best represen-
tation of his effOrts was a controlled movement away from the empathic and
toward the more formulated and controlled.

The effect of Tannhauser's character may not always be what Wagner
intended: "He is not a particularly sympathetic character, too easily
fluctuating between sacred and profane love and then lapsing into rather

“as

grovelling self—abasement . This critic has at least hit upon the

*-

1Williamson, op. cit., p. 49.

2Wagner, correspondence of’wugner and Liszt, letter of January 30,
1852, p. 190.

3Williamson, op. cit., p. 49.

 

 

 

specific charactei
'lhe essential
stant and com}
by the passiny
sudden change:
fulness of fee
but each thing
hyuer sought an :
rally and quickly
asuectator or cr
pathetic figure t
primarily upon th
as they are deman
The two ;
n'olently varyiny
W59, Elizabeth
mhritu of the :
ter. Venus rema
aState or condi
Empathy
Venus' 1°Ve, whi
no: aPProved by
Why Says:
The
Sented to me
APPI‘OVall j
acmitl’ wi1
1
Hender1

2
y . Claude
flaw, ed, Robi:
., 1901), p

129

specific characteristic which Wagner said distinguishes Tannhauser:
The essential feature of Tannhauser's character is his in—
stant and complete saturation with the emotions called up
by the passing incident, and the lively contrasts which the
sudden changes of situation produce in his utterance of this

fulness of feeling. Tannhauser is never a "little” anything,
but each thing fully and completely.1

Wagner sought an interpretation of this character which would swing radi-
cally and quickly from one end of the Distance-scale to the other. Whether
a Spectator or critic finds him somewhat unsympathetic or " . . . the most
pathetic figure to be found among all the characters of Wagner”2 depends
primarily upon the critic's ability to make corresponding Distance-shifts
as they are demanded by the changes in the character.

The two principle female roles, Elizabeth and Venus, represent
violently varying attitudes toward women and their role in the world. Of
course, Elizabeth, representing the 'proper' attitude and eliciting the
malJ'ority of the sympathy and empathy is the more fully developed charac-
ter. Venus remains largely a symbol, a more abstract means of indicating
a state or condition.

Empathy is not supposed to function in relation to things like
venus' love, which are presumably (at least fer the purposes of this drama)

not approved by most people. Theodor Lipps, the fbremost theorist of em-

pathy Says:

The only condition under which the state ef mind pre-
sented to me gives me pleasure is when I ’approve it .
'APproval' is the actual harmony of my present nature endh
activity with what I approve. Just so I must 'approve t e

‘_.

1Henderson, Richard Whgner, p. 265.

2Claude Phillips, "The Conception of Love in Wagner,"KSt:dzegotn
Angie: ed. Robin Grey (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, en "
Ltd., 1901): P. 129.

 

 

 

 

 

rental activi'
uust synpathr

hreloping furthe
presents, one cou
Iorenain of a Di
generally recogni
questions as nigh
Distance-limit, t
rather than a rea

Lipps mak
mralistic judgme
reaction and some
We Which is no:
”f Elizabeth ,

In its rm
Still had Set, h:
' . - the our
Prayer, the I
are Pieces w]
mm the Opev
n So far as
not 3 music.

from the 01d
a "conce rt i‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

rental activities I apprehend in others (this is to say Il
must sympathize with them) if they are to please me .

Ibveloping further the reasons fer rejecting the fbrce which Venus re-
cnesents, one could point to Bullough's comment that, if a perfOrmance is

to remain of a Distanced, aesthetic character, no "questioning of .

generally recognised ethical sanctions . ."2 can be permitted. Such

questions as might be raised could cause the work to fall below the lower
Instance-limit, thus becoming a moral judgment of a practical nature,

rather than a reaction to an art work.

Lipps makes the functioning of empathy dependent upon a prior
noralistic judgment, and it would seem almost inevitable that some such
reaction and some degree of sensual re5ponse would be made to the type of

love which is most removed from the abstract, the almost Platonic love

of Elizabeth.

In its music Tannhguser strongly resembled the older Opera; it

still had set, highly formal musical pieces.

. the overture, the march, the choruses, Elizabeth's
prayer, the song to the evening star, the septet, etc.,
are pieces which are not seriously marred by being torn

from the operatic stage and placed in the concert hall.
In so far as this is the case, Tunnhguser is, therefbre,

not a music-drama, but an opera--though infinitely removed
from the old-fashioned Italian opera which Wagner has called

a "concert in Costume. ."3

_‘._

. 1Theodor Lipps, "A Further Consideration of 'Empathy,'” Psycho—
logical Studies, 2nd ed., trans. Herbert C. Sanborn (Baltimore: The

Williams and Wilkins Co., 1926), p. 257.
2Bullough, op. cit., p. 101.

3Finck, op. cit., pp. 176—177.

 

 

 

 

 

To the de
iron the norm, Wa
it, particularly
was slowly evolvi
early, he objecte
portions of the s

. . . he cou]
tions that we
way but that
music must be
lay midway bc
aria-form bu1
not declairnec
uelos, Spreac
sion. Their
only deprive
chilled the y
to afford th
mmmo
“13011 as reci
force his ne
Singers, or
VOcal music
less articul

he intent behin
Pitte mificatioyy
the Work, Wagnc
empathize With 1

I“ the 1
he wanted in the
thesingers thac
could “hirer/e a

131

To the degree that the music fer this work represented a departure
fnmrthe norm, wagner had difficulty securing a proper interpretation of
it, particularly of the connective material between the arias. Wagner
was slowly evolving the nature of his 'endless melody' and even this
early, he objected strenuously to the singers delivering the non-aria

pmrtions of the score as though they were recitatives.

. he could not get the singers to phrase the lyrical por-
tions that were not cast in the obvious "aria” mode in any
way but that of the old-style recitative. For them, vocal
music must be one thing or the other; a type of arioso that
lay midway between the two, that was certainly not in the set
aria-form but at the same time needed to be sung as melody,
not declaimed as recitative--the germ, in fact, of the Wagnerian
melos, spread over a whole opera-~was outside their comprehen-
sion. Their method of delivery in passages of this kind not
only deprived the music of all naturalness but confused and
chilled the audience: these ariosi failed on the one hand
to afford the customary gratification expected from an aria,
and on the other hand seemed to drag intolerably when looked
upon as recitative. It was many years before Wagner could
force his new conception of ”endless melody” on the German
singers, or even induce them to sing this midway order of
vocal music in strict time, instead of with the almost rhythm—
less articulation of the ordinary Operatic recitative.1

 

The intent behind the new aria parlant or connective material was a com-
plete unification of the content. The singers insisted upon fragmenting

the work. Wagner was striving for a work with which the audience could

empathize with the fewest possible interruptions.

In the title role, Wagner never secured the kind of interpretation
he wanted in the Contest scene, as has been noted, nor could he convince
the singers that the Rome Narration was not a tour de fbrce and that they
could achieve a more telling dramatic effect by the use of greater Distance

during its performance, rather than by tearing a passion to shreds. He

M

__-

1Newman, The Life of.Richard Whgner, p. 396.

instructed his Pa
h this act .
power of voic
ofa ghost-11
wrethan an
he warning made
larrative as thei
fashion. lhis err
threatens to unba
pivotal scene, th
The sceni
and that of magic
m“ by Placing
halsetting and
With
°fVenus and
lawscape--a
eifectivenes:
1““ arts 0
dramatic for:
in abrupt Change
opera and helps
It alSO RSSists
1r "him Such s)’
r v
inducing laught
e l
vents require a

“Y be able to d

tent them from 8

1 .
wllliar

ZHenderS

132

instructed his Paris Tannhauser, Albert Niemann, in this manner:
In this act . . . I do not want any exhibition of sensuous
power of voice . . . Everything is calculated here in terms
of a ghost-like tonelessness, with a gradual rise to no
more than an expression of affecting softness.1
The warning made no difference; the tenors continued to look upon the Rome
hhrrative as their chance fbr emotional display-~and sang it in that
ihshion. This empathic appeal occuring so late in the Opera seriously
threatens to unbalance the work and if the Rome speech is regarded as the
pivotal scene, then the key event in the chain of action occurs off stage.
The scenic elements in this show vaccilate between the real world
and that of magic and mysticism. Wagner plays with the audience's Dis-
tance by placing the sensual and empathic first scene in an obviously un—
real setting and then suddenly jerking the audience back into the real.
With the disappearance of the red and glittering cave
of Venus and the appearance of the cool, fresh greens of the
landscape--a striking pictorial contrast, full of theatrical
effectiveness, and showing Wagner's employment of the com-
bined arts of poetry, music, painting, and action in the new
dramatic form-—we enter the domain of the ”Warburgkrieg.”2
An abrupt change of this sort certainly assists the magical tone of the
opera and helps to create a sense of dissociation with the real world.
It also assists in the creation of the abstract attitude and point of view
in which such symbolic events can be accepted by a modern audience without
producing laughter as a result of'Over—Distancing. By admitting that the
events require a greater than usual Distance, the person staging the work

“my be able to determine just how Distanced the audience becomes and pre—

vent them from going too far in that direction; he may, perhaps, control

_
~———.

1Williamson, op. cit., p. 50.

2Henderson, Richard Whgner, p. 259.

 

 

 

 

 

 

chemrealistic p
audience to reSpo

Some scen
performances by n
at the end of Act
uch.

In this firs1
Tannh'aiuser ll
brain, sugge:
while the der
Wolfram, was
flickering f;
wonder that '
Wagner's nov.
detail.

Wagner revised t

declared a guidi

0n the Stage. T
Pm fully into P
bilities of rep:
cated, but every
couposer made ir
ltnerappy atknop
tltand scellic ‘
the“ might not :
tation "onld prc
th

e audieHCe, b‘

lNepran

1oz 2Wagner
an. 191

133

‘dw unrealistic portion of the work in such a way that he can cause the
audience to reSpond in his manner and only to the degree he chooses.

Some scenic effects on which Wagner miscalculated at the first
performances by not making them spectacular and graphic enough were those
at the end Of Act III. Here, perhaps, he abstracted and symbolized too

much.

In this first version of the opera Venus did not appear to
Tannhauser in the flesh, but only as a figment of his fevered
brain, suggested by a roseate light over the distant HOrselberg,
while the death of Elizabeth, instead of being announced by
Wolfram, was merely indicated by bells tolling and torches
flickering far away on the Wartburg. All in all, it was little
wonder that the audience on the first night failed to grasp

Wagner's novel dramatic ideas in all their subtlety of poetic
detail.1

Wagner revised the ineffective and confusing ending and, in the process,
declared a guiding principle which would virtually rule out abstraction
on the stage. This theoretical reversal of his early procedure he never
put fully into practice. He said: "Nothing that lies within the possi—
bilities of representation on the stage should be only thought or indi-
cated, but everything should be actually shown.2 While the changes the
composer made in this opera to bring it into its present fOrm are
generallyacknowledged to be improvements and clarifications of its drama~
tie and scenic values, the strict application of the rule which prompted
them might not always produce the best results. Such reality of presen—
tation would prompt a high level of empathic involvement on the part of
the audience, but it would rob the drama of much of its scope and flexi-

bility and would virtually destroy most of the more fermal plays (Marlowe's

“__i

1Newman, The Life of’Richard'Wagner, p. 398.

1852 2Wagner, Correspondence of'Wagner and Liszt, letter of January 30,
, p. 191.

 

 

 

3p. lauetus, for
his demand for a
enough problems,

ciple also.

WHENGRIN (1848)

Act I. l
ranund accuses E2
inherit the Duch;
stead tells of a
he King decrees
Herald is ordere
first trumpet ca
"9'1 approaching
asks Elsa if She
My one conditi
She readin 3556
shares his life,

Act II.
knight, the ban:
before the Women
Elsa to ask the
Ultrud rOUSes hr
linemen. At
sion ‘0 the chu
both of Whom ac
one but with g

procesSion ente

134

lhn Faustus, for instance, would be almost unproducible under such a rule).

'flds demand for a full scenic realization of everything was to produce

 

enough problems, at a later date, to cause Wagner to deSpair of his prin-

ciple also.

LOHENGRIN (1848)

Act I. BefOre King Henry of Germany, Count Frederick of Tel-
ramund accuses Elsa of Brabant of murdering her brother so that she might
inherit the Duchy. When Elsa is summoned, she makes no defense but in-
stead tells of a dream in which a heavenly knight became her champion.
The King decrees that the accusation will be settled by combat and the
lbrald is ordered to summon the warrior. There is no response to the
first trumpet call and proclamation but, after a repetition, a knight is
seen approaching on the river in a swan—drawn boat. When he lands he
asks Elsa if she will accept him as her champion and husband, imposing
only one condition: she must never ask his name or from whence he came.
She readily assents to the terms and Lohengrin defeats Frederick but
Spares his life.

Act II. During the night befOre the wedding of Elsa and her
knight, the banished Frederick and his wife Ortrud are in the courtyard
befbre the women's quarters. Ortrud, a sorceress, intends to persuade
Elsa to ask the forbidden questions. When Elsa appears on a balcony,
Ortrud rouses her pity fer the banished and is granted Elsa's aid and
Protection. At the dawn, after the people have assembled, the proces-
sion to the church begins. It is interrupted by Ortrud and Frederick,
both of whom accuse the unknown knight of being a magician. Elsa, once
more but with greater hesitancy, declares her confidence in him and the

procession enters the church.

 

 

 

Act III.
buassoon as th
pmwrhed questi
hemonto attac
then directs that
ullreveal his 1

In the se
and reveals his :
hehisnauc an
frail and the sw
driven Lohengrin
Upon the Duke of
&” hen. Lohe
Storec1 to his 51
the dove 0f the

If one a
inn“ 11 0f the
”Wmcmmtasc
tube lid of the
elements which 1
toit with the ‘
concentration u
heater with ea

The per
audience which
binding the YOU

.' ' - aptl
1" mind uh:

135

Act III. Elsa and Lohengrin are conducted to their bridal chamber,
but as soon as they are alone, Ortrud's accusations fOrce Elsa to ask the
proscribed questions. At that moment, Frederick and his men burst into
the room to attack the knight. He defeats them and kills Frederick. He
then directs that all concerned should assemble before the King, where he
will reveal his background and identity.

In the second scene, Lohengrin defends his slaying of Frederick
and reveals his identity as the son of Parsifal and a Knight of the Grail.
(Mce his name and station are known, he must return to his service of the
Grail and the swan boat accordingly reappears. Ortrud exults that she has
driven Lohengrin away before his magic could release the spell she placed
upon the Duke of Brabant, Elsa's brother, changing him into the swan be?
fbre them. Lohengrin's prayer breaks the enchantment and Godfrey is re-
stored to his sister as Lohengrin sails away in the boat, now pulled by
the dove of the Grail.

If one accepts the clumsy stamping dance of the Norwegian sailors
in Act II of the Dutchman as a ballet, and certainly the Venusberg episode
would count as one in Tannhduser, then this is the first of Wagner's operas
to be rid of the conventional ballet. This is simply another of the fermal
elements which wagner discarded during his development, never to return
to it with the exception of the curious waltz in the Meistersinger. The
concentration upon the score and its integration with action became
greater with each work.

The very end of Lohengrin must prove somewhat disconcerting to an
audience which is not aware of precisely how Lohengrin breaks the spell
binding the young Duke. This is an episode that

. aptly illustrates a fact that has often to be borne
in mind when we are listening to a perfOrmance of a Wagner

 

 

 

 

opera; in the
has omitted,
or other than
read his firs
his failure to 5
hole is doing i
the ending of Tar
revised the endir
fault is that it
thought concerni:
The thre
0Tired, were con
Ortrud and Lohen
old religion pas

vas replacing th

- -- he boo
of, - . the
has §Upersec

ppirmg (ant
“ItChcraft ;
flowing brip
h Ortrud!

Ch

5 viev
ristimit)’ it:
ligim‘rrs The

Knight. By Uphr

0rtrue has cros

1Newman
2virrra
3min,

 

136

opera; in the final process of alteration or compression he

has omitted, or touched upon too lightly, some little point

or other than only becomes fully clear to us after we have

read his first Sketch.1
This failure to state specifically what Lohengrin is accomplishing and
how he is doing it is a fault comparable to Wagner's first fOrmulation of
the ending of Tannhguser; the difference between the two is that he never
revised the ending of Lohengrin once it was composed. The effect of this
fault is that it breaks the audience's contact with the story and forces
thought concerning the events depicted.

The three primary characters of the opera, Lohengrin, Elsa and
Ortrud, were conceived as occupying distinct places on the Distance-scale.
Ortrud and Lohengrin are both abstract characters, one representing the
old religion passing away and the other symbolizing Christianity which
was replacing the old way of thinking.
. he bound the story tOgether with the symbolic background

of . . . the conflict of Christianity with the pagan world it

was superseding, and of whose gods Ortrud is here a last des-

pairing (and in this sphere quite sincere) priestess. Her

witchcraft and superstition are the Dark Ages opposite to the

growing brightness and power of the Christian faith.2
In Ortrud's view, "the net indeed has a bigger fish than Elsa to enmesh:
Christianity itself must be wiped out by a restoration of the pagan re-
ligion."3 The first step in the process is the vanquishing of the Grail's
Knight. By upholding such a position, by attacking a philosophy to which

the majority in the audience are assumed to have given their allegiance,

Ortrud has crossed the borderline pointed out by Bullough and must be

_—

1Newman, The Wagner Operas, p. 113.
2Williamson, op. cit., p. 57.

3129id., p. 65.

 

 

 

 

 

 

thm practicall)
mhrend of the
iha,highly absr
idea at first ap]
Although
pht,the charac
dominate his thi‘
ridden figure of
The

in the heart
the formatio
all about he
her refraini
hhstion for
her woman ' s
hwmcmim
tical ”why?!
he'hhyon menti
ab‘tract musica]
heater than the
it is the rrwhy?.
cation for the ‘

“Well as an e

The her
Else is the
tunsc'mus,

learning is

l
Wagner

2Newman

137

taken practically and seriously or there will be a reaction toward the
(fiber and of the scale and she is likely to become, along with her basic
idea, highly abstracted into a more general symbol than either she or the
idea at first appeared to be.

Although Lohengrin has the title role and Ortrud motivates the
plot, the character- who caught Wagner‘s creative fancy and who came to
dominate his thinking was the less symbolic, more human and more failure-

ridden figure.of Elsa.

The whole interest of "Lohengrin” rests upon a process
in the heart of Elsa, that touches all the secrets of her soul;
the formation of a strangely blissful enchantment, that fills
all about her with convincing reality, depends entirely upon
her refraining from asking—-whence he came? And finally this
question fbrces itself like a cry from the deepest need of
her woman's heart, and--the enchantment is gone. You notice
how peculiarly this fatal "whence?" coincides with the theore-
tical "why?" to which I have befbre alluded?1

The "why?" mentioned is that which Wagner assumed that a listener to an
abstract musical composition would ask when the emotional content became
greater than the fermal framework of the music could conveniently contain;
it is the "why?" which prompted Wagner to adopt the drama as the justifi-
cation fOr the great emotion displayed. Thus Wagner embodied a theoretical
as well as an ethical problem in Elsa.
The heroine of this work has also been described as the empathic

half of the love-pair while Lohengrin represents the abstractive portion.

Else is the unconscious, the un-volitional, into which Lohengrin's

conscious, volitional being yearns to be redeemed; but that

yearning is itself the unconscious, un-volitional in Lohengrin,

through which he feels himself akin in being to Elsa.2

1Wagner, "The Music of the Future,” p. 172.

2Newman, Whgner as Man and Artist, p. 271.

 

 

he more empathic
higher to a great
As in Tar
aremirriscent anc
evil influence.

his is first
appears when
and accompan:
Lohengrin am
accompanimen‘
appeal to E1;
sees that She
whispers to I
clares her d.
that she is .
very close a
leitmotiv, f
huently used
which have 1
sonality,1

The“ are also 0
dilation of cone
colllllished by me
Fredel‘ick and hi
name and his ori
Miller}; of the ll
hence of melodj
rotiVes fmm pre
mtives haVe bee
LOhEnginrs nar;
hide with it.

dpp

l

are“ only a

lHende I.1

138

fluemnre empathic, emotional part of the pair would, of course, attract
wagner to a greater extent than even his noble, un-worldly hero.
As in Tannhauser, Wagner used motives to achieve Distance in both

a reminiscent and a foreshadowing manner. An example is that of Ortrud's
evil influence.

This is first heard in the introduction to Act II. It re-

appears when Ortrud begins to reveal her ideas to Frederick,

and accompanies each of her suggestions for the overthrow of

Lohengrin and destruction of Elsa. It is heard again in the

accompaniment to the short ensemble which succeeds Lohengrin's

appeal to Elsa in the finale of Act II., when to his dismay he

sees that she is wavering. Again it sounds when Frederick

whispers to Elsa in the same scene, and when the maid de-

clares her doubts in the chamber scene it is repeated to show

that she is acting under the influence of Ortrud. This is a

very close approach to the fully developed employment of the

leitmotiv, fer in the later dramas we find these themes fre-

quently used to connect the passing action with the influences

which have led to it or to associate it with an absent per-

sonality.
There are also other uses of motives which would call fbr the mental mani-
pulation of concepts and the drawing of conclusions which cannot be ac-
complished by means of empathy. After he has defended himself against
Frederick and his men Lohengrin tells Elsa that he will reveal both his
name and his origin to all people concerned and the orchestra plays The
Mystery of the Name motive, this time followed by The Grail! This se-
quence of melodie phrases is clear only if one knows the story and the
motives from previous study or an earlier hearing of the opera. Both
untives have been heard, but no mention is made of the Grail until
Lohengrin's narrative and, therefbre, no association could have been

nmde with it. Much of the richness of the Wagnerian motive system is

apparent only after each opera.has been heard several times, and it is

‘—

1Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 289.

 

largely dependent
did. This is at
hot it is neverth
In regard
ugical effects,

rather highly Dis

TdE RING OF THE h
Before di
‘9‘“)ng Some <
Hill be made.
When h’agr
hill to a Single
lobe EiVen in a
m ”‘0 Works, the
hired abstract V
thrilling to its 1
empathic Stol‘ie S
When an
straction and gi‘

Possible_ Wagne

leht. He Was 0p
treating Pulls i

rrthin the DiSta

139

largely dependent upon the use of memory and the combining ability of the
mind. This is at least in part in opposition to Wagner's theoretical aim
but it is nevertheless a rather common method in his works.

In regard to spectacle, one need only repeat that abnormal or
magical effects, such as the swan boat, will almost always produce a

rather highly Distanced attitude.
LATER PERIOD

THE RING OF THE NIBELUNGEN (1851-1874)

Before discussing each of the dramas which go to make up this
tetralogy, some overall comments on the unity created by the four works
will be made.

When Wagner had reduced the detailed mass of material in the Ring
myth to a single opera, he found that too much of the preceding action had
to be given in a formal, Distanced narrative. When he expanded the tale
to two works, the same was still true; there was still too much which re-
quired abstract visualization on the part of the audience. So he expanded
the Ring to its present form of four music dramas to achieve more concrete,
empathic stories.

When an idea or a series of ideas are taken from the realm of ab-
straction and given physical embodiment, a greater degree of empathy is
possible. Wagner sought to reach his favorite end of the Distance-scale
mbre fully, in spite of the remote and abstract nature of the Rihg's con-
tent. He was opposing the form to the content of the work, and, by
creating pulls in opposite directions on the scale, achieved a balance

Within the Distance-limits.

 

 

 

The motiv
and the frequent
hrusic of any 5
and become intell
flow. In such a
dy,” the repetiti

The ear can 0
amongst many
its being {if
set apart fro
not apply, th
a distinction
Sympathy with

Wagner re
Undertake; he kne
hiding repetitir
h

elelied up0n t}

distanced Shape :
‘ ' r 35 the
the tilts-seal
Urgent to har
Plenty of f0(
his an auditor;
will miss much 0:

‘ 13, Fall 19

SGiIman’

140

The motive system was used fully in these works for the first time
and the frequent repetitions were a basic theoretical part of this system.
In music of any sort, the abstract pattern of sound can only acquire form
and become intelligible when repetitions of some sort play a part in the
flow. In such a radically new method of composition as the "endless melo-
dy," the repetitions were even more important than usual. Wagner said:

The ear can only appreciate any particular manifestation
amongst many as being striking and recognisable by virtue of
its being reLeatedly brought before it. In becoming thus
set apart from other manifestations to which the same does
not apply, the one in question has, through this repetition,

a distinction conferred upon it, rousing the ear to special
sympathy with it, as something of importance.

 

Wagner realized the scale of the quadruple drama he was about to
undertake; he knew that his music, released from the formal demands re—
garding repetition and key change, would seem formless to many peOple and
he relied upon the reiteration of the motives to supply some Aesthetically

Distanced shape for the works.

 

. as the musical continuity grows larger and more tenuous,
the time-scale expands, and tonality becomes more vague, it is
urgent to have as many organizing themes as possible--to have
plenty of focal, as it were, around which the fog can precipitate.2

 

Thus an auditor-spectator at the performance of a Wagnerian word-tone drama
Will miss much of its meaning if he does not study the motives and their
permut at ion 5 .

It matters enormously "whether you know the motives“--it matters

so much, indeed, that many passages in Wagner‘s music-dramas are

deprived of their dramatic or poetical significance for those who
do not know the meaning of the themes from which they are evolved.3

 

——.—..

J‘Wagner, Opera and Drama, ii., p. 476.

zJoseph Kerman, "Wagner: Thoughts in Season," Hudson Review,
Vol. 13, Fall 1960, p. 345.

SGilman, op. cit., p. 259.

hese motives ma:
ger intellectual
my do both. Hov
rhat it wants fr
The point to
pects to get
may react to
from it with
we may react
thus find ou
laterally, this
advocates the la
discussions of t
into the use of
It is necess
the intimate
Which motive
Pressed, to
formation a]

COI11130591“ th:
borate plan

it is a diffiCu
the abstractiVe
cillltl‘ol of the

sense and the f
“5 not to be he
and flow and th

term.

Here, t

dram 0f the n

lIbid,J

zHende]

 

 

141

These motives may produce an immediate emotional reaction or they may trig-
gnrintellectual perceptions in regard to the drama being enacted or they
may do both. How they fUnction depends, of course, upon the audience and
what it wants from and is willing to give to the work.
The point to decide fer one's self, after all, is what one ex-
pects to get out of such a work as Tristan or the Ring. We
may react to it passively, receptively, deriving what we can
from it without bestirring ourselves much in the process. Or,
we may react to it cooperatively, ardentlyI responsively, and
thus find Ourselves surprisingly enriched.
Naturally, this study, concentrating largely upon an intellectual theory,
advocates the latter process. As will be shown in some degree during the
discussions of the individual works, there is an enormous content built
into the use of the motives.
It is necessary to study the scores very thoroughly, to note
the intimate union of text and music, to observe the changes
which motives undergo when new shades of meaning are to be ex-
,pressed, to grasp the treatment of rhythm and tonality and the
fermation and expansion of themes, and generally to fellow the
composer through the various ramifications of the most ela-
borate plan fer dramatic expression in music ever invented.2
It is a difficult but rewarding task. Wagner made exorbitant demands upon
the abstractive ability of the spectator as well as upon the resources and
control of the orchestra. With nothing to guide him except his pattern—
sense and the flow of the action upon the stage, which is often so static
as not to be helpful at all, the listener is expected to follow the ebb
and flow and the permutations of these ideas when they appear in no fixed
form.

Here, then, are plot sketches and comments concerning the feur

dramas of the Ring of the Nibelwzgen.

‘_-

1Ibid., p. 264.

zHenderson, Richard ngner, p. 423.

 

 

 

ms merwooro
one moment, an

Act I. r
lhine river tryir
or Undines, char
the river. Thei
capitalize on th
fashion the gold
power; he renoun

Act II.
the gods Wotan a
halts have buil
iSFreia, the go
to then. Inste;
”fly out of the
me than love
tints agree th
the Men but
here, eye“ the
in search of th

Act II]
llherich drivir
dd Virtue of ti
ile of tTaRSpo]
strlllrent Alber;
the Tamhelm wl

ldS poppers Alb‘

142

DAS RHE IN GOLD
(HfiiPROLOGUE, THE RHINE GOLD, 1854)

Act I. Alberich, a Nibelung dwarf clambers along the bed of the
ldfine river trying to catch one after another of the three Rhinemaidens,
(u'Undines, charged with guarding a magical deposit of gold buried in
the river. Their rejection and tormenting of him leads Alberich to
capitalize on their indiscreet disclosure that he who rejects love can
fashion the gold into a ring and thereby own the world and all its mighty
power; he renounces love and seizing the gold disappears into the depths.

Act II. The Rhine sinks until its banks become visible. There
the gods Wotan and his wife Fricka awake to see the castle (Valhalla) the
gnants have built for them. The payment WOtan has promised fer this task
is Freia, the goddess of love, but he has no intention of delivering her
to them. Instead he relies upon Loge, the god of fire and lies, to find
a way out of the contract. That worthy reports that the only thing valued
more than love is gold, and he reports on Alberich’s activities. The
giants agree that they will accept the hoard of the Nibelungs rather than
the goddess but they will keep her until the ransom is paid. With Freia
gone, even the gods begin to grow old. Wotan is ferced to go with Loge
in search of the treasure.

Act III. They penetrate the earth to the dwarf's caverns and find
Alberich driving the Nibelungs to amass more gold. He has power over them
by Virtue of the ring he has made and through the Tarnhelm, a helmet capa-
ble of transporting or transferming its wearer at his pleasure. This in-
Strument Alberich's brother Mime, a smith, was ferced to fashion. It is
the Tarnhelm which appears to attract the god's attention and to display

its powers Alberich changes himself into a dragon and then a toad. While

 

 

he is in this she
the helmet. Albo
Act IV.
and the ring. I
the ring. The g
the powerful rin
the ground to wa
and to predict t
the giants have
kills his brothe
0f the curse, Wt
through the resr
rainbow bridge ;
lhis prr
- . . is the
mason is ti
c<_>I15ciousne
tie and per
rarely conv
Certainpy there
Setting, the Ch
time tend to g
of the
Presents the g]
llciry and trus
him to 105a the
his going to
The the

oltreat Distal

lshaw,

 

143

he is in this shape Wetan simply steps on him and holds him while Loge takes

the helmet. Alberich is carried to the surface.

Act IV. There he is required to relinquish the gold, the Tarnhelm

and the ring. In anger at being robbed, Alberich places a death curse on

the ring. The giants refuse the ransom as long as Wotan tries to hold back

the powerful ring fer himself. Erda, the spirit of the Earth, rises from

the ground to warn Wotan against the ring (which has now been stolen twice)

and to predict the downfall of the gods. He surrenders it. As soon as

the giants have the ring, the curse begins to function on them fer Fafner

kills his brother and takes all of the gold for himself. Seeing the power

of the curse, Wbtan begins planning means to avert the fate of the gods

through the restoration of the gold to the Rhine. The gods cross over a

rainbow bridge into their new stronghold.
This prelude to The Ring cycle, The Rhinegold

. is the least popular of the sections of The Ring. The
reason is that its dramatic moments lie quite outside the
consciousness of people whose joys and sorrows are all domes-
tic and personal, and whose religious and political ideas are

purely conventional and superstitious.

Certainly there are few points of empathic contact in this work with the

setting, the characters or the principle plot device of the curse. All

three tend to Distance the drama.
Of the three, the problem of identifying with the characters probably

Inesents the greatest difficulty for the audience. Wotan‘s weakness, dup—

licity and trust in the wily Loge, whom no other god trusts, may well cause

him to lose that initial contact which he should make with the audience if

he is going to attract their attention as the hero.

The character of Loge is an interesting one from the point of view

(HFgreat Distancing. Wagner intended that he should be an unmotivated

I“;

1Shaw, op. cit., p. 27.

 

 

intonation of 6‘
description the
emlnp mdb
mderect like t
The arch
euldepicted ir
according to one
Mflnmed
with Alberich, ‘
isheautiful."3
Shh mneral wa
In eith
difficult to es
thing other the
istrue. It is
he following j
_ Wa
nineteenth
Alberich, .
gold‘-is e
hd search
L}ke Heine

his age 51
the burghe

the fetter
ihe 5)

WM “1'01!eg
\
IWillf

2 .
High-
SGllm

4Gold

 

144

incarnation of evil, a highly Distanced figure, a fact supported by the

description the composer gave of his stage figure: ”Face pale and shining,

eyes large and black and intensified by silver foil: his hair a light red,

muierect like twisted flames.”1
Of the various types of
2

The arch-villain of the Ring is Alberich.
evil depicted in the Ring, "Alberich represents diabolical violence”
according to one author, but Wagner always had a rather soft spot in his
heart for the dwarf, saying among other things that he was in sympathy
with Alberich, "who represents the yearning of the ugly toward that which
is beautiful."3 Each additional character in the Ring is symbolic in the

same general way, is Distanced by the same over-lays of meaning.

In either reading or viewing a production of Das Rheingold, it is

difficult to escape the idea that this stylized fairy-tale must mean some-

thing other than what is apparent on the surface of it. This, of course,

is true. It is a symbolic story which may be interpreted in several ways.

The following is one such example:

Wagner's criticism of cultural conditions in the mid-
nineteenth century--given symbolic form in the character of
Alberich, the ugly dwarf who renounces love and beauty fer
gold--is essentially no different (and a good deal less subtle
and searching) from that of many other critics of his day.
Like Heine, Balzac, Standhal, Carlyle, and Arnold, Wagner saw
his age sinking into a morass of philistinism as everywhere
the burgher class triumphed over the decadent aristocracy and

the fettered proletariat.4

The symbolic nature of every aspect and every character in Rhine-

goZd strongly invites extended commentary. Only one example is chosen

g

lWilliamson, op. cit., p. 80.
ZHight, op. cit., p. 147.
3Gilman, op. cit., p. 235.

4Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 16.

 

 

here to show how
he stolen r
daihall, but
he ring was
is Walhall b
[in its usua
these two are
l’er’oally and mus
this first work
from the creatic
the inevitable (
that must be.
”It is i
the taper who r
for the first t;
of Opera and Dre
the central epi
the cycle, is m
Sl’Stem, It is
The Pm
lhpamtion for
lo set up the h
Production of h
“this Piece (
Fir

and greatly
mental ) 511

311d, after
the other i

\

lwi1301

2Gillnau

 

145

here to Show how overlaid and interconnected everything is.

The stolen ring made from stolen gold was the price paid for

WhlhaZZ, but the connection between them is closer than that.

The ring was the tool and the symbol of Alberich's greed--what

is Valhall but the tool and symbol of Wotan's? Each motive

(in its usual form) fills two measures, and in the first of

these two measures the rhythm of both is identical.1
verbally and musically everything is symbolic, abstract, Distanced. In
this first work of the tetralogy, Wagner has moved the story of the cycle
from the creation of the world to the point where error is so great that
the inevitable destruction can be fereseen. It only remains to work out

what must be.

"It is in the music of Das Rheingold that the essential Wagner--
the Wagner who most profbundly stirs us--first reveals himself."2 Here,
for the first time, are dramas constructed according to the poetic dicta
of Opera and Drama, with minimal dialogue and exhaustive deve10pment of
the central episodes. But here, also, in the score of the Prologue to
the cycle, is music which is written primarily on the basis of the motive
system. It is the first music of the third stage of Wagnerian deve10pment.

The Prelude with which Das Rheingold opens provides an admirable
preparation fer the action, the music, and the moral which are to follow.
To set up the hypnotic empathic conditions which Wagner desired in the
production of his works, note the lulling effect even of the description

of this piece of music.

First, we hear a single mysterious note, very grave
and greatly protracted: this is Nature asleep; to this funda-
mental, single, and primitive tone is then added its fifth;
and, after a long interval, the octave; then, one by one, all
the other harmonics in the same order in which Nature produces

“—

1Wilson, op. cit., p. 29.

2Gilman, op. cit., p. 74.

 

 

them; then, ‘1
appear rhyth:
complicated

intervals ne‘
cadenced und
in movement;
chestra like
ted, a tremb
of life; and
surprised to
river, full

the scenery

here is a stasi
ofanornal pope.
hhich is enough
Shggestibility (
rive their effee
striction of at;
prime example 0
Yet, it
mm in Wagner!
liven Chord hel
Shch as this:
In
We single
59%“ Scer
fundamental
Scene is 11'
imrhant op
In
tablished h
lLaVige

2J1me

311d C0" 1929)

 

146

them; then, passing notes, more and more frequent; then

appear rhythms, at first rudimentary, which mingle and assume
complicated ferms; organization has already commenced; at long
intervals new instruments are added; a kind of regular and
cadenced undulation is established, giving the feeling of water
in movement; the sound gradually swells out and invades the or-
chestra like a torrent; the movement of the waves is accentua-
ted, a trembling arises and increases, bringing the prescience
of life; and, when the curtain rises, we are not in the least
surprised to find ourselves at the bottom of a large flowing
river, full to the banks; our mind had already pictured what

the scenery reveals.

There is a stasis induced by this 136 bars (about four times the length
of a normal popular song), all of which is derived from just one chord,

which is enough to deaden the sensibilities or lower the threshold of

suggestibility of anyone. "The stage makes much use of devices that de-

rive their effectiveness from soothing monotonous stimulation or from re-

striction of attention through fascination . ."2 but this Prelude is a

prime example of devices of this nature.

Yet, it is only one among many such suspensions of musical move-

nent in Wagner's mature works. While it is true that repetition of a

given chord helps to strongly establish the tonality prior to Wagner's

extensive modulation, this can hardly be the sole intent behind a list

such as this:

In Due Rheingold the first 136 bars are built upon
one single perfect chord in E~f1at major; the Prelude of the
second scene for 15 bars only contains perfect chords of the
fundamental tone belonging to the key of D-flat, or related
keys and leading into the key of the dominant; the second
scene is linked to the third by means of a pedal of the
dominant on F, first in the bass, then in the treble, which

is kept up for 55 bars. "
In the first act of Die walkure the tonality is es-

tablished by the treble pedal of the tonic, which lasts fer

1Lavignac, op. cit., pp. 343-344.

2June E. Downey, Creative Imagination (New York: Harcourt, Brace
and Co., 1929), p. 217.

 

 

64 bars, aft!
key of D. It
h-ninor, con'
and maintain!

In t?
pedal of the
cones a treb
by a pedal 0
way of thoro

In t
strongly mar
149 bars, in
of the Undin

Need
Parsifal, wh
leaves the l

Outs
sufficientl)
end of Das }
sustained ft
flourish of
Act 11., Sce
holds on the
succeed (wi'
fect chord 1

it other mUSici
to repeat a giv
lethality of a p
half 0f One bar
[hm-and the
empathic rem;

Astud)
intmduted in 1
derived from 01
Wipes and he
of Sueh motive

“ally a singl

lLavig

 

147

64 bars, after which it is still long before we leave the

key of D. In the third act the predominance of the key of
B-minor, contrasted with the dominant F-sharp, is accented
and maintained fer 34 bars till the rising of the curtain.

In the first act of Siegfried there is a long bass
pedal of the dominant on the note F for 50 bars, which be-
comes a treble pedal for 33 bars more, and which is succeeded
by a pedal of the tonic of 12 bars on E-flat. That is Wagner's
way of thoroughly establishing the tonality.

In the third act of Gdtterdgmmerung it is still more
strongly marked, fer the key of F is not departed from for
149 bars, including not only the Prelude, but also the Trio
of the Undines which follows.

Need I still cite the Prelude to the first act of
Parsifal, which, with the exception of a few bars, scarcely
leaves the key of A-flat?

Outside the Preludes, long and imposing holds are also
sufficiently frequent; the theme of the Rainbow, almost at the
end of Das Rheingold, has a perfect chord on G-flat, which is
sustained for 20 bars in a slow movement; in Lohengrin the long
flourish of trumpets which salutes the rising of the sun in
Act 11., Scene 111., contain no less than 58 bars, augmented by
holds on the one perfect major chord of A, to which immediately
succeed (with one single transitory chord), 15 bars on the per-
fect chord of C major.1

No other musician in the history of Western music has found it necessary
to repeat a given chord for such lengths merely in order to establish the
tonality of a piece. That can be done in two chords, in less than one—
half of one bar. There must have been some other reason for such repe-
tition--and there was: Wagner was preparing the audience to receive the
empathic revelation in his tone drama, his Gesamtkunstwerk.

A study of the motives used in the Ring, some 35 of which are
introduced in Rhinegold, clearly indicates that they are most frequently
derived from one another, thereby showing the relationships among the
notives and helping to hold the spectator. To show the symbolic overtones

of’such motive derivations, consider these permutations of what is essen-

tially a single motive:

 

-—_‘

1Lavignac, op. cit., pp. 257-253.

 

 

Afte

"Das Rheingo
the motive 0
important pa
in the last
the minor 1'th
process of m
primeval ele
sadness of h
as a rophet
Tag dainuert
we hear her
and we then
the end of 1
hythe sane tokr
hire "as it 10
once the Rhine gr
hfhlberich's m
the Nibelungs .
“hit organic in
threads of the

art work,

One wot
Pahhic State in
intheir “58 or
not suffitient]
{i “1 Critics.

“here is m

 

148

After the preliminary measures of the introduction to
”Das Rheingold," we hear the first guiding theme of the drama,
the motive of the Primeval Elements . . . This motive plays an
important part in the trilogy. When Erda rises from the earth
in the last scene of the prologue we hear this same theme in
the minor mode, and we at once perceive that by this simple
process of musical development Wagner associates her with the
primeval elements (earth, air, and water), but emphasises the
sadness of her character and her peculiar office in the tragedy
as a rophetess of woe. When she utters the words, ”Bin Dust'rer
Tag dammert den Gottern" ("A dismal day dawns for the Aesir"),
we hear her motive first in its natural form, and then inverted,
and we then learn that this inversion has an especial meaning,
the end of the gods, the "Gotterdammerung" . 1

Iw'the same token, the motive of the gold is derived from that of the
idune "as it logically should be, since it is the Gold of the Rhine,”2 and
once the Rhinegold has made Alberich the lord of the Nibelungs, the theme
(fiFAIberich's mastery ”is compounded of the Rhinegold motive and that of
the Nibelungs . . ."3 egg, The whole tissue of motives grows with an al-
nost organic inevitability, cross-relating and tying together all of the
threads of the work. The whole begins to approach a totally organized
art work.

One would expect then that Wagner would create a completely em-
pathic state in his audiences by his use of motives but there are flaws
in their use or the phrases chosen to represent a certain abstraction do
not sufficiently suggest the nature of that thing or condition to satis-
fy all critics.

There is no musical phrase which could express, fer example,
a ring, or a sword; for these we have names; music is super-
fluous and becomes a caricature. It can, I think scarcely

be denied that Wagner in the earlier portions of the "Ring”
used his motives injudiciously. It is not unreasonable to

1Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 424.
2Lavignac, op. cit., p. 347.

3Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 432.

 

 

 

suppose that
went astray.
mention of a
there it symt
sion night i
agold ring
when the wor
progressing
every time 1
irritating 1
and many oth
which has be
derive thei‘
obvious exa‘

hhr. digit is ob
Ofan empathic
retires. With
ideas and place
to he variation
calls“ggest, er
hlSical image p
A secor

of the m0’tlves
and all Of the
i“ the world it
Where is t
"Rhinegold
elt‘mtiv
ably inter
item-ding to he
created Such E

hithout extem
\
1H1 ghr

2Henci

149

suppose that at first, when feeling his way, he sometimes
went astray. An example is the familiar "Ring”-motif. The
mention of a ring does not affect the feelings in any way.
Were it symbolical of eternity possibly some musical expres-
sion might be found for it, but it is not so here; it is just
a gold ring and nothing more. We do not feel curly, or round,
when the word is pronounced, and the phrase on two bassoons
progressing in thirds, which recurs like a Norseman's fylgja
every time that the ring is mentioned, is dramatically rather
irritating than helpful. Similarly with the ”Sword”-motif
and many others. They are of the "visiting card” character
which has been justly ridiculed. Unfbrtunately most people
derive their notions of Wagner's methods from these more
obvious examples in Rheingold.1

hhu Hight is objecting to the fact that this motive produces, in him, less
of an empathic response than he is used to deriving from Wagner's empathic
motives. With the varying levels of abstraction among the peOple, things,
ideas and places with which Wagner deals, there are, of course, bound
to be variations in the degree of tactual and empathic contact which he
can suggest, even assuming that he can always find the most appropriate
rmsical image which could be chosen for that purpose.
A second, and for the moment sufficient, flaw in the functioning

of the motives arises when the spectator is asked to grasp all of the motives
and all of their implications in a single hearing. Even with the best will
in the world and a highly Distanced state of mind,

Where is the person who has ever at the first hearing of

"Rhinegold" been able to identify and understand all the

leit—motiven? But if they are not immediately and unavoid~

ably intelligible, are not these leit-motiven undramatic?2
According to Wagner's theory, to that degree they are undramatic. Yet he

created such an involved musical pattern that its perception is impossible

Without extended study of the scores and repeated hearings of the operas.

M

1Hight, op. cit., pp. 169-170.

2Henderson, Preludes and Studies, p. 53.

 

 

higher defeated i
rmpletely empat
hhl resources 0
works in this de
hearers during t
Greater
the opera. Of;
rites the greats
spectacular effe
out that Rhinegi
“ml to show ‘
Wagner ,
0“ the same sta
human beings of
Sits before the
the machinery,
animal forms, 1
mteriarizatior
hhhd 31X People
Wagner Was
Until malde
rapidity o:
“is be i
ereldles of

mVelflents 1
darting 111

e magic I
felt at the

\

1Finch

2Hight

 

150

Wagner defeated his own intentions in regard to the easily understood and
completely empathic absorption of his motives when he applied to them the
fifll resources of instrumental development. By forcing the study of these
works in this depth, Wagner required an abstractive, Distanced state in his
hearers during their study of the 'continuous melody.’

Greater Distancing is also effected in the spectacular effects of
the opera. Of all of Wagner's creations, Rhinegold is the one which in-
idtes the greatest use of the stage machinery and the largest display of
spectacular effects. ”In the preface to his Nibelung Poems he pointed
(nn.that.Rhinegold would give the stage carpenters and machinists an oppor-
Unfity to show that their profession is a real art."1

Wagner apparently thought nothing of asking fer dwarfs and giants
on the same stage at the same time (with both, of course, portrayed by
human beings of normal stature), the raising and lowering of elevator
sets before the eyes of the audience and without the disclosure of any of
the maChinery, the instantaneous transfermation of a person into various
animal forms, the creation of visible storms with lightening and the
noterialization of a bridge made only with light and strong enough to
hold six people.

Wagner was never dismayed by difficulties of representation.
until maidens are feund who can move with the grace and
rapidity of fishes the scene with the Rhinemaidens will al-
ways be impossible. Certainly the waving arms and floating
cradles of our theatrical shows are as unlike the fish—like
movements of Wagner's maidens, now gliding languidly, now
darting like arrows, as anything can well be. Yet such is
the magic of the music that the incongruity is scarcely
felt at the actual perfOrmance.

1Finck, op. cit., p. 320.

ZHight, op. cit., ii., p. 127.

 

 

 

he final 51
technical r1
there appear
the castle.
mist is obtr
devices, wi1
more parts]
he abstract, e1
rescues the other
complete collap:
ioone's eXpectz
iusiems is to pi
whitish and ]
Spectacle interi
m“ and generat
ehiathic force c
One othe
how midi use Of
his audiences.
ti
ediids cross t
if

hm ' .
hfflng the

S .
h3g3 actIOn no!

hidience Of what
tdi'li the fun b

 

151

The final scene, splendidly as it is conceived, defies the

technical resources of any theatre. As the clouds break

there appears a rainbow bridging the Rhine and leading to

the castle. An atmosphere of ethereal haze and falling

mast is obtained by another of Wagner's wonderful orchestral

devices, with six harps and violins divided into eight or

more parts.
The abstract, ethetreal and ideal music is consistently the thing which
rescues the otherwise rather flat-fected representation and prevents a
complete collapse of the illusion. Since the 'wonders' never measure up
to one's expectations, the only protection the audience has fer its il-
lusions is to piece them out with its imagination--or to forget the staging
completely and listen to the suggestions of the music. In either case, the
spectacle interferes with, rather than intensifies, the empathic absorp-
tion and generates a greater Distance which must be counteracted by the
empathic force of the music.

One other production device or bit of business will indicate just
how muCh use of its memory and manipulation of symbols Wagner expected of
his audiences. At the conclusion of the action of this drama, just before
the gods cross the rainbow bridge into Valhalla, Wotan conceives the idea
ofthe free hero who will regain the gold and restore it to the Rhine,
thus lifting the curse and, hopefully, restoring the gods. Neither the
stage action nor the dialogue of the libretto in any way informs the
mxfience of what Wotan's secret thoughts are. The music is supposed to
carry the full burden at this point, foreshadowing what is to come in an
intelligible manner.

The conception of the hero in the mind of Wotan is made known

to us only by the orchestra, which intones the Sword motive here
fer the first time. . . . It was just a little too much fer

 

k

1179id., p. 132.

 

 

Wagner to e
motive in t
act of "Die
latter how
it meant thr
we whether (18
Act I.
the race of the
enemies into the
hmding's wife,
that they are m
“hit, but is t
it a death sent
battle and flig
When th
draught and net
1°“? before the
draws the Sworc
irbedded by iiot
herwo rush f1
Act II.

Witter Siegmur
\
2*} Wall
Vllhity‘
t ose

liner .

 

 

152

Wagner to expect that his auditors would carry the Sword
motive in their minds from ”Das Rheingold" to the first
act of "Die Walkure," and remember when hearing it in the

latter how it wits used in the former and thus find out what
it meant there.

DIE WALKURE (1856)

Act I. Siegmund, one of Wotan's two human children who make up
the race of the Walsungs, plunges from a stormy night and the pursuit of
enemies into the hut of Hunding. There he meets and is cared for by
Hunding's wife, Sieglinde, until Hunding returns. In spite of the fact

that they are mortal enemies, Siegmund is granted hospitality for the

 

night, but is threatened with combat in the morning. This is tantamount

to a death sentence since Siegmund has no weapons, having lost his in

battle and flight .

When the couple retire, Sieglinde gives her husband a sleeping i
draught and returns to the stranger to tell him of a weapon. They are in
love before they discover that they are brother and sister. When Siegmund
draws the sword Nothung from the support-tree of the hut (where it was
imbedded by Wotan), Sieglinde knows that he is her prophesied defender.

The two rush from the hut into the forest.
Act II. Wotan instructs Brunhilde, his favorite Walkir're,z to

protect Siegmund in his approaching fight with Hrmding. Then Wotan's

__g

1Henderson, Richard Wagner, p. 395.

. 2A Walkiire (or Valkyrie), the offspring of Wotan and Erda, is a
minor divinity, a warrior maiden whose primary task it is to bring to
Valhalla those warriors who lose their lives in battle. They do this by
flying through the air on their horses to the scene of a battle, fore-
warning the hero of his death and then collecting his soul after he is

Cat down. They also serve as "Wish-Maidens" in Valhalla, a position
which is never defined.

 

rife Fricka, the
destruction of .
her logic and c1
that her order
for the warrior
attempts this,
spear to defend
the spear. Sie
he disobedient
the pieces of t
Act III
lifuse to aid B
Sieglinde that
Safety, Brunhil
Strips her of r
from which She
bEIUhe to him,
sieeping form v

Wild penetratt

. It
In the Rim
hire majol, (
RheingoZd ;
tragedy of
(I

WMg.
3198mm 31

i“ it is the

hittion.

\

 

153

wdfe Fricka, the goddess of marriage, appears to protest the incestuous

destruction of a marriage by the Walsungs. Wotan is forced to submit to

her logic and countermand his former instructions to Brunhilde. Knowing

that her orders now are actually against Wotan's real will, she pleads

for the warrior and decides to defend, rather than slay him. When she
attempts this, Wotan appears above the contestants and uses his runic

spear to defend Hunding, so that Siegmund's sword Nothung is broken across

the spear. Siegmund is slain by Hunding, who is then struck down by WOtan.

The disobedient Walkfire flees from Wotan's anger, carrying Sieglinde and

the pieces of the broken sword.with her.

Act III. The Walkfire,assembled at their haunt in the mountains,

refuse to aid Brunhilde's flight or to hide her. When Brunhilde has told

Sieglinde that she will bear the highest hero and has sent her away to

safety, Brunhilde awaits the god's punishment. When Wotan arrives, he

strips her of her divine status and decrees that she be cast into a sleep

from which She can be awakened by any man who finds her and she must then

belong to him. Her pleas soften the punishment to the point where her

sleeping form will be surrounded by fire, through which only the bravest
would penetrate. Wotan abandons his child under these conditions.

It is in Die walkflre that Wagner, for the first time
in the.Ring, makes us aware of the vastness of the issues with
which he is concerned. The work embodies two concurrent actions.
The major one is the overarching and superhuman drama involving
the consequences of Wotan' s sin, stretching backward to Das
Rheingold and to the theft of the Ring, and forward to the cosmic
tragedy of doom and expiation that will be consummated in Gutter-

erung. The other drama is the human and subsidiary one of
Siegmund and Sieglinde.1

Yet it is the latter which will require the majority of the comment in this

Section.

 

 

 

1Gilman, op. cit., p. 86.

 

 

 

 

The cou:
tween Siegmund r

Contraveniny
by this time
ordinance a;
the old orde

he taboos of ti
of Under-Distant
race, half gods
to produce what
if the destruct
the future.

AS for the
drama, Wag
haulage wi
Handing; sh
p01iht is ar
length stil
abbreviated

Setting aside a
Hague? anSWe red

inceSt’3 Which
\\.
lBentle

ZFinck,

This
defend wagnerli

,e relations p
iii-logical den
[pi a‘Pity th

is like 0the

Ear; for -

 

 

154

The cause celebre in this Gesamtkunstwerk is the relationship be—

tween Siegmund and Sieglinde, the twin children of WOtan.

Contravening human laws against adultery, for Sieglinde is

by this time married to Hunding, and contravening also holy

ordinance against incest, the pair engender the hero, Siegfried:

the old order is broken by immoralists.
The taboos of the society are being challenged, apparently, and the danger
of Under-Distancing becomes great when the noblest members of the human
race, half gods themselves, unite in the face of both human and divine laws

to produce what is to be regarded as a still higher being, Siegfried. Out

of the destruction of the established order comes the brightest hope for

 

the future.

As for the charge of adultery, that is not admitted in this
drama. Wagner does not concede that there can be a true
marriage without love. Sieglinde was carried off forcibly by
Hunding; she was overwhelmed; that is not marriage. The
point is argued at length in the text by Wotan; at greater
length still in the original version of the poem, which was
abbreviated by 126 lines when it was set to music.

Setting aside for the moment, the question of adultery, which it is assumed
Wagner answered, one is still left with the highly explosive problem of

incest,3 which as Bullough pointed out (”the questioning of some generally

_—_

1Bentley, ”Richard Wagner,” p. 177.
2Finck, op. cit., ii., pp. 333-334.

3This prOblem ramifies in several directions: "I am not bound to
defend Wagner's morals. [Note the ascription of this belief to the artist.]
The relations between Siegmund and Sieglinde are outrageous, in spite of
the logical demand that Wotan's wrong should be atoned for by Wotan's blood.
It is a pity that Wagner could not have fbund means to avoid this difficulty.
It is like other errors, in that it leads the erring one still farther as-
tray; for it results in Siegfried's marrying his half~aunt. Siegmund and
Sieglinde are children of'Wbtan; so is Brfinnhilde; hence she is their half-
Sister, and her relation to their son, Siegfried, becomes painfully ob-
tnous. This comes of dealing with mythologies, which are proverbially im-
Inbper." Henderson, Preludes and Studies, p. 19.

 

 

 

 

recognised ethio
linit of most pt
censorship whic]
sunnary of his l

Dis
not only ac
a greater 0
to the indi
degree.2

to, it is not 5
scene based upo
lore, clothed i
it difficult fc

In theory,
but even t}
or emotion:
aPPI‘GCiable
to a rem]
WY. verj
hiS'Distm
lost and a'
ter.3 ‘

It may

to music) that

diQHCes) and I:
our end Sie g1

311d unconsdol

lBUllt
21nd
31nd

155

recognised ethical sanctions . .”1) is dangerously close to the Distance-

limit«of most people. This difficulty becomes a question of Distance—vs.-
censorShip which Bullough also discussed with great point. Here is a

mmmmry of his observations.

Distance . . . admits naturally of degrees, and differs
not only according to the nature of the object, which may impose
a greater or smaller degree of Distance, but varies also according

to the individual's capacity for maintaining a greater or lesser
degree.2

So, it is not simply that Wagner has included in this libretto a 'shocking'
scene based upon an 'immoral' idea--he has certainly done that and fUrther-
unre, clothed it in his warmest, most empathic verse and music thus making
it difficult for audiences to retain a Distanced attitude.

Theoretically there is no limit to the decrease of Distance.

In theory, therefore, not only the usual subjects of Art,

but even the most personal affections, whether ideas, percepts

or emotions, can be sufficiently distanced to be aesthetically

appreciable. Especially artists are gifted in this direction

to a remarkable extent. The average individual, on the con-

trary, very rapidly reaches his limit of decreasing Distance,

his ‘Distance-limit', i.e. that point at which Distance is

lostsand appreciation either disappears or changes its charac-
ter.

It may be granted that Wagner's was basically a sensuous approach
to music, that he usually desired the utmost empathic response from.his au-
diences, and that when he depicted an engagement such as that between Sieg-
mung and Sieglinde, he was inviting the audience to experience these forbidden
arrangements in some degree. But it must also be noted that this arrange-
nent was clothed in many of the Distancing devices which Wagner habitually

and unconsciously used and that it has a formal, purposeful character.

‘—

1Bu11ough, op. cit., p. 101.
21bid.,;n 100.

31bid., p. 101.

 

 

 

lhe Dis
is made artisti
the artist can
aware of the an
content.

The
the talent
By reason I
with imprm
eiator or n
elements in
content, 0
be educate
value of 1

It will readil
problem in art
could be trust
in the exister

about the pro;

srrnrnrno (13‘

Mime

)

Sbelinae, w},
i” the We ti

guarding the

the magical p

Whood) 1me

breaks each 5

\
114mS

2Bull

156

The Distancing effect, produced by the manner in which the event
is made artistic, purifies even the most potentially offensive action if
the artist can organize and present it properly and i£_the audience is

aware of the artistic properties of the scene rather than only of its

content .

The strength of the formal appeal depends upon both
the talent of the artist and the experience of the appreciator.
By reason of the cleverness of his technique, the master may
with impunity present content of little distance and the appre-
ciator or connoisseur by reason of his knowledge of the formal
elements maintains his attitude no matter how much there is of

content, or how close it may be. It follows that the public should
be educated to observe the relations in art. It should know the
value of lines and colors and the laws of the drama.1

It will readily be granted that this is a Utopian solution to an eternal
problem in art, but it is still true that "if every member of the public

could be trusted to keep it [Distance], there would be no sense whatever

in the existence of a censor of plays”2 nor would there be complaints

about the propriety of such scenes.

SIEGFRIED (1871)

Mime, the Nibelung smith and the brother of Alberich, assisted
Sieglinde, who died in childbirth, and has since raised her child Siegfried

in the hope that he will be able to slay the giant Fafner. Fafner is still

guarding the hoard of gold, but now in the shape of a dragon, thanks to

the magical powers of the Tarnhelm. The young Siegfried, now grown to

manhood, imposes his will upon the dwarf and has required that he fashion

a sword fit for a hero. The smith is unable to do so, for Siegfried

breaks each sword on the anvil with a single blow. Siegfried questions

lLangfeld, op. cit., pp. 79-80.

2Bullough, op. cit., p. 97.

 

 

 

the about his 0'.
ttlsungs. He pr‘
of the story. 5
Wotan, i
nsession of rid
loses, because h
(Siegfried) can
line‘s shoulders
When Sit
thevorh, so he
administer to h‘
“tom's" hole,
Act II.
Mill's cave,
”1d line arrive
toabirdsong u
dragon, and hat
“his much to
of the bird, w}
from the dragol
drink; Siegfrit
andsiegfi‘ied ‘
Multitude,
Act II
lotan tries to
of Dover Shatt

this are mu)

157

Mime about his origin and the Nibelung is forced to tell the tale of the
Walsungs. He produces the broken pieces of Siegmund's sword as a proof
of the story. Siegfried orders Mime to repair the sword and leaves.

Wotan, in the guise of a Wanderer, appears to engage the dwarf in
a session of riddles, the loser to forfeit his head. Mime, of course,
loses, because he does not know that only he who is without fear
(Siegfried) can mend the broken sword. The forfeited head is left on
Mime's shoulders to be collected later by Siegfried.

When Siegfried returns, he decides that he will indeed have to do
the work, so he recasts the sword while Mime mixes a poisoned drink to
administer to him after he tries to kill Fafner. They set off for the
”worm's" hole, so that Siegfried may learn what fear is.

Act II. Wotan appears to Alberich, who is loitering outside
Fafner's cave, and announces the Siegfried is approaching. When the hero
and Mime arrive, Mime hides while the hero rests under a tree and listens
to a birdsong until Fafner makes an appearance. Siegfried slays the
dragon, and having gotten some of its blood on his finger, puts the finger
in his mouth to cool it. Immediately, Siegfried can understand the speech
of the bird, who tells him to take the Tarnhelm and the ring of Rhinegold
from the dragon's hole; he does so. When Mime tries to use his poisoned
drink; Siegfried's new comprehension penetrates the dwarf '5 real thoughts
and Siegfried slays him without compunction. The bird then tells the hero
of Brunhilde, asleep on the Walkure'srock, and leads him toward her.

Act III. After another conference with Erda, the earth Spirit,
Wotan tries to speak with Siegfried and only succeeds in having his Spear

of power shattered by Siegfried's sword. Wotan leaves, knowing that the

gods are truly doomed.

 

 

 

 

 

Siegfri
her with a kiss
'nerinmortal qu

”Siegfr
indeed Wagner's
from some flaws
drama unless he
and to some cr:
the ancient tal
ployed here, i
Sane is true 0

Wagner
balance the au
final act. Th
to become empa
garded, (mite
there are man)
died, in a 3-01
then Siegfriet
ill Person [w]
in of her)

, i

Wender ch.
to a Sudd
Cl‘ies "Da.
Character
Wagner CO

\

1Will

ZIbia

 

158

Siegfried penetrates the wall of fire around Brunhilde, awakens
her with a kiss, and during their love duet, Brunhilde willingly fbregoes
her immortal qualities to become his wife.

”Stegfried has been called the scherzo of The.Ring, and it is
indeed Wagner's 'happy' opera, as Shaw noted."1 But it does suffer
from some flaws which will destroy the spectator's delight in the word-tone
drama unless he is highly Distanced. There is, fer instance, the extended,
and to some critics2 unnecessary 'riddle' scene, a feature of the Eddas,
the ancient tales from which Wagner adapted his material, which, as em-
ployed here, is useless dramatically but quite valuable musically. The
same is true of the Act III encounter of Wotan and Erda.

Wagner used two techniques in this Gesamtkunstwerk to control and
balance the audience's response to the cyclonic outpouring of love in the
final act. The first of these is humor. It is somewhat more difficult
to become empathically involved in the actions of someone who can be re—
garded, quite tolerantly, as a fool. Because of his secluded upbringing,
there are many things which Siegfried does not know and some of them are
used, in a joking manner, to retard the beginnings of the love scene.
When Siegfried has made his way through the flames, discovered the sleep-
ing person (whom he ought to have known to be a woman, for the bird told
him of her), and has begun an examination of her,

WOnder changes to shock as he removes the shield; and it is
to a sudden violent burst of music that he starts back and
cries ”Das ist kein Mann!" The naivety is one of Wagner's
characteristic touches of humour; and indeed perhaps only
Wagner could have dared and got away with the half-amusing,

1Williamson, op. cit., p. 103.

Zapata, p. 108.

 

 

 

 

half-touchi
when Siegfr
fusing the
within him,
did not die
gentle corn

Such bits of cl
the action and
virtually forct
love and the l

The de
acceptance of

No doubt a
adventures
curiosity,
unwonted 3
their mere
perience t
of Distanc

The se
audience in ti

add Its reSU11

TI
the same l
115 with an
tunes, 3‘
Sinister .
their dar
into WOma
their 10v
is Perfec

This is an id
shou1d be lik
\
llbic
2Bull

3Phil

 

159

half-touching situation early in the love duet which follows,
when Siegfried, misled by a phrase of Brfinnhilde's and con-
fusing the nature of womanhood and the love he feels beating
within him, guilelessly assumes that his mother, after all,
did not die and Brfinnhilde must be Sieglinde: Brflnnhilde's
gentle correction is a model of tenderness and tact.1

Such bits of character revelation have a definite effect upon the flow of
the action and upon the audience's reaction to what is depicted. They
virtually force the adoption of a radically unusual attitude toward the
love and the lovers being developed here.

The delicate balance between complete impossibility and a playful
acceptance of the actions depicted is a difficult one to maintain.

No doubt also, fairy-tales, fairy-plays, stories of strange
adventures were primarily invented to satisfy the craving of
curiosity, the desire fer the marvellous, the shudder of the
unwonted and the longing for imaginary experiences. But by
their mere eccentricity in regard to the normal facts of ex-
perience theg cannot have failed to arouse a strong feeling
of Distance.

The second device for controlling the empathic involvement of the
audience in the love scene is the manipulation of the scale of the action
and its resulting absolute openness and intensity.

There is about the union of Siegfried and Brfinnhilde
the same element of the colossal, the superhuman, that strikes
us with awe in the contemplation of Tristan and Isolde's for-
tunes. But here the parallel ends. Until black Alberich and his
sinister child, the pale, cold~blooded Hagen, begin to weave
their dark spells round the hero and the goddess transfbrmed
into woman, the radiant, all-piercing light of day envelops
their loves, and even in the white heat of their passion there
is perfect purity.3

This is an idealization of a wooing, an abstraction of what it perhaps

should be like. Few things happen with the precision and agreement of

”

libidn,;n 112.
2BuiIough, op. cit., pp. 110-111.

3Phillips, op. cit., p. 133.

 

wills which cha
the audience we
highly selectiv
ranner) or they
could never ha;
rowed from a hf

The idt
iagner contras

Look well
represents
sent, wher
for by us
fashion hi

because Wotan
hulmnizing def
M» as a resc

The Whole
is a revel
Well as C:
the boyts
jealous, 1
who repre:
well as 0.
his broker
”9 trag
3nd autho
of POWer

311d emoti

There
musical and p
Wile) but It
\

1w

agr
2Wir:

 

 

 

culls which characterizes Siegfried's and Brunhilde's love. As a result,

the audience would have to be aware of the compression of events and the
highly selective nature of what they are shown (being Distanced in that

runner) or they would draw away from the scene with a scornful, "Ah, it

could never happen like that.” Either way, they will be somewhat re-

moved from a highly empathic situation.

The idealization of Siegfried operates in another way, too.
hegner contrasts his concept of perfection with Wotan, of whom he says,

Look well at him, for in every point he resembles us. He
represents the actual sum of the Intelligence of the Pre-
sent, whereas Siegfried is the man greatly desired and longed
fer by us of the Future. But we who long for him cannot

fashion him . . .

Because Wotan represents Intelligence, Power and Authority but suffers a

humanizing defeat, he is both abstractive and empathic at the same time

and, as a result, a complex character.

The whole episode [in Act III between Siegfried and Wotan]
is a revelation of human character--the grandfather's (as
well as Creator's) pride and affection, a little amused at
the boy's importunity and disrespect, finally angry at it;
jealous, too, in a sudden pang, of Brfinnhilde, the child
Who represents his 'real' self and inner conscience, as
well as of his loss of authority. The Wotan who picks up
his broken spear is a destroyed and superseded, and there»
fore tragic, human being, as well as an instrument of law
and authority laid low. As so often with Wagner, the symbol
of power is given imaginative force through human character

and emotion.

There was a considerable shift in the musical methods employed in
this score as compared to the first two music dramas in the Ring. wagner's
Imsical and poetic theories were worked out to enable him to write the

Cycle, but long befbre it was finished, some twenty-five years later, he

 

 

1Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 292.

2Williamson, op. cit., p. 111.

 

 

 

 

 

ladbegm the 1
discarding the
fond in the Sc
composed nnrsic
work that the
that this mean
sensual aspect
following the
When it
In Siegfm'
tion of or
motifs occ
Woven toge
for which
no longer
trdplmtal
To the degree
315° produce :
mks- To ch.
WTiling and ’t‘
tual C°mp1exic
Team”, the
in chal'dcter,
A“ 11. With
action Would

mean, the act

 

161

 

had begun the process of'modifying, correcting and in some cases even
discarding the theory. The first indications of this change are to be
fbund in the score of Siegfried ”which contains a great amount of freely
composed music. There is so much that is external and incidental in this
inn*.that the constant employment of guiding themes was unnecessary.”1
What this means, of'course, is that Wagner relied more upon the purely

sensual aspects of his music and called for less use of the intellect in

 

fbllowing the motives and their changing forms.
When Wagner did use the motives, he used them less rigorously.

In Siegfried (and in all of the succeeding works), the integra-

tion of orchestral motif with dialog is much less careful. The

motifs occur so frequently, often two, sometimes three being

woven together in one measure, that reminiscences, the function

for which the motif of reminiscence was originally intended, are

no longer possible. The motival interplay tends to become a con-

trapuntal interweaving with a purely musical significance.
Tb the degree that the resulting music could produce emotions, it could
also produce a greater degree of empathy than it had in Wagner's earlier
works. To the degree that the audience is aware of the complexity of this
writing and tries to follow the permutations of the themes, the intellec-
tual complexity of the response was increased. Regardless of the audience's
reaction, the music itself is far more instrumental in nature and symphonic

in character.3 This is true especially in the Forest Murmurs scene of

Act II. Without a conscious knowledge of the motives, the whole of the

 

action would seem to be interrupted here; with an awareness of what they

mean, the action flows on, preparing the audience fer the love duet.

 

1Henderson, Richard Whgner, p. 439.
ZStein, op. cit., pp. 127-128.

3This growing symphonic awareness is documented in Wagner's in-
terest in writing symphonic music divorced from the stage. See Newman,
Wagner as Man and Artist, p. 240.

 

 

 

 

Wagner'
the time. He r
preparation whi
stood by consci
corporated intt
iron the viewe:
leads to the At
The
be magnifi
aremarkab
the first
hours and
the except
Erda. Sie
woman; the
had never
In Spi
PTeSSion, 81:99
be felt betwee
tiller, there j
Spot where Wag

the heistersiw

tweIVe Year p:

”“5 TWILIGHT
There
50mg, 01‘ Fat

of life. Whe-

the SQCond pr

1Finc

 

162

Wagner's musical—dramatic handling of situations became surer all
the time. He never failed to make extensive preparation for many episodes,
'pueparation which could only be conscious on his part and which can be under-
stood by conscious reflection on the part of the audience but which is in-
corporated into the score in order to produce a strong empathic reaction
from the viewer. An example of such extended preparation is that which
leads to the Act III awakening of Brunhilde and the following love duet.

The passionate love-duo which closes the act would
be magnificent in any place; but coming as it does, it affords
a remarkable instance of Wagner's dramatic ingenuity. Through
the first two acts and part of the third, fbr more than three
hours and a half the spectator has heard no female voice, with
the exception of the few notes sung by the Forest Bird and
Erda. Siegfried, when he finds Brfinnhilde, had never seen a
woman; the audience, when she begins to sing, feel as if they
had never heard a woman's voice. The effect is thrilling .

 

In spite of all of these felicities of musical and dramatic ex-
pression, Siegfried does, however, represent a work in which tension can
be felt between the purely musical and the dramatic portions. In parti—
cular, there is a major shift in mood between Acts II and III, the very
Spot where Wagner stopped work on the Ring in order to write Tristan and
the Mbistersinger. The first two acts of the work may well reflect a

lighter more youthful tone than the portions which were written after the

 

twelve year pause.
GbTTBRDh'MMERUNG
(THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS, 1874)

There is a double scenic prelude to this work. In the first, the
Norns, or Fates, recount the events of the Ring while weaving the thread
0f life. When it breaks, their power is at an end and they vanish. In

the second prelude, Brunhilde and Siegfried emerge from their cave.

M

1Finck, op. cit., ii., pp. 354-355.

 

Siegfried, havi
her, under a me
his beck,l is o
loving farewell
the ring of Rh:
Act I.
[who was sired
lutnne of Sie
Suggestion is
be given a mag
love only Gutr
Brunhilde and
hith the addit
t0 return the
fuses to part
Tarnhelm to t]
he tears the 1
Act 1]
Win Pmmpts
bYGUnther am
mime. and 1
tram 311d She
by taking adv:

on“, On Hagei

has 5

The ‘
Ure that
retreat.

 

 

163

Siegfried, having learned the wisdom of the Walkure and been placed, by
her, under a magical protection which makes him invulnerable except fer
his'back,1 is now about to set out in search of new adventures. In their
loving farewell, the couple exchange gifts, Siegfried giving Brunhilde
the ring of Rhinegold and she providing him with her Walkfire horse.

Act I. In the hall of the Gibichungs, the half-brother Hagen
(who was sired by Alberich) tells Gunther, the king, and his sister
(hmrune of Siegfried and Brunhilde but leaves out their mating. His
suggestion is that when the mighty Siegfried visits the court, he should
be given a magic drink which would make him fOrget all other women and
love only Gutrune. He could then be used to penetrate the flames around
Brunhilde and win her fer Gunther. The action follows his plot exactly,
with the addition of a visit of a Walkfire to Brunhilde to plead with her
to return the ring to the Rhine and thus save the gods. Brunhilde re—
fuses to part with the love token but when Siegfried, having used the
Tarnhelm to transfbrm him into the shape of Gunther, penetrates the flames,
he tears the ring from her hand and leads her to their cave for the night.

Act II. At the Gibichung palace, Alberich appears to Hagen and
again prompts him to secure the ring. Siegfried arrives, fellowed shortly
by Gunther and his new queen Brunhilde. When Brunhilde sees Siegfried with
Gutrune, and the ring upon his finger, she assumes that she has been be-
trayed and she accuses Siegfried of having broken his bond with Gunther
by taking advantage of her during the night. Siegfried swears his inno-

cence on Hagen's Spear and leaves for the celebration of the double

‘_..-

1The reason fer the lack of complete coverage is that Brunhilde
was sure that Siegfried would never turn his back on an enemy, would never
retreat.

 

 

 

wrriage. Bru
to kill Siegfr
he king reluc
Act II

of the Rhine,
the ring and p
Gunthe
prepare their
killing of Fat
which restore:
and he dies tl
His be
intrunemoums
Sion of the r
then the corp:
Brunhilde, ha.
Widens, appe
Here is bui
heroine put
hm, rides
c15ml the rin
The f

the gods is c
of an of
couched n
stl’le, ]

symmetric
But it is

\

lGiln

164

nmrriage. Brunhilde's love turns to hatred and she joins in Hagen's plot
to kill Siegfried, even telling him about Siegfried's vulnerable back.
The king reluctantly joins the plot.

Act 111. On a hunting expedition, Siegfried arrives at the banks
of the Rhine, where the Rhinemaidens unsuccessfully ask for the return of
the ring and prophesy his death.

Gunther, Hagen and the other hunters join Siegfried and, while they
prepare their meal ask him to tell of his adventures. He does, to the

killing of Fafner, and then stops until Hagen gives him another drink
which restores his memory of Brunhilde. Hagen pierces Siegfried's back
and he dies thinking of Brunhilde.
His body is brought back to the hall of the Gibichungs where
Gutrune mourns Siegfried’s death. Hagen and Gunther fight over the posses-
sion of the ring and Gunther is killed. Superstitious fear stops Hagen
when the corpse raises its arm to warn him against taking the ring.
Brunhilde, having learned the truth of the recent situations from the Rhine-
nmidens, appears and takes charge of the funeral preparations for Siegfried.
A.pyre is built near the river and Siegfried's body is placed upon it.
Brunhilde puts the ring on her finger, lights the pyre and, mounting her
horse, rides into the flames. The Rhine overflows,the Rhinemaidens re-
claim the ring and drown Hagen, who tries to stop them.
The flames of the pyre ignite even Valhalla and the destruction of
the gods is completed.
Of all of his [Wagner's] utterances, this is the one that is
couched most prevailingly and influentially in the grand
style. It is notthe most lovable of his scores, nor the most

symmetrical in form, nor the most consistent in its texture.
But it is beyond comparison the most tremendous.1

 

1Gilman, op. cit., p. 132.

 

 

 

 

The sar
scale is enorrru
of the tetralo‘
structure.

Indeed
lens, is ofte
designed to pu
world of Siegf
is an enotiona
and resubjugat
out the scene,
sents the Thre
Plints each ti
real shock of

In the spi
during the
brought un
breaking c
threads, I
expect an)

When 5
themagiCal Cl
tort the audie

' ' . we [1
1lze the r
relating 1
Nealp he]

er. But
hope n0 ri

\\\\\‘\‘\“
lwiIS(

2H8ndg

 

 

165

The same thing may be said of the libretto as of the score. Its

scale is enormous and in the attempt to pull together all of the strands

of'the tetralogy, Wagner has produced both a flawed and an imposing dramatic

structure.

Indeed, the first scene of the prologue, the appearance of the
Norns, is often criticised even though this dark and foreboding scene is

designed to pull the spectator's thoughts back from the relatively sun-lit

world of'Siegfried into the darker regions of impending tragic doom. It

is an emotional scene intended to re-establish the hypnosis of the cycle

and resubjugate the audience. The repetitive action of the Norns through-

out the scene, the throwing from one to another of the rope which repre-
sents the Thread of Life and the looping and draping of it from the same

points each time, fixes the audience's attention and provides the first

real shock of the drama.

In the spinning of the rope of fate we behold a ritual pro-
ducing the impression of eternal continuity. To an audience
brought under the domination of this impression the sudden
breaking of the rope is a terrific shock. Woven in with its
threads, the curse of greed has eaten through them--we cannot
expect anything to escape from such destructive power.

When Siegfried arrives at the palace of the Gibichungs and is given
the magical cup of 'friendship,‘ another possible flaw which could dis-

turb the audience's aesthetic attitude appears.

. . we may readily wonder why Gutrune's drink did not para-
lyze the man's entire memory, and not simply that part of it
relating to his Valkyr bride, and we may ask why he could not
recall her if he was able to recall the events leading up to
her. But if we accept the fable of a magic drink at all, we
have no right to put fancifu1 limitations to its powers.

1Wilson, op. cit., p. 34.
2Henderson, Preludes and’Studies, pp. 44-45.

 

 

he last stater
log of the dr:
action does no'
edbistance, wl
when reality i:
rents begin to
this drug upon
certain nemori
logically shou
rect violation
lhe audience,
abstracting ar
emllwthic invo]
Stated, and 11
0f the Situat:
at those poin-
[act on an end
to determine .
wart slrou1d h
There

of both Siegf
btturrenCes i
tially distu:

with the“ ch

Sis
te“CY and

Utah °l11y be

 

dfi

166

The last statement is correct as long as Wagner is consistent in his hand-
ling of the drink's effects. The degree of probability in a dramatic
action does not usually concern an audience greatly as long as the assert-
ed Distance, Whatever it is, remains relatively constant. It is only

when reality intrudes upon fantasy or vice versa, that the improbable ele-

 

nents begin to be disturbing. In this instance, in the specific action of
this drug upon Siegfried's memory, Wagner is most inconsistent. He allows
certain memories which should have been eliminated and cancels others which

logically should have remained. Any inconsistency of this sort is in di-

rect violation of Wagner's own theories and the theory of Aesthetic Distance.

The audience, according to Wagner, should never have to actively use its
abstracting and combining intellect in order to understand an action. The
empathic involvement in the Distanced state requires a unified, completely
stated, and immediately recognizable, naturalistic treatment of all a3pects
of the situation. If there are breaks or flaws in the action of the play,
at those points the audience will be jarred out of an easy, empathic con—
tact on an emotional level and will be fored to use its analytical powers
to determine what was really meant and what the proper reaction on their
part should have been.

There are two particularly abrupt changes in character in this
work, changes which seem to violate the conception which has formed earlier
Of'both Siegfried and Brunhilde. They both are presumably motivated by
occurrences in the action, yet both changes are so great as to be poten-
tially disturbing to any empathic contact the audience may have formed
wfilh these characters. Since most people do not seem to approve of incon-
sistency and unreliability in others and since Lipps indicates that empathy

'Tan only be [valuable and pleasant] when the activity with which we

 

 

 

identify ourse
this uoralisti
ficient to car
[thereby destr
Distanced atti
The cl
three, and, ft
The S:
the Tamheln,
for Gmther.
when she clai
her finger, n2
which have be
the audience
1‘ constitute
While
haTdhess in h
”At in beir
“he: charat
cerned daugh'
Perspnap Plln
long” "00ed .
tralogy‘ He

hhich there

\
1a

ltd, 1928) ’

2wir

167

identify ourselves is one that we should enjoy or approve in ourselves,”1
this moralistic judging of the actions of the hero and heroine may be suf—
ficient to cause an audience member to break off his empathic relationship
(thereby destroying the conditions that Wagner wanted) and take an Over-
Distanced attitude.

The changes in question occur, for Siegfried, in Act 1, Scene
three, and, for Brunhilde, in the latter part of Act II.

The Siegfried alteration is that which occurs when, disguised by
the Tarnhelm, he penetrates the wall of flame around Brunhilde to woo her
for Gunther. "Siegfried seems transformed in character no less than body;
when she claims the Ring will protect her, he brutally wrenches it from
her finger.”2 This action is in direct violation of all character traits
which have been shown fer Siegfried, would not presumably be approved by
the audience members, and is continued or developed in no other scene.

It constitutes a possible flaw in the empathic portion of the Distancing.

While the audience knows that Brunhilde must have some traits of
hardness in her character for she was a messenger of death and she did
exult in being in the midst of battles, nevertheless, the dominant facets
of her character which have been displayed are those of the loving, con-
cerned daughter, the goddess with enough sympathy for mortals to risk
Personal punishment to aid them and the heroically loving and tender
Woman wooed by Siegfried at the conclusion of the third part of the te-
tralogy. Her character has been presented as entirely positive and one with

which there should be no problems in empathizing. What then is one to

 

 

IE. p. Carritt, The Theory of'Beauty (London: Methuen and Co.,
Ltd., 1928), p. 278.

2Williamson, op. cit., p. 122.

 

 

 

 

to wake of th
plans the del
oeober my oh
rind with no
her complete]
solved throup
There

dranas which
among whom i:
nature of the
problero which
the tetralog
If t

how can one
love? Wagne
Brllllhilde SP
Plurging int
has pass

of my Se
goods, g
cence’ I
law of p

1“ em

But the autl
losic; he e:
theme“ 0:
stllr rem
\
lla‘

168

to make of the terrifying woman who, at the end of Act II, demands and

pflans the deliberate slaughter of the person she loved? An audience

nember may observe such changes with a Distanced, abstractive frame of
nfind with no great difficulty but he cannot continue to empathize with
her completely without a good deal of difficulty which can only be re-
solved throughthe intellect, thereby restoring the conditions for empathy.

There is an odd discontinuity of thought in this cycle of music

 

dramas which has been the cause of comment by several critics, foremost

among whom is George Bernard Shaw. The problem they raise is whether the

nature of the opera agtterdammerung and the solution to the moral-ethical

 

problem which is found there really is consistent with the remainder of

the tetralogy.
If the unity which would enable the use of empathy is destroyed,

how can one accept, not an abstract but an empathic solution like that of

love? Wagner felt that his message was one of love. He originally had

Brunhilde specifically state the moral in her final summation before

plunging into the flames:

And the lesson which we learn from it is this: "It
has passed like a breath, this race of the gods; the treasure
of my sacred knowledge I leave to the world: it is no longer
goods, gold, or sacred pomp, houses, courts, lordly magnifi—
cence, nor the deceitful ties of dark treaties, nor the harsh

law of hypocritical manner, but only one single thing which
in good as in evil days makes us happy: Love!”

But the author cut this verse from the poem before setting the work to

nmsic; he excised it on the basis that it was a negative, not a positive,

assertion of the sort of love he meant to convey. His message of love is

Still readily understood as thterdflmmerung now exists.

h

1Lavignac, op. cit., p. 441.

 

In the le
powers of
And their
by the vo
wiser in
his plan.
was not e
accomplis
ethical p
leadeth a
The question
what the cycl
contended, tl
creation of 1

to influence
changes
philosop
adramat
thedic‘ia
scripuo
Shaw further
mongering dj
evils and tl
ending 3P138]
(and read it
emPathic ide
note of low
is a Part 0
c0"Clllsion
\
llle
2Sh

31b

 

 

In the legends the gods are destroyed in battle with the
powers of evil. Here they die in solemn atonement for sin.
And their punishment, which is their release, is accomplished
by the voluntary sacrifice of a woman through love. Brunnhilde,
wiser in the end than Wotan himself, perfects and completes
his plan. The death of the hero, innocent and unoffending,
was not enough. The intentional sacrifice, hallowed by love,
accomplishes what all Wotan's schemes failed to achieve. The
ethical plot of the drama is finished. ”The eternal feminine
leadeth us upward and on."1

The question is, 'Is it sufficient?‘ Or perhaps, 'Does it accomplish

what the cycle seemed to indicate that it would?‘ It may be, as Shaw
contended, that there was a shift in the intent of the work from the
creation of a work of profound art to that of a 'teaching play' intended
to influence the practical actions of the spectators outside the theatre.
We shall now find that at the point where The Ring

changes from music drama into opera, it also ceases to be

philosophic, and becomes didactic. The philosophic part is

a dramatic symbol of the world as Wagner observed it. In

the didactic part the philosophy degenerates into the pre—

scription of a romantic nostrum for all human ills.2
Shaw further decried this conclusion by calling it "a lapse into panacea—
mongering didacticism by the holding up of Love as the remedy for all
evils and the solvent of all social difficulties."3 Shaw objected to this
ending apparently because it avoided the Life-force concept he favored
(and read into The Ring) and placed too much emphasis upon a Romantic,
empathic idea. There should be no objection to closing The Ring on a
note of love from the point of view of Aesthetic Distance because empathy
is a part of that theory. However, if one accepts the contention that the

conclusion is actually didactic, it might be challenged on the basis

1Henderson, Richard Wagner, p. 421.
2Shaw, op. cit., p. 73.

3Ibid.

no.1

 

that it is 'p
In Gc'
cowplexity oi
empathic tune
the resultant
are, at the e
the nusicall;
It is ev
most ser

overpowe
nonic in

”- . . much
edeeepdhmep
motives of t
would be app
abstractivel
are there u
t° elpect or
Wher
cremation, .
the motive :
Stage and a.
the “Worm
with Si
ellen th

FOWer 0
of the

170

that it is 'practical' and not aesthetic.

In thterdgmmerung, Wagner continued to develop the instrumental
complexity of his music, moving ever further away from simple, possibly
empathic tunes into the more formal and technical aspects of music. While
the resultant combinations certainly still have an emotional impact, they
are, at the same time, a richer field for intellectual exploration for
the musically trained.

It is evident that he now feels the harmonic instrument to be the
most serviceable and flexible of all; and hundreds of his most
overpowering effects in the Gfltterdflmmerung are achieved by har—

monic invention or harmonic transfermation.

". . . much of the tense and tragic and oppressive atmosphere of the
thtenddmmerung comes from this clouding of the simpler textures of the
motives of the earlier operas."2 What he specifically does to the motives
would be apparent only to the most clinically detached auditors but the
abstractive, intellectual, almost mathematical changes rung on the motives
are there to be understood when one studies the scores, as Wagner seemed
to expect of his listeners.

When Brunhilde takes control of the preparation fer Siegfried's
cremation, there are fine examples of the continuing surprises drawn from
the motive system and a striking instance of a possible contact between
stage and audience which is unusual but precisely what Wagner wanted for

the comnmnication of the 'message' of the cycle.

With Siegfried dead and Brflnnhilde captured, it appears that
even the noblest natures are doomed to be crushed by the
power of greed. Voicing this feeling, the motive of the Fall
of the Gods descends in the orchestra, just after Erda sang,

lNewman, Wagner as Man and Artist, p. 281.

2Wagner quoted in Gilman, op. cit., p. 132.

 

 

"All that
Brhnnhild
it become
flows tow
suggestio
it at the
tively th
the earth
the motiv
look to h
we expect
stage who

here is a clc
tors, which 5

If Dc
theatres of .
sidered tota
for example,

hrUIlhi lcle

- . . le
bOuncl in
and fill
Seize on
the fron
a mass c
cloud 1);;
sweeps C
dalighter
hatched
ouch ale
flings a
Plunges

and draw
Others 1

treasin1
“tunnel
With the

Women pl
appears
Seen 31‘

\

1W1

 

171

”All that is--ends!” Now, as the first word comes from
Brflnnhilde's lips, the motive suddenly turns and rises--
it becomes the motive of growth (Nature motive), and it
flows toward us with the same calm movement, the same
suggestion of inexhaustible life that it had when we heard
it at the opening of Rheingold. It makes us feel instinc-
tively that something new and good will spring again from
the earth laid waste by the curse of greed, and as we hear
the motive with the first sound of Brflnnhilde's voice, we
look to her to tell us what this may be. It is to us that
we expect her to reveal it, because there is no one on the
stage who would desire or understand her message.1

Here is a closer than normal contact between the actors and the specta-
tors, which still takes place within a properly Distanced framework.

If Das Rheingold is technically difficult enough to defeat most
theatres of the world, then surely Gotterdgmmerung would have to be con-
sidered totally impossible of presentation on the normal stage. Consider,
for example, the stage directions for the last few moments of the drama.

Brunhilde

 

. leaps wildly on to the horse and takes it with one
bound into the burning pyre. The flames instantly blaze up
and fill the entire space before the hall, seeming even to
seize on the building. In terror the women cower towards
the front. Suddenly the fire falls together, leaving only
a mass of smoke which collects at the back and forms a
cloud bank on the horizon. The Rhine swells up mightily and
sweeps over the fire. On the surface appear the three Rhine-
daughters, swimming close to the fire—embers. Hagen who has
watched Brfinnhilde's proceedings with increasing anxiety, is
much alarmed on the appearance of the Rhine-daughters. He
flings away hastily his spear, shield and helmet, and madly
plunges into the flood crying: "The Ring's my right!"

Woglinda and Wellgunda twine their arms round his neck
and draw him thus down below. Flosshilde swimming before the
others to the back, holds the recovered ring joyously up.

Through the cloud-bank on the horizon breaks an in-
creasing red glow. In its light the Rhine is seen to have
returned to its bed and the nymphs are circling and playing
with the ring on the calm waters.

From the ruins of the half-burnt hall the men and
women perceive with awe the light in the sky, in which now
appears the hall of Vallhalla, where the gods and heroes are
seen sitting together, as described by Valtrauta in the first

1Wilson, op. cit., pp. 40-41.

 

Act. Bri
this is C

One could not
obvious inpla
lhe loss
and credi
extreme s
bilities
popular e

as part c
storm of
Afte

lhe Ring eye
the cornposit

he had just

was COMPOSec

TRISTAN nun

Act
he bride o
hht indiffe
hhen hSOlde
histhhw of
holders be
Isolde hurs
and startm

172

Act. Bright flames seize on the abode of the gods; and when
this is completely enve10ped by them, the curtain falls.1

One could not empathize fUIly with the events portrayed because of the
obvious implausibility of the stage demands.

The loss of all simplicity and dignity, the impossibility of

and credible scenic presentation of the incidents, and the

extreme staginess of the conventions by which these impossi-

bilities . . . are got over, are no doubt coveredufrom_the

popular eye by the overwhelming prestige of Die Gotterdammerung

as part of so great a work as The Ring, and by the extraordinary

storm of emotion and excitement which the music keeps up.

After such Titanic efforts as those involved in the creation of

The Ring cycle it is difficult to imagine Wagner turning immediately to
the composition of another profound, psychological drama of such depth as

he had just plumbed. It is therefore probably only as a result that it

was composed while The Ring was in prOgress that we now have

TRISTAN AND ISOLDE (1859)

Act I. On a ship hearing her from Ireland to Cornwall to become
the bride of King Mark, the Irish princess Isolde chafes under the appar—
ent indifference of the knight Tristan, who has been sent to bring her.
When Isolde's maid Brangane inquires of her problem, Isolde pours out the
history of her encounter with Tristan. In the wars just ended he slew
Isolde's betrothed, but was wounded himself. Not knowing who he was,
Isolde nursed him. While he was still quite ill, she discovered his secret
and started to kill him with his own sword, but a single penetrating glance

stopped her; from that moment she loved him. When he was well and had

~~

 

1
Wagner, The Authentic Librettos, p. 306.

2Shaw, op. cit., p. 96.

 

 

returned to t
her, not for
She V
spouse from '
chest of mag
prepare the
Tristan and
as the ship
Act
out of heari
Brahgh'ne pl:
Tristan's 5r
atraitor.
BTr'mggrre ke
bililt aroun
that the da
sen/ant, a]
“P011 then ;
Tristan for
liberate”
Ac
KUTVenal’ .
imieflsed
“Poo her k
Tristan St
Mark: havi

has £01m

173

returned to the service of his king, he came once again to Ireland to win
her, not for himself, but for his king.

She vacillates between love and hatred for him, but seeing no re-
sponse from Tristan, she resolves to kill him by using a poison from the
chest of magic fluids her mother sent with her. When she is ordered to
prepare the death drink, Brangane substitutes a love potion instead. Both
Tristan and Isolde drink the potion and fall into one another's arms just
as the ship arrives in Cornwall.

Act II. Isolde can hardly wait for the king's hunting party to be
out of hearing so that she may signal Tristan to approach for a rendevous.
Branggne pleads with her not to give the signal; she feels that Melot,
Tristan's supposed friend and the person who arranged the night hunt, is
a traitor. Isolde will not listen and puts out the torch as the signal.
Brangane keeps watch from the tower while the lovers sing their love duet
built around the ideas of Life and Death and Night and Day. Brangane warns
that the dawn is breaking and the king returning. Kurvenal, Tristan's
servant, also tries to alert him but Melot, the King and their party come
upon them almost immediately. King Mark, in dignified manner, reproaches
Tristan fer his infidelity. Tristan draws his sword on Melot but then de—
liberately drops his guard and is seriously wounded.

Act III. Tristan has been carried to his castle in Brittany by
Kurvenal, who now tends his wounds. Tristan's delirium and fever have
increased rather than abated so Kurvenal has sent for Isolde, depending
upon her knowledge of magic and medicine to heal him. When she arrives,
Tristan struggles from his bed to greet her and dies in her arms. King
Mark, having heard the explanation of the lover's actions from Brangane,

has followed Isolde to give her to Tristan. When he and his retainers

 

land, Kurven:
and is killer
pour out her
her before 5
Such
in this work
will either
too personal
the events i
may provide
in artist
. w
tion of
late it
the exp
laaver achi

ted as his
Wag
“1 SUbject
in We of
frtrnrevvork j

The re:
it by 1
deVelol
and trr
Poetic
the Whr
Other v
Sispen.
each 0.

\
113

2H

 

land Kurvenal misunderstands and engages them in combat. He slays Melot

and is killed himself. Isolde rouses from her faint only long enough to

pour out her grief over Tristan's death and to visualize him coming for

her before she too dies.

Such extreme personal involvement in the material as Wagner showed
in this work which grew out of his love affair with Mathilda Wesendonk,

will either produce a distorted, non-aesthetic creation (which is simply

too personal to be artistic) or, if the artist can Distance himself from

the events he records and discipline them into a true form, the experience

may provide the additional insight and awareness to produce a major work.

An artist

. . . will prove artistically most effective in the formula—
tion of an intensely personal experience, but he can formu-
late it artistically only on condition of a detachment from
the experience qua personal.

Wagner achieved this feat in Tristan and Isolde, the work usually selec-

ted as his best and most revolutionary piece.
Wagner says a great deal about love, life and death in this work,
all subjects of high empathic involvement. But he couches his comments

in some of his most highly organized poetry and music: the artistic

framework is there to hold the spectator at a reasonable Distance.

The text is obscure beyond comparison, but a close study of

it by the light of the music will show that the motives are
developed with a logical consistency, a psychological subtlety
and truthfulness, a sublimity of conception, and withal a

poetic lightness and grace absolutely without a parallel in

the whole range of dramatic literature of any time. In no
other work of Wagner is the plot . . . more clear and con—
sistent. Heinrich Porges truely remarks that the events follow

each other with the certainty of natural phenomena.

lBullough, op. cit., p. 99.

ZHight, op. cit., p. 316

 

 

 

man
nouth over ‘
5mm condit
lhikvhe. 1
dmhasa
practical a
ah another
Mstance.
.. . a
have pc
of its
drama,
to the
lhi
beloud comm
Philosophir
Death, tha‘
k tries t
Fu
again, thi
the love d
lhrk and h
he; ;,
Was Wh

leave
failsI

 

 

While ”some of the nineteenth century opponents of Wagner foamed at the
mouth over the 'glorification of adultery' in this opera of his,"1 the
same conditions apply here as were noted in the discussion of Die
Whlkflre. If the audience can hold its Distance, the story may be regarded
simply as a work of art which does not imply any justification of any
practical act. What Wagner has actually done with the love-drink is to
add another level of symbolism which should help the audience to hold its
Distance.
. a poet with Wagner' 5 keen dramatic instincts could not
have possibly failed to utilize the love- -potion, on account
of its theatric value: it makes the underlying motive of the

drama, the magic, irresistible power 9f_Love VISIBLE to the
to the spectators.2

 

This Gesamtkunstwerk is so over-laden with symbols, so "obscure
beyond comparison” because of its multiple meanings, so burdened with
philosophical di5cussions of the identity of Life and Day, Night and
Death, that it is a wonder that anyone should have been offended by it.
It tries to say too much to be a mere story of improper lovers.

Furthermore, the formal structure of the work is so obvious that,
again, this could not be a tale designed to titillate or suggest. When
the love duet of the second act is interrupted by the entrance of King
Mark and his followers

. Tristan boldly challenges Isolde to declare publicly

her resolve. He may now die. For the second time (the first
was when he drank with her the supposed poison) he tries to

leave his life when he drOps his sword before Melot. He again
fails, and is only wounded. The third time, at the end of the

 

 

 

1Newman, The Whgner Operas, p. 186.

2Finck, op. cit., ii., p. 165.

 

third at
and deli

Surely, ever
the formal r
The

rats the par:
love duet wi
opposites i
but to reac
plore the r
. . . m
exactly
quite t
They at
love rm
souls i
are the
Sur
acCUSation
Arthur 3cm
vas Writin:
Properly d.
supremely ]
Slnte the n

that when

is to trai

 

 

third act, he is successful. Each time the act is voluntary
and deliberate.1

Surely, even in the midst of such Romantic Splendor as this score holds,
the formal repetition of suicide attempts ought to Distance the audience.
The idea which Wagner crystallized most completely in this work

was the paradoxical relationship of love and death, the subject of the

love duet which fills most of Act II. This reconciliation of apparent

opposites is something which must be known through the feeling ultimately,
but to reach that state of emotional comprehension, the lovers must ex—
plore the relationship of the terms, much like logicians.

. . metaphysical discussions on love and death are not
exactly the topics dear to lovers. Not to ordinary lovers,
quite true. But Tristan and Isolde are not ordinary lovers.
They are forced to love, but feel that they cannot enjoy that
love unless their hopes and beliefs regarding a union of
souls in death are realized; hence, to them, love and death
are the most natural topics in the world.

Such hair-splitting definition as the lovers employ has led to the
accusation that Wagner was simply conducting a class in the philosophy of
Arthur Schopenhauer, his favorite philosopher during the period when he
was writing The Ring and Tristan. The musician has been accused of im-

properly dealing with pure abstractions when the love scene called for a

supremely high level of empathy. The only answer to such accusations,

since the work is written in the form it now has (and ”Wagner declared

that when he wrote it he could not have composed it otherwise .”3)

is to train the audience to perceive the abstractions empathically or to

lHight, op. cit., p. 318.
2Finck, op. cit., ii., p. 169.

3James Huneker, ”A Note on Richard Wagner," Mezzotints in Modern

MusicpNew York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1925), p. 293.

 

find in the
both ends 0
other.
iii
of poetic c
many aspect
Through
minimum
line of
necessa

out by
music.

This restri
impact from
Wagner's tl
Pattness wt

The

in the Prel

Works r
lures.
not ea:
World,
Phrase

The ph'
rise fj
their j
whrld .
liZing
Which
theSe j

 

177

find in the highest emotions their intellectual justifications: to sense

both ends of the Distance—scale while being closer to one than to the

other.
Tristan and Isolde, while diverging from the strict principles

of poetic composition laid down in Opera and Drama, still illustrates

many aspects of the theory with great clarity.

Throughout the poem Wagner restricts himself to the barest
minimum of words-—sometimes no more than two or three to a
line of verse,—-having no need of speech beyond what is
necessary to concretise the emotion that is being poured
out by the prime expressive instrument of the work, the

music.
This restriction in the number of words to secure the maximum of emotional

impact from those key root—words which are retained agrees perfectly with

Wagner's theory and also establishes a Distancing artificiality, a com—

pactness which is too great to be normal.

That Wagner‘s musical methods had changed may be heard immediately

in the Prelude to the work.

In contrast with the preludes to Wagner's earlier
works the Vbrspiel to Tristan and Isolde suggests no pic-
tures. It is the expression of a mood for which one could
not easily find a counterpart in the natural or the legendary

world. Longing, as hopeless as deathless, is voiced in every

phrase . . .

The phrases of sorrow and loneliness and aspiration that
rise from the orchestra with so indescribable an effect:
their mystical suggestion of tonal condensation, of an inner
world of being gradually assuming form and substance, symbo-
lizing, as Wagner said, that ”perturbing creative breath"
which shapes the world and all men's anguish and desire—-
these musical images are excessively difficult to project.3

1Newman, The Whgner Operas, p. 204.
2Wilson, op. cit., p. 79.

3Giiman, op. cit., pp. 181—182.

 

 

 

 

Part of the
its greater
lish such cc
hovl of a 51
indefinable,
Tagner had 2
the Ring am
music.
that of
purely
intoxic
titular
meanwhi
His
becomes cle
Tent 0f the
f°ThS used,
theme.cont1
“”St flexib
At the
his me]
311d aft
we hear
Petith
subtly
lhi
retellVed a

to recall ‘
\
ln.

ZN‘
Jonathan C

 

 

178

Part of the difficulty may well be the lack of 'pictures' in the music,

its greater than usual abstraction. No longer does the orchestra estab-

lish such concrete things as the flow of the Rhine river or the dash and

howl of a storm; it simply speaks of a heart—tending, insoluable, even

indefinable, something which one knows, but does not know how to express.

Wagner had suddenly turned his back on the world of Nature which dominated

 

the Ring and began to speak of states of the soul in 'pure,’ non-pictorial

music.

The musical texture of Tristan is different from
that of any other of Wagner's works in that it is almost
purely ”symphonic"; often he abandons himself to the sheer
intoxication of "developing” the mood symbolised by a par-
ticular motive for pages at a time, the stage situation
meanwhile remaining stabilised.

His growing penchant for the use of conventional, formal methods

becomes clearer in this music also. Along with the more symphonic treat-

ment of the music, one might well expect to find the recognized symphonic

forms used, as indeed they are. Particularly does Wagner favor the simple

 

theme—contrast-return of theme, or A-B-A, form, one of the simplest and

most flexible of the standard structures.

At the beginning of Tristan, for example, the steersman sings
his melody; then comes the scene between Isolde and Brangane;
and after the climax, where Isolde calls for air ('Luftl Luftl'),
we hear the steersman's song again. In the libretto this re-
petition marks a new scene but musically it is nothing but a

subtly transformed ritornello.
This abstract music of a known formal cast also called for, and

received a different use of the motives. Where they had been used just

to recall or to prophesy the future in the majority of their appearances,

1Newman, The Wagner Operas, p. 202.

2Neville Cardus, "Wagner 1813-1883,” A Composers Eleven (London:
anathan Cape, 1958), pp. 51—52.

 

they now bet
active in tl
The motives
Mmmw
mvsoumded
once in 0rd
itwas all

fimhemt
lated and i‘
nlations h

- . . e
arms as
endurab
tragic

at the

aPPreci
0f cont
neasura
the dra
point i
contrib
0T Scer
Sitnarr
duo of

accompg
Sorrow

lude tr

Beg
chestl-a eve

drama Close

179

they now became parts in a musical texture, not necessarily dramatic or
active in the sense they had been, but rather parts in a free sound pattern.
The motives were still connected to Specific thoughts, actions, people, etc.
and necessarily carried an increment of meaning in this sense but they
now sounded so frequently in the orchestra, so many of them occurred at

once in order to create the polyphonic, linear style of this music that

it was all but impossible to follow all of them at one time. They became

simply emotionally rich melodic phrases which were contrapuntally manipu—

lated and infinitely repeated until all possible permutations and cross-

relations had been drawn from them. For instance, in the last act, Isolde,

. . . entering breathlessly, receives her dying lover in her
arms as the orchestra voices their emotions in one of the un-
endurable moments of the marvellous score. This outburst of
tragic passion, beautiful and despairing, overwhelms the spirit,
at the same time that it fills with wondering admiration the
appreciative mind of the musician: fOr the passage is a miracle
of contrapuntal art. Yet the effect upon the listener is ima
measurably enhanced if, bearing in mind the preceding phases of
the drama, he is aware that the instrumental fabric at this
point is woven of no fewer than half a dozen motives, each one
contributing its piercingly reminiscent allusion to some mood
or scene or indident that has gone before: the motive of the
signalling Torch, the motive of Death, a theme from the love
duo of Act II, a hrase from the orchestral nocturne that
accompanied Brangane's song of warning, and the motives of
Sorrow and of Desire first heard at the beginning of the Pre-

lude to the opera.1
Beginning with Tristan and the latter parts of the Ring, the or-
chestra even had the last word in the opera, rather than having the music
drama close with a chorus as it had, for example, in Tunnhguser.
The moment in which wagner makes us contemplate the final
picture, where the central figures are motionless in death

and the others in grief, gives opportunity fer a partial de-
tachment and a turning from the particular to the general . . .

“H

lGilman, op. cit., pp. 261-262.

ZWilson, op. cit., p. 83.

 

 

The orchestr

, , . b1
the life
us off a
nity to

a genera
This
Wagnerian dr
ease. The]

the moods o

. . w]
cal sen:
does prv
trusion
Tristan
have ca

in this
tence o
the Son
fact th
observe
Sikh an int
Cannot esca
self to the
within the

martian wj

DIE hEISTEl

Act

hVa P°8116r

singerls CI

 

180

The orchestra

. . . bridges the space separating the events portrayed from
the life of everyday to which we return, instead of dropping
us off at the end to get across as best we may. It lends dig-
nity to the fall of the curtain . . and it usually states in
a general way the central idea of the drama.

This work, as has been noted by Appia and others, is the one
Wagnerian drama which could dispense with formal scenery with the greatest

ease. The primary actions here are subtle, psychological, inner shifts in

the moods of the lovers and

. . . when something does "happen,” in the ordinary theatri-
cal sense of the word, it strikes with tremendous fbrce; it
does precisely what Wagner intended it should do--the brief in-
trusion of reality gives us a blinding sense of how entirely
Tristan and Isolde had lived, in the only sense that they would
have called living, in a world of non—reality of their own.2

in this case, life and death,~-the very significance'and exis-
tence of the outer world--depend upon the inner emotions of
the soul alone. The whole effective action is produced by the

fact that the inmost soul demands it; and it comes befbre the
observer just as it has been inwardly developed.

Such an interior world, so sharply marked off and isolated from reality,

cannot escape Distancing. However, if a spectator ever surrenders him-

self to the circumscribed reality which exists within the opera and

within the lovers, it is equally impossible to avoid some empathic identi—

fication with them.

DIE MEISTBRSINGER VON NUREMBURG (1867)

Act I. Walther von Stolzing, a young knight, seeks the hand of

Eva Pogner, only to discover that she is to be the prize in the Meister-

Singer's coming contest of song. walther resolves to enter the contest

k

11am, p. 81.

ZNeWman, The wagner Operas, p. 203.

5Wagner, ”The Music of the Future," p. 172.

 

 

 

 

 

and is hast:
apprentice t
the prelini
mfimo
Becknesser,
of another
trial song,
Sachs is st
AC'
gentle Sac?
£095 to hi
considerin
shop. Bec
that her F
ihgdalena.
Singing 1(
errors in
is So bad
BeChhesse
heart, Ma
ihe Noise
Pulls We]
of the nj
fight as
I
Spent the

He PUts

181

and is hastily instructed in the Mastersinger's many rules by David, the
apprentice of Hans Sachs, the cobbler. When the Mastersingers assemble for
the preliminary judging, Pogner, Eva's father, recognizes Walther as the
son of an old friend and induces the Masters to listen to his trial song.
Beckmesser, an applicant for Eva's hand, is displeased by the appearance
of another rival, and, serving as the score—keeper or 'marker' during the
trial song, he notes so many errors that Walther is eliminated. Only Hans
Sachs is struck by the novelty and obvious inspiration of Walther's song.

Act II. The news of Walther's failure is given to Eva by the
gentle Sachs. When Walther appears in the street near Eva's home, she
goes to him and, since he cannot win her, agrees to elope with him. Sachs,
considering this unwise, spoils their plan with too much light from his
shop. Beckmesser puts in an appearance to serenade Eva, not realizing
that her place on the balcony of her home has been taken by her maid
Magdalena. The only way that Beckmesser can stop Sach's cobbling and
singing long enough for the serenade is to agree to let him mark the
errors in the serenade by a stroke of the hammer on the shoes. The song
is so bad that Sachs quickly finishes the shoes. David, believing that
Beckmesser is intentionally directing the song to his (David's) sweet—
heart, Magdalena, attacks Beckmesser and gives him a thorough beating.
The noise attracts other people and a full scale riot develops. Sachs
pulls Walther into his shop and Eva runs for her house. The appearance
of the night watchman, making his sleepy and unknowing rounds, stops the
fight as quickly as it started.

Act III. The following morning in Sach's house, Walther, who
Spent the night there, tells of a beautiful song he heard in his dream.

He puts it into proper form under Sach's direction, who also writes it

 

 

 

down. While
Beckmesser a
Song. He at
Eva for him
lesser the :
enters, pre
see Walther
Sachs is so
lovers and

The
for the cm
singing beg
mess of it
of Sachs' c
to sing his
Ela bUt dec
him with a

The
the good, h
1°Vers of 1‘
ho was so
tively and
benoted ir
denial of a
ofthe int]

cisely the

182

down. While these two are out of the room, dressing for the contest,
Beckmesser comes to get his shoes and discovers the incomplete Prize

Song. He accuses Sachs of planning to use the song in the contest to win
Eva for himself. To put his mind to rest on that point, Sachs gives Beck-
messer the song. He rushes off to learn it before the contest. Eva
enters, pretending that her new shoes need adjustments, but really to

see Walther. He, in turn, is inspired by her presence to finish his song.
Sachs is so pleased that he makes David a journeyman. The two pairs of
lovers and Sachs join in the joyous quintette.

The second scene shows the gathering of the guilds on the meadow
for the contest. Sachs receives special greetings from the crowd and the
singing begins. Beckmesser tries to sing Walther's song but makes such a
mess of it that he is well laughed at. He replies that the awful song was
of Sachs' composition. Sachs denies it and gains permission for Walther
to sing his composition. He is declared the winner, accepts the prize of
Eva but declines to join the Mastersingers guild. Sachs gently corrects
him with a paeon to German art, which all the people second.

The genial, warm, relaxed atmosphere in which this piece is set and
the good, honest burghers make a sharp contrast with the gods and obsessed
lovers of Wagner's other works. It is amazing that an author-composer,
who was so consistently oriented toward tragedy could so suddenly, effec-
tively and in such an isolated manner, work in the opposite genre. As will
be noted in the Thought section, this music drama also represents a virtual
denial of all of Wagner's theoretical principles, a complete abandonment
of the intricate scheme fer writing modern opera and a reversion to pre—

cisely the style and methods of composition against which he fought in his

 

 

 

doom. Whi]
Beckmesser
Song. He :
Eva for his
messer the
enters, prv
see Walthe‘
Sachs is s
lovers and

Th
for the co
Singing be
mess of it
Of Sachs'
to sing hj
EVa but do
him with 2

Ti
the 800d,
lowers of
"110 was 5v

tive1y an

 

down. While these two are out of the room, dressing for the contest,
Beckmesser comes to get his shoes and discovers the incomplete Prize

Song. He accuses Sachs of planning to use the song in the contest to win
Eva for himself. To put his mind to rest on that point, Sachs gives Beck—
messer the song. He rushes off to learn it before the contest. Eva
enters, pretending that her new shoes need adjustments, but really to

see Walther. He, in turn, is inspired by her presence to finish his song.
Sachs is so pleased that he makes David a journeyman. The two pairs of
lovers and Sachs join in the joyous quintette.

The second scene shows the gathering of the guilds on the meadow
for the contest. Sachs receives special greetings from the crowd and the
singing begins. Beckmesser tries to sing Walther's song but makes such a
mess of it that he is well laughed at. He replies that the awful song was
of Sachs' composition. Sachs denies it and gains permission for Walther
to sing his composition. He is declared the winner, accepts the prize of
Eva but declines to join the Mastersingers guild. Sachs gently corrects
him with a paeon to German art, which all the people second.

The genial, warm, relaxed atmosphere in which this piece is Satand

56
the good, honest burghers make a sharp contrast with the gods and dfies

. ef/
lovers of Wagner's other works. It . t an author-Cwmws
W”
6’
who was so consistently or' , JUld so SumwnDOfi’ least
- . . .7 , Elli",
tlvely and in such an is” the OppOSlteg
be noted in theta. J.C drama also 1'9”” , ‘s crown-
f,” ‘ , drama con~
denial of " . .anconian
P glorifying of

"fe and char-
| ” -ential union

 

 

 

 

early years.
inasense th
I
The whole
Walther w
The Preis
staked tl
which wor
world am
or less.
occasion
The gamble, ‘
Why. What
may be a sac
amarvellous
son as dead
hhigher was 11
exact center
”f all schov
with enotvgh
Sullerior ar
0szfiance
Whole of hi
In

there are 5

of "hiCh is

183

early years. At the same time, the piece is dependent upon a single song
in a sense that no other Wagner composition is.
In his art as in his life Wagner took appalling risks.

The whole point of the plot-interest of Meistereinger is that

Walther will sooner or later sing a great melody, a Preislied.

The Preislied, in fact, is the hero of the opera. . . . Wagner

staked the fate of his work on his ability to compose a melody

which would convince the majority of his listeners, all over the

world and in different ages, that it was a Preislied, nothing more
or less. He wrote the melody demanded by the situation and the

occasion . .
The gamble, the danger involved in this situation is, of course, that tastes
vary. What to one person may be a marvellously romantic melody, to another
may be a saccharine piece of sentimentality. What to another might appear
a marvellously cool, controlled and classic melody may be to a feurth per-
son as dead and uninteresting as a mathematical exercise. The wager that
Wagner was making was that he could achieve a melody which lies in the
exact center of the Distance-scale, one with some of the characteristics
of all schools and periods, with something to appeal to everyone and yet
with enough formal characteristics so that it will always be seen as a
superior art work. Wagner was certain that he could find the exact point
of balance which represents the Golden Mean. He was willing to build the
whole of his plot on that ability.

In spite of the warmth and graciousness of most of the action,

there are still many fermal characteristics to this plot, not the least
of which is the conclusion, the double ending of the work.

The plot of the Mbistersinger really ends with Walther's crown—

ing, but by extending the finale Wagner has made the drama con-

clude not merely with the artistic victory of a Franconian

knight over some Nuremberg burghers, but with a glorifying of

song as the expression of what is best in the life and char-
acter of a people, and in a declaration of the essential union

 

 

1Cardus, 0p. cit., p. 49.

 

 

of all w
Waiter,

end of :
antagon:
prove t1
Wagner,
our vie
Wagner used
change in a
audience's
mess not on
municate hf
To

central co:
N the tr
that comi
it draws e
Th

0f the 'm;
SenSing t}
intended I
In th.
196l,

and w
iiagne
Eduar
artis

0f 53

Pedan
0f on

\\\\\\‘
1

184

of all who serve it, whether by their creative genius, like
Walter, or by their conservative efforts, like the masters.

It is no small achievement to succeed, in the very
end of a drama, in changing the listener's attitude from
antagonism to admiration, without introducing something to
prove the former attitude fbunded upon a misconception.
Wagner, following Aeschylus, brings this about by enlarging
our view of the subject as a whole.1

wagner used one of the many means of generating Distance to effect this
change in attitude toward the masters: he enlarged the scope of the
audience's perception from the specific to the general. The expansive-
ness not only fit the general tone of a comedy but enabled Wagner to com-
nmmicate his 'message' at the same time.

To make such a figure as Hans Sachs (as Wagner has drawn him) the
central core of a comedy is again to strive for a blending of the comic
and the tragic, of the laughable and the tearfully pathetic which most
great comics and comedies attempt, but which is always difficult because
it draws equally upon both ends of the Distance—scale.

The only other character who needs to be considered here is that
of the 'marker' Beckmesser. His case gives a fine example of Wagner's
sensing the necessity to Distance a character further than he had originally
intended if he expected an artistic reaction to him.

In the second and third prose-drafts, written at Vienna in
1961, the character of the bigoted Marker is named ”Hanlich,”
and was obviously intended as a satirical caricature of
Wagner's critical adversary, the Viennese anti-Wagnerite,
Eduard Hanslick. But Wagner was too wise and sensitive an
artist not to realise the aesthetic error of so crass a kind
of satire; and in Die Meistereinger, as it was completed, the

pedantic and obscurantist Marker became "Beckmesser" (the name
of one of the historic Mastersingers of Nuremberg).2

 

1Wilson, op. cit., pp. 45-46.

2Gilman, op. cit., p. 197.

 

 

 

boy-meets
hchs, no
Woreover,
he whole
meanings
tobe for
sense, cr
ofhis m
hecrit
The]
domi
and:
for
and
for l
of U
infl
framewor‘

the Phi

Char
trai
achi
Pens

\

 

 

185

Though this opera seems a light hearted and comparatively simple
boy—meets-girl story, it is anything but that. As has been indicated,
Sachs, not the lovers, occupies the central position among the characters.
Moreover, this story is at least as symbolic as most of Wagner's output.
The whole opera and each element within it can be taken to have other
meanings connected with Wagner's life and work and the general conditions
to be found in the cultural climate of Germany: ”the whole opera, in one
sense, crystallises his own appalling fight for recognition, for the truth
of his own new rules and inspiration, harried by the mockery and spite of
the critics and certain musicians.”1

The masters represent the tyranny of formalism in art, the

dominance of that opinion which mistakes form for substance,

and attributes to the outward shape of every work the credit

for its merit. Walther von Stolzing, in his efforts as poet

and singer, is the embodiment of the free impulse, the desire

for untrammelled expression. Sachs, without the creative power

of the young knight, is the truer artist. He represents the

influence of enlightened and sympathetic intelligence.2
And so on, each part falling into place in both a smaller and a larger
framework. The double vision Wagner provided gives greater depth and
meaning at the same time that ”the particular becomes the generalized,
the parish becomes the world.”3

.despite the individualized and concrete limning of
characters and scenes, the rich, exact veracity of the por-
traiture that makes Die Meistereinger so astonishing an

achievement, Wagner could not, even here, overcome his pro-
pensity for dealing with ever-lasting things . . .

 

lWilliamson, op. cit., p. 154.
2Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 343.

SGilman, op. cit., p. 210.

4Ib£d., p. 211.

 

 

 

 

Wh:
is less co
many of th
musical nm
the whole
choppy nor
to facilii
the relat
melody.‘

T

Signs, in
And c
the a
the l
to ti
out :
ture:
Even in .
find a 5
figs

It 1
pie:
char

In the v
Strictes
balaflcev

Zest any

\

186

While the complexity of writing continued and even developed, one
is less conscious here of musical technique and technicalities than in
mmny of the other works. Instead, with the re-introduction of separate
mmsical numbers which may be taken out of the flow of the ‘endless melody,‘
the whole work seems to divide up into smaller pieces which neither feel
choppy nor impose a sense of artificial tune-turning. Instead they seem

to facilitate one's grasp of the whole, one piece at a time and through

 

the relationships which these individual pieces have to the 'continuous

melody.‘

The motives were still woven into tight and complicated formal de-

signs, in this show, especially certain chosen ones.

And one of the miracles of the score is its use not only of
the advanced technical style Wagner had now achieved, but of
the Bach contrapuntal and earlier Chorale forms which seemed
to the composer to be nearer to the period of the story, with-

out reitricting his musical style to archaic mediaeval struc-
tures.

Even in places in the score where one would ordinarily least expect to

find a set ferm, it is present. At the end of Act II,

 

. . a brawl begins of heroic magnitude, not quenched by the
jugs of water poured by indignant wives on the fighters below.
It is marvellously set by Wagner in fugal style--a massive
piece of contrapuntal writing in which all the individual
characters and chorus take part.2

 

In the wildest part of the libretto, the musical form employed is the
strictest and most involved used in the whole score. Freedom is counter-
balanced by formal rules and the blazing energy of the fight imparts a

zest and lightness to the fugue which may be considered rare in that fbrm.

_—

1Williamson, op. cit., p. 148.

211ml. , p. 156.

 

 

Tc
theories v
first and
in betweer
and for tl

In no
can i
convi
Wagne
singe
Trist
Dispensir
theoretit
show on
Whose on
With no :

Choruses

Master's
Ciples,
the majc
the Oide
than an}
eiSier ;

seems a.
\

ist

 

187

To point out only one final way in which the Opera and Drama
theories were abandoned, notethe extensive use of several choruses. The
first and the last things one hears in this work are choral passages and
in between, there are choruses for the guild members, for the apprentices,
and for the angry house wives. i

In no work of Wagner, with the exception of The Mastersingers,

can it be said that he has succeeded in bringing the chorus

convincingly into the main action. Indeed, after Lohengrin,

Wagner dispenses with a chorus entirely until The Master-

singers except for a very few measures in the first act of

Tristan and Isolde.1
Dispensing with the chorus in the middle works was in full accord with the
theoretical principles which maintained that only individuals should be
shown on the stage and that there was no justification for a character
whose only purpose was to fill out the harmonic support of the principle.
With no pronouncement and no excuse, Wagner had introduced and used
choruses in this work more fully than in any other of his operas.

In the face of all of these abrupt and radical changes in the
Master's methods, the true Wagnerite, the one converted to the new prin-
ciples, is likely to be the one who is disconcerted and puzzled, while
the majority of the audience who understand and accept the principals of
the older opera are probably able to accept this drama with less effbrt
than any other of the third period works. In essence, Wagner made it

easier for the greater number of his listeners to accept this piece. It

seems appropriate that a comedy should be easy to follow.

 

1Stein, op. cit., p. 60.

 

 

 

 

 

theori
first
in bet

and ft

hast
tipl
the
the
ham
easv'

Seer

 

187

To point out only one final way in which the Opera and Drawn
theories were abandoned, notethe extensive use of several choruses. The
first and the last things one hears in this work are choral passages and
in between, there are choruses for the guild members, for the apprentices,
and for the angry house wives. I

In no work of Wagner, with the exception of The Mastersingers,

can it be said that he has succeeded in bringing the chorus

convincingly into the main action. Indeed, after Lohengrin,

Wagner dispenses with a chorus entirely until The Master~

stngers except for a very few measures in the first act of

Tristan and Isolde.1
Dispensing with the chorus in the middle works was in full accord with the
theoretical principles which maintained that only individuals should be
shown on the stage and that there was no justification for a character
whose only purpose was to fill out the harmonic support of the principle.
With no pronouncement and no excuse, Wagner had introduced and used
choruses in this work more fully than in any other of his operas.

In the face of all of these abrupt and radical changes in the
Master's methods, the true Wagnerite, the one converted to the new prin-
ciples, is likely to be the one who is disconcerted and puzzled, while
the majority of the audience who understand and accept the principals of
the older opera are probably able to accept this drama with less effort
than any other of the third period works. In essence, Wagner made it

easier for the greater number of his listeners to accept this piece. It

seems appropriate that a comedy should be easy to follow.

 

1Stein, op. cit., p. 60.

 

 

 

 

 

PARSIF

some t
for t]
home
squir

with

fool

hmov
Gen
wori
Temj
vio

Tem

188

PARSIFAL (1882)

Act I. In the forest near the temple of the Grail, Gurnemanz and
some Grail squires greet the appearance of Kundry, the servant, with a balm
for the King's wound. The King, Amfortas, the keeper of the Grail, passes,
borne on his litter to the lake to bathe his wound. Gurnemanz tells the
squires the history of the King's problem. Amfortas, going out to fight
with the evil magician Klingsor, was tempted by a seductive woman and he
allowed the sacred spear which pierced Christ's side to slip from his hand.
Klingsor immediately inflicted a similar wound on Amfortas with the spear
and then made off with it. Amfortas cannot die as long as he conducts the
religious services of the knights, nor can he be healed until a guileless
fool recovers the spear and touches the wound with it.

Parsifal has unwittingly penetrated the sacred grounds and not
knowing that all life is inviolate there, he shoots a swan with an arrow.
Gernemanz severely berates him and discovering how little he knows of the
world wonders if this is the awaited pure fool. He takes the boy to the
Temple where he is present at the unveiling of the Grail but when he ob—
viously does not understand what he sees, Gurnemanz throws him out of the
Temple.

Act II. Klingsor, aware that Parsifal is coming toward his magic
castle and garden (created to tempt the knights of the Grail), summons
Kundry, his chief seductress by a spell. She obeys most reluctantly.
Klingsor's knights sent against Parsifal are defeated or killed and Parsifal
finds himself in the magic garden surrounded by half human Flower Maidens
who compete for his attentions. He resists them easily but almost falls
a Prey to the now enchantingly beautiful Kundry, who lures him with infor-

mation about his parents and a kiss from his mother. That kiss awakens

 

189

in Parsifal both pity for Amfortas' condition and an awareness of how he
was harmed. Kundry pleads with him for one hour of physical love, assum—
ing that his purity would release her from the curse she incurred centuries
before, by laughing at Christ on the cross. He will have nothing to do
with her in that sense. Klingsor takes matters in his own hands. He
launches the sacred spear at Parsifal but instead of harming him it re-
mains suspended in the air above him. Parsifal grasps it, makes the sign
of the cross and Klingsor and his magical forces collapse. Kundry curses
Parsifal so that no road will lead him back to Montsalvat, the home of the
knights of the holy Grail, but, nevertheless, he sets out for the Temple.

Act 111. Years have passed, though the situation of the Grail
knights and their leader is unchanged. After many weary adventures,
Parsifal appears before Gurnemanz's cabin. He is recognized as the guile-
less fool, now grown wise through pity. Gurnemanz and Kundry, once more
a servant of the Grail, wash and anoint Parisfal, who, in turn, baptises
Kundry and all three set off for the castle.

Among the assembled knights, Amfortas is once more objecting to
the exhibition of the Grail which will only prolong his unwanted life.
He asks instead that the knights slay him. Parsifal, entering, goes im-
mediately to the King, and touching the wound with the spear, instantly
cures him. Parsifal announces that he is to succeed Amfortas as keeper
of the Grail and he proceeds with the service. Kundry, redeemed with the
release of her victim, dies at Parsifal's feet. When he raises the cup,
the Temple is filled with light and a dove descends to hover above
Parsifal's head.

The sources of this work are many; Wolfram von Eschenbach's poem

Phrzifhl, Bournouf's Introduction a Z’histoire du Buddhisme Indian,

 

 

Wagner
Aposte
Hamet
tion (
loadil
multi]
but a

Such

 

Wagner's play Jesus of Nazareth, his earlier cantata Das Liebesmahl der
AposteZ and the abandoned opera sketch Die Sieger, but ”no other drama of
Wagner shows wider departures from the original material or more condensa-
tion of it than this, the last of his works.”1 The compounding and over—
loading of symbols reaches its greatest degree here. Everything takes on
multiple meanings, not only in cross references among the specific sources
but also between the different cultures and religions which they represent.
Such a wealth of material and inference brought with it problems as well
as joys.

It was . . . impossible to reduce the story of Parsifal to

the highly concentrated form into which he had managed to

cast Tristan. So he had to do what it had been his first

impulse to do in the Ring-—elucidate the visible action of

the moment by a narrative of all that had happened befbre

the action, or that particular stage of the action, began,

and trust to the orchestra to maintain the musical interest

by means of the interplay of leitmotives. Hence the lumber-~

ing stage technique of the first Act of Parsifal, and the

raison d’etre for the endless garrulity of Gurnemanz. That

venerable worthy is not a character, he is merely a walking

and talking guide book .
The very quantity of the material to be employed apparently forced the use
of a formal and conventional expository technique. Or it may be that
Wagner had developed his thoughts to the point where he, like Brecht,
Simply took the quickest, clearest method for setting up the conditions
for the remainder of the action. Regardless of the reason, almost any
audience would recognize the formal character of the expository device

which Gurnemanz represents. This time—honored technique is a not inappro—

Priate introduction to a formal and symbolic tale.

 

1Henderson, Richard wagner, pp. 468-469.

2Newman, wagner as Man and Artist, p. 302.

 

 

 

 

In accord with the highly symbolic nature of this music drama,
the characters do not invite empathy in the same manner that most other
Wagnerian characters do. One always seems slightly put off, held away,
by the religious aura which surrounds each of the characters. Parsifal’s

. . . characterization is not individual but symbolic; Amfortas
and Parsifal and Kundry and Klingsor are not men and women whom
we might meet any day in the flesh, but simply types of human
aspiration or failure.

That is to say, the real actors are not the persons who figure

persons in their external features, as objects of Nature, but
the logical representation of actions as the outcome of ideas.2

The mysterious Kundry, she of the double personality and an in—
finite background, is completely overlaid with symbolic meanings. Wagner

. . . derived her in part from the character of Prakriti in his
Buddhist drama Die Sieger——she who was obliged to expiate in
her life the sin of pride committed in a prior existence. She
is related also to Gundryggia, the wild serving messenger of
Asgard's heroes; to Herodias, doomed by her mockery of Christ
on the Cross to wander until she finds once more a savior; and
to Mary Magdalen. Kundry is, in short, different incarnations
of the same being. She exists "without beginning and without
end. She has no individual character, because she is all women
at the same time.”3

In spite of the fact that the audience may want to let its heart go out to
Someone who obviously suffers as she does during the play, the chances are
great that, just as they are about to establish empathic contact with her,
another aspect of her manifold character-~and that an uncomfortable or
repulsive part--will come to the fore to stop them.

Amfortas is said to have a double symbolism. He is
the personification of that suffering through sin which has

 

11bid., p. 317.

2Hight, op. cit., ii., p. 172.

3Gilman, op. cit., pp. 240-241.

 

 

 

 

In accord with the highly symbolic nature of this music drama,

the characters do not invite empathy in the same manner that most other

Wagnerian characters do. One always seems slightly put off, held away,

by the religious aura which surrounds each of the characters. Parsifal's

. characterization is not individual but symbolic; Amfortas
and Parsifal and Kundry and Klingsor are not men and women whom
we might meet any day in the flesh, but simply types of human
aspiration or failure.

That is to say, the real actors are not the persons who figure
upon the stage, but the ethical ideas which those persons rep-
resent, and truth here means not the exact imitation of given
persons in their external features, as objects of Nature, but

the logical representation of actions as the outcome of ideas.2

The mysterious Kundry, she of the double personality and an in—

finite background, is completely overlaid with symbolic meanings. Wagner

. derived her in part from the character of Prakriti in his
Buddhist drama Die Sieger-—she who was obliged to expiate in
her life the sin of pride committed in a prior existence. She
is related also to Gundryggia, the wild serving messenger of
Asgard's heroes; to Herodias, doomed by her mockery of Christ
on the Cross to wander until she finds once more a savior; and
to Mary Magdalen. Kundry is, in short, different incarnations
of the same being. She exists "without beginning and without
end. She has no individual character, because she is all women
at the same time."3

In spite of the fact that the audience may want to let its heart go out to

someone who obviously suffers as she does during the play, the chances are

great that, just as they are about to establish empathic contact with her,

another aspect of her manifold character——and that an uncomfortable or

repulsive part--will come to the fore to stop them.

Amfortas is said to have a double symbolism. He is
the personification of that suffering through sin which has

 

11bid., p. 317.

ZHight, op. cit., ii., p. 172.

3Gilman, op. cit., pp. 240—241.

 

 

 

are 1
char

whic

sons
peri
as 1

the

r—— i,

192

penetrated even the sacred community of the Knights of the
Grail. All the commentators say that he also typifies the
sufferings of Christ. Perhaps this was Wagner's intention,1
but to the writer's mind Amfortas more beautifully symbolizes
the misery brought upon mankind through yielding to the lusts
of the flesh, for it is Parsifal who represents the Redeemer
throughout the drama.2 He represents Him when he is anointed
by Gurnemanz, when his feet are washed by the repentent Kundry,
and when he baptizes her in that sublime scene which only a
God-gifted genius could have dared to place upon the modern
stage. But more than all, He surely is the Redeemer when He
touches Amfortas with the holy spear and bids him

Be whole, forgiven, and absolved.3

 

Regardless of how they are approached, all of these characters
are subject to levels of interpretation, and it is possible that the
characteristics of Christ were shared among a number of them, each of
which would symbolize Him in turn.

Surely enough instances have been given to show that these per—
sonages are merely symbols. It is rather apparent that they are during a
performance also, because of the schematic nature of the action. As soon

as the audience is aware that they are observing symbols moving within

 

the confines of a parable or an allegory, a rather high degree of Distance
is established.

What is the thought, condition or event being presented? "As in
the Ring we witness the passing of a myth, the end of a divine world, so,

in Parsifal, we behold the inception of a religion in its utmost naivete.”4

 

1It was, at least in part. See Gilman, op. cit., pp. 230—232.

2Parsifal undoubtedly does represent Christ but ”the spectator
should guard against the too common error of identifying Parsifal vaguely
With Christ. Any suggestion of that sort angered Wagner. 'The idea of
making Christ a tenorl' he said: 'phew!’” Newman, The wagner Operas,
p. 722.

3Henderson, Preludes and Studies, pp. 103—104.

4Gilman, op. cit., p. 235.

 

 

 

Because the religion depicted bears so many relationships to Christianity
and yet cannot be taken to be any given sect (even the Roman Catholic which
it most resembles), Wagner laid himself open to many more critical attacks
for his impiety, his degredation of religious ideas, his daring to use holy
ideas.

We have ever with us those unduly contemptuous music lovers

and musicians who look askance at Parsifal because of the

fact that many devout and simple souls who can hardly be

suspected of musical discernment regard attendance upon it as

an exercise in piety. We have always with us, too, those who

profess to be indignant because of its alleged exploitation

of holy things; and there are other and implacable objectors

who sincerely loathe the work not because it is an "exploitation”

of holy things, but because it deals with holy things at all . . .
Here is another of the areas of public thought which is normally forbidden
to the stage, or which is approached only with great caution by an author.
Any statement in connection with religion is likely to produce a negative
reaction from some segment of the audience because, like the question of
sex sanctions raised by Die walkfire, many and perhaps most of the audience
members cannot be trusted to keep their Aesthetic Distance in relation to
such subjects.

In this case in particular, many of the critics of Wagner's Parsifal
made the glaring Distancing error of assuming that the composer was pro—
posing these events, not as an aesthetic experience at all, but as the
practical foundation for a variant type of Christianity. Extended criti-
cal battles were waged on this point and it is still apparently necessary
for critics who can keep their Distance to point out the artistic aspects
of the work.

Wagner continued to change his poetic style as long as he wrote.

In this drama, almost no traces remain of the Stabreim with its

 

11bid., p. 216.

 

 

 

 

alliteration and its word order condensation. The lines have expanded
into the long and flowing conceptions of his second period; though with a
greater maturity. ”The verse of the Parsifal poem is the freest and most
varied Wagner ever wrote. It runs the gamut in variety from what could
be called rhythmic prose in the more epic, narrative sections . . ."1 to
'the most expressionistic poetry . . ."2 elsewhere. The continual fluc—
tuations in the nature of the verse make it seem far more like normal
speech than much of Wagner's poetic writing. And the variations seem
appropriate to the lines of the music. In general, because of the less
mechanical, less fixed form, it is easier to assume that this is not
poetry, not an artificial manner of speaking. Empathy should be easier
with such dialogue.

Because of the abstractness of the underlying concepts and the
emotional settings in which they are enclosed, both the form and the
content aspects of music are given ample range here.

The motive system still functions in this work, in its symphonic
form, even though it does not always recall or prophesize. But, again,
there are interruptions or inconsistencies in the use of the motives.

The opening of the second act brings the motives of Klingsor,
sorcery, and the suffering of Amfortas all into active use.
The music is stormy, passionate, at times furious, till the
flower—maidens appear to tempt Parsifal, and then we come to

the long passage of freely written melody . . . The signifi-

cant themes return in the scene between Kundry and Parsifal . . .3

Yet, the various approaches to setting the drama ultimately blend and seem

to become one. The audience is called upon, and apparently does, follow

 

1Stein, op. cit., p. 205.

21bid., p. 208.

3Henderson, Richard wagner, p. 481.

 

 

 

 

the alternation from the formal employment of the motives to the opposite
stage of the freely composed music with fair ease. They move on the
Distance-scale as easily as the music does.

And finally, how exquisitely adapted is the melodic and har-

monic idiom of ParsifaZ,—-so smoothly flowing, so full of

melting and caressing tenderness,--to that static world from

which, with the purging from it of so much human passion, so

much even of the ordinary physical energy of humanity too has

gone. For this, as for everything else, he found the right,

the only musical equivalentI without seeking for it. His

visions painted themselves.
Wagner's basic style here is empathic music designed for an abstract realm.

From this array of Romantic forests, impressive Grail Temples, magi-

cal castles and gardens, only two scenic things are chosen for comment.
One of these is the method by which characters are assumed to move from
the hut of Gurnemanz to the Temple of the Grail, a rather disconcerting

method.

The transformation scene, by which the two pass together
to the temple, is an admirable preparation for the mystery which
we are about to behold. Instead of walking up the path which
leads to the shrine they stand almost still while the scenery
passes along from left to right. The landscape grows wilder and
wilder until we reach a hollow surrounded by huge barren rocks;
these then seem to sink, until at last we find ourselves in the
middle of the Grail Temple.

Such an effect, while perfectly possible on the stage at any time, is sti11
seldom used. It is quite likely to be disconcerting and Distancing; indeed,
a Very reasonable preparation for the viewing of a miracle.

The other scene selected for comment is that of the Flower Maidens.
Of all of the scenes in the play this might well be the most empathic.

These creatures of an abnormal beauty have as their goal the seduction of

 

1Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist, pp. 313-314.

2Hight, op. cit., ii., p. 230.

 

 

 

196

Parsifal. They are given a setting of magical beauty, some of the most
gracious music in the whole work and each is trying to outdo the others
in order to attract the young man's attention. This would seem an oc-
casion when anything might be acceptable. But note how much Wagner has
Distanced and disciplined this seductiveness.

. . . Wagner's own remarks . . . on the ”childish naivete” of
this scene, ”far removed from any suggestion of sensuality”;
and secured, partly, by ”eliminating the passionate accents
which usually break through all the melodic lines,” in favor
of grace and euphony. ”I do not believe,” he adds with
pardonable pride, ”that any other stage has ever shown such a
bewitching exhibition of maidenly grace in song and action

as our artistic friends provided in this scene."

With the discussion of Parsifal we bring to a conclusion this con—
sideration of Wagner's music dramas. They are an amazing sequence of
works. Although they are the products of a single mind, each opera has a
distinct character and a specific purpose within Wagner's total body of
work

Lohengrin is a romantic opera, Tristan a music—drama, or ”action”;
the Nibelung’s Ring was entitled a ”stage-festival-play,” while
Parsifal was baptised as a ”stage-consecrat1ng-fest1val—play
(Bdhnenweihfestspiel). The title explains itself: while the
music—drama had driven umaesthetic absurd1t1es from the opera,

Parsifal consecrates the theatre, and converts it into a Temple
of Art.

 

lFinck, op. cit., ii., p. 425.

21bid., ii., p. 412.

 

CHAPTER V

WAGNER'S STAGING

Wagner found that his operas could not be staged adequately by the

majority of the theatres of his time. The directors, designers and stage

crews were unwilling to expend the necessary time and energy in the cre-
ation of appropriate settings and technical devices; the singers, their

technique and rehearsal time distorted by the repertory system of the

 

third quarter of the 1800's, were unwilling or unable to study the roles
adequately; and the orchestral members often failed to grasp the intention

behind Wagner's orchestration or flatly declared that the music was un-

playable.1 The end result, of course, was that the works were perfbrmed

in a non-realistic manner, were Over-Distanced and too formal, as were

most opera productions of the period. Too much Distance harmed these com-

paratively more empathic works more than it did the more formal operas of

other composers and, consequently, the Gesamtkunstwerken were slow in

winning an audience. Wagner felt that if his compositions were ever to

Win their way and to help in the reconstruction of the operatic theatre

for more serious purposes, exemplary productions were imperative. Partic—

ularly was this true of the gigantic Ring cycle, for which he felt that

no theatre in the world was adequate. The only solution was the contruc-

tion of a special theatre, equipped and staffed Specifically fbr the

mounting of these operas.

 

 

 

1Ann M. Lingg, "Great Opera Houses: Bayreuth,” Qpera News,
V01. 26, N0. 9, January 13, 1962, p. 26.

197

 

 

 

F— .

 

198

This dream of a superlative theatre which would set the tone and
dictate the style,1 for all theatrical activities was a dream which had

haunted Wagner for a quarter of a century before he was able to bring it

into existence in Bayreuth. As early as 1848,

In the Entwurf'zur Organisation eines Deutschen National-
Theaters fflr das Kdnigreich sachsen . . he speaks of "demand-
ing the fullest and most active interest of the whole nation in
an artistic establishment that, conjointly with all the other
arts, has for its object the ennobling of taste and manners."

He does not develop the idea, however.2

This is not the place to recount the trials of the composer in bring-

ing his theatre into being; it should be sufficient to indicate that

 

The festival theatre at Bayreuth was Richard Wagner's
own creation--in every sense of the word. He sought the place
for it, he earned or begged the money to build it, he designed
it and, if he did not erect it with his own hands, be super-
vised its erection down to the smallest detail.3

When the theatre was completed and performances were given there, it may

be assumed that they came as close to Wagner's ideals of perfection as he

could achieve.

Befbre considering the elements of the rehearsals, the staging de-
vices and the perfbrmances some attention should be devoted to the

Festspielhaus, the theatre itself.

Because much of the money fer the construction of the building was

raised by sUbscription and by appeals to the public, the fhnds were some—

what limited. Wagner, perhaps of necessity, regarded the Bayreuth opera

E

1Or to put this concept in the terms of this study, to demonstrate
the proper balance of involvement and non-involvement. For confirmation
0f the assertion that artistic style is dependent upon the establishment
0f the correct degree of Aesthetic Distance, see Michelis, op. cit., p. 36.

2Newman, wagner as Man and.Artist, p. 184.

3Skelton, op. cit., p. 9.

 

 

199

house as a simple, temporary structure which merely indicated what a
theatre should be; this was to serve as an illustration of the proper
methods and arrangements when the people of Germany united in building a

truly monumental structure to house the national opera which would grow

out of Wagner's work. Everything about the structure, in contrast with

most opera houses of the 1800's, was of the simplest sort.

Our very poverty of means, however, compelled us to
think of nothing but the sheer objective fitness of our build-
ing, the absolutely essential for our aim: and aim and object
here resided in the inner relation of the auditorium to a stage1
of the largest dimensions necessary for mounting perfect scenery.2

Wagner was aware of the immensely important relationship which

 

exists between the two spaces in a theatre, the audience seating area and

the space reserved for the actors. Physically, these two spaces are the

same or adjacent areas, but psychologically, during a perfbrmance, they
are different spheres. The auditorium containing a group of real peeple
who are subject to the laws, physical and political, of this world is
most certainly a part of reality as we know it. On the other hand, the
stage area occupied by actors in the process of perfbrmance is qualita-
tively different in that it is Distanced and therefore cut off from prac-
tical applications. The dream world shown on the stage need confOrm to no
laws but its own; it exists in isolation behind the proscenium, an entire
and self-sufficient world. That world may exist as long as the distinc-
tion between it and the world represented by the auditorium is recognized.

A single spectator from the world of reality crossing the proscenium line

would cause the destruction of the dramatic illusion by his intrusion into

k

"The Festspielhaus was built around an idea: the separation of

the ideal world on the stage from the real world of the audience.” Lingg,
0?. cit., p. 26.

2wagner on Music and Drama, p. 368.

 

 

 

200

the ideal space of the play.1 It is vital that the distinction between
the areas be observed and the Festspielhaus was built to do just that.

The audience area at Bayreuth was a revolutionary one. While most
auditoria of the time were built to facilitate the social proclivities of
the nobles (to enable the ostentatious display of their clothing, to make
it clear who was visiting whom in the boxes, to disclose what those of
superior taste did when they were bored with the opera, etc.), the Bayreuth
'house' was not so constructed. Its sole purpose was to provide a seating
area fer those who were watching the performance. The intent behind the

design of the Bayreuth auditorium was to eliminate all of the petty social

 

distractions and to focus the audience's attention on the drama, for
. just as in ancient Greece the theatre was a Spiritual
experience rather than a social occasion. The amphi-theatrical
shape of the auditorium, every seat giving an uninterrupted
view of the stage, was part of the process of persuading the
audience to forget its social self.
Even the shape of the auditorium was intended to begin the process of cre-

ating a Distanced emotive state of mind for the appreciation of the word-

tone dramas. By cutting out the possibilities of external distractions,

 

1This is generally true of all dramatic productions; no Spectator
may enter the play Space and have a conventional play continue. When ac-
tors violate the stage picture frame, they can do so only with adequate
preparation which redefines the space the characters occupy. Actors en—
tering the auditorium must ”carry the acting space with them." Even then,
a spectator reaching out to touch an actor would violate the irregular
playing Space and produce a shock which would disrupt the action. Conse—
guently a director who chooses to use the technique of moving the actors
Into the audience area reduces the physical factors WhiCh promote Aes-

thetic Distance and increases the likelihood of destroying the illusion
of the play.

2Skelton, op. cit., p. 33.

 

 

by l
the

alw

 

 

201

by plunging the house into darkness during the performance ("a rarity in
the gaslight era”1 of 1876), by immobilizing the seats so that they "must
always keep their front toward the Stage,"2 and by stripping the building
of all normal decoration which might attract the eye, the predisposing
conditions fer a hypnotized, empathic response were also strongly suggested.
A concentration upon the stage action, a fixed attention to the performance
was necessary simply because there was nothing else to be seen.
The proscenium in this theatre, the most obvious termination of
the audience area in the direction in which the spectators must be fbcused,
plays a great part in directing of the audience's attention. Normally,
The function of the proscenium arch is merely to define

the limits of the composition, to set it off by separating the

fiction of the play from the reality of its surroundings, to

prevent the eye from wandering to irrelevant things-—in short,

to maintain the aesthetic distance.3
It is used in this sense at Bayreuth, as an aid toward abstracing the per-
formance, but, because of an extension of the lines of perspective built
into the theatre and because of the existence of a double proscenium used

to mask the ”mystic abyss,"4 the idea occurred to the designer to continue

the expansion of the proscenia into the auditorium in a deliberate attempt

to manipulate Distance.

 

1Lingg, op. cit., p. 28.
2Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 365.

3Dolman, op. cit., p. 37.

4This is one of a number of possible translations (gulf, chasm,
depth, etc.) fer the phrase ”'Mysticher Abgrund,’ wagner's name fer the
orchestral chamber." Hight, op. cit., ii., p. 97. The purpose of the
mVStical abyss will presently be described.

 

 

 

202

Now, to mask the blanks immediately in front of our double
proscenium, the ingenuity of my present adviser has already
hit on the plan of throwing out a third and still broader pro-
scenium.

Seized with the excellence of this thought, we soon
went further in the same direction, and found that, to do full
justice to the idea of an auditorium narrowing in true perspec-
tive toward the stage, we must extend the process to the whole
interior, adding proscenium after proscenium until they reached
their climax in the crowning gallery, and thus enclosing the

entire audience in the vista, no matter where it took its place.1

Quite literally, wherever one may chance to sit in the Bayreuth Festspiel-
haus, he is inside the lines of perspective which dominate the entire
building; he is, in fact, inside the total picture. If his eye should
ever drift away from the stage, it is pulled back to the performance by
the almost magnetic 'funneling' of the attention through that concentrat-
ing series of ever smaller proscenia as one approaches the stage. As a
result, the auditorium walls apparently made up of these false proscenia,
assist enormously in directing the audience's attention to the stage.

This effect aids in the isolation of the stage action from the real

world and it, again, does not permit anything but a rapt attention to the

performance. In addition, it creates a peculiar illusion of a far greater

than real physical distance between any seat and the stage. ”There 15 a

depth here that seems hewn and distance that recedes infinitely further

than a mathematical vanishing point."2

The point at which these auditorium decorations merged into the

scenic display on the stage—-the actual proscenium itself and its immediate

- - ~ ' of the
v1c1n1ty——had always struck Wagner as a spot where the attention

audience could too easily be distracted from the dramatic action. In

____'__fl____________________________________

 

legner on Music and Drama, p. 367.

”Foreword,” Music and the Art of the Theatre (Coral

2Lee Simonson, 1962) p 11

Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press,

 

 

202

Now, to mask the blanks immediately in front of our double
proscenium, the ingenuity of my present adviser has already
hit on the plan of throwing out a third and still broader pro-
scenium.

Seized with the excellence of this thought, we soon
went further in the same direction, and found that, to do full
justice to the idea of an auditorium narrowing in true perspec-
tive toward the stage, we must extend the process to the whole
interior, adding proscenium after proscenium until they reached
their climax in the crowning gallery, and thus enclosing the
entire audience in the vista, no matter where it took its place.

1
Quite literally, wherever one may chance to sit in the Bayreuth Festspiel-
haus, he is inside the lines of perspective which dominate the entire
building; he is, in fact, inside the total picture. If his eye should
ever drift away from the stage, it is pulled back to the performance by
the almost magnetic 'funneling' of the attention through that concentrat-
ing series of ever smaller proscenia as one approaches the stage. As a
result, the auditorium walls apparently made up of these false proscenia,
assist enormously in directing the audience's attention to the stage.
This effect aids in the isolation of the stage action from the real
world and it, again, does not permit anything but a rapt attention to the
perfOrmance. In addition, it creates a peculiar illusion of a far greater
than real physical distance between any seat and the stage. ”There is a
depth here that seems hewn and distance that recedes infinitely further
than a mathematical vanishing point."2

The point at which these auditorium decorations merged into the
scenic display on the stage--the actual proscenium itself and its immediate
vicinity--had always struck Wagner as a spot where the attention of the

audience could too easily be distracted from the dramatic action. In

‘_—

lwagner on Music and Drama, p. 367.

2Lee Simonson, ”Foreword,” Mmsic and the Art of‘the Theatre (Coral
Gables, Florida: University of Miami Press, 1962), p. ii.

 

 

 

 

 

 

203

particular, the orchestra of conventional theatres, located on the audi-
torium floor level immediately in front of the scenic frame, was a source
for many activities and noises which had nothing to do with the drama.
wagner made it the first requirement of this theatre that the orchestra
should not interfere with the audience's line of sight.

To explain the plan of the festival theatre . . . at
Bayreuth I believe I cannot do better than to begin with the
need I felt the first, that of rendering invisible the mech-
anical source of its music, to wit the orchestra; for this
one requirement led step by step to a total transfermation of
the auditorium of our neo-European theatre.

The reasons given by Wagner and by others for lowering the orchestra into
a sunken orchestral pit are many and varied. In one way or another they
almost all refer back to the idea of creating a unified impression of the
performance, an ideal realization of the drama from which nothing dis-
tracts the attention to the real world of merely performing musicians.
Wagner explained the necessity for hiding the orchestra in this manner:

To complete the impression of such a performance, I
should lay great stress upon an invisible orchestra, which it
would be possible to effect by the architectural illusion of
an amphitheatrical arrangement of the auditorium.

The importance of this will be clear to anyone who
attends our present operatic performances for the purpose of
gaining any genuine impression of the dramatic art work, and
finds himself made the involuntary witness of the technical
evolutions caused by the unavoidable view of the mechanical
movements made by the musicians and their leader. These should
be as carefully concealed as the wires, roped canvas, and
boards of the stage machinery, the sight of which, as everyone
knows, creates a most disturbing impression and one calculated
to destroy all illusions.

 

1Wagner on Music and Drama, pp. 364-365.

2Richard Wagner, The Story of'Bayreuth as Told in the Bayreuth
Letters ofTRichard Whgner, trans. and ed. Caroline V. Kerr (Boston: Small,
Maynard and Co., 1912), pp. 9-10. Brecht, it might be noted, used the
Stage machinery of his theatre fer precisely this purpose: the destruc-
tion of illusion.

 

 

 

 

Wh
ate the si
audience 5
literally
the violir
is blocket
he faces 1
for the S‘
and exten
stage and
the orche
there is
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visible h

E
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on the p;
SOmd. 1
sawing 3‘
appears,
sPiritua

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Stenia,

tion of

204

What, in essence, Wagner and his architect did in order to elimin—
ate the sight of the orchestra was to continue the tiers upon which the
audience seats were arranged until they went below the level of, and quite
literally under, the floor of the stage. The sight of the conductor and
the violinists who are grouped on the first level of the orchestra area
is blocked off from the audience by a wall at the conductor's back, as
he faces the performers, a wall which assumes the aspect of a false apron
for the stage, and by two horizontal partitions, one attached to the wall
and extending toward the stage, the other affixed to the front edge of the

stage and projecting toward the audience. These boards do not meet over

 

the orchestra for that would muffle the sound of the players too much;
there is an opening over the center of the orchestra, over the most im-
portant but always weaker sounding woodwind section. The opening is not
visible because of the relative placement of the two sounding boards.

Sinking the orchestra below its usual level and concealing it com-
pletely not only removed a distraction and enabled a greater concentration
on the part of the audience, it also removed any apparent source for the
sound. Rather than having a mundane group of instrumentalists banging and
sawing away before the audience's eyes, the sound of the music simply
appears, it virtually materializes out of nowhere, a disembodied and
spiritualized sound which is most effective in creating an emotionally
affecting mood .

This sunken orchestral pit, with its concealing walls and parti-
tions and its strange ability to clarify and blend sounds in a manner which
cannot be heard elsewhere, forms the basis, in conjunction with the pro-
scenia, for Wagner's famous ”mystic gulf,” probably the clearest indica—

tion of Wagner's concern with the whole Distance scale. While he wanted

 

 

enremely cll
m,hcka
"mystic abys
into an idea
mysical dis

My deman
once ins
prosceni
called t
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throwinj
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Father
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205

extremely close empathic contact between his characters and their audien-
ces, he clearly recognized and approved of the Distancing effect of the
”mystic abyss” which removed the art work from this plane of existence
into an ideal one, while at the same time creating the illusion of immense
physical distance.

My demand that the orchestra should be made invisible had at
once inspired . . . a scheme for the empty space between the
proscenium and the front row of seats: this space—~which we
called the ”mystic gulf,” because it had to part reality from
ideality--the master [architect] framed in a second, a wider
proscenium, from whose relation to the narrower proscenium
proper he anticipatedthe singular illusion of an apparent
throwing back of the scene itself, making the spectator imag—
ine it quite far away, though he still beholds it in all the
clearness of its actual proximity; while this in turn gives
rise to the illusion that the persons figuring upon the stage
are of larger, superhuman stature.

 

Nor are these properties all that were expected or derived from the action
of the "mystic depths.”

By concealing the conductor and the orchestral players from
the audience it shifts the emphasis of the whole production,
concentrating attention on the drama rather than on the singer:
the audience at Bayreuth is far less conscious of the fact that
this soprano or that tenor is singing well or badly than of the
fact that the character depicted is convincing or not convinc-
ing as the case may be. Even more important, the spectator,
having no resting place for his eyes except on the stage, keeps
them there and does not consciously take in the orchestral
music at all. The orchestral sound works rather on the sub-
conscious which, as Wagner was instinctively aware, responds
directly and involuntarily to its emotional effect.

Yet another function of the invisible orchestra, or
rather in this case the curved roof above it, is to deprive
the audience of a standard of physical measurement. Simply
because there is no visible conductor against whom the eye can
measure them it is possible to make the figures on the stage,
by positioning and by a scaling of the background scenery, look
large or small as required. This is an important consideration

 

lwagner on Music and Drama, pp. 365-366.

 

 

in a
well

by the 1

phe
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pected

0f int

 

 

in a work like the Ring which contains dwarfs and giants as
well as gods and men.1

Wagner summed up the effects which were supposed to be produced

by the gulf in this fashion:

Between the Spectator . . and the picture to be looked
at there is nothing plainly visible, merely a floating atmos-
phere of distance, resulting from the architectural adjustment
of the two proscenia; whereby the scene is removed as it were to
the unapproachable world of dreams, while the spectral music
sounding from the "mystic gulf,” like vapors rising from the
holy womb of Gaia beneath the Pythia's tripod, inspires him with
that clairvoyance in which the scenic picture melts into the

truest effigy of life itself.

WAGNER'S REHEARSAL METHODS

As in almost all other areas connected with his theatre, Wagner ex-

pected perfection from his interpreters. In singers he looked for paragons

of intellectual and emotional control, as well as musical ability.

What Wagner wanted was first of all beauty of tone; next, so
perfect a vocal tecnhique that the singer would never have to
resort, even in the most difficult passages, to anything but

pure singing; then a feeling for the quality of words as words,
the varying build and weight and ring and rhythm of them; then

the ability to bring out the verbal-dramatic essence of the music,
but in the most intimate collaboration with this, the two strands
of meaning being so blended as to be inseparable; then an art

of gesture, pose and movement as complete, as flexible as the
accompanying arts of singing and declamation; and finally a power
of imaginative absorption in the character and in the drama as a
Whole, and of re-creation of.these from the inside in terms of
the actor's own physique and temperament, that should make the

lSkelton, op. cit., pp. 33-34. While it may seem paradoxical to
assert that an auditor is less conscious of the singing and more aware of
the drama at Bayreuth, it is none the less true. Once the conventions of
a dramatic performance are established, if nothing occurs to remind the
Spectator of those conventions (such as the fact that the characters sing

in an opera) then he tends to forget them and to concentrate upon the play
At Bayreuth, not only are the mechanical means of producing

being enacted.
Nothing breaks

the music hidden, but applause is forbidden during an act.
the spell.

ZWagner on Music and Drama, pp. 365-366.

 

 

 

 

pring into life as the inspired improvi-

whole opera seem to s
sation of the moment.

While there is no comparable list drawn up by the composer himself, the
eminent Wagnerian scholar and critic Ernest Newman seems to have placed
these items in the proper order, giving more stress to the intellectual
comprehension of the drama than to the empathic means of projecting that

understanding. The only factor not mentioned here and one which fre-

quently overweighed many of the others which are listed is that of physi—

cal appearance. In his drive for empathic contact with the audience,

Wagner was often guilty of physical type-casting. Once a singer was chosen

for a role, Wagner first explained the entire drama to him in an intel—

lectual manner and then turned his attention to elicting a Stanislavskian—

empathic reading.

The method was almost invariable: moving from an abstract compre-

hension of the structure of the drama to an emotional, empathic way of

presenting any given character.

Even when Wagner was working with an entire cast, as in the re-

hearsals for the two Bayreuth festivals staged under his direction, he

used the same approach.

. . . he could and did insist that the singer should read the
text and get to know it thoroughly befbre they even heard the
music, maintaining that only in this way could the singer grasp
the musical line of his part, which was shaped more by dramatic
than purely musical sense. Then, knowing exactly what he had to
express, he would naturally translate this into fitting gesture

and movement.
Then when the time came for the shift from the reading rehearsal or

the private studio to the stage, the same over-all process continued.

1Newman, Zhe Life of Richard wagner, iv., p. 455.

2Skelton, op. cit., p. 37

 

 

 

Wagner's idea in these rehearsals was not to proceed
from the single point to the whole, but just the reverse.
First the whole, and then the working out of details, so that
as a result of this method something relatively perfect was

accomplished, and the rehearsals, so far as orchestral and voice

parts were concernedI differed but little from the eventual

public performances.

When directing one of his operas, Wagner worked on the stage, in

the middle of the whole effort.

A small table furnished with a petroleum lamp and a
box which served as a support fer the score was placed for
Wagner on the stage, and from this vantage-point he kept
watch over the conductor and the progress of events on the

stage.
Such a positioning certainly gives the director the possibility of feeling

that he is working with, instead of outside of, the group of performers,

but it is likely to rob him of the physical distance from the scene which

 

enables him to see the activities on the stage in a Distanced manner, as

an artistic activity. The composer-director recognized this also and made

arrangements to enable him to move away from the action to get some per-

Spective on it. ”A little bridge had been built for him across the mystic

abyss, so that he could easily cross into the auditorium to study a scenic

or acoustic effect .“3

Once the singers had an idea of the story to be told, Wagner's

Second concern was with the interpretation of the music and of its text,

the factor which molded the music. He wanted an intelligible projection

of all of the emotions included in the tale and he felt that the only way

—~

1Kerr (ed.), The Story of'Bayreuth, pp. 226-227. This seems a

valid approach for a director who sought empathic wholes rather than in-
tellectual subdivisions. Naturally some parts would have to receive more

attention than others.

2]bid., p. 226.

3Finck, op. cit., ii., p. 294.

 

 

 

 

he could secure this was by a clear presentation of the words of the

libretto; he wanted to hear all of the words in order to grasp the emo—

tional state.

Before all else we had to adhere to the greatest distinct—
ness, especially of Speech: a passionate phrase must have a
confusing, and may have a forbidding, effect if its logical
tenor remains umseized; but to seize it without effort we
must be enabled to understand plainly the smallest link in
the chain of words at once: an elided prefix, a swallowed
suffix, or a slurred connecting syllable destroys that due
intelligibleness forthwith.1

With the elimination of the performer's regional dialects and
other distortions of the communication of words, Wagner turned to the
mimetic portion of the work and began his training of the actors in

physical projection of the ideas.

When once they knew and understood their part vocally
and musically, his further training was devoted to helping
them to realise the dramatic conception in terms of gesture
and action. Here again he would have no conventional recipes;
a leap or a blow, a gesture of pity or scorn, by a character
in one situation would be inapplicable to another character in

the same situation or a different one.
In a word, Wagner wanted a truthful, empathic acting style, some—
thing with no conventional or artificial movements brought over from the

highly mannered operatic theatres. No stock answers were allowed in the

physical action on Wagner's stage, as is clearly indicated in the reminis—

cences of Herr Winkelmann, one of the creators of the role of Parsifal:

. . . Wagner hated every pose on the stage, any

straining after effect, every disturbing movement.
He used to say: 'the acting must be controlled by

the intelligence!’ 'Everything must be genuine, sincere,
on the stage.‘

1Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 370. Note the formal Distancing
clarity necessary in order to promote the desired empathic state.

2Newman, The Life of Richard wagner, iv., p. 456.

 

210

Do you think you are in a theatre!’ he cried to a
singer who was making the most impossible gesticulations.
'Those are swimming exercises, not human gestures! Anyone
who is unnatural, I consider as my enemy!‘
It should be noted, once more, that Wagner intended to use or to emphasize
one part of the Distancing effect and could only do it by using the other
half, the intellectual and abstractive part.

Wagner had a major problem in simply getting the singers to grasp
what was wanted in the way of physical activity. They had been too long
corrupted by the Over-Distanced style which was usual then.

As the main affair of older opera was the monolgic aria,

which the singer was almost compelled to fire into the face

of the audience, so to say, the notion arose that even in

duets, trios, nay, whole general musters, the so—called en—

sembles, everyone must discharge his part into the audi—

torium from a similar position. As walking was thus alto—

gether precluded, the arms were set in that almost continu-

ous motion of whose impropriety, nay, absurdity, we had

already grown aware.
Wagner's answer to the problem was to temper the style of acting so that
it approached that which is now used. ”In close connection with the ad-
vantage of a wise economy in the expenditure of breath, for the effectual
underStanding of the dramatic melody, we recognized the need of ennobling
. . . 3 .
the plastic movements by a most consc1entlous moderation.” That moderation
was supplied by Wagner dictating to the actors virtually every movement

they Were to make. "Every role has been minutely mapped out to the

Smallest detail by Wagner . . .“4 then Wagner proceeded to explain, 1n51st,

 

 

 

 

lWinkelmann, cited in The Story of Bayreuth, pp. 355-356. The

emphasis is Winkelmann's.
zMagner on Music and Drama, p. 372.
31pm. , p. 371.

4Lavignac, op. cit., p. 477.

 

 

 

demn

he er

211

demonstrate and convince his performers that they should do the roles as
he envisioned them. He succeeded quite well.

Spectators like Albert Lavignac, present at the first Ring cycle
in 1876 have commented on the novelty and effectiveness of the new style

of acting. Note also the shock when the unity of the style was broken

 

and the Distance increased too much.

The stage business is quite different to ours [the
French]. The actors play much less to the audience than to
each other; they look at each other when they speak; they are
not afraid of turning their backs on the audience when occasion
demands, witness Parsifal, who stands in this attitude in the
foreground without moving during half of the first act: they
behave on the stage as they would do in real life, without
seeming to be conscious of an audience in front of them. This
is so natural to them that it does not seem at all remarkable
to us; but if one of them happens to differ and act in the con—
ventional manner, adressing his gestures and words to the audience,
we are immediately astonished and shocked.

 

When there is a chorus, moreover, the members do not arrange
themselves symmetrically in two rows, drawn up like soldiers
in line, or in a half-circle, exactly facing the audience and
raising their arms all together like automata at the loudest
note. Each one has his individual part, he plays, SlngS: and
acts it, and the result is a feeling of truth and life that 15
infinitely more satisfying.

Wagner, as a result of his desire to hypnotize his audiences into

an ecstatic, empathic state, was responsible both for radical modifications

in the shape and nature of the theatre and for the development of some of

the first naturalistic acting principles used in operatic presentatlons-

His intention was always to create empathy and to deny the need for the

use of the abstractive intellect but his major accomplishments 311 show

at least equal parts of emotion and thought.

1Ibid., p. 499.

21bid.

2l2

THE STAGE SETTINGS FOR THE FESTIVALS

Whereas his writings on the function of words and music dwelt
exhaustively on the practical application as well as the theory,

his definition of the function of scenery and costume was kept
in vague and general terms.1

It may seem strange that a man with such strong opinions on everything, a
man whose beloved step-father was, among other things, a scene painter,
should have had so little to say about scenic design. The reason seems

to be that he felt this aspect of the art of the theatre was sufficiently

developed and in the proper manner. ”There is no doubt that he considered

the conventional forms of staging satisfactory-—in need of reform in
practice only, not in principle.”2 Wagner gave his approval to the highly
developed art of Scene painting in two dimensions in this way:

As the final and most complete means of expression in ViSual
art, landscape painting will become the life—giving soul of
the whole construction. It will teach us to build for the
drama the stage on which it will itself represent the warm
natural background for the living actor.3

In addition to accepting the system of scene painting, Wagner apparently

did not clarify his own ideas concerning the realistic, as opposed to the

symbolic, nature of these paintings. Thus, once again, we find in Wagner's
reactions to his work a contradictory, paradoxical duality.

Wagner's was the taste and the eye responsible for the original
Bayreuth style, with its constructed crags and its infinite number of cut-
out trees, its mixture of the two and the three-dimensional, and its great
literalness.

”He demanded rich, heavy, naturalistic scenery and intricate,

1Skelton, op. cit., p. 41.

2Appia. op. cit., p. 114.

3Skelton, op. cit., p. 41.

 

213

patiently molded gesture--a style of presentation calculated to mirror

the wealth of detail lavished on the music and the text . ”1 It was

the ponderousness of this style for a symbolic form of theatre, parti—
cularly in regard to such internal and essentially psychological dramas
as Tristan and Isolde, which prompted Adolphe Appia to his revolutionary
methods of staging with open planes and levels and a great control of

light, the style which is currently employed at Bayreuth by Wagner's heirs

and successors.

It should be borne in mind, however, that Wagner himself would
almost certainly have disapproved of Appia's sets. He would
have preferred to have the light fall on something solid and
tangible than on amorphous shapes or on nothing at all. Like
the maitre des feyntes of the medieval Bible plays, Wagner
strove for reality on the stage.1

A moment‘s consideration of Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk in relation to his
announced desires about Distance will not make it seem at all strange
that he should want the immediately tangible, the concrete, the sensual

rather than the suggestive, the allusive and the intellectual. It is not

surprising that "the detailed stage directions which Wagner wrote for his
works do seem to point directly to a romantic form of realism.”2 This is
the style, in its literal realization, which would seem most life—like,

most natural to the people of his period and which, therefore, would invite

the greatest degree of empathy with the least exertion. For both realism
and naturalism, the ” . . . psychic presupposition, as can be clearly
understood, is the process of empathy, for which the object nearest to

hand is always the cognate organic, . ."3

1Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 30.
ZSkelton, op. cit., p. 42.

3Worringer, op. cit., pp. 32-33.

 

 

214

Though Wagner's intent was to achieve a literal representation of

the scene of action, his necessary reliance upon the conventions of scenic

painting as they existed produced flaws in the Ring.

His lines to Ludwig II prove revealing: ”Everyone thinks he
can outdo me by better and more beautiful things, while I am
only striving for a definite something, a certain poetic effect,
but not theatrical pomp. Scenery, for instance, is invariably
designed as though it were to be looked at for its own sake,

as in a panorama, but I want only a subdued background to char—
acterize a dramatic situation.”1

The painters were simply doing their job as they understood it and as it
was required of them in all other opera houses, but here they were intro-
ducing unnecessary and undesirable elements which caused Wagner and, no

doubt, some of the Bayreuth patrons, to be distracted from the real point:

the drama.

Our aesthetic pleasure consists of being able to range be—
tween the two extremes of external appearance and inner reality.
If the visual aspects of the production divert our attention,

as so often happens when useless and alien elements are com-
bined to achieve an effect not dictated by the text, our field
of aesthetic activity is unfavorably enlarged, and we find it
difficult to follow the central dramatic action, which is, after
all, the most important consideration.2

Probably the most disturbing thing, to Wagner's mind, was not the insertion
of needless, specific detail (he seems to have approved of highly detailed

renderings) but rather the inclusion of abstract elements, the signs and

Symbols which the painters always used.

1Wieland Wagner, ”Tradition and Innovation,” Mhsie Review, Vol. 13,
November 1952, pp. 297.

2Appia, op. cit., p. 118. Appia, of course, is one of the champions
0f the elimination of all useless and alien elements. He is supported in
his theories by Bullough, who said: ”Modern reforms of staging, aiming

Primarily at the removal of artistic incongruities between excessive deg-
oration and the living figures of the actors and at the production of a

more homogeneous stage-picture, inevitably work also towards a greater
emphasis and homogeneity of Distance.”

Bullough, op. cit., p. 113.

 

 

The laws governing sight and sound, which together
control the conventions of stage decor, make it impossible
to present actually in a production the place of the action
with the same plastic truth as characterizes the language
of the actors. One must therefore employ signs with which
to indicate and suggest the scene, but which can never come
into direct contact with the living actor. These signs can

appeal to the audience only as some kind of highly developed
hieroglyphs whose meanings are obvious.1

 

The painted sets took on the Specifically non-real, symbolic nature of the

highly Distanced artifact in spite of Wagner's wishes. He did everything

he could to make the settings realistic or naturalistic but the pervading
style of the period or a strange quirk in Wagner's mind forced him into a
far more Distanced style than he would have consciously admitted desiring.

Looking at pictures of the sets used at Bayreuth, the
awkward dragon, the strange swimming-machines for the Rhine
maidens, we might wonder how anyone could be hypnotized by
this cluttered scenery and these creaking machines.2

The answer, of course, lies in the imaginary puissance of the audience,

in their ability to accept a suggestion andnentally manipulate it into an

acceptable image of the reality intended.

"True stage—illusion,” . . . [said] Coleridge, com—
paring a setting for a forest with a landscape by Claude in
this same celebrated passage in his Literary Remains, ”con-
sists--not in the mind's judging it to be a forest, but in
its remission of judgment that it is not a forest.”3

Here the audience is adopting a Distanced attitude which permits the

employment of symbols to represent something without requiring that the

1Appie, op. cit., p. 23. Regardless of how well a backdrop might
have been painted, it could never have the exact look of nature; if nothing
else betrayed its falseness, an actor approaching a painted drop would fail
to shrink in proportion to the lines of perspective in the two-dimensional
area. Therefore the mere presence of a painting made the setting highly
conventional and Distanced. No painted backdrop, no matter how well it

is done, could avoid using the conventions and formal signs of a highly
developed craft.

Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 29.

3Brown, op. cit., p. 42.

 

216

object or the situation be present in its complete empathic detail. If
empathy were the only mental or emotional method the audience could bring

to bear on such scenery, it is doubtful that most people could find the
typical setting sufficiently real to project themselves into the circum-
stances and feel comfbrtable. But if all they are asked to do is to acknow-
ledge that the structures on the stage represent or symbolize something,
most people seem to be able to accept this kind of abstraction without a
second thought.

In the case of Wagner's music dramas, in their authorized presen-
tations, the audience either had to accept the symbolic and suggestive
nature of the setting or they had to ignore it completely and devote them-
selves to responding to the more ideal realizations of the places and
objects which are contained in the scores.

The state of mind necessary for the enjoyment and compre-
hension of the poetic-musical text is incompatible with the
realism of the staging. If the discrepancy between the two
sensations is too great, the conflict too positive, the eye
will always be the first to surrender; it will simply record
the spectacle in order that the spirit may be released to
enjoy the absorbing and overwhelming elements of the score.
Undeniably this is what usually happens; in the case of
Spectators of sensitive and cultivated taste it has become
such a common occurrence that it is known as ”Wagnerian hyp-
nosis,” or, when other influences enter in, ”Bayreuth hyp-
nosis . . ."1

There seems to be a strong division of opinion concerning the
success of Wagner's original scenery, a division no doubt resulting from
the varying abilities of the audience members to Distance what they ac—
tually saw on the stage.

Some spectators at the original festivals approved of the presen-

tations but with obvious reservations where they had to supply the final

 

 

 

1Appia, op. cit., pp. 137-138.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

217

magic from their imaginations: ” . . . with rare exceptions it [the
scenery] succeeds in producing the desired illusion.”1 Others, whose Dis-
tancing powers were greater or who were more materially assisted by the
chiaroseuro of the dim gas lighting felt that the settings, as offered,
were fine.

All that was ever available to him [Wagner] was gaslight.

Eyewitnesses attest to the unforgettable effects which were

achieved by its dim, warm glow; in the mysterious semidarkness

the exquisitely painted flats took on the magic illusion so

essential to Wagner's operas.
Wagner, at times, belonged to this latter group, saying

Thus even the influence of our surrounding optic and

acoustic atmosphere bore our souls away from the wonted world;

and the consciousness of this was evident in our dread at the

thought of going back into that world.
But there were many others, those who possessed less Distancing ability or
who were more literal-minded, who failed to be moved by the physical pre-
sentation at all. ”But the unanimous testimony of all with whom I have
spoken who were themselves present is that as a whole the representation
was a grotesque failure.”4

The failure could not have been complete or, under the conditions

of extreme opposition which Wagner faced, the operas would never have sur-
vived their original stagings. But it is true that in evaluating the pro-
ductions and the whole concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk which was contained

in them, a good number of highly influential critics now seem to feel that

Wagner was not successful. This is not to deny the force and expressiveness

 

1Lavignac, op. cit., p. 497.
2Wieiand Wagner, op. cit., p. 297.
3Wagner on Music and Drama, p. 376.

4Hight, op. cit., ii., p. 104~

 

 

 

218

of Wagner's music, nor his genius as a whole, but simply to indicate that
the pyramiding of artistic forms, many of which have conflicting basic
needs was not the method by which to arrive at the Art-Work of the Future.
The general principles of the Gesamtkunstwerk have long since provoked a

reaction in operatic circles against such massive, overwhelming, one-sided

 

presentations and a number of modern composers, while still using Wagner's
melodic methods, deny the value of his poetic, philosophical and staging
dicta as a basis for any fUrther development of the form of opera.

If Wagner failed in his struggle with the musical-
dramatic form, it was the failure of a Titan in a struggle
that only a Titan would have ventured upon. Form and the
perfection of form are simple enough matters fer the smaller
musical intelligences, for whom form means merely a symmetri-
cal mould to be filled. It is for the greater minds that the
problem of form is always a torture, fer their ideas are per-

petually outgrowing the mould.

 

for us the amazing and almost incredible thing about
Wagner is that he is far from a total failure. No great
artist is open to so many objections. But he i§_a great
artist.

lNewman, Wagner as Man and Artist, p. 303

2Bentley, ”Richard Wagner,” p. 188.

 

CHAPTER VI

BRECHT'S THEORIES
In his theorizing, in his composition, and in his staging tech—
niques, Wagner tried to establish many of the principles of what is now

regarded as the conventional theatre: ensemble playing, realistic or

naturalistic acting and scenery, the dominance of the director, the con—

vention of ignoring the audience's presence, etc. The Epic Theatre of

Bertolt Brecht was, in part, a revolt against many of these principles;

in particular it was theoretically in opposition to one of Wagner's main

concerns: empathy.

In his efforts to explain why a new style of theatre was needed,
Brecht had to go back beyond Wagner's period to find an historical justi-

fication for a social, non—aesthetic theatre.

Whereas in the Middle Ages, and to some extent even at the be—
ginning of the modern period, the theatre had had a social
function (as in public processions, market place performances,
etc.), and in that way constantly addressed the public and took
account of it in playing, now it no longer has such an im—
mediate reference or social purpose and has become an ”end in
itself,” a kind of art institute. Thus, as time goes on the
gulf between the theatre and its public becomes wider and

wider. The increasing commercialization of the theatre sep-
arated the theatre from the public still more; the ”fourth wall”
was invented and acting techniques and technical devices were
devised to create the illusion that the actors were playing to
no audience at all. But in this way the audience in particular
was most strongly drawn into the ”magic sphere” of the theatre.
The dramaturgy which was developed for this theatre of illusion
and used by its most prominent representatives did not give

the spectator one moment in which he ”gets time for reflection.”

219

 

 

 

 

€%l~ '

Thus in the theatre of illusion the esthetic function took
precedence over the social one.

Particularly was this true of the period immediately before the turn of

the century when Wagner's Romantic-realistic principles were having their

first real vogue. Other designers and directors had capitalized on

Wagner's theories and examples, while ignoring his efforts to use the

theatre for practical purposes, and had fashioned a theatre form in which
the intention behind the performance was to hypnotize the audience.

The romantic theatre, especially, aimed at reducing the
audience to an unthinking, highly suggestible mass in which
the individual was transported out of himself and made to
drift with the tides of the universe. In both its realis—
tic and antirealistic aspects the nineteenth-century theatre
sought to render the Spectator incapable of passing impartial
judgment or controlling his senses. It was a theatre of nar-
cosis, and Wagner was its chief architect.2

It is apparent, of course, that the objections being voiced here

make reference to Wagner's desire for an ecstatic empathic state in the

spectator. Wagner, it will be remembered, did not want audience members

to be critically conscious or to use their analytical intelligences in
perceiving the music dramas; instead, he wished them to project them-k
selves into the work, to sense it completely and to fall so totally under

the spell of the music that they would be susceptible to the revelations

contained there. Theoretically at least, ecstatic empathy was the most

important principle in Wagner's theatre.

Bertolt Brecht objected most strenuously to this hypnotized, sub-

human, ecstatic state in any audience. Here is his description of an

1Werner Hecht, "The Development of Brecht's Theory of the Epic

Theatre, 1918-1933," trans. Bayard W. Morgan, The Tulane Drama Review,
Vol. 6, No. 1, September 1961, pp. 89-90.

2Goldman and Sprinchorn, op. cit., p. 29.

3As he aged and he worked in the day—to—day process 0f PTOdUCtiOH,
Brecht was to temper his early and rather extreme attitudes.

 

 

 

audience which was apparently participating in a theatrical performance
by means of the inner mimicry method of empathy and to the ecstatic degree:

Let us go into one of these houses [theatres] and observe
the effect which it has on the spectators. Looking about
us, we see somewhat motionless figures in a peculiar con-
dition: they seem strenuously to be tensing all their mus-
cles, except where these are flabby and exhausted. They
scarcely communicate with each other; their relations are
those of a lot of sleepers, though of such as dream rest-
lessly. . True, their eyes are open, but they stare
rather than see, just as they listen rather than hear. They
look at the stage as if in a trance. Seeing and hear—
ing are activities, and can be pleasant ones, but these people
seem relieved of activity and like men to whom something is
being done. This detached state, where they seem to be given

over to vague but profound sensations, grows deeper the better
the work of the actors . 1

 

Brecht seemed to feel that “by causing the fiction to act immediately upon

the emotions, [such a conventional or ”Aristotelian” drama would] inhibit

 

or even paralyze the spectator's reason and imagination."2 Furthermore,

he assumed that this extreme state of being was typically induced by any
well-performed, cathartic drama. Further refining his analysis of the pre-
sumably detrimental effects of illusionistic drama, Brecht ascribed the
negative aspects of audience indentification to empathy. He apparently

believed that any emotions experienced without the assistance of empathy

 

were not likely to destroy an audience's critical faculties but any which

relied upon or employed empathy3 were anti-personal and anti—social.

1Brecht, ”A Short Organum," pp. 82-83. It Should be noted that

Brecht was writing a polemic here rather than a criticism. Wagner often
did the same thing.

2Ursula Jarvis, "PerSpectives on Distance and Illusion: Otto

Ludwig's Anticipations of Brecht," Modern Language Quarterly, Vol. XXV,
No. 3, September 1964, pp. 312-313.

3While it is possible to imagine emotional states which are not
dependent upon the observation of anything (for instance, loneliness or
homesickness), it is difficult to see how the purely external stimuli of

the stage can produce an emotional state without the use of empathy in
some degree.

 

 

 

222

Because the conventional theatre used empathy rather consistently and

generally had no intention of creating anything other than an evening of

enjoyment or perhaps a general attitude toward its subject matter, it

stood condemned, in Brecht's eyes, of affecting the viewer improperly.
To the pure moralist, who accepts nothing but ethical values, in
order to be justified, it [art] must be shown not only not to

hinder but actually to forward right action, otherwise it is not

onlyluseless but, since it absorbs our energies, positively harm-
ful.

While one might hesitate to say that Brecht was only a moralist, a moral—
istic attitude was certainly one of his strong characteristics and he
adopted exactly the position cited toward the whole of the theatre which

preceeded his unless it could be recast into such a shape that it would

 

have positive social and moral results on its audience. Of all other
stage works he said, ”we suspect that unduly subjective representations
of the world have anti-social effects . . ."2

If the practices and psychological foundations of the customary

theatre were invalid, what should the form and the bases of the modern

 

theatre be? Brecht had an answer in the Epic Theatre.

 

DEFINITION OF THE EPIC THEATRE
Brecht's Epic Theatre was concerned with the contradictory and
conflicting forces which act in current affairs and from which one might
expect new and revolutionary syntheses, such forces being shown in the
theatre by actors who used a theatricalist method of perfbrmance which

induced Distance, along with all of the mechanical aids of modern science,

in an attempt not to create an illusion but to present the facts of the

—__

 

 

.—__

lFry, op. cit., p. 21.

ZBrecht on Theatre, p. 279.

 

 

 

 

 

223

situation depicted so that the audience might make critical judgments
about the validity of the conduct and conditions shown and determine
whether they would uphold the present state of things or deliberately
choose to alter them.1

According to its author, ”the theory [of Epic Theatre] is rela-
tively simple. It deals with the traffic between stage and auditorium:
how the spectator must master the incidents on the stage.”2 Everything
mentioned in Brecht's many scattered comments and theoretical statements
does ultimately have something to do with the "traffic between the stage
and the auditorium." There is, however, a necessity to distinguish be-
tween ends and means, both of which are included in the theory. A list—
ing of the means will be given first.

The very key to the Brechtian style of writing and acting lay in
a substitution: ”in place of 'empathy' the demonstration of patterns of
behavior under certain social conditions is required"3 and ”thinking 39223.
the flow of the play is more important than thinking from within the flow
of the play."4

To achieve the scope which Brecht believed necessary for a proper
comprehension of the complexity of modern life, a new dramatic form had
to be molded. "The 'epic course of the epoch from its roots toits last

1In reality Brecht was never so objective and dissociated from his

material as this definition would suggest: he invariably took an attitude
toward the conditions he discussed.

2Brecht, The Messingkauf'Dialogues, p. 101.

3Hans Egon Holthusen, ”Brecht's Dramatic Theory,” Brecht: A col—

lection of Critical Eesays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey:
Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962), p. 107.

4Raymond Williams, "The Achievement of Brecht,” The Critical
Quarterly, Vol. 3, No. 2, Summer 1961, p. 155.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

effects' could only be produced in a justaposition and succession of scenes
and tableaux. The dramatic form becomes reportorial."1 The telescoping
of great quantities of material, as well as a desire to alternate action
with commentary led to changes in the structure of the play. The content
was so great that it virtually burst the seams of the conventional drama.
There was also no need for the more concentrated, empathic, emotional
ferns of the past. This new organizational pattern for drama
. should be discursive, not incisive, in form--so much

So that the sequence of scenes could be rearranged without

affecting the development of the action. What was important

was not the straining toward a climax but the cumulative

effect of all the scenes.2
Because this apparently loose structure would not lead inevitably toward a
specific conclusion, ”one is not always asking what will happen next. One
is not interested in the next scene, one is interested in Epi§_scene.3
The result of this deliberate reversal of the methods of the past was to
produce a group of fragments which must be related, not in time or space,
but in intent or theory or principle. The resulting structure for a play
was "a string of lively incidents each based on the same principle .“4

The principle which threaded these complete scenes together was,

of course a reflection of the artist's attitude toward the actions shown.

 

 

1Ernst Schumacher, ”Piscator's Political Theater,” Brecht: A
Cbllection of Critical Essays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood Cliffs, New
Jersey: Prentice-Hall Inc., 1962), pp. 90—91.

2Mordecai Gorelik, "Brecht: 'I am the Einstein of the New Stage
Form . . .,'" Theatre Arts, Vol. XLI, No. 3, March 1957, p. 86.

3Eric Bentley, "German Stagecraft Today," The Kenyon Review,
V01. XI, No. 4, Autumn, 1949, p. 644.

_ 4Francis Fergusson, ”Three Allegorists: Brecht, Wilder, and
Eliot,” Sewanee Review, Vol. 64, Fall, 1956, p. 551.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

225

"Without opinions and objectives one can represent nothing at all. With-
out knowledge one can Show nothing; how could one know what would be
worth showing?"1 But, in opposition to the realistic, representational
methods of writing and staging, in the Epic Theatre the author could and
did introduce his underlying ideas in far more obvious ways.

Among the formal innovations of epic theatre is the permis-

sion it gives the author to introduce his own ideas into his

work, much as a novelist uses a narrative to shape the reader's

responses to action and character. And Brecht takes full ad-

vantage of his opportunity, using narrative devices to influence

the spectator's mind.
Thus an artificial, non—realistic, and Distancing form was imposed upon
the incidents and characters by bringing all of them into line with the
dominant thought the playwright was trying to communicate. These plays
became the Distanced expression of organized experience and reflection,
a pattern of action which displayed the ordered perceptions of one mind.
Because each aspect of the play was fbrced into line with an over-riding
idea, the whole play often gained in clarity. It became a schematized
form of life, an outline of it rather than a depiction. The startling
clarity of most of the plays of the Epic Theatre made them non-realistically
formal and thus highly Distanced.

Another form—giving device which reinforced the literary and iso-

lated nature of the scenes in a Brechtian play was the series of scene
titles which the author composed for display during the production of the

work. A capsule summary of the action of the scene which was to follow,

Plus any comments which the author chose to make, were placed on placards

 

1Brecht, ”A Short Organum,” p. 93.

2Brustein, "Bertolt Brecht,” The Theatre of'Revolt, p. 260.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

226

or projected on screens or curtains during the show. The reason for this

device, according to Brecht, was that

The parts of the story have to be carefully set off one
against another by giving each its own structure as a play
within the play. To this end it is best to agree to use
titles. . . . The titles must include the social point,
saying at the same time something about the kind of por-
trayal wanted, i.e., should copy the tone of a chronicle
or a ballad or a newspaper or a morality.

Not only did this device destroy any possibility of suspense in the scene
about to be played, thus freeing the audience to concentrate upon other
parts or meanings for the scene, but it also provided for the drama the

equivalent of footnotes or cross-references.

The boards on which the titles of the scenes are pro-
jected are a primitive start toward a literarization of the
theatre. This literarization of the theatre . . . mug? 55*-
developed to the greatest possible extent.

Literarization means putting across ideas through
actions; interspersing the ”performed” with the "formulated.”
It makes it possible for the theatre to establish contact
with other institutions of intellectual activity, but it
must remain a one-sided affair so long as the audience does
not take part in such literarization and thus breaks through
to "higher things.”2

 

That is, in spite of all of the Epic Theatre's unusual conventions and

consequent jarring of the audience out of its usual perceptual patterns
to a greater Distance, each audience member was still expected to parti-
cipate in the drama by making evaluations of what he saw. "The episodes
must not succeed one another indistinguishably but must give us a chance

to interpose our judgment.”3

 

1Brecht, "A Short Organum,” p. 99.

zBertolt Brecht, "Notes to the Threepenny Opera.” The Threepenny
Opera, Trans. Desmond Vesey (New YOrk: Grove Press, Inc., 1960), p. 98.

3Brecht, "A Short Organum,” p. 99.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The content of this literary, Distanced form, which was intended

to promote judgments, consisted of actions which revealed attitudes to-

ward the world. The attitudes were not those personal, emotional responses

of the conventional theatre but attitudes of larger social consequence.
’Qn Brecht's theatre, it is what people do, not what they feel, that
counts. Action takes precedence over emotion, fact over fantasy."1 The
attitudes of importance, to Brecht, were those which people adopted toward

the 'facts' presented and toward the characters which embodied those con-

crete facts.

The epic theatre is chiefly interested in the atti-
tudes which people adopt towards one another, wherever they
are socio-historically significant (typical). It works out
scenes where people adopt attitudes of such a sort that the
social laws under which they are acting spring into sight.
Human behaviour is shown as alterable; man himself as de-
pendent on certain political and economic factors and at the

.same time as capable of altering them.

In such works, there was a definite shift away from the emotional and

toward the statistically verifiable, away from one end of the Distance-

scale and toward the other. To correspond with the abstract, concep-

tual aims of the form, new subject matter was necessary.

In place, then, of the love-duty conflict of earlier drama,
Brecht substitutes a conflict between generosity and self-
interest, his invariable conclusion being that greed always

triumphs.
Before his conversion to Marxism, Brecht took this

triumph to be a fact of a cruel and unheeding universe--after,
it became an inevitability of the capitalist system.

1Kenneth Tynan, "The Theatre Abroad: Germany," The New Yerker,

V01. 35, Part 3, No. 7, September 12, 1959, p. 104.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 86.

3Robert Brustein, ”Bertolt Brecht in Folio,” The New Republic,
Vol. 144, No. 8, Issue 2,415, February 20, 1961, pp. 28—29. It is obvious

that Brecht is here attacking the 'well-made' play of the commercial
theatre as well as an economic system.

 

 

 

 

228

In the class warfare being dramatized, personal Romantic emotions had
little place but conflicts over money and power were primary; the concrete
economic aspects of a person's actions were more important than what they
neant to him personally. ”Like many of his Leftist contemporaries, Brecht
was seeking a method whereby economic processes could be effectively
dramatized; he hoped to see money and food someday displace power and sex
as the drama's major themes."1 This behavioristic attitude toward economic
conditions provided the themes of the Epic Theatre.

Brecht chose to clothe these discussions of economic factors and
social reactions in an abrupt yet poetic style of dialogue. In spite of

the colloquial language employed, the vast majority of Brecht's work

 

tended to read like poetry and thus to be Distanced from real life and

the flatness of normal speech. One of the major stylistic problems Brecht
set himself was the development of a cragy poetic language which could be
used by common characters or in protest songs but which would still be
recognized as poetic. It was this original style of speech which he
typically employed.

Along with the poetic diction of the plays came a demand for a
patterned method of movement during production, a style of movement which
was also intended to communicate infbrmation on its own accord.

Epigrammatic, compressed gestures (gestus); sophisticated
arrangements of movement; stylization; cool elegance; and
a relaxed enjoyment of the technicalities of art replace
a correct imitation which is true to ”life."2

This discussion of the means employed should have made it clear

that, in its methods of writing and production, the Epic Theatre must

‘

 

 

1Tynan, op. cit., p. 108.
2

Demetz, op. cit., p. 7.

 

 

 

228”!

ultimately be considered to be a form of theatricalism. It was designated

to accomplish a single end by the most direct presentation methods, in

the clearest and plainest possible manner.

As Brecht sought to banish trance, illusion, magical
effects and orgies of emotion from the theatre, he tried to
replace them by lucidity, rationality, and elegance. The
numerous and varied devices by which the illusion of reality
was to be diSpelled must bear the hallmark of honest crafts—
manship, the perfection that comes from the unpretentious use

of undisguised materials.1

Even the basic concept of the whole Brechtian system, the Alienation or

Verfremdungseffekt, was intended to make one conscious of the theatre and

of the demonstrative techniques employed there. ”Brecht's technique of

distancing (Verfremdungseffekt) derives also from this process of

making one conscious of the theatrical image .

”2

The reader is asked to note the theatrical means and effects in

Brecht's own listing of the differences which existed between the re-

presentational theatre and the Epic Theatre:

Dramatic Form of the Theatre

 

active

involves the Spectator in a
stage—action

consumes his capacity to act

allows him to have feelings

experience

Spectator drawn into something

suggestion

feelings are preserved

the spectator stands inside,
experiences with the
characters

man is assumed to be known

Epic Form of the Theatre

 

narrative

makes the spectator an observer,
but

awakens his capacity to act

demands decisions from him

view of the world

he is confronted with something

argument

feelings driven into becoming
realisations

the spectator confronts and
studies what he sees

man is an object of investigation

 

lEsslin, Brecht: The Man and His work, p. 135.

2Ronald Peacock, The Art of Drama (London: Routledge and Kegan
Paul, Ltd., 1957), pp. 165—166.

 

 

 

 

 

 

229

 

 

Dramatic Form of the Theatre Epic Form of the Theatre

nun unalterable man alterable and altering
suspense in awaiting the outcome suspense at the process

one scene exists for another each scene for itself

growth montage

linear progress in curves

evolutionary inevitability sudden leaps

nun as fixed man as a process

thought determines Being social Being determines thought
feeling reason1

PURPOSE OF THE EPIC THEATRE
As can readily be gathered, in theory the Epic Theatre differed
radically from its conventional counterpart. The changes which Brecht

tried to effect were not chosen haphazardly nor in a mere effort to be

 

different. Each was selected because it counteracted or precluded one of
the magical effects of the empathic theatre or because it established the
conditions under which the rational probing of ideas which normally occurs
in the classroom could take place.

Up until his last few years, Brecht never considered the theatre

 

to be a house of entertainment. Instead, its purpose was instructional.

x..-

__ . _M—h .-
..---.»’r F“- ‘v

”He . . . was convinced that the theatre must become a tool of social en-
gineering, a laboratory of social change.”2 Note the key word "tool.”

In other words, Brecht, in a contradiction which he apparently never saw
or resolved, attempted to use a great number of Distancing techniques in
order to convert the theatre into a tool, a practical method of changing

the world. He used his alienation techniques to break certain a5pects of

 

the world out of their usual contexts so that they might be seen and examined
With unusual clarity in order to determine whether they were constituted

or used as they should be.

“

 

1Ronald Gray, Brecht (London: Oliver and Boyd, 1961), pp. 62-63.

2Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 123.

 

 

 

230

When Brecht tried to use the theatre for other than artistic pur-
poses or entertainment, not only was there a shift in emphasis and technique
from the aesthetic to the practical, but a different response was expected
from the audience as a result of its bringing to bear different standards
of judgment. In 'practical' art such as the Epic Theatre, the spectator
'is encouraged to approach the art experience with the same ethical cri—
teria that he applies, or at least ought to apply in his everyday exis-
tence.”1 In the Epic Theatre, the spectators were to see clear demonstra-
tions of the economic and social factors which controlled their lives,
were to evaluate and judge them on humane and ethical standards and to

commit themselves either to the maintenance of the status quo or to the

 

institution of the new values which they had derived from their rational
and critical appraisal of the facts offered. Once again, the intent was
practical and, presumably had an immediate effect upon the playgoer's life
outside of the theatre.

This was the avowed purpose of the Epic Theatre: to tell the truth
about our social systems and to promote practical action concerning their

revision.

ALIENATION
The basic concept which underlay the whole system of Epic Theatre

was that of alienation or Verfremdung, a paraphrasing of the Aesthetic

 

Distance theory.

"Verfremdung," in fact, is not simply the breaking of illu-
sion (though that is one means to the end); and it does not

E

1Jarvis, op. cit., p. 314. While the ultimate result of a classic
tragedy might have been practical, the whole intent of the performance was
perceptual not combatative. There was a difference in the use to which
the factors were put and a consequently different reaction on the part of
the audience.

 

 

231

mean 'alienating' the spectator in the sense of making him

hostile to the play. It is a matter of detachment, of re-

orientation: exactly what Shelley meant when he wrote that

poetry 'makes familiar objects to be as if they were not

familiar,‘ or Schopenhauer when he claimed that art must

show 'common objects of experience in a light that is at

once clear and unfamiliar.‘1
These are allusive descriptions of the Distanced state, the mental condi-
tion in which objects are observed outside of their usual context or de—
prived of their practical functions and relations in order to be seen
with greater clarity.

Further establishing the similarity of Brecht's and Bullough's

theories, the process of alienation, like that of Distancing, was acknow—

ledged to have an inhibitory and a developmental phase. The negative

 

aspect of it is the stopping of a process on the part of the spectators:

. the audience must be discouraged from losing their crit-
iCal detachment by identification with one or more of the
characters. The opposite of identification is the maintenance
of a separate existence by being kept apart, alien, strange.
That is the meaning of the famous "Verfremdungseffekt".

 

 

This process of discouragement applied not only to empathic iden-
tification with the characters but to other aspects of the conventional
theatre as well. The intent was to eliminate many of the devices of the
current theatre, clearing away a number of the 'magical' effects of the

stage so that the audience would be aware that they were witnessing

 

merely a report or an analysis of a condition. There was an effort made

 

t0 Pare everything down to its essentials, not to entirely eliminate any-

thing, but rather to reduce every portion of the presentation to an

g

 

1Wi11ett, op. cit., p. 179.

2Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 125.

   

 

 

 

232

appropriate level so that it could be understood to be precisely what it
was. Theoretically, this inhibitory phase was supposed to be accomplished
in a particular manner.

"Alienation“ has usually been described in terms of its de—

struction of empathy, of suspense, of pathos as if it too

were a taking— away of something, the deliberate impoverish-

ment of an art by a fanatical didacticist. Actually, like

illusion in the stage settings, these things were not elim—

inated but limited—-limited by being placed alongside their

opposites.
The alienation effect intervenes in the theatrical transaction, then,
through a process of comparison and contrast, by means of the dialectical
opposition of incompatible states. Brecht's application of Hegelian-

Marxian dialects in his plays was embodied, primarily, in his Gestic and

dialogue device of the ”Not . . . But. ”

 

(KThe very simplest sentences that apply in the A- effect are
(those with 'Not . . . Butl: (He didn't say 'come in' but
'keep moving' “‘ He was not pleased but amazed). They in-

we-

clude an expectation which is justified by experience but,

in the event, disappointed. One might have thought that .

but one oughtn' t have thought it. There was not just one

possibility but two; both are introduced, then the second

one is alienated, then the first as well.
The multiplicity of possibilities in the lines and attitudes of the char-
acters made it possible for the audience to react away from the emotional
states shown. The emotions felt by the audience need not correspond to
those which the characters apparently felt. "On seeing worry the spec—
tator may feel a sensation of joy; on seeing anger, one of disgust.”3

Producing such reactions in the audience would certainly cause a stripping

away of the over-powering effects of a single emotional state and allow

 

1Bentley, ”German Stagecraft Today,” p. 641.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 144.

 

31hid., p. 94.

 

 

the audience to perceive the complex possibilities in a situation. It
would provide the freedom within which the spectator could sense his
ability to make choices and to alter conditions. Seeing that there were
many possibilities in any set of circumstances made it conceivable that
the audience members might structure perceptions which they had never ex-
perienced before.

This active structuring was, of course, the positive or develop-
mental portion of the effect, an exact parallel of the positive portion
of the Distancing process.

The Verfremdungsefjekt has its positive side. By inhibiting

the process of identification between the spectator and the

characters, by creating a distance between them and enabling

the audience to look at the action in a detached and critical

spirit, familiar things, attitudes and situations appear in a

new and strange light and create, through astonishment and

wonder, a new understanding of the human situation.
With these parallels established between the process of alienation and that
of Distancing, it seems fairly obvious that alienation is simply a re—
stating of the process of Distancing, using other terminology.

Once he had developed the alienation theory, Brecht tried to make
applications of the state of clear perception which alienation or Distanc-
ing creates. He used this state of mind as a means rather than as an end,
a means of fighting the evils of this world.

True, profound, active application of alienation effects
takes it for granted that society considers its condition
to be historic and capable of improvement. True A-effects
are of a combative character.

Brecht made the assumption that the theatre audience came to the theatre

to learn, as befitted an audience of a scientific age, and specifically

 

1Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 129.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 277.

 

 

234

to learn 'the truth' about their condition so that they might have know—
ledge on their side in their fight against their oppressors. He intended
to give them that knowledge by alienating the social and economic condi-
tions which restricted their development as full human beings.

The only thing which remains to be noted about alienation is that
”in his theoretical writing he [Brecht] never allows that the alienation
of the spectator can be overdone, so that he simply gets bored and wants

to leave the theatre . . .“1

Surely stressing one end of the scale or
the other can be overdone. While Brecht formulated his theories to com-
bat what was, for him, the Under-Distancing of most art works, he often
engaged in over—statement which strongly implied that he wanted an Over-
Distanced reaction. Intuitively, as a poet, he knew better and most of

his works are not nearly so intellectual and controlled as his theories

would indicate.

GESTUS
Another key concept and technical term which must be examined

prior to noting how Brecht applied these thoughts in each area of the
theatre is Gestus. The Gestus or Gestic action was the social core of
the scene or the play. It was the most important relationship or basic
attitude being demonstrated.

It is at once gesture and gist, attitude and point: one as—

pect of the relation between two people, studied singly, cut

to essentials and physically or verbally expressed. It ex—

cludes the psychological, the subconscious, the meta—physical
unless they can be conveyed in concrete terms.

 

. 1"Bertolt Brecht: An Iconoclast in the Theatre," The Times
Ltterary Supplement, No. 2,819, March 9, 1956, p. 142.

2Willett, op. cit., p. 175.

 

235

This idea of Gestus was important in Brecht's work because it
underlay his methods of composition as well as the intent of his work.
”Brecht's creative inspiration derived mainly from gestures. He first
visualized the gestures of his characters in their various situations and

then searched for the corresponding word."1

The Gestus not only served
as guide during the writing of a play but, if it were properly done, the
Gestic aspects of the lines forced an interpretation of the roles which
would reproduce the Gestus, thus guiding the actor and the director to
a proper interpretation. Furthermore, the Gestus or implied activity
in the lines of a play imparted a portion of the poetic effects in the
apparently unstructured verse. ”Brecht argues that it is this element
of implied gesture which can make unrhymed, irregular verse still keep
the quality of poetry."2
The parallels in terms of structure, condensation and repetition
between the Gestus and the Wagnerian motive are, of course, obvious.
Each was an intellectual device which bore a heavy emotional freight and
which helped the artist and the spectator of his work to penetrate to the
true meaning of the scene or the drama as a whole.
In Brecht's hands, the Gestus became a formal and formative de—
vice; when properly executed it served to create Distance. According to
Brecht, the means by which the Gestus is projected, ”Elegant movement

and graceful groupings . . . promote detachment . ."3

 

1Lion Feuchtwanger, ”The Great Experimenter; the Essence of
Brecht's Genius," trans. Therese Pol, The Nation, Vol. 183, No. 19,
November 10, 1956, p. 388.

2Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 114.

3Brecht, ”A Short Organum,” p. 103.

 

 

236

WRITING

STYLE

Perhaps as a result of his early exposure to the classical German
authors and perhaps as a result of his contact with Wagner’s works, Brecht
developed a strong dislike for the heroic and the bombastic. In partic-
ular, he seems to have been repelled by the language and verse forms
employed in older works and finally came to believe that ”the lie always
affects a noble, evasive, general language. The language of truth, on

the other hand, is dry, precise, and statistical."1

Consequently when
he began to fashion his own style of writing and to create the forms which
he would use for the remainder of his life, he tried to formulate a poetic
style which would be 'statistically truthful,‘ consequently low in emo—
tional content and high in abstraction.

The early plays, most of them written before 1928-29, contained
a high percentage of quite colorful, excessive and Expressionistic lan-
guage. The decisive play in terms of Brecht's language style may well
have been Edward II, the adaptation of Marlowe's play which Brecht did
in collaboration with Lion Feuchtwanger. Brecht's first versions of the
heroic blank verse were much too smooth and flowing, a style which ap-
Parently resulted from his collaborator‘s influence.

Brecht, who knew his own facility in writing verse,
deliberately attempted to get away from smooth, easy rhythms.

"I needed a heightened language, but I was repelled by the
oily smoothness of the usual iambic pentameter . 2

 

1Walter Weideli, The Art of Bertolt Brecht, trans. Daniel Russel
(New York: New York University Press, 1963), p. 63.

2Esslin, Brecht: The Men and His Work, p. 114.

 

 

 

237

Brecht had to revise Edward II several times in order to achieve an em—
phatic and irregular poetic form. In the process of evolving the dry,
chopped—off style of his new kind of poetry, he made use of his experiences
outside the theatre.

. the political songs which he was starting to write,

even the political slogans to which he had opened his ears

all helped him to put his finger on the fundamental sense:

they purified his language and showed him the practical and
aesthetic value of saying just what one really means and no
more.

The characteristics of the poetry under discussion here have been
sketched in the following manner:

. . Brecht has developed an unrhymed type of poetry which
he calls Gestich. It consists of slightly formalized speech
rhythms with certain forced pauses produced by arbitrary

line divisions. . . . The diction of this verse is influenced
by the Bible and the compressed simplicity of Chinese poetry.
Gestich represents a search for a dignified style with a
slightly higher tension than prose but simple enough for an
audience to follow aurally without difficulty.

When the style was formed and Brecht had moved on from the ex-
cessively dry and Over—Distanced learning-plays to the mature creations,
he used a modified form of this laconic language for particular Distancing
effects: ”for emphasis, for elevation, for parody, for variety, for musi—
cal or rhythmic relief.”3 When Gestich was used in a play, it was always
in combination with other forms so that

Prose slides into heightened prose or irregular verse,

blank verse and prose alternate; each is liable to be inter-
rupted by rhymed or unrhymed songs. The whole mixture suits

 

lWillett, op. cit., p. 97.

2H. R. Hays, ”Brecht, Anti—Individualist,” Selected Poems (New
York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1947), P' 11'

3w111ett, op. cit., p. 223.

 

238

Brecht's idea of conflict and incompatibility; it gives, to
the later works especially, a great richness of texture.

Such a mingling of forms allowed the dialogue to handle the idea-
tional and the emotional segments with a form appropriate to each of them
and, of course, the Epic Theatre, in spite of its theoretical dicta, had
occasion to use both. Brecht had a variant dialogue form available for
whatever he was trying to express at the moment but he tended to fill all
of these forms with deceptively simple and clear—cut language. ”Do not

be betrayed by the simplicity of the language into a notion that the

language is childish or unimportant. It is child-like and very important.
Its very naivete was one of its principal Distancing characteristics.

Since Brecht was so conscious of what he was doing and so delib—
erate in even his choice of simplicity as the key—note for his work, one
ultimately had to become aware of the artfulness and the formal nature of
his writing style. In reality, “almost every linguistic device used by
Brecht can be reckoned among his estrangement effects.”3 We are here
dealing with a conscious artfulness which is frequently concealed as art~
lessness but which is,nevertheless, highly formal and Distanced.

Brecht used his poetic style to Distance what he considered to
be realities. But he apparently could not bring himself to sing of the
wonders of the Communist world to come and, since Communism virtually has
no present tense in its vocabulary (everything is being done in this

'transitional period' for the sake of posterity), he was again forced into

 

1Ibtd. , pp. 102-103.

2Charles Shattuck, ”Theatre for People,” Accent, Vol. IX, No. 1,
Autumn, 1948, p. 57.

3Gray, op. cit., p. 69.

 

239

the past and to a consideration of the evils which had developed prior to
the dawn of scientific politics. Consequently, he used his method on the
problems, not the potentialities, of the masses. The application of a
highly Distanced form, particularly an usual and irregular form, to prob-
lems of this sort meant that, like Wagner, Brecht was slow in developing
an audience which could follow his style properly and at a sufficient

Distance so that riots did not develop regularly at his opening nights.

STRUCTURE
Since the Epic form was not supposed to empathically create the

sweep of inevitable forces to a predetermined conclusion, much of the
author's effort in plotting had to be devoted to determining the order and
rhythm of the individual, repetitive playlets which made up the larger form.

A frequent structural device is the repetition or duplica—

tion of characters or events. . . . seeing much the same

events enacted a second time, the audience can afford to

sit back and think, rather than allow itself to be carried

away by the action.
A widely recognized psychological principle suggests that a mere repeti-
tion of a stimulus, without wide variation in it, will produce less of a
reaction each time it recurs. If the author deliberately built his play
in a cyclic form so that circumstances were repeated, the emotional impact
of the scene or event should be less each time it reappeared or it should
be viewed in a different light. Brecht took advantage of this idea in

P10tting many of his plays.2

5—“—

 

 

 

lIbid., p. 66.

_ 2For instance, how many times must Galy Gay be convinced that he
15 someone else? How many times do people take advantage of Shen Te?
HOW many times does Mother Courage lose one of her children? Etc.

 

 

240

Because each scene was written in a bare and unadorned style, with
each point being made in the fewest possible words, each segment of an
Epic play was made as short as it could be. This facilitated and clari-
fied the repetition of the scenes and enabled the author to assemble the
play out of easily handled sequences. The Epic drama was presumably as-
sembled in the same montage manner as a motion picture, from separate and
complete units which only became fully meaningful when they were assembled
in the final pattern chosen. This technique, when it was applied, not as
the film directors use it to create suspense, but to inhibit suspense and

to promote the ideas contained in the play, was likely to result in an

 

alternation of scenes which seemed active and dramatic on their first
appearance but which became expository or commentarial in their reappear-
ance.

Together with the actual ”play” scenes, the expository scenes

give to the drama its characteristic rhythm of greater and

lesser emotional involvement and effect a similar restoration

of balance in the Spectator.
Brecht not only used this alternation technique to Distance the audience
members but he forced the consciousness of the effect on the viewers by
linking the scenes in an obvious manner. ”. . . the scenes are tied to—
gether in such a way that ‘the knots are visible' to the spectator, who
is thus able to intervene.”2 By seeing the connections which exist be-
tween the depicted events, the spectator should realize that there are

similar joints in reality at which it would be possible to institute other

causes which would deflect and possibly correct the consequences of actions.

 

 

 

1Jarvis, op. cit., p. 318.

2Grossvogel, op. cit., p. 11.

 

 

 

241

The audience members should be made aware of alternative possible develop—
ments in any chain of events.

Therefore, it was both the rhythm of the tensions and the ob-
viously fragmented form of the montage which Distanced the spectator and
stimulated his comprehension of the implications of the action.

Foregoing the esthetic advantages of a complete synthesis by
tone or mood (the ideal since the nineteenth century of both
the conventional realists and the art-for—art's sake symbo-
lists), Brecht concentrates on the diversity of a problem or
situation, because the interrelationship of many facts and
forces comprises its social reality.

This orientation toward the examination of many aspects of a prob-

lem determined the structure of most of Brecht's plays.

CHARACTERS

The Epic Theatre was not concerned with the mighty passions of in-
dividuals, but instead, dealt with the masses and the social forces which
move large groups; ”there is no attempt to create fixed, highly indivi-
dualized characters. Character emerges from the social function of the
individual and changes with that function.“2 By this device also, the
spectator was forced away from personal, empathic contact with the charac—
ters. The author purposefully avoided the delineation of readily identi—

3 and what few characteristics the

fiable and distinct personalities
characters were given might be altered at any moment. In theory, then,

the single person became of far less importance and

 

1Gassner, “A Modern Style of Dieatre,” pp. 69—70.
2Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 127.

3The state of affairs described here existed in theory only through—
out most of Brecht' 5 life. In reality, Brecht created a marvellous gallery
0f highly distinct characters. One has only to think of Mother Courage,
Galileo, Grusha, Azdak, etc. to know that he never seriously tried to
achieve this goal after his Lehrstucke period. In that period, it is
true, the characters are mere abstractions.

 

 

 

 

242

The study of human nature is thus replaced by that

of human relations. Not the characters but the story in

which they are involved becomes the main concern of the epic,

narrative, historical theatre.1

In a paradoxical manner, Brecht both forbade an interest in his

characters and then permitted it, subject to certain restraints. He was
to do the same thing in regard to the prohibition of empathy and it is
certainly possible to assume an interconnection between these two retrac-
tions. Brecht, perhaps in spite of himself, created characters who live
so fully that they automatically invite empathic reactions from the
audience. When their author saw that they would attract empathy in spite
of everything he could do to prevent it, he modified his theories to

allow for some conventional growth for the characters.2

ACTING
The embodiment of Brecht's characters in living human beings

brought with it the possibility of an empathic relationship between the
audience and the actors. Because most of the actors who appeared in various
productions of his plays prior to the formation of the Berliner Ensemble

had not been trained by Brecht, they tended to use other methods than the
ones he had worked out to maintain a great Distance. Brecht believed that
"actors are accustomed to rely primarily on the spectator's empathy, which

means exploiting his most easily-accessible emotions. . ."3

In short,
they had been taught incorrectly. The actors tended to work in opposition
to the play and to seek empathy since they had not grasped the nature of

the new system. Brecht objected tothis, saying of the actor, ”He must

 

lEsslin, Brecht: The Man and His work, p. 133.

2See Chapter VII.

3
Brecht on Theatre, p. 100.

 

243

not 'cast a spell‘ over anyone. He should not transport people from nor-
mality to 'higher realms'. He need not diSpose of any special powers of
suggestion."1
Once more, Brecht was reacting against the emotional excesses of
the style used in his day to interpret the German classics, a ranting
bombastic delivery which took advantage of every emotional possibility
to the fullest. If the actor using such a style depended solely upon em-
pathy to achieve his relationship to the character and to his audience,
then there were certainly possibilities for mis—application of the process.
It should be obvious that if the actor throws himself into a
part with so much realism as to break down emotionally he has
destroyed his own aesthetic distance; and if he has done that
there is a fair probability that he has done the same thing
empathically for his audience.
It was this sort of complete identification on the part of the actor and
of his audience which caused Brecht to work out the alienation system in
acting ”to overdistance in order to prevent any Einffihlung, any empathy,
on the part of actors and audience.”3
The first step in the new Epic style of acting was to divorce the
actor from his character. This could be done, in part, by a simple re—
versal of most of the Stanislavskian-empathic methods.
In order to produce A—effects the actor has to dis—
card whatever means he has learned of persuading the audience
to identify itself with the characters which he plays. Aiming
not to put his audience into a trance, he must not go into a
trance himself. His muscles must remain loose, for a turn of
the head, e.g., with tautened neck muscles, will ”magically"
lead the spectators' eyes and even their heads to turn with

it, and this can only detract from any speculation or reaction
which the gesture may bring about. . . . Even when he plays

 

 

 

lIbid., p. 122.
2Dolman, op. cit., p. 222.

3Bude1, op. cit., p. 75.

 

 

 

 

244

a man possessed he must not seem to be possessed himself,

for how can the spectator discover what possesses the

character if he does?1
Again, Brecht is over-simplifying the process of identification and as-
suming that it is always present. However, working from this rejection
of ecstatic empathy, Brecht went one to explain why it was socially im-
portant that the actor should be clearly detached from his character:

. . . if the audience is to be shown how to handle the char-

acter, or if people who resemble it or are in similar situa-

tions are to be shown the secret of their problems, then he

must adopt a standpoint which is not only outside the char-
acter's radius but also at a more advanced stage of evolution.

2
Instead of assisting the actor and the audience to a further mastery of
the world, Brecht felt that empathy would becloud both the problem and

its solution. Great abstraction or withdrawal, on the other hand, should
provide the Distance which would enable both to see the problem with maxi—
mum clarity and to apply the full resources of their intellects without
interference from the emotions.

If the actor could arrive at a properly Distanced interpretation,
the audience should be conscious of the characterization and of the actor
at the same time. Two entities, working in opposition, would occupy the
actor‘s area at the same time.

The actor embodies the character and at the same time comments
on him; in other words, he shows the actions of the character
and simultaneously presents the critical reasoning that might
have stopped him from acting as he does. Brecht wanted the

actor to present a picture of man impelled by his emotions, crit-
ically yet helplessly aware of their irrationality.

 

1Brecht, ”A Short Organum," pp. 89—90.
2Brecht, The Messingkauf Dialogues, p. 76.

3Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His work, p. 249.

 

245

From the interaction of the actor's real personality with that of the as—
Sumed character's, the tension and interest of the portrayal was developed.
A Split image of a single person was presented to the audience so that
greater penetration into all of the aspects of that character—actor rela—
tionship could be had by the audience.1 Theoretically, such an acting
method should provide more information than was normally given by an
actor who was not Distanced while in the process of acting.

Such a double-exposure of a character was a phonemenon which Brecht

assumed to be peculiar to the Epic Theatre and biopposition to Stani-

 

slavskian acting, which he also assumed to be the normal technique used by
actors outside of this system. The two types of acting seem to be in sharp
opposition to one another and to represent two entirely divergent versions
of an activity. In reality, this apparent problem, which has occupied
theoreticians and practitioners of the theatre since Diderot posed his
famous paradox of the actor, has been resolved by a good number of actors
by the simple process of blending the two techniques of recreated emotion
and pure technical acting. This is possible as long as the extreme states
noted are connected by the Distance-scale.

Explanations [of the actor's state while performing] have
differed widely, going from the one extreme of an identi—
fication of the acting and the normal personality to the
other of a separation so wide as to be theoretically in-
conceivable and contradicted by experience. It is neces—
sary to offer some conception which will account for the
differences as well as for the indirect connection between
the two forms of being and which is applicable not merely
to acting, but to other kinds of art as well. Distance, it
is here contended, meets the requirement even in its subtlest
shakes.

 

lThis split image concept was probably the point of origin for
Brecht's many split personality characters, of which Shen Te is probe
ably the most obvious.

2Bullough, op. cit., p. 128.

 

246

One can define any degree of identification or alienation, and all combina—
tions of the two, by reference to the scale. Thus, Brecht probably de-
sired a more abstracted actor than any other major author-director but he
could also write empathic scenes for his actors and, as a director, allow
them to experience empathy during rehearsals without being completely con—

tradictory. He was simply permitting them, at specific times, to move along

 

the scale closer to the Golden Mean, so long as they could then move back
to the abstract end for the majority of the time.

The use of empathy during the rehearsals of Epic productions was
not forbidden, though its use during a production was discouraged. In
this connection, Brecht said:

Probably you'll have repeatedly to get inside the person you
are representing, his situation, his physical characteristics,
his modes of thought. It's one of the operations involved in

building the character up. It's entirely consistent with our
purposes, so long as you know how to get out of him again.

 

But the process of empathizing, as far as Brecht was concerned, was only
a means to an end.

The only justification for the actor's efforts to "feel his

way into the character,” according to Brecht, was so that he

could ultimately come out ”the other side” and observe the

character from the standpoint of a seasoned social critic

who could add his own explicit criticism to his version of

the character.

What Brecht seemed to be saying was that running the gamut on the

Distance scale tends to produce a more complex realization of the charac-

ter. However, he would restrict such probing and development of the char—

acter to the rehearsal rather than the performance because ”Brecht believed

 

1Brecht, The Messingkauf Dialogues, p. 55.

2Hersh, op. cit., p. 39.

 

 

that it is the actor's business not to express feeling but to 'show atti-

tudes' or G'esten.”1 He would have the actor complete the realization of
the character in rehearsal and analyze it there in a complete manner so
that he would be ready, not to play or experience the part during the
performance, but to demonstrate it. During the performance, the actor
"'is' not King Lear, but he 'demonstrates' King Lear."2

Such an attitude on the part of the actor calls for the delivery
of the character's lines as though they were in the third person, not
the first person.

. . the actor must remain a demonstrator; he must present
the person demonstrated as a stranger, he must not suppress
the'hg_did that, he_said that' element in his performance.
He must not go so far as to be wholly transformed into the
person demonstrated.

The technique of which Brecht Spoke perhaps found its fullest and
clearest explanation in his famous example of the street—scene. As a
witness to an accident explains it to the passers—by, he makes no effort
to cast a spell by means of empathy; he does not want or expect his audi-
ence to lose their control of themselves or their powers of observation.
He merely demonstrates and explains how and why the accident happened.
Certainly he may dramatize and perhaps even act out the most exciting or
violent portions of the event but it will not bother either the witness
or his audience if he suddenly drops out of character in order to clarify
the matter by personal commentary. He would never consider hiding the
fact that he has studied the event and formed an opinion about it. Such

a natural actor, dealing with the practical factors of an event in an

 

1Willett, op. cit., p. 174.

2Budel, op. cit., p. 75.

3Brecht on Theatre, p. 125.

 

 

 

 

 

248

effort to promote understanding, was the prototype of the Brechtian
actor.
The process of demonstrating how a thing actually occurred not
only brings into the discussion the techniques of narration and quota—
tion but the sense of history as well. The events cannot be described
nor the statements of the participants quoted until after they have existed,
until after they have been completed. ” . . . the actor should not regard
himself as impersonating the character so much as narrating the actions
of another person at a definite time in the past.”1 The narration of

events dissociated them in time from the present just as the use of an

 

attitude which suggested that 'he the character, not I the actor, did

that' denied the present responsibility of the person the audience saw

on the stage and created a sense of fluidity and the possibility of change.
That was a basic reason for the temporal distancing. To gain the sense

of moral detachment which was a basic element of the Distanced state,

The actor must play the incidents as historical ones. His—
torical incidents are unique, transitory incidents associa—
ted with particular periods. The conduct of the persons
involved in them is not fixed and 'universally human'; it
includes elements that have been or may be overtaken by the
course of history, and is subject to criticism from the im—
mediately following period's point of view. The conduct of
those born before use is alienated from us by an incessant
evolution.

It is up to the actor to treat present—day events
and modes of behaviour with the same detachment as the his—
torian adopts with regard to those of the past. He must alien-
ate these characters and incidents from us.

Regardless of the actual placement in time of the incidents to be played,

in the Epic Theatre, they were always acted as though they were completed

 

lEsslin, Brecht: The Man and His work, p. 130.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 140.

 

 

249

actions of an historical nature which may now be understood to have had
certain consequences, but only because particular choices were made by
characters who could have acted in other ways.

In one other way did the sense of the past get called into play
in the acting used in the Epic Theatre. The production offered before
the public was the end result of a prolonged period of rehearsal and
Brecht wanted the audience to be aware of the time which had been spent
in perfecting the play.

. the delivery to the audience of what has been built up

in the rehearsals. Here it is essential that the actual

playing should be infused with the Gestus of handing over a

finished article. What now comes before the spectator is the

most frequently repeated of what has not been rejected, and

so the finished representations have to be delivered with the

eyes fully open, so that they may be received with the eyes

open too.1
If the events were not happening here and now but were only a narrated or
demonstrated report being given by an actor, who has gone through the re—
hearsals of the play many times over and who knew how the plot evolved,
then the omniscient actor was in a position to comment upon the action,
even in direct address to the audience.2

The speaking of lines which were intended for delivery, not to
another character but to the audience, required careful handling. Brecht
tended to ask his actors who were breaking the action for direct address

or unmotivated song to move to specified areas on the stage, usually down

center, where they were given special lighting or other alienating aids.

 

lBrecht, ”A Short Organum,” p. 104.

2”It should be apparent all through his performance that 'even
at the start and in the middle he knows how it ends' and he must 'thus
maintain a calm independence throughout.'” Brecht, ”A Short Organum,”
p. 91.

 

 

 

250

The lights, symbols and Special areas were necessary to maintain the Dis—
tance. Otherwise, an actor

if he walks to the forefront of the stage, will at once give

us the impression that he is entering our own space, and will

disturb us because his fictitious counterpart begins to turn
into a real being.

Even in specialized productions in which the actor breaks
through the frame andixla sense addresses the spectator di—
rectly. . . he carefully fosters a certain kind of distance
lest the Spectator misunderstand him and take him for some—
thing he is not.

Part of this protection of the Distance could be accomplished by staging
devices but the vast majority of the responsibility fell on the actor who
always had the major part to play in the control of audience reactions.
As long as the actor could suggest, even in his most personal and
intimate contact with the audience, that this too has been rehearsed many
times over, or that he, the actor, might be addressing the assembled group
but that he was still carefully observing the manner of the communication,
then the Distance would be retained.
The actor in the Epic Theatre, as one of his Distancing devices,
was expected always to give the impression that he was watching himself
in the process of demonstrating. This alienating device Brecht borrowed
from the Chinese theatre where the Chinese actor shows his awareness of
being watched.
The actors openly choose those positions which will best show
them off to the audience, just as if they were acrobats. A
further means is that the artist observes himself. Thus if
he is representing a cloud, perhaps, showing its unexpected

appearances, its soft and strong growth, its rapid yet gradual
transformation, he will occasionally look at the audience as

 

lMichelis, op. cit., p. 17.

2Albright, op. cit., p. 120.

 

 

 

 

251

if to say: isn't it just like that? At the same time he
also observes his own arms and legs, adducing them, testing
them and perhaps finally approving them.

5

intent behind this double viewing was solely that of Distancing.

The performer's self-observation, an artful and artistic

act of self-alienation, stopped the spectator from losing
himself in the character completely, i.e. to the point of
giving up his own identity, and lent a Splendid remoteness
to the events. Yet the spectator's empathy was not entirely
rejected. The audience identifies itself with the actor as
being an observer, and accordingly develops his attitude of
observing or looking on.

This principle, ”that 'der Zeigende gezeigt wird': that the pro-
cess of showing must itself be shown”3 was particularly important to

Brecht when the actor changed his means of expression and began to sing:

 

”The actor must not only sing but Show a man who is singing.”4 Brecht

 

stressed the unusual aspects of people bursting into song on occasions
which might not call for melody but which could be made to seem even
Stranger by the process of using song. He clearly differentiated all
musical performances from the normal acts of his characters in all of the
mature works on the basis that
. . the general Gestus of showing . . . always underlies

that which is being shown, when the audience is musically

addressed by means of songs. Because of this the actors

ought not to "drop into” song, but should clearly mark it

off from the rest of the text.

The reason for this sharp dissociation was that

 

lBrecht 0n Theatre, p. 92.

21bid., pp. 92-93.

3Willett, op. cit., p. 174.

4Brecht, ”Notes to the Threepenny Opera,” pp. 106—107.

5Brecht, "A Short Organum,” p. 102.

 

 

252

When he sings, the actor accomplishes a change of
function. Nothing is more detestable than when an actor
gives the impression of not having noticed that he has left
the ground of plain speech and is already singing.

What the actor was doing during this process of clearly marking
off the songs from the dialogue, if he did it correctly, was stressing
to the viewer the artificial and artistic qualities of his performance.
The performer was making the audience aware of the unusual nature of all
artistic and creative work so that they would clearly differentiate it

from normal human activity and appreciate it as an end in itself. He was

using another method of Distancing.

 

The whole method of performance in the Epic Theatre using all of
the procedures mentioned above was an attempt at heightening the artifi—
ciality of art. The Epic performer never tried to photographically repro—
duce reality. That sort of imitative or reproductive acting had the pos—
sibility of being confused with reality. The Epic actor wanted anything
but such confusion for it was his job to analyze and restructure reality
into intelligible patterns which could be seen to be artificial, in an
artistic sense, but which also exposed the sub—structure of the social
conditions his character encountered with great clarity. The actions were
made unreal, Startling, strange and alien so that they could be seen to
be alterable, not predetermined. At the same time, the actor suggested
in his oblique commentary how they should be changed.

What is meant here is 'creative' acting, which in its turn
must be distinguished from 'reproductive' acting——two dif—

ferent types traceable through the greater part of theatri—
cal history, which in their highest development are often

 

1Brecht, ”Notes to the Threepenny Opera,” pp. 106—107

253

outwardly indistinguishable, but nevertheless retain traces

of differences, characteristic of their procedures and phySi-
cal mechanism.1

In reality, much of the Epic Theatre theory of acting was an over—

statement of perfectly valid principles. And though it might apply or be

needed far more to counteract the excesses continually demonstrated on the
German stage in Brecht's time, the attempt to apply these principles to

all acting could conceivably be beneficial. While an actor could hardly

succeed in applying these ideas exactly as they are stated in the theory,
he might be able to produce ”that truly rending contradiction between ex-

perience and portrayal, empathy and demonstration, justification and

criticism, which is what is aimed at.”2

PRODUCTION

Brecht's scenic theory . . is likewise drastically
opposed to current practice. As he scorned the well—made
script, so he challenged the whole theory of synthesis in
production--the thesis first formulated by Richard Wagner,
and afterwards developed by Adolphe Appia and Gordon Craig.
The idea of fusing the elements of the playscript, setting,
lighting, direction, acting, music and dancing into one in-
divisible, magical impression struck Brecht as the technical
means of giving pseudo life to corrupt ideas.3

If, again, there was to be no synthesis, but rather a fragmentation of

the parts, Brecht moved in direct opposition to the realistic-naturalistic
style of staging. In his theatre, he sought no integral combinations of
effects which would convince the spectator that he was observing life it-
self.

Brecht, as a theatricalist, readily acknowledged that the theatre

was not life, that it can seldom, if ever give even a clear impression of

1Bullough, op. cit., p. 127.
2Brecht on Theatre, p. 277.

Gorelik, "Brecht: 'I am the Einstein,'” p. 87.

 

 

254

being life, so why not admit its theatricality and capitalize upon it to

achieve a greater Distance?

For the joys known to playgoers are joys born of the theatre's
illusions. It is in terms of the means by which these illu-
sions are created that the theatre takes its place, and is

judged, as an art. It is not a world that is condemned to un-
reality but that exults in it 1

Brecht chose to stress the methods and the means of production, just as
he did of acting and the other arts employed.

As a result, the heavy machinery and the complex setting, the
hidden light sources and the fourth wall convention, in fact, most of the
intricate and often unwieldy conventions of the realistic theatre were
scrapped, to be replaced by the simplest possible alternative.

. . . a simple technique not only proves more stimulating to

the imagination and more productive of illusion than an elab-

orate one, but renders the task of maintaining aesthetic dis-
tance vastly easier.2

By inviting the spectator's imaginative participation in the completion
of the missing elements, ”the contradiction between empathy and detach—
ment is made stronger and becomes an element in the performance.”3 The
spectator must remain mentally alert, must recognize the allusive sug-
gestions which he has been given, and must participate in the structur—
ing of the scene before he can then empathize in even the slightest degree.
Being forced to work mentally in order to make something of the sugges-
tions given keeps the spectator awake and subtlely suggests to him that

if he can build a better reality in the theatre, he can do the same out—

side of it. And for those audience members who were deficient in visual

imagination,

 

1Brown, op. cit., pp. 54-55.

2Dolman, op. cit., p. 43.

3Brecht, The Messingkauf Dialogues, p. 102.

 

 

 

255

Good acting can overcome poor technical elements since the
reactions of the audience are more quickly affected by the
animate than the inanimate elements of the production. The
imagination of the audience, their ability to pretend, will

work more readily with no stimuli than from stimuli that
lead in the wrong direction.1

The result of the deliberate incompleteness of the production was
that, in the Epic Theatre, "the integrated work of art (or 'Gesamtkunst-
werk') appeared before the spectator as a bundle of separate elements.”2
The connective links between and among the arts were deliberately severed
so that each existed independently and no one of them only served another

. . the non-literary elements of the production—~decor,
music, and choreography . . are raised to the level of

autonomous elements; instead of pulling in the same direc—

tion as the words, they enter into a dialectical, contrapun—
tal relationship with them.3

Such radical separation, in which each art went its own way rather than
assisting the dialogue, only served to make the spectator more aware of
the components in the art work and the structure which held these arts to-
gether and thus stressed the Distance chosen for the piece. In addition,
such contrary and opposing parts, each flying off about its own affairs
with comparatively little acknowledgement that they belonged together,
imparted a tremendous sense of vitality and energy to the play.

Beyond the separate nature of the arts, the jerky, non-linear
development of the plot and the distinct coolness of the actors in their
roles, Brecht's theatre production was also marked by a great awareness
of many of the physical characteristics of the stage, the mechanisms and

1Gilmore Brown and Alice Garwood, General Principles oj'Play Der—
ection (New York: Samuel French, Inc., 1947), p. 138.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 134.

3Esslin, Brecht: The Men and His hbrk, p. 128.

 

 

256

the effects used there. Brecht selected or developed a number of Dis-
tanced characteristics which marked a production as being Brechtian Epic

Theatre.

. slogans on placards had been put in the auditorium for

Trommeln in der Nacht; sub—titles had been shown between the

scenes in Edward II; there had been a half-height linen cur-

tain and a song sung verse by verse during scene changes in

Geis's production of Mann tat Mann. . . . these link together

with the use of projections for song texts or drawings, with

the visible lights and formal interruptions of the text by

songs, to make a completely distinctive style .
Basically, these staccato effects were a matter of further abstraction
and literarization of the theatre by mechanical means. The machinery, as
benefitted a theatre style designed fer a mechanical and scientific age,
aided in the commentary upon the action, further formulating and Distancing
the content. ”The mechanics of the stage remain visible and function as
a play outside the play.”2 And the process of bracketing a performance
in any manner is one of the oldest devices, usually in the form of a play
within a play, for achieving greater Distance. Brecht developed this
technique one step fhrther by exposing the means of creating the effect,
while using it.

Among the pieces of apparatus which particularly caught Brecht's
fancy were the lighting instruments, the slide or motion picture projector
and the phonograph.

As will be noted below in the lighting section, Brecht tended to

think that mechanical devices which were capable of creating ”magical”

effects should be shown to the audience while they were being used so

‘_.

 

1Willett, op. cit., pp. 148-149.

2Heinz Politzer, "How Epic is Bertolt Brecht's Epic Theatre?",
Mbdern Language Quarterly, Vol. XXIII, No. 2, June 1962, p. 101.

 

 

257

that there might be no confusion about the source and nature of the effect.
In addition to revealing the light instruments, Brecht also felt, in his
formative period, that ”It is best to place the record player, like the
orchestra, so that it can be seen.”1 He found in these machines and their
functioning an appropriate Distancing symbol for a mechanical era and a
scientific world. They projected a formulated conception of theworldand
showed that man, through his technology and the application of his under-
standing was capable of creating a wonderful and practical world. Among
other things Brecht found that the motion picture projector ”can be used
better than almost anything else to supersede the old kind of untechni—
cal, anti—technical 'glowing' art, with its religious links.”2

After Brecht's Lehrstucke phase, make-up on the Epic stage tended
to be rather conservative. It was often replaced by highly exaggerated
masks of great Distancing power to differentiate the materialistic char—

acterss

from the better people but the facial make—up was fairly conven-
tional. This seems an odd oversight in a director who so consistently
sought means of creating greater Distance, for ”make—up, to the extent
that it disguises the actor, helps to maintain aesthetic distance ."4
Brecht, in theory at least, used costume only to the extent neces—

sary to distinguish one character from another and only under such condi—

tions as would Stress Distance. Brecht authorized

 

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 103.

21bid., p. 48.

3Materialistic in most, but not all, cases was the equivalent of
evil. The sort of characters referred to are the Iron Shirts or the
royalty in The Caucasian Chalk Circle or the Shui Ta part of The Good
Wbman of Setzuan.

4Dolman, op. cit., p. 233.

 

 

258

. . . only a limited use of costume. There must be no ques-
tion of creating an illusion that the demonstrators really
are these characters. (The epic theatre can counteract this
illusion by especially exaggerated costume or by garments
that are somehow marked out as objects for display.)

It is interesting to note that, with the exception of characters
like the Governor and his wife in The Caucasian Chalk Circle who came
from the ruling classes, most of Brecht's characters were ordinary
workers who would not (and who did not) dress in any peculiar or distinc-
tive manner. This is another example of a theory which was not carried

out consistently.

SETTING

Scenically Brecht rejected not only naturalism but
the picturesque, atmospheric stage picture as well. In-
stead of surrounding his actors with an atmospheric repro-
duction of a locale, he asked his scene designers to proceed
by what he called ”the inductive instead of the deductive”
method. In practice, that meant beginning by giving the
actors the furniture and properties necessary for the action,
and following up with a ”report on the environment.” The
reports are painted or projected tokens of locale: a photo—
graph or framed picture of a house, town or countryside; a
drop, painted so obviously that it cannot create any illusion;
the name of a town in cutout lettering hung over the stage.
All in all, the Epic setting becomes so utterly functional
that it cannot be distinguished from an organized group of
stage properties.

”Illusion is a matter of degree, and a lesser degree of it is not neces-

3 When Brecht reduced

sarily less dramatic than a higher degree of it.”
the amount of illusion in his stage settings he did not destroy the
theatrical effectiveness of them. He merely called for another type of

perception on the part of his audience. Instead of pretending that the

 

 

lBrecht on Theatre, pp. 127—128.

2Gorelik, ”Epic Scene Design," pp. 77 and 80.

3Bentley, ”German Stagecraft Today,” p. 635.

 

 

 

 

 

 

stage area really represented some other place and some other time, Brecht

insisted that it be regarded as a platform in the here and now upon which

demonstrations had been arranged in the clearest possible manner. Brecht

used the stage as though it were a classroom demonstration area, within
which interesting, but obviously artificial, illustrative examples could

be presented. His stage settings were made to accord with this approach.

In that its settings included properties which were as real, as
old and worn as possible, the Epic Theatre did not reject naturalism com-

pletely. In that whatever could not actually be shown on the stage could

be represented by something else, Brecht's theatre did not reject symbolism.
In fact, it included both styles in varying, but almost equal, amounts,
with small modifications in technique so that the Distancing stylistic

elements would be clearly noted. The blend of such sharply contrasting

styles added still another disconcerting jar to the stimulating shocks the

Epic stage was supposed to provide.

While the naturalist designer would normally avoid the Distancing

generalizations of symbols, both the symbolist designer and the Epic one

were free to use symbols. The difference in the use of them by each lay

in the Epic artist's greater acknowledgment of the artificiality of the

symbol.

Symbolism can be used on the Epic stage whenever Naturalism
is impossible. Thus a disc can represent the sun. Yet if
we thus use a symbol we must not fool ourselves into believing
that it is not a symbol but the reality. We must not hang the
disc on an invisible wire and ask our audience to believe that
this is a photograph of the sun. We must hang it on a visible

chain.

When such a literal~minded approach to symbols was taken, almost anything

could acquire symbolic overtones but, at the same time, it would be seen

 

lIhid., p. 636.

 

 

260

to be, most literally, something else. In Brecht's theatre, it was always

important to make an ”unpretentious use of undisguised materials.” The

exact nature of the symbolic object could never be in doubt.

Epic design differs from both Eastern and Western Theatri-
calism in insisting that everything scenic that appears on
stage must be ”the object itself,” not an illusion of the
object. A backdrop must never pretend to be anything but
painted cloth; an electric bulb may be used to represent a
star, but must not give the illusion of a star.

Such realistic portions of the setting as were left and such work-
a-day-world symbols as were chosen to fill out the setting Still could not
”magically” appear on the stage for fear that they might trick the spec—

tator into believing the illusion which was being suggested. Instead,

 

activity should be visible behind the half-high curtain which Brecht used

to mask scene shifts.

 

Leaning back the Spectator
Should see

How cunningly you prepare for him.
Should see

The tin moon come swaying down.
And the cottage roof brought in.
Do not disclose over much

Yet disclose something to him.
Friends

Let him discover

You are not conjuring

But working.

It might seem that an Epic setting, stripped of all but the neces-
sary realities, provided with symbols of only a very earthy variety and
denied even the element of surprise in the unveiling of these components,

would be a bare and drab sort of arrangement in which to perform a play.

However,

1Gorelik, ”Epic Scene Design,” p. 80.

2Brecht, Poems on the Theatre, p. 12.

 

261

1

. contrary to popular notions about Brecht's staging,
he never asked for, or wanted, bare or colorless settings.
In most cases the settings for his plays have been dynamic
in design, rich in detail and striking in color. In no case
were they thrown haphazardly on stage; Brecht's designers
have had, as always, to organize their scenic elements into
a purposeful arrangement.
The very basis of the Distanced state is a formulated content which can

be perceived in comprehensable patterns.

LIGHTING
Though Wagner never lived to use the new system of electrical
lighting, with its ability to dim the illumination of the scene, his
suggestive, candlelit settings established a style which was only fully
realized in the electrical lighting which underlay the moody and atmos-
pheric designs of Appia.
The perfection of electric lighting meant, among other things,
the possibility of graduating the intensity of stage lights,
which consequently became a steady source of temptation to the
arty. The ruling passion of stage designers after Appia and
Craig was for semi—darkness, a fact that the historian would
have to relate to the whole spirit of the Wagnerian epoch.2
Such uses of light as Appia and Craig and their followers made
was designed to heighten the illusionistic aspects of the theatre and,
with the low intensity levels employed, there was a good possibility of
lulling the audience toward the hypnotic trance. In the world they created
on the stage, nothing seemed to have a source: the planes and blocks of
the designs apparently were neither wholly natural objects nor precisely
man-made creations. And the infinitely subtle play of the light, bringing

first this and then that object out of the gloom, also had no source or

Obvious control.

 

lGorelik, "Brecht: 'I am the Einstein . . . p. 87.

2Bentley, ”German Stagecraft Today,” p. 637.

 

262

. nothing does more to convey the idea that the Stage is
hocusepocus than the appearance and disappearance of light
as if at the bidding of unseen gods. . . . The Epic Realist
who admits that the stage is a stage, admits also that a
lamp is a lamp.

The consequence of the open admission that all effects achieved
in the Epic Theatre were the result of man's efforts, in the case of
lighting, was the open display of all of the lighting instruments within
the audience's field of vision.

If we light the actors and their performance in such a way

that the lights themselves are within the spectator's field

of vision we destroy part of his illusion of being present

at a Spontaneous, transitory, authentic, unrehearsed event.

He sees that arrangements have been made to Show something;

something is being repeated here under Special conditions,

for instance in a very brilliant light. Displaying the ac-

tual lights is meant to be a counter to the old-fashioned

theatre's efforts to hide them.
Such illusion-destroying displays also attracted the eye occasionally and
pulled the spectator away from the action being performed, thus Distancing
him. But, since the lighting instruments were intentionally incorporated
in the design, they, presumably, did not remind him too forcefully of
practical matters outside of the art work or matters which were not in—
tended.

In the desirability of exposing the flood and spot lights and
their battens, another instance was given of a theoretical conception
which was tried out and discarded. "In fact, Brecht did not adopt this
practice with the Berliner Ensemble, just as he withdrew from sight the
gramophone which produced sound-effects, when he found it merely aroused

"3

amusement. It may be that the effect caused an Over—Distancing or it

 

llhid.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 141.

3Gray, op. cit., p. 64.

 

 

 

 

263

may be that the audience simply acknowledged the presence of the lights
and then virtually ignored them much as they do the proscenium, the
curtains and so on, so that they produced little or no effect.1 Brecht
never explained his reversal of procedure in this instance.

He did, however, retain another of his ideas about lighting, be—
lieving throughout his career that the shadows of the suggestive stage
should be banished by a flood of light.

If a playwright's whole lifework is a nocturne (one
thinks of Maeterlinck), the ”modern” Style of lighting will
no doubt be what he needs. If reality is invisible, the
less we see the better. But, if, on the other hand, a play-
wright, like Brecht, believes that--figuratively speaking——
he can throw light on reality, and that reality is indeed
there to be thrown light on, he will naturally want to use
plenty of stage light--literally speaking. Thus, Brecht is
in favor of switching on the lights and leaving them switched
on, a revealing flood of white light covering the whole stage.

So when Brecht and his company began their work in Berlin, he could report:

Our lighting was white and even and as brilliant as our equip-
ment allowed. This enabled us to get rid of any remnants of
'atmosphere' such as would have given the incidents a slightly
romantic flavour.
Such a revealing light, lavished on the setting as light is in a surgical
arena or a boxing ring, could not avoid seeming artificial merely because

of its intensity. It set the action apart in still another way as some—

thing which had been prepared for viewing; it Distanced the work.

 

1Audiences consistantly ignore eXposed lighting instruments in
most arena theatres and in the productions of many touring companies
which have to adapt their lighting equipment to all sorts of auditoria.

2Bentley, ”German Stagecraft Today,” pp. 637—638.

3Brecht on Theatre, pp. 217-218.

 

 

 

264

MUSIC
Brecht had no more use for the type of emotional, empathic music
which stems from Wagner than he did for any of the other elements which
were derived from the Gesamtkunstwerk. In regard to its content, he said:
Our Wagnerites are now pleased to remember that the original
Wagnerites posited a sense of which they were presumably
aware. Those composers who stem from Wagner still insist
on posing as philosophers. . . . We still maintain the whole
highly—developed technique which made this pose possible:
the vulgarian strikes a philosophical attitude from which to
conduct his hackneyed ruminations.
And its effects he described in this manner:
It seduces the listener into an enervating, because unpro-
ductive, act of enjoyment. No number of refinements can con-

vince me that its social function is any different from that
of the Broadway burlesques.2

Brecht appears to have assumed that all concerts and, indeed, all
music outside of protest songs and propaganda choruses (useful music of
the types he helped to create) were emotional, ecstacy-producing devices
with no abstractive, intellectual qualities. As a result of his strongly
practical and moralistic bias, Brecht denied music any artistic, Distanced
characteristics.

With his usual vigor and decisiveness, Brecht attacked the sup-
posedly empathic form of music to fragment it and free it for intellectual
purposes.

When the epic theatre's methods begin to penetrate
the opera the first result is a radical separation g: the
elements. The great struggle for supremacy between words,
music and production . . . can simply be by~passed by radi—
cally separating the elements. So long as the expression

'Gesamtkunstwerk' (or 'integrated work of art') means that
the integration is a muddle, so long as the arts are

 

 

11bid., pp. 39-40.

21bid., p. 89.

 

 

 

 

 

 

26S

supposed to be ’fused' together, the various elements will
all be equally degraded, and each will act as a mere 'feed'

to the rest.1

It was important to Brecht that this art be 'freed' from its old
uses and abuses because ”he used music in every play for incidental or
total underscoring of his texts.”2 Something which recurred often in
Brecht's work was of major consequence to him.

His methods of handling music in his plays show the way in which
he developed his kind of intellectual, Distanced music, his Gestic music.
”In the first few plays music was used in a fairly conventional way; it
was a matter of songs and marches, and there was usually some naturalistic

pretext for each musical piece.”3 But by the time Brecht had the highly

 

musical plays The Threepenny Opera and Happy End and the opera Rise and
Fall of the City of'Mehagonny behind him and was ready to move into his

learning-play period, his theory of the style and purpose of music was

completely formed.

In the postface to his opera Mbhagonny (1929), Brecht sets
forth some of the functions of music on his stage: it is
meant to “explicate" the text, to show a ”way of action” (in
contrast with Wagnerian music that depicts a "psychological
state”). The songs scattered through the plays of Brecht
are conceived as separate units that mark a break in the
action and invite further commentary upon it.

Commentary, however, was not this music's only function. These were ”songs
which summarise, comment on, or predict the action."5 Thus the music used

in a Brechtian play was intended to serve precisely the same function as

 

 

 

 

11bid., pp. 37-38.

2Charles H. Shattuck, "The First Book on Brecht,” Accent, Vol. XIX,
N0. 3, Summer 1959, p. 175.

3Brecht on Theatre, pp. 84—85.
4Grossvogel, op. cit., p. 10.

5Gray, op. cit., p. 68.

;———

 

 

 

 

 

266

the Wagnerian leitmotive system, while it added a deliberate Distance to
the whole play.

In no sense was the music supposed to blend into the action; it
served precisely the opposite purpose: it interrupted whatever was going
on. This interruption was intended to promote intellectual comprehension
and was supported by other factors in the production.

The coming of such an interruption is usually announced be—
forehand by some visible change on the stage: the title of
the song may flash on a screen, special lights may be put
on, or a symbolic emblem (e.g. flags and trumpets) may come
down from the flies.

With its function defined and its method of inclusion in the whole
determined, the only thing which remained was to state the nature of the
music. While Wagner's music was supposed to consist of 'continuous ex—
pression' of a highly elevating and almost religious character, Brecht
completely reversed these characteristics and selected a jazzy, deliberately
non—lyric Style. He found it already formulated and ready for use.

So-called 'cheap' music, particularly that of the cabaret

and the operetta, has for some time been a sort of gestic

music. Serious music, however, still clings to lyricism,

and cultivates expression for its own sake.
Brecht's type of music would not, of course, cultivate expression for its
own sake. It was to be informative, combative, practical, non—empathic
and blatantly artificial.

Kurt Weill, Brecht's most widely known musical collaborator, quot-
ing Brecht, said:

"I set up my music in opposition to the action, knowing that
music excludes, by its essence, all realism.” Inspired by

 

1Esslin, Brecht: The Men and His Wbrk, p. 137.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 87.

 

 

 

 

267

the technical contribution of jazz, our composer then set out
to combat-~from the inside——the narcotic powers of music.

The music written for Brecht's playlnreach of his three primary
collaborators tended to sound much the same. This implies that there was
a single taste, a Single set of standards used to guide the creation of
the entire body of music. That taste could only have been Brecht's.
According to Ernest Borneman . . . Brecht was responsible for
all the musical ideas in his works, using his composers merely
to arrange them. Mr. Willett does not state so extreme an
opinion, but he shows clearly how Brecht kept a tight rein on
the music, so that it would do its vital work and not steal
the show. He insisted on sparse development, small orchestral
ensembles, and singers who could sometimes prevent themselves
from singing and simply ”speak against the music.”

Since Brecht is known to have composed tunes for his poems so that he

could sing them in beer halls, a number of the melodic ideas may have

been his.

SUMMARY

Brecht began his theorizing about the theatre by assuming that
the audience of a scientific age would be more rational and more inter-
ested in factual statement than was that of the Romantic era. He decried
a theatre of emotional hypnosis but no real thought content, a theatre
lacking in true social significance, one well represented in his mind by
Richard Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk. In the place of such singular emotional
content, Brecht wanted to substitute a cool, restrained, reasoning form

which was concerned with the important ethical and moral problems of the

 

 

 

lWeideli, op. cit., p. 27.

2Shattuck, op. cit., pp. 175-176.

 

 

268

world.1 By the techniques he evolved, Brecht intended to make concrete
statements of practical importance to audiences which were oriented toward
'reality,' not toward fantasy. As Bullough intimated, the Wagnerian form
of ”over-distanced Art is specially designed for a class of appreciation

2

which has difficulty to rise spontaneously to any degree of Distance.”

Thus, Brecht's new form of theatre, his learning—plays, were intended for

 

an entirely different audience, for a group of people primarily oriented
toward the non-Distanced and the practical, for the common working man.
To explain to the masses ”the teachings of the classic writers
and the propagandists, the ABC of communism; to the ignorant, instruction
about their condition; to the oppressed, class consciOusness; and to the
class conscious, the experience of revolution,”3 Brecht wrote plays about

economic and social conditions and, concurrently, structured a rather

 

haphazard theory which was intended to prevent identification with the
characters of the plays and, at the same time, to stimulate critical
thinking about the states depicted. One uses a term like 'haphazard' in
relation to the theory of Epic Theatre because of the many contradictions
and mutually exclusive demands which appeared within the theory at dif-
ferent times, because of the doubt of many critics as to its usefulness
and practicability and because Brecht himself apparently decided that the
whole theory, as it was structured, did not work or was incomplete.

Whether Brecht's theories were merely rationaliza—
tions of his intuition, taste, and imagination (which they

 

1"The great bulk of his work is designed to be an impersonal and
schematic contribution to Marxist myth-making." Brustein, ”Bertolt
Brecht,” The Theatre of Revolt, p. 231.

2

Bullough, op. cit., p. 101.

3Brecht, ”The Measures Taken,“ The Jewish Wife and Other Short
Plays, trans. Eric Bentley (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1965), p. 79.

 

269

almost certainly were), or whether they were the results of

the application of ice—cold logic and deeply probing socio-

logical analysis (as he sometimes claimed them to be) . .

. . . much of the discussion of these theories as general

principles has proved barren and unreal: it remains yet to

be proved that they have any validity apart from Brecht's own

workS—-and productions-—which they were intended to explain

and justify.2

The theories were founded on Brecht's version of the theory of
Aesthetic Distance which he called Verfremdung or Alienation. The in—
tent behind the use of this method of controlling the audience's involve-
ment was to eliminate (or at least to highly restrict) empathy and to
make the commonplace seem striking so that attention would be paid to it.
Brecht evolved many devices to bring about an effect of Aliena-

tion or estrangement, almost all of them based upon an inversion of the
procedures of the conventional stage. He would continually remind the
audience that it was watching an arranged spectacle by stressing the
presence of the theatre itself in a theatricalist manner (exposing the
machinery of the stage, allowing the actors to violate the fourth wall
convention and address the audience directly, restricting the setting to
the bare essentials, seeking an acting style which banished the possi~

bility of an ecstatic involvement and reminding the audience of the

presence of the actor, etc.) In addition, he relied upon his bold and

 

 

beautiful language forms and the staccato, fragmented and repetitive nature

of the scenes to put the audience at an appropriate Distance.
He carried out his theories in his writing by striving for a

heightened but rough style in which almost all prose and verse forms

 

lEsslin, Brecht: A Choice of Evils, p. 124.

2Tbid., p. 107.

 

270

might alternate. The intention of his Gebrauchslyrik was to be non—
emotional and statistically truthful.

The structure of the plays Brecht wrote tends to be episodic,
with an alternation of dramatic and expository scenes which acquire their
tension and true meaning by their montage, their specific relationship to
one another in the orderin which they are finally assembled.

The plays were to be interpreted by actors who never identified
with the characters, but rather demonstrated and either narrated or
quoted the characters actions as though they were already historically com—
plete. Such an actor, who stood outside of the character and only used

a gestus of showing to communicate the necessary facts about the charac-

 

ter, was also in a position to comment upon the character, to criticize
him. Such an actor was presumably artistically Distanced from both his I
character and his audience.

Every part of the production which surrounded the actor in the
Epic Theatre, should be a separate and equal part of the whole. In
Brecht's productions, the setting, the lighting, the music, the costumes,
the make—up, etc. were each regarded as having something to say, some—
thing which was of equal importance with every other part. Instead of
a synthesis of production elements, dialectical, contrapuntal relation-
ships were established among them and each went its own way.

The setting was designed by an inductive system which first pro-
vided the necessary, real and 'practical' properties needed by the actors
and then framed them in a report on the remainder of the environment.

The resultant style was a combination of naturalism and symbolism.

The lighting in the Epic Theatre was to be flat, as bright as

possible, and uncolored, except for special area lighting for such given

 

271

purposes as the 'song lights.’ This approach to illumination eliminated
all traces of atmosphere and mystery. If the lighting specialist wished
to carry the debunking a step further, he might leave the lighting instru—
ments exposed to the audience’s view.

The musical portion of each of these Brechtian plays was not
included to underline the emotional aspects of the work but rather to in—
terrupt the action in order to explicate the text. Like the Wagnerian
motive, the gestic, non-lyric music of the Epic Theatre was intended to
summarize and comment upon the action and to predict its further develop—
ment.

If the theories of the Epic Theatre were to be applied as rigor-

 

ously as Brecht indicated that they should be, then

All Brecht achieves with this rigorous demand is a
loss of distance through overdistancing. What we get, then,
is a theatre from which all tension and antinomy have been
removed, and which is demonstrating situations of a mere
factual nature and relationship.

Outside of the Lehrstficke to be discussed in the next chapter, the ab—

solute application of these demands was never even attempted. And such
limited use as Brecht made of them, he later denied, saying that it was
hardly worthwhile:

True, for about half a century they [the audience
members] have been able to see rather more faithful repre-
sentations of human social life, as well as individual fig—
ures who were in revolt against certain social evils or
even against the structure of society as a whole. They
felt interested enough to put up with a temporary and ex-
ceptional restriction of language, plot, and spiritual scope,
for the fresh wind of the scientific spirit nearly withered
the charms to which they had grown used. The sacrifice was
not especially worthwhile. The greater subtlety of the re—
presentations substracted from one pleasure without satis-
fying another. The field of human relationships came within

 

1Budel, op. cit., p. 76.

 

 

our view, but not within our grasp. Our feelings, having
been aroused in the old (magic) way, were bound themselves
to remain unaltered.

Brecht discovered, at least in part, that he was attempting an
improper application of an aesthetic theory in an attempt to produce
practical results. The end he sought could not flow from the means he
chose to use. By creating a Distanced frame of mind, which involves an
element of empathy, he inadvertantly stimulated the very ”magical" in-
volvement in the story which he had sought to avoid. While it is true
that ”there is no such thing as an automatic dramatic susceptibility in

a theatre audience: there is only a volitional dramatic susceptibility,”2

the creation of Distancing effects which isolate and protect the audience

 

from emotional harm while in contact with a Story encourages them to play
the game and to join in the action. An audience in a Distanced frame of
mind feels that it may safely empathize. As a result, ”he never succeeded
in evoking the critical attitude he postulated. The audience stubbornly
went on being moved to terror and to pity.”3
In his later writings, Brecht frankly admitted that he had been
wrong in many theoretical parts of his work, just as the staging methods
of the Ensemble slowly but surely discarded many of the more extreme re—

quirements.4

 

 

1Brecht, ”A Short Organum,” p. 84.

2Nathan, op. cit., p. 54.
3Essiin, Brecht: The Men and His work, p. 141.
4”'In most cases,‘ Dr. Schumacher recollects him as saying,
during the summer of 1956, 'all that remains of the ”Verfremdungseffekten”

is the ”effects", stripped of their social application, stripped of their
point.'” Willett, op. cit., P- 187-

 

 

273

Finally, he considered abandoning the whole body of theory with-
out having the time or the energy to construct another to replace it.
In essence, his ”Dialectical Theatre” which he suggested might be an
alternative title, sounds as though it would be little more than conven-
tional theatre.

If we now discard the concept of EPIC THEATRE we are
not discarding that progress towards conscious experience
which it still makes possible. It is just that the concept
is too slight and too vague for the kind of theatre intended;
it needs exacter definition and must achieve more. Besides,
it was too inflexibly opposed to the concept of the dramatic,
often just taking it naively for granted, roughly in the sense
that 'of course' it always embraces incidents that take place
directly with all or most of the hall-marks of immediacy. In
the same slightly hazardous way we always take it for granted
that whatever its novelty it is still theatre, and does not
turn into a scientific demonstration.

While the concept of a rational theatre for a scientific age
seemed appropriate and the detached contemplation of the Aesthetically
Distanced state appeared to be the proper method by which to achieve ra-
tionality, there was no guarantee built into the Epic Theatre system that
its methods of perception were radically different from the conventional
theatre or that they would produce practical reactions.

In a sense, every great play possesses its own A-Effect.
It is the assimilation of the play's ideas with our own think-
ing; and it invariably happens after the performance. It may

be interesting for it to happen during the perfbrmance, but
it does not necessarily insure any greater degree of insight.2

 

The conclusion reached both here and in the chapter on Wagner's
theories is that these men worked out improper developments of a valid

idea. Because the theory of Aesthetic Distance is one of balance among

 

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 276.

2Charles Marowitz, The Method 43 Means (London: Herbert Jenkins,
Ltd., 1961), p. 109

 

 

 

274

all factors, any theorist who stresses only one aspect of the aesthetic
transaction in his work is going to produce an invalid assertion when
judged by the theory of Aesthetic Distance. Both Wagner and Brecht
theoretically tried to exceed the normal Distance limits (each in his
own direction) and to the degree that they did so in practice, their
work, by definition, becomes something other than and something less
than, art works. To the degree that they failed to translate their
theories into practice, they produced art by normal definitions and in
terms of Aesthetic Distance.

Even though both of these men were wrong in some degree and both
of them realized it in their later years, nothing said here should be
taken to mean that the bodies of theory which they produced were not im-
portant to the theatre. On the contrary, they were, and are, of immense
practical importance. These theories not only guide directors of their
works but have stimulated intense and extensive discussions of what the
theatre should be and how it should accomplish whatever task is chosen
for it. Both of these men and both of their theories must be regarded

as pivotal for entire periods of theatrical history.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

BRECHT'S PLAYS

Brecht's total body of dramatic work, some fifty-two plays or

fragments, is too large to be considered in detail. To reduce the whole

to a reasonable size, it is necessary to group the plays into categories,
to mention the general characteristics of each phase of Brecht's artistic

activity and then to select a representative or outstanding example from

each group of plays for a more detailed examination. The only variation

from this pattern will be in Brecht's mature and most widely known plays:

 

each of these will be discussed at some length in regard to Aesthetic
Distance.

No mention will be made of the unfinished plays (Hannibal, Gosta
Berling, Shlzberg Dance of Death, Uhtergang des Egoisten Johann Fatzer,
Der Brotladen, Leben des Konfutse and Turandot oder der Kongress der
heisswaescher) or of the completed but unpublished one—act plays of
Brecht's early period (Die Hochzeit, Der Bettler oder Der Tote Hund, Er

Treibt einen Teufel aus, and Lux in T’enebris).1

The collaborations and adaptations where Brecht played a major
creative part have been included with the main body of his work.
So many of his plays began life as one or the other that it
would be pedantic to count them separately.

1Most of these works are at least mentioned in the "Plays and
Other Stage Works” section of the "Descriptive List of Brecht's Works"
given in Esslin's Brecht: The Man and His work, pp. 277-314.

2Willett, p. 21.

275

 

 

 

The only variation to this rule will be Kalkutta, 4.Mai, which began as

a play by Leon Feuchtwanger called Warren Hastings, Gouveneur von Indien

but was revised by Feuchtwanger and Brecht into Calcutta, May 4. The

reason for this exclusion of a single play is that ”Brecht's hand can be
seen clearly only in the song 'Surabaya Johnny' (sung by Warren Hastings‘s
mistress, Lady Marjorie Hike), which he used again in Happy End.”1 A play
which shows so little of Brecht's influence hardly seems to warrant
discussion.

The basis for the division of the remaining plays is that

. . there are . . three main elements of Brecht's theatre,
and indeed of his whole work: the highly flavoured, half-
nostalgic artificial world of the early plays; the very clear
didacticism of his thirties; and arising out of this, the more
complicated, less schematized moral-social arguments of the

plays from about 1938 on.

 

For the sake of clarity, it seems necessary to add to this list a sub-
division containing Brecht's one acknowledged attempt at an opera, Rise
and Fall of the City of'Mhhogonny, and the two pieces which are known
primarily as musicals, The Threepenny Opera and Happy End. It might well
be argued that such cantata-like pieces as The Flight of the Lindbergs,
the Baden Lehrstdcke: 0n Consent, The Trial of Lucullus, etc. should be
included in a group of musical works, but it seems to the present author
that their primary purpose, as far as Brecht was concerned, was didactic,
not musical. As a result, such pieces are included in the learning plays.
The rise to power of Adolph Hitler and the Nazi party was so im-
portant to Brecht that the plays which resulted from this political up-

heaval deserve comment in a separate section. Brecht apparently joined

m

1Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Works, p. 283.

2Willett, op. cit., p. 83.

 

277

the ranks of the Communistically inclined, though not the actual party,
partially as a result of the fact that the Communist party wasthe only
group which offered any effective opposition to Hitler within Germany.
The Nazis, once they were in power, forced Brecht to flee the country and
wander from one location to another for years in order to preserve his
life; they forced him into a political exile quite similar to the one
Wagner experienced and, perhaps, indirectly created the conditions of
divorcement from the active theatre which brought forth Brecht's major
plays, just as Wagner's Ring could only have been created under extreme
isolation. Finally, an author so intensely dedicated to peace and so
actively opposed to war as Brecht appears to have been, who also, felt
it to be his duty to inform and educate his public in connection with the
events and conditions occurring in the world, could not have avoided
treating the factors which caused World War II. Brecht wrote Six plays
dealing with that conflict.

And, finally Brecht did a number of adaptations of classic works
into the Epic Style for his performing company, The Berliner Ensemble.

These, then, are the categories into which Brecht's plays will be
grouped for the purposes of this study: (1) the early, formative period,
(2) the musical comedy or musical drama genre; (3) the austerely didactic
learning plays, (4) the plays dealing with World War II; (5) the fully
mature, morally-concerned plays from his most productive and most telling

phase; and (6) the adaptations which he made for the Berliner Ensemble.

THE EARLY PLAYS
Brecht came to maturity and began his career as an author and

dramaturg in the theatre in 1921, a period of turmoil. He moved into the

 

 

theatre in Germany at a time when the older standards for performance and
composition had passed away with the old order at the end of World War I
and when the new poets and dramatists were experimenting radically in an
attempt to find a means of expressing the nature of the world in which
they found themselves. He was, in part, a product of the disillusioned
Neo-Romantic era, of the sort of thinking which could no longer regard
man as basically good or actively in control of his own destiny and, in
part, of the intense, impressive over—statement of the expressionistic
movement. While he quickly rebelled against these influences and tried
to shape his personal manner of composition, he, nevertheless, carried
many traces of them into his first plays.

The plays of the first period of Brecht's theatrical life are
Baal (1918), Drums In the Night (1918), In the Swamp (1921—1923), Life of
Edward II of England (1923—1924), A Man's a Man (1924-1925), and The
Elephant Calf (1924—1925). Baal demonstrates the possibility of living
a completely amoral life, while Drums In the Night defends the anti-
hero's right to choose comfort and domesticity rather than participating
in the revolution. By the time he wrote In the Swamp, Brecht felt that
the isolation of each person was so great that any communication between
people was impossible. Edward II was a translation—adaptation of Marlowe's
play which stressed the homosexual elements in the plot. A Man's a Man
questioned the validity and permancence of individual human identity and
The Elephant Calf restated the same question in an almost surrealistic
fashion. All of these plays through Edward II were dark, intense and
negative statements of disillusionment.

Only with A Man's a Man can one see the emergence of the later

Brecht: it was a pivotal play in this author's development. For that

 

 

I .4; mm. A H

279

reason, and because it is the most frequently performed of the early

works, A Man's a Man was selected for comment here.

A MAN'S A MAN (1924-1925)

Scene 1. An innocuous waterfront porter of Kilkoa, India, Galy
Gay sets out to buy a fish for a meal.

Scene 2. Four drunken British soldiers, Uriah Shelley, Jesse
Mahoney, Polly Baker and Jeraiah Jip, break into a pagoda to steal the
money from the poor box in order to buy more alcohol. Jip gets his hair
stuck in the pitch applied to a window and can only be freed by cutting
off his hair. Because the resulting bald patch would betray the quartet
as the men who robbed the pagoda, the group put Jip into a leather chest
until they can return and shave his head completely.

Scene 3. A Sargeant, Bloody Five, seeking the group who committed
the crime, questions the three soldiers and informs them that they had
better have a fourth man in their unit at roll call. The soldiers eaves-
drop on a discussion between Galy Gay and the Widow Begbick, a canteen
owner, and discover that Galy is a man who cannot say no. They decide he
is to be their temporary replacement.

Scene 4. The three soldiers purchase a uniform from the Widow
Begbick and induce Galy to answer the roll call with them. Rain is coming
and it is made clear that Sargeant Bloody Five is concerned with nothing
but the seduction of women when it rains.

Scene 5. At the desecrated pagoda, Mister Wang and his Chinese
Sexton discover Jip in the leather chest when it is brought in out of the
rain. In order to recoup the stolen funds, Mister Wang decides to con—

vert Jip into a god and put him on diSplay. Wang refuses to return Jip

 

 

 

 

 

280

when his comrades come in search of him and they decide to drop the

 

matter on the assumption that Jip will return, on his own, as soon as he
is sober.

Scene 6. When the three soldiers return to the canteen, Galy Gay
is still there, sleeping. They determine to keep him as a part of their
unit.

Scene 7. Jip, having been left when the unit moved out a month
ago, is only now recovering from the alcohol which Wang has given him to
keep him in a useful state. The process of fleecing the devout and the
fbod he is given are not distasteful, so Jip agrees to remain a god.

Scene 8. The trio of soldiers continue to detain Galy Gay by

 

promising him a deal on an elephant. When Mrs. Gay appears, searching

fer her husband, Galy denies knowing her in order to protect his new

friends from Bloody Five. Since the army is about to leave fer Tibet,

the soldiers decide that Galy must be transfermed immediately and completely
into Jeraiah Jip.

Scene 9. In order to trap Galy into a crooked deal, and thus

 

gain control over him, the three soldiers make an elephant out of a
stuffed elephant's head and a map thrown over Jesse and Polly. They
arrange with the Widow to pretend to be an immediate purchaser for the
bogus elephant. Galy, claiming that the elephant is his, sells it to the
widow and is arrested by one of the soldiers. The 'elephant' comes apart,
leaving a completely confused Galy gaping as it runs off. The soldiers
then put Galy on trial fer selling the fake elephant. Under cross examina-
tion, Galy is anxious not to be the seller of stolen and fradulent goods

but he is still unwilling to assume another person's identity until he is

 

 

threatened with the firing squad. Then he is so confused that he will

 

 

 

 

 

281

accept any identity other than that of the man condemned to death. Never-
theless, the soldiers stage their mock execution and Galy falls into a
dead faint. Bloody Five returns, quite drunk, and tries to boast and
demonstrate his marksmanship in order to attract one of the Widow's dauth-

ters but none of his efforts turn out and he has to accept the Widow her—

 

self. When Galy awakens and sees the soldiers carrying the nickelodeon
crate from the canteen as though it were a coffin, he is virtually con-
vinced that Galy Gay has been eliminated. He pronounces his own funeral
oration over the box and packs up for the move to the Tibetian front.
Scene 10. On the train going to the front, Galy Gay awakens re-

membering who he is. He is treated by the soldiers as though he were their

 

companion Jeraiah Jip, who, momentarily, has lost his mind. Even Galy's
conviction concerning his identity is shaken by the identification papers
the soldiers have placed on him. Bloody Five appears, feeling that he has
been disgraced and reduced to being less than the soldier that his name
indicates he is, by the extended sexual debauch he has been on with the
Widow during the rainy Spell. To prevent that from ever happening again
and to preserve the glory of his name, he castrates himself by shooting.

Galy realizes that the preservation of a name is not that important and

 

he finally accepts the Jip identity completely. The train approaches the

front.

 

Scene 11. At the scene of the battle, the transformed Galy is
commanding the unit and bullying the three soldiers to the point of taking
their rations. When the real Jip shows up, the three former buddies pre-
tend not to recognize him and, since he has no papers to prove his identity,
he is dismissed with the papers of Galy Gay. The newly aggressive Galy

bombards the fortress blocking the advance of the army and single-handedly

 

 

282

opens the way for them. Having become Jip, he has now done so with a
vengeance and becomes a fighting maching.

AS Eric Bentley has astutely observed,1 this play represented a
complete change in nature from everything which preceded it: it was a
comedy, rather than a tragedy. This was a profOund change in the working
methods and aims of the young Brecht, a light and ironic statement of the
problem replacingtfluadark disillusionment and almost morbid literalness
of his previous plays. This suggests that Brecht had gained a greater
control over his own emotions and had been able to translate that new-
found self-possession into a new formal style. If it is true that ”The

new-fangled notion of Epic Theatre can be construed as a synonym for

”2

 

traditional Comedy, the reader will not have to be reminded that comedy
is more Distanced than tragedy (requiring a greater degree of detachment
and objectivity before the possibly tragic action can be viewed and
accepted as funny)3 and he will see that the change in manner finally
enabled Brecht to achieve the disengagement he personally sought and that
he desired from his audience. By writing comedy rather than tragedy, the
attention of the spectator could be focused upon a serious problem with-

out necessarily causing the viewer to respond emotionally or empathically:

he could be Distanced and his reactions controlled.

 

1Eric Bentley, ”Introduction: Homage to B.B.,” Seven Plays by
Bertolt Brecht, (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1961), p. xvii.

zIbid.

3” . the comic theater is conventional, unrealistic, and
illusory to a much more obvious degree than the tragic theater. ” Robert
J. Nelson, Play Within a Play: The Dramatist’ s Conception of His Art:
Shakespeare to Anouilh (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958), p. 4.
While it may be over-simplifying the problem to suggest that Brecht only
wrote comedies or tragedies, it is certainly easier to discuss the rela-
tive Distancing involved if the more extreme States are used: the con—
trast is clearer and the reader can make a modified application of the
concepts after they are grasped.

I——\

 

 

 

At the same time, the change from the tragic to the comic allowed
Brecht to depersonalize the central character of his play and thereby to
expand the work from the level of a tale of the exploits of a single in— w
dividual to a more universal fable. In contrast with the strong, sharply
defined leading characters of the other plays up to this time, the Baals,
the Kraglers, the Edwards, etc., Galy Gay had little character and few
defining characteristics. He had to be malleable in order for the basic
plot device to work and the fewer definite characteristics which had to
be altered to effect a change in his personality, the easier the trans—
formation would be to effect. Such a change in the nature of his charac—
ters accorded nicely with Brecht's desires and intents: he sought
generalized, non-specific statements about the condition of man, not
about man as such. Few devices that the author could have used would, at
the same time, have more definitely divorced the audience from empathic
entanglements and demonstrated the change to the comic, Distanced vein, for
. conventional tragedy rests upon assumptions concerning

the reality of the ego, the supreme importance of man in a uni—

verse where he is only a little below the angels, and the re~

sponsibility of the individual for his own conduct.
Brecht, in this play, suddenly adopted a behavioristic view of mankind
and flatly asserted that a man was definable only in terms of his function,
of the purpose which he served. Man was demoted from his traditional,
tragic position of importance to one in which his character was infinitely
exchangeable and correspondingly abstract. This was a master stroke of
Distancing, a decisive device which caused the typical audience member to
react less violently to the things done to Galy Gay and to observe the

process of brainwashing through which he was put in a more observant, but

 

lJoseph Wood Krutch, ”Mbdernism" in Modern Drawn, A Definition
and an Estimate (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1953),
PP 115— 116.

 

 

 

284

less involved manner. Generalization, with its consequent reduction of
specific details, created greater Distance.

Much of the action of this play was rowdy, irreligious and over—
laid with Freudian sex symbols and it tampered with traditionally un-
challengeable concepts like the sanctity of the ego. The devices of
repetitive form, poetic language, time confusion, e52: used in the early
plays to assist in the Distancing process were all still very much in

evidence here.

THE MUSICAL WORKS

Music of his own particular sort was always important to Brecht.
He began his theatrical career by appearing in local cabarets to play the
guitar and sing his verses to folk tunes, popular songs or melodies of
his own devising. When he began writing plays, Brecht almost invariably
included a number of songs in each text. As a result, it is somewhat ar—
bitrary to select three of his works and to designate them as musical in
nature, thereby implying that the remainder are not. Such implications
are not intended in this work but the choices designated as musical can
be defended on the basis of the manner in which the music is employed,
the extensiveness of it, and either Brecht's comments or the critic‘s
reactions to the pieces.

The pieces to be included in this section are The Threepenny
Opera, Happy End and Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny. The first
named play will be used as the primary example of the group because it
was Brecht's single most popular work.

With the resounding success of The Threepenny Opera, Brecht and

Weill tried to mine the same vein further by turning to the underworld

 

 

285

characters of the Damon Runyon short stories which were later to provide

the basis for Frank Loesser's Guys and Dolls. All that Brecht and Weill

found there was the basis for their least successful collaboration, Happy

End: the work was a complete failure.

In Muhagonny Brecht was still obsessed with the idea of demon—

strating the repressive nature of the Capitalist economic system. Even

in a city where everything is permitted, even to the point of producing

anarchy, man can still not find happiness if he has to pay for every item

consumed. In this tale, the hero is executed for the crime of not having

any money.

Neither of these latter two works has been able to hold the stage

or to establish itself in the repertoire of any theatre in the world.

Therefore, for an example of Brecht's musical comedy style, one must re—

turn to The Threepenny Opera. It is also a valuable example in that it

Shows why an emphasis is here placed on the musical line of the Show:

The Threepenny Opera's ”chief formal significance for Brecht lay .

in the singing and the music; the play itself was Gay's.”1

THE THREEPENNY OPERA (1928)

Act I, Scene 1. In his wardrobe room, Mr. Peachum explains his

business of equipping beggars and organizing them in proper business

fashion. He also inquires of his wife about the stranger who has been

courting their daughter Polly and recognizes him as Mackie the Knife.

Scene 2. Mackie, Polly and Mack‘s gang take over an empty Stable

to hold Mack's and Polly's wedding. The guests have Stolen the presents

0f food, furniture, etc. The Sheriff of London

M—

and Mack's old army buddy,

 

1Willett, op. cit., pp. 114-115.

 

 

286

Tiger Brown, attends the festivities. Once he is recognized, Brown's pres—
ence creates no alarm among the crooks because Mack gives him a cut of
each robbery and Brown tips off Mack about raids and keeps his name out

of the Scotland Yard files. When the gang presents them with a bed, Mack
and Polly are left alone.

Scene 3. Back at Peachum's establishment, Polly tells her parents of
her marriage. Peachum swears that her leaving will wreck his business. The
Peachums try to get Polly to divorce Mack but she won't, so Peachum de-
cides to have Mack hanged by informing on him to the Sheriff. Mrs. Peachum
goes to Wapping to bribe Mack's whores to turn him in and Polly is dragged

with Peachum to the Sheriff's.

 

Act II, Scene 1. Polly reports to Mack, in the stable, that her

 

father has pressured Tiger Brown and that there is now enough evidence
against Mack to hang him. Since Mack will have to leave, he explains his
business affairs to Polly. She is to run the gang, get all of the money
out of the business and turn the men over to the police. Polly cows the
gang and Mack leaves, presumably to flee.

Interlude: Mrs. Peachum bribes Ginny Jenny to turn Mack in when
he shows up. Mrs. Peachum is sure that he will run to his whores rather
than leave the town.

Scene 2. When Mack appears at the brothel, Ginny Jenny betrays
him into the hands of the police and Mrs. Peachum. He is taken to jail.

Scene 3. Tiger Brown's hope that Mack has escaped is dashed when
he is brought in to the jail. Lucy, Brown's daughter and another of Mack's
apparently pregnant lady loves, visits him in jail to complain of his
marriage to Polly and encounters that lady. There is a jealous squabble

which is broken off when Mrs. Peachum appears and drags Polly away. Lucy

 

 

 

 

287

helps Mack escape. Mr. Peachum comes looking for Mack and finds only
Brown, whom he threatens with dire consequences because of the escape.

Act III, Scene 1. As Peachum organizes his beggars for a demon-
stration intended to disrupt the coronation of the new queen, the whores
arrive to collect for turning Mack over to the police. They are denied
their blood money because of the escape until the Peachums learn that
Mack has gone right back to the girls and is even then with one of them.
Just as the new information is about to be sent to the police, Tiger
Brown and his men arrive at Peachum's shop to arrest the whole group and
thus to prevent the complications at the coronation. In this manner,
Brown hopes to save his friend Mack. But Peachum convinces Brown that the
legions of the poor can make a shambles of the imminent ceremony if he,
Peachum, is harmed. Brown gives in, and leaves to arrest Mackie again.

Scene 2. Polly visits Lucy to discover Mack's hideout. The girls
are formally polite and viciously petty at the same time, but conclude
their interview by comisserating with each other for loving a man too much.
Lucy's pregnancy is revealed as a ruse to hold Mack's affection. Mrs.
Peachum intervenes to announce that Macheath has been arrested.

Scene 3. Because the crowd of the poor has gathered around the
jail to see Mack hanged rather than going to the corronation, it is nec—
essary for the authorities to hurry the hanging so that they may return
to their places along the queen's line of march. Mack has only an hour
to live. He appeals to two of his men for their life's savings in order
to bribe the jailer; they leave to get the money. The same appeal to
Polly produces no effect on her recently acquired business—like attitude:
She has no money with which to save him. Since his men cannot get

through the press of the spectators to secure their money, Macheath is

 

288

taken to the gallows. At the last moment, a mounted messenger from the
Queen brings a royal command that Mack be released and informs him that
he has been raised to the nobility, with a castle provided and a pension
for life.

In the eleven sections of this work, Brecht required his performers
to sing on twenty—seven separate occassions. The music did not underlie
the whole of the work: it was not a continuous framework through which
the action was presented, as is the case with a true opera. Rather, Brecht
clearly used the songs as a commentary upon the underlying motives of the
characters. When the songs occurred, the action stopped, but the intel-
lectual perceptions about the reasons for the action continued. The
author called for special song lighting and the presentation of the song
titles as means of alienating and Distancing these portions of the work
so that they might produce a greater awareness. The Threepenny Opera's
” . . . most striking innovation lay in the strict separation of the music
from all the other elements of entertainment offered.”1 The songs were
set apart through the use of the whole array of devices which Brecht
evolved for the separation of his songs: the orchestra was visible on the
Stage, the actors assumed special positions at the beginning of each num-
ber, the 'song lighting' was used, and ” . . . three pathetic lamps at
the end of a stick are lowered: all the false pathos and false magic of
prior stages are elaborately mocked.”2 Once these devices had interrupted
the magical spell of the play and prepared the audience for reflection,
all of the conventional forms of true opera were employed. ”There were

duets, trios, solos and final choruses. The musical items, which had the

 

1Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 85.

2Grossvogel, op. cit., pp. 33-34.

 

 

 

 

 

289

immediacy of a ballad, were of a reflective and moralizing nature."1 The
music indeed became the true center of the work and held the thoughts and
perceptions which the author wished to communicate. He made these central
parts of the work outstanding by wrenching them out of the context of the
whole.

The concepts which Brecht wanted to communicate in The Threepenny
Opera were basically economic in nature. His relatively recent conver—
sion to the Communist methods of analysis provided him with insights into
the nature of the world around him, insights which he apparently felt
compelled to proclaim. The libretto of this piece presented “ . . . an
analysis of capitalist society . . . based on Proudhon's dictum that
property is theft.”2 Every member of this larcenous cast of characters
operated in a business-like manner. Each conducted his affairs so as
to accumulate the greatest amount of property—-and human feelings and
emotions be damned. Even the love affairs were there to forward one
aspect or another of Mack's commercial interests. “In his marriage he
sees a means of safeguarding his business. Temporary absence from the
metropolis . . . is made inevitable by his profession; and his employees

3 Therefore, he needed a wife to 'mind the store'

are very unreliable.”
while he was away. And while Polly might have loved Mack, once she

understood the Capitalist system, she refused to give up the profits of
the business even to save Macheath from the gallows. The idea of making

a profit from their criminal activities dominated the thinking of all

Characters to the exclusion of all other thoughts and they each and every

 

1Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 85.
2Gray, op. cit., p. 45.

3Brecht, ”Notes to the Threepenny Opera,” p. 102.

 

 

 

 

290

one regarded their singleminded devotion to the dollar as perfectly normal.
They were not criminals in their own minds; they were simply business
people who happened to engage in a particular profession. By "Making

crime merely a left—handed form of human endeavor, he [Brecht] stigmatizes

. the right—handed form."1

Thus Brecht took swipes at every member of his presumed audience
and tried to force them to appraise what they did when they engaged in
activity for personal profit.

The Threepenny Opera is concerned with bourgeois concep-
tions not only as content, by representing them, but also through
the manner in which it does so. It is a kind of report on life
as any member of the audience would like to see it. Since at the
same time however, he sees a good deal that he has no wish to see;
since therefore he sees his wishes not merely fulfilled but also
criticized (sees himself not as the subject but as the object),
he is theoretically in a position to appoint a new function for
the theatre.2

 

The new function Brecht sought for the theatre was the reasoned,
Distanced criticism of life. He expected to prompt that criticism through
the use of his alienation effects, which were more developed in this work
than in any he had written up to this time.

The Threepenny Opera cogently demonstrates the ironic
uses of the Verfremdungseffekt, since it creates an atmosphere
of distance and withdrawal through the use of sharp satiric
contrasts. Peachum's religious placards, for example, like
his canting dialogue, are incongruously juxtaposed with his
ruthless criminal activities, just as Brecht's rhetorical,
often biblical, titles are contrasted with the argot of thieves
and whores.

The contrasts were always sharp and pointed, as extreme as they could be

made.

 

1Brustein, "Bertolt Brecht,” p. 263.

2Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 43.

 

3Brustein, ”Bertolt Brecht," p. 260.

 

291

The language crackles with bawdry, blasphemy, and coarse wit
when it does not bait the listener with gooey sentiment, un-
comfortably putting his favorite cliches into the mouths of
unsavory characters.

The intent was always apparently to cause the spectator to mentally step
backward to a greater Distance in order to gain a clearer perception of
the truth about his own life.

There the technique of "Verfremdung" has been developed a
further step: the scene depends for its effect not on the
direct participation of the audience in the happenings on
stage, which are deliberately ”acted out,” but by their re-
acting from them and remembering more forcefully the true
state of things.

According to Brecht, his intention was to stimulate, not an emotional,
empathic involvement, but a multi—layered perception such as can be gained
only when the spectator utilizes his critical faculties to the full. He
said: "Complex seeing must be practiced. . . . thinking abgut_the flow

of the play is more important than thinking from within the flow of the

"3

play. That is a virtual definition of the Distanced state.

To achieve the proper Distancing, one of the more important devices,
in Brecht's mind, was the use of projected titles for each scene and song.

The boards on which the titles of the scene are pro-
jected are a primitive start toward a literarization of the
theatre. .

Literarization means putting across ideas through
actions; interSpersing the ”performed” with the "formulated.”
It makes it possible for the theatre to establish contact with
other institutions of intellectual activity, but it must re—
main a one-sided affair so long as the audience does not take
part in such literarization and thus break through to "higher
things."4

 

lGeorge Salomon, "Happy Ending, Nice and Tidy," The Kenyon Review,
Vol. XXIV, No. 3, Summer 1962, p. 547.

2Gray, op. cit., p. 48.
3Brecht, "Notes to the Threepenny Opera,” p. 99.

41bid., p. 98.

 

 

 

 

 

The bitter, moralizing statements projected on the boards were vital to
Brecht's intentions but relatively useless unless the audience adopted
the proper attitude toward them and utilized them in the desired manner.
Once again Brecht pointed out how dependent his technique was upon the
establishment of a cooly perceptive frame of mind.

The final element in this show which deserves special comment is
its wildly improbable denouement. While the whole of the action occurred
in an England which never existed, among characters who could never have
acted as these did, the ending of the play was so much more abrupt and im-
possible than the remainder of the show that it came as a laugh—producing

shock; it was Brecht's final jab at the audience's conventional expec-

 

tations.

Whenever the bourgeoisie sees its own world presented, the ‘
appearance of the royal mounted messenger is absolutely in- ‘
evitable. . . . Theatrical practitioners may care to ponder

why nothing is more stupid than to abolish the horse of the

messenger--as nearly all modernistic producerso fihe Three— ‘
penny Opera have done. If one were representing a judicial
murder on the stage, one could only pay proper tribute to the
theatre's role in bourgeois society by having the journalist
who discloses the innocence of the murdered man drawn into
court by a swan. [Note the attack upon the devices of
Lohengrin.] So cannot people realize how tactless it is to
lure the public into laughing at itself by making the appear—
ance of the mounted messenger a matter for mirth? Without
the appearance of some form of mounted messenger, bourgeois
literature would sink to a mere representation of circum-
stances. The mounted messenger guarantees really undisturbed
enjoyment even of circumstances themselves unbearable, and is
therefore a conditio sine qua non for a literature whose con-
ditio sine qua non is lack of consequences.

The spectator is asked to accept the scenic device as a con-
ventional statement of grandeur so that he may objectify the
pleasure he has felt in it and reject it along with the many
other implications of falseness in the opera.

 

 

ll’bid. , pp. 109-110.

2Grossvogel, op. cit., p. 43.

 

 

 

 

293

Even in the finale, the audience was asked to remove itself from the spell
of the action and to consciously appraise the validity of what it was
seeing enacted. The reaction Brecht hoped for was indeed a very complex
one, one which was only possible from a Distance.
Brecht knew that his work existed on several planes and required

a number of varying attitudes on the part of his audience. He said:

I hope that the moralizing parts of The Threepenny Opera and

the educative songs are reasonably entertaining, but it is

certain that the entertainment in question is different from

what one gets from the more orthodox scenes. The play has a

double nature. Instruction and entertainment c0nf1ict openly.
The conventional scenes were there to hold the play together as a play while

the philosophical sections and the ”educative songs" existed in order to

provoke a Distanced, double perception of the situation.

THE LEHRSTUCKE

The Lehrstficke, the learning plays or didactic pieces, represented
a third decisive phase in Brecht's development. With the appearance of
these small plays,2 Brecht discarded ”the anarchic exuberance of his early
style . . .",3 any concentrated attempt to shock merely for the sake of
shock and any use of music for purely decorative purposes. Perhaps under
the influence of Marxism, which he began to study around the time of the
first of these teaching plays (1928), he began to strip away and pare down
all artistic effects in his works in order to center them still more upon
the intellectual content and the formal structure which he created for

them. The bare bones of a problem were exposed in each play with a

 

1Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 132.
2Seven out of the ten LehrstUcke are one act plays.

3Ess1in, Brecht: The man and His werk, p. 113.

 

 

 

294

startling clarity. There was nothing to disrupt the audience's perception
and comprehension except, perhaps, the austerity, the enormous Distance,
which the author imposed upon these plays.
Each of the LehrstUcke

. . were set to music by [Hans] Eisler, Kurt Weill, and Paul

Hindemith. All centered upon social and political, philosophi~

cal and moral lessons. Most were for acting by amateurs,

”learners,” often children, with the audience sometimes given

a role. . . . In each, the role of the reason in man's ascent

was made central.1
Drawing upon "the resources of Agitational Propaganda theater, dubbed

‘agitprop'”2 for many of his themes and the precise manner of the plays'

presentation; upon the No Plays of Japan for a cool, expository dialogue,3

 

upon his own Edward II for a Special type of arhythmic, free—form poetry;
and upon the techniques of debate and of the courts, Brecht fashioned a 1
type of play in which problems with enormous implications could be con- 1
sidered and, presumably, settled with a clinical precision and directness. ‘
The clarity and simplicity of these works and their absolute insistence ‘
upon rationality in the pondering of the evils of the world often created
an aura of coldness about these hard, gem—like little pieces.

The Lehrstdcke were as unremittingly Distanced as anything Brecht
ever created.

The pieces in this period were The Flight of the Lindbergs (1928-
1929), The Baden Lehrstucke: On Consent (1928—1929), He Who Says Yes and

He Who says No (1929-1930), St. Joan of the Stockyards (1929~1930),

 

 

1Lee Baxandall, ”Introduction,” The Mbther (New York: Grove
Press, Inc., 1965), p. 25.

21pm, p. 29.

3"Bertolt Brecht: An Iconoclast in the Theatre,” p. 142.

 

 

 

295

The Measures Taken (1930), The Exception and The Rule (1930), The Mother
(1930-1931), The Seven Deadly Sins of the Lower Middle Class (1933), The
Horations and the Curations (1934), The Trial of Lucullus (1939) and Herr
Puntila and His Hired Mhn, Amtti (1940-1941).

The Flight of the Lindberghs makes the solo crossing of the At-
lantic symbolic of man's success in conquering nature. On Consent stresses
the necessity of accepting historic inevitability. He Who Says Yes as-
serts that one must automatically be willing to sacrifice himself for the
good of the group, while He Who Says No denies the correctness of custom
and tradition and requires that each situation be considered on its OWn
merits. St. Joan tries to explain the law of supply and demand in a dramat—
ic fashion as well as to link big business and religion in the process of
suppressing the masses. The Measures Taken will be discussed below. The
Exception and the Rule says that man's inhumanity to man is so common
here that an act of kindness can logically be interpreted as an attack.
The Mother tells of the slow conversion of a working woman to her son's
convictions about the Russian revolution so that when he is killed, she is
willing to take his place in the front lines. The SevenADeadly Sins sug-
gests that, among the economically deprived, any normal human response to
the world can be interpreted as one of the seven deadly sins and must be
repressed. The Horatians warns against a too hasty judgment of a tactic
and implies that any device may be used to win a battle when the odds are
against one. The Trial of Lucullus is a violent condemnation of imperial—
istic warfare. Herr Puntila demonstrates how the profit system can warp
an otherwise jolly and good man into an unfeeling member of the monied
class and shows the impossibility of friendship or marriage across class

lines.

 

 

 

296

The Measures Taken is a medium length work which clearly shows the
characteristics of this group of plays and so will be used as representa-

tive of the Lehrstficke.

THE MEASURES TAKEN (1930)

Four Communist agitators are being lauded by the Control Chorus,
the equivalent of an investigative committee, when they interrupt to an-
nounce that they have killed a comrade. The Chorus asks for a demonstra—
tion of the circumstances in order to judge the deed.

Scene 1. The Classical Writings.1

The agitators were on their way into China to bring "to the ig—
norant, instruction about their condition; to the oppressed, class con~
sciousness; and to the class conscious, the experience of revolution,"2
when they stopped at the last Party Headquarters before the border to de—
mand an automobile and a guide. The Young Comrade volunteered to act as
their guide and to assist in their work.

Scene 2. The Blotting Out.

The group received their instructions from the Leader of the Party
Headquarters, who indicated that they must disguise themselves as Chinese
and must, under no conditions, be revealed as agitators. The group agreed
to the blotting out of their faces by masks.

Scene 3. The Stone.

For the first attempt at agitation, the Young Comrade was sent to
Spread propaganda among the Coolies dragging a rice barge up a river but,

when he saw their misery, he forgot his instructions and assisted them by

 

1The scene titles appearing in the text could be used on placards
or 1n projections.

2

Bertolt Brecht, ”The Measures Taken," p. 79.

 

 

 

 

297

placing a stone upon the slippery bank to give them a foothold. This act
of mercy caused him to be recognized as an agitator and the group was
pursued to the city of Mukden. The agitators explain1 to the Chorus that
the Young Comrade did not actually help the Coolies and he hindered the
propaganda effort. The Chorus agrees.

Scene 4. Justice.

The agitators trusted the Young Comrade with another assignment
but instead of merely handing out leaflets to the textile workers, he
urged them to strike over their reduced wages. When a policeman sought
the source of the leaflets, he mistook a textile worker for the man re-
sponsible and killed him. The Young Comrade incited the workers to dem-
onstrate against police violence and to demand the punishment of the
policeman. This came about, but the small concession in regard to the
punishment of the policeman destroyed the great strike the agitators
sought.

Scene 5. What Is A Human Being Actually?

Trying to capitalize upon a conflict between the Chinese merchants
and the British rulers, the four agitators sent the Young Comrade to the
richest of the merchants to ask him to arm the Coolies. In their discus-
sions, the Young Comrade came to realize how little the trader valued the
lives of his Coolies or any property outside of its monetary value. As a

result, he refused to eat with the man, was driven from his house and lost

 

1The majority of this play is a relation of completed events, a
report of past tense activities, but part of it is assumed to be happen~
ing in the present as the group discusses their activities with the con-
trol chorus. This continuous alternation in time and the use of past
tense narration of events which are acted out at the same time were two
0f Brecht's favorite Distancing or alienating techniques.

 

 

 

 

298

the arms the Coolies needed. The agitators maintain that it is not right
to put honor before everything else; one should be willing to do anything,
degrade himself to any degree, in order to accomplish good. The Chorus
agrees.

Scene 6. Rebellion Against the Teaching.

Instead of continuing their slow work and following their in-
structions, the Young Comrade, having been approached by a delegation of
the unemployed, favored the abandonment of their partially successful
tactics in favor of an immediate rebellion. The agitators tried to show
him how futile such an approach was, but the Young Comrade, in his excite—
ment, unmasked and destroyed his disguise. This made the group recog-
nizable as feared foreigners. The agitatorsstruck_down the Young Comrade
and fled the city, carrying him with them.

Scene 7. Final Pursuit and Analysis.

Avoiding their pursuers, the group reached the lime pits on the
city limits. They were still helping their Comrade along but they realized
that if they did not elude their pursuers soon and return to the city, the
whole of their campaign would have been in vain. Their analysis of the
situation made it plain that they could not permit their pursuers to over~
take or unmask them.

Scene 8. The Interment.

The group decided that the Young Comrade must disappear so that
they might return to their work. Their only method was to shoot him and
throw his body in the lime pit. When questioned about this possibility,
the Young Comrade agreed to their solution, so it was carried out. Since
the group returned to its work and was successful in its mission, the Con—

trol Chorus agrees with what was done, with The Measures Taken.

 

 

'

 

 

 

 

 

”This [work] was probably the first of Brecht's plays in which his

intellectual intentions worked at croSs-purposes with his imaginative
sympathies."1 It clearly showed Brecht's life-long struggle to suppress
the highly emotional, empathic portion of his being and to replace it with
a reasoned, Distanced, intellectual attitude toward events. It demon-
strated the difficulties encountered by even a highly intelligent, dedi-
cated person when he tried to deny his involvement in his work or in the
events which occur in the world in order to replace the involvement with
a Distanced, non-involved perception and analysis. This act was seldom
easy for a person trained and conditioned to respond in an involved
manner; even Brecht, as he tried to evolve the methods and techniques by
which to do it on a consistent basis encountered many problems, some of
which he dramatized, as he did in this piece.
The reader or performer encountered in this play the first of the

many split personality characters in Brecht's pantheon which embodied
the struggle to avoid too much involvement and to substitute a rigid mental
control for an overly empathic response. In this work,

The Young Comrade is the natural and spontaneous part of the

self; the Four Agitators who murder him are the planning and

deliberate Shui Ta part of the self which must suppress and

kill goodness in order to prepare its actualization.
The five principal characters, only four of whom were ever seen, since
each of the Agitators assumed the character of the Young Comrade during
One of the episodes, showed that the two possible responses to a situation

were a part of each human being and that if thought was to rule the actions

 

1Hersh, op. cit., p. 37.

2Walter H. Sokel, "Brecht's Split Characters and His Sense of the
Tragic,” Brecht: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Peter Demetz
(Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice—Hall, Inc., 1962), p. 136.

 

 

 

 

300 l

of man, then his emotions must be suppressed to some degree. The only
solution Brecht could find for this eternal conflict appears to have been
the death of a part of each of us. " . . . the young comrade of Die

Messnahme is deliberately put to death as a punishment for having been

 

 

unable to resist his emotional impulse."1 Without such a death, Man will
continue to be irrationally emotional.

It should also be noted that the Agitators each perform and re-
late one of the acts of the Young Comrade in precisely the manner which
Brecht described in his "Street Corner Incident" in A New Technique of
Acting.2 They each make an incident vividly clear by acting it out but

without ever 'losing themselves' in the part of the Young Comrade or try—

 

ing to trick the Chorus into believing that they are the person they are

 

describing. They simply demonstrate in a Distanced fashion. 1
One of the spell-breaking, Distancing devices used in The Measures
Teken was an actual break in the flow of the action, a cessation in which
the audience was invited to use its mind rather than its emotions.
Is it really inevitable, he [the spectator] may ask, that this
young man should die? A pause is provided in the play in which
he is invited to think this over, and in this pause he may re—
call the reasons already given by the agitators.3
Many critics question the validity of the reasons Brecht provided in the
play for this action but few, if any, of them miss the Distancing effect

of this device.

There can be no emotional intensity here, for the agitators
make no serious attempt at seeking a way out: not for an

 

1Ernest Borneman, "Two Brechtians,” The Kenyon Review, Vol. XXII,
Summer, 1960, p. 481. The italics are Borneman's.

28ertolt Brecht, "A New Technique of Acting,"Actors on Acting,
ed, C019, Toby and Chinoy, Helen K. (New York: Crown Publishers, Inc, 1949).

3Gray, op. cit., p. 51.

EIZZ______________________________________i

 

 

 

301

instant do they give the impression of urgently looking for
means of saving their comrade's life, and centuries of humane
tradition are brushed aside on the flimsiest of pretexts.

The essential thing, it seems, was that audiences should be per-
suaded of the need for inhumanity by hook or by crook, and this
despite the professed "Verfremdung" whereby they were encouraged

to make judgments of their own.

Brecht, himself, stressed the alienated, Distanced manner of per-

formance necessary in order to allow the audience to decide the truth of

the solution proposed:

The dramatic procedure must be simple and sober. Especial emo-
tional punch and especial expressivity are superfluous. The
actors must merely present that part of the behavior of the
four that is necessary for the understanding and judging of the

case.
And he was not unaware of the bias which he displayed in reaching the con—
clusion which he chose. lb defended it, in part, by saying

For several ethical ideas like justice, freedom, humanity,

etc., which come up in The Measures Taken, what Lenin said

about morality holds: 'We derive our morality from the in-
terests of the proletarian class war.‘

Distortion in a given direction was certainly present but so, also, was
the Distancing which Brecht sought, for even flaws in the dramatic logic
could force the audience members to think through the problem in an effort
to discover where the error lay. The coolness of the recounting, the
oratorio—like quality of the show, the continual swapping of personalities,

and the distortion of normal thought processes all forced the spectator

away from the action of the play to what was presumably a properly Dis—

tanced attitude.

 

1172222., p. 52.

28ertolt Brecht, "Notes on Rehearsing The Measures Taken,” The
“bdbrn Theatre, Vol. 6, ed. Eric Bentley (Garden City, New York: Anchor
Books, Doubleday and Co., Inc., 1960), p. 290.

3173id.

 

 

302

THE PLAYS ABOUT WORLD WAR II

Written between 1932 and 1944, these works dealing with various
aspects of Hitler's rise to power and World War II seem particularly
weak. Having been driven from the experimental Berlin theatres by the
rise of Hitler and the Nazis, it was only normal that Brecht should have
had something to say about the condition of the world as he saw and under-
stood it. But the topicality of the plays and the very fact that they
could no longer be staged in an experimental atmosphere with highly
skilled professional players, but, instead, had to be mounted by amateur
groups operating under unstable conditions perhaps led Brecht away from

his more Distanced experiments to a more conventional, empathic, Aris-

 

totelian form of drama. He seems not to haveknown immediately how to adapt
his unconventional perceptions and manner of statement to a style which
he apparently felt would be more easily understood and conveyed by the
amateurs. He went through a period of experimentation and struggle with
his medium which may remind one of his early phase in many respects. The
plays were deliberately written in a more conventional mold but seldom
managed to sustain the 'normal' style in a consistent manner.

Perhaps one of the factors which interferred with Brecht's crea-

tivity and force was that he himself suffered so directly from the Nazi's

 

actions that he was unable to maintain his objectivity. To write about
the class struggle when he did not experience it directly1 was one thing;
to treat artistically and in a detached manner something which drove him
from his homeland and from most of the things which he valued most highly
was quite another thing. He was certainly not the first artist to find

himself unable to treat objectively his own personal experiences.

 

lSee Sergey TretiaROV, "Bert Brecht,” Brecht: A Cbllection of
Crtticaz Ebsays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-
Hall, Inc., 1962), p. 26.

EZZZ________________________________________i

 

 

 

 

In addition, as Bullough warned, there are dangers in treating of

the immediately practical: to do so is often an open invitation for both
the author and the spectator to fall below the minimum Distance—limit.
This is particularly true when the author questions ”Why shouldn't art
try, by its own means of course, to further the great social task of
mastering life?”1 This immediately period-oriented and practical outlook
posed particular problems for Brecht. He wanted to eliminate the Nazi
party and its ideas but was unable to do this by direct political action.
He was forced to attempt it in his plays, just as Wagner tried in a
similar manner to rearrange a society.
. it is the essence of the play as stratagem to be con—

cerned with an end beyond itself: the play is used fer the

accomplishment of some purpose in the real or offstage world

which cannot be effected by direct action.2
When the questions debated were basically resolved by something as de—
cisive as the conclusion of a war and the suppression of the party which
prompted the conflict, then plays written about the struggle and the ideas
which caused it can live only because they dealwith eternal problems such
as war and cruelty or as historical documents or museum pieces. Brecht
fully expected these latter results in connection with all of his work
but, so far, it has come about only in regard to his plays about World
War II.

The plays in this group are: The Roundheads and the Peakheads

(1932—1934), The Private Life of the Master Race (1935~1938), Senora
Carrar’s Rifles (1937), The Resistible Rise oj’Arturo Ui (194l); The

Visions of Simone Mechard (1941-1943), and Schweik in the second world

 

1Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 96.

2Nelson, op. cit., p. 90.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

War (1941-1944).

The Roundheads was an attack upon the racial theories of the Nazis
and an attempt to prove that the monied Jews were actually on the side of
their 'oppressors.‘ The Private Life of the Master Race or Rise and Fall
of the Third Reich was a loosely assembled group of one-act plays, each
demonstrating some aspect of the Nazis' effect upon the people of Germany.
senora Cbrrar's Rifies is a rewriting of Rider's t0 the sea in the setting
of the Spanish Civil War. Arturo Ui tries to explain Hitler's rise to
power by analogy with a Capone-like Chicago gangster of the 1930's. Schweik
in the Second Werd war brings to life again the bumbling, good—natured
soul who caused such confusion during the first World War. He is up to
his old tricks and provides Brecht with a fine opportunity to 'prove' that
the average German couldn‘t care less what the fortunes of Hitler and his
regime might be.

The play selected for comment here is not the most popular of the
World War II works: segments of the Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,
each treated as an independent one act play, have apparently been staged
far more frequently than have any of the full length plays of this group.
Arturo Ui appears to be gaining some popularity and having a number of
productions; it may ultimately be the most popular. It does seem to the
present author though, that The Visions of Simone Mechard clearly exem-
plifies Brecht's struggles with the conventional dramatic form and re-

presents his most successful combination of Epic and “Aristotelian"

elements.

 

 

 

 

305

THE VISIONS OF SIMONE MACHARD (1941~1943)

The Book. At the Hostelry ”Au Relais” in the small Frech town
of Saint-Martin, in June of 1940, a young girl, Simone, pauses in her tasks
to join some of the other employees of the hostelry in the courtyard.
While they discuss the depressing progress of the war, she tries to read
a bit in the history of Joan of Arc, a book given her by M. Soupeau, the
owner of the place. A deserting French Colonel sneaks into the Hostelry
to eat and is fed royally but soldiers from the unit in which Simone's
brother is serving can get only a bucket—full of food. Soupeau claims he
feeds the refugees, dismisses the soldiers and sends an exorbitant check
to the Colonel. Simone is horribly ashamed of the treatment of the soldiers.
The hostelry workmen are ordered to deliver a Captain's wine vats in spite
of the refugees crowding the roads. The Mayor of the town requisitions
the trucks and gasoline for the use of the refugees, but Soupeau denies
that he is hoarding gasoline and browbeats the employees into supporting
him. Simone is sent to the assembly hall to sell food to the refugees.

The First Dream. In Simone's imagination, an angel appears on the
roof of the garage and, speaking in rhymed couplets, announces God's choice
of Simone as a new Joan. He gives her a drum with which to call the
French to arms. As Simone recognizes the Angel as her brother André, he
vanishes. When Simone sets out for Orleans to see the King (she walks in
a circle), she is joined by the other employees who are dressed in medieval
armor. The Mayor appears in the robes of Charles the seventh and asks
about the stored gasoline, the sold food, 952: Simone beats her drum,
calling the people, crowns the King and accepts the cheers of the crowd
for saving France. The stage darkens.

The Handshake. Because the Germans have crossed the Loire, Soupeau

Wants his china and wine loaded on the requisitioned trucks. The employees

 

 

 

 

 

306

refuse to load them. Simone slips out and tells the Mayor of Soupeau’s
plans. The Mayor appears with the police but Soupeau twists the situa-
tion so much that the Mayor approves of his actions. A crowd of refbgees
come to the gate to beg fbr the trucks. Simone suggests making room on

the trucks by giving the food to the people. The idea of food causes the
refugees to break down the gates. An argument among the factions ensues.
Madame Soupeau mediates the fight and has Simone Open the stores to the
people in exchange for room on the trucks for the china and silver. Simone
is given all of the credit fer the fOOd. Madame fbrther promises to feed
those who remain behind. Soupeau allows the trucks to gas up at his

supplies in the brickyard, but refuses to have the gasoline dump destroyed.

 

Soupeau and his chauffeurs leave with his valuables. Madame Soupeau re-
peats her son's prohibition when Simone volunteers to burn the gasoline
to keep it from falling into the German's hands. Simone is dismissed from
her job as a rebellious person.

The Second Dream. When Simone, as the Maid, appears before the
Mayor-King, her request for an army is rejected but she is made a Grand
Dame of France. Her sword is used, but not returned to her: she is dis—
missed. She calls the angel to her and receives his instructions to "Go
forth and destroy."

The Fire. The invading German Captain is received by Madame and
shown to his room. Orders are given that the refugees may not enter the
Hostelry; they might disturb the Germans. When the refugees are repulsed
Without fOOd, Simone promises to bring it to them at the assembly hall.
When the Mayor appears, Simone pleads that he have the gasoline destroyed

but he refuses.

 

 

 

307

The Daydream. The rich people and the German Captain become the
historical personages of the Joan story. The Mayor-King feels that Joan

is in danger but cannot leave the game the group is playing in order to

 

 

save her. Simone, shaken from the dream, cannot get anyone to help her
burn the gasoline. She leaves, alone. When Madame, the German, etc.
come out of the Hostelry, the sky is red from the fire.

Soupeau and his group return and are told of the brickyard fire.
Soupeau is afraid that he'll be blamed. Simone agrees to confess to the
act and refuses to lie about the conditions. Soupeau asks her to let him
explain and leads her into the Hostelry.

The Trial: The Fourth Dream. The invaders, appearing as medieval

 

Germans have captured Joan and concluded her trial. Four Frenchmen (the
Colonel, the French Captain, Soupeau and the Mayor) each break a staff
before Joan to indicate her death sentence. After the sentence is pro—
nounced, she demands a trial.1 Madame comes forward as the accusor.
Simone tells the court of her angel. The angel does not respond to the
court's summons and the ground of France does not sound like a drum when

Simone strikes it.

 

By the following morning, Simone has crawled through the window
of the room where she was imprisoned and escaped. Soupeau has been try-
ing to convince the Germans that Simone is an irresponsible child; the
employees know that she is the only one who has acted properly. German
soldiers bring in Simone who was captured at the assembly hall. Madame

proves that she has taken fecd for the refugees; she would place all the

k

1This is an example of the Distancing inconsistencies which Brecht
occasionally left in.his work. Such contradictions are enough to jar any
audience into awareness even if this one can be explained by reference to
the shifting nature of dreams.

 

 

 

1.3....“ mfinfiu $12.21.... .. .

 

308

blame on Simone for everything which has gone wrong since the invasion.

The employees defend her. Gray Ladies from the reformatory, an institu-
tion for the feeble-minded, respond to the French Captain's telephone call.
Simone reluctantly prepares to go with them, even as Madame takes her Joan
of Arc book away from her. The angel appears only to say that France will
rise again and he goes. Simone is taken away. The refugees burn down the
assembly hall rather than turn it over to the Germans. Apparently Simone's
resistance has taught them something after all.

Brecht's second treatment of the St. Joan story1 appears to be his
most successful blending of Aristotelian and alienated segments in the
World War II plays: he seems to have solved most of the problems which
vexed him when he turned to more conventional writing. The dream sequences

certainly place the realistic segments in a new light, expand the scope of

 

the action, and bring into play many meaningful cross references and im—
plications. The dreams allowed Brecht full scope for his poetic style,
his child-like, unsophisticated cliches of perception and his deliberately
chosen anachronisms and confusions, while the realistic portions of the
play moved with order and precision to an audience-involving, pathetic
conclusion. The alternation of the segments, in their two different styles,
Distanced the work and forced perceptions from the spectator about both
levels of reality.

In addition, this work makes a strong bid for a continuing life
of its own because it is not concerned solely with World War II; the war
was simply the caustive factor which prompted the varying reactions of the
characters and unearthed their motivations. This play ” . . . is an un-

ambiguous call for heroic endeavour, inspired both by the legend of Joan

 

19 1The first one was St. Joan of the Stockyards, written in 1929-
30.

EZZL___________________________________________i

 

309

of Arc and by the French Resistance movement.”1 Unlike the other plays
in this group, Simone Mechard does not squander its force or work at cross
purposes with itself to the point where the audience is unsure of its
real intent. One knows at the end of this piece that Brecht firmly be—
lieved in the necessity for courage and direct action against the warped
conditions which man creates, regardless of the personal cost. This is
not to say, however, that the anti-sentimental, clear-headed Brecht did
not realize that, from one point of view, a hero must be somewhat mad or
other-worldly.

He borrows from Christian imagery in order to show that it

it anachronistic. When Simone Machard distributes her

superiors' merchandise to the refugees or sets fire to a

gasoline dump that they were getting ready to turn over to

the Germans, she is being inspired by the exterior mani-

festations of Joan's heroism. But this heroism collides

with the conspiracy of the very same people who taught it

to her. Her martyrdom is even ridiculous. Simone does

not end up at the stake but in a lunatic asylum. In the

eyes of her masters, who soon discovered in the former

enemy an ally of their class, her case has pathological

causes.
Brecht presented all sides of the problem but firmly weighed the action
in the direction of Simone--Joan‘s form of divine madness. By thus
treating in an unambiguous manner of man‘s generalized and Distanced need

for heroism, Brecht may have lifted this work into the realm of art,

rather than propaganda.

THE MAJOR PLAYS
By the time he wrote most of these plays, Brecht seems to have re—
laxed some of his stringent requirements concerning alienation, to have

given up the writing of plays whose sole purpose was didactic and to have

1Gray, op. cit., p. 94.

2Weideli, op. cit., p. 85.

 

 

 

310

enlarged the scope of his questioning so that he was concerned both with
the nature of the world as it was then structured and with the good-bad
nature of the little people who inhabited it and who suffered most from
society's organization under Capitalism. These plays allowed more of the
humanistic side of Brecht to show through and they centered around truly

human characters with whom the audience could feel some empathic identi-

 

fication. They are the group of plays upon which Brecht's future repu-

tation will probably rest.

MOTHER COURAGE AND HER CHILDREN (1939)

Utilizing many of the time—honored 'Aristotelian' techniques
which Brecht rediscovered and learned to use in some of his war plays,
the author here turned to the first of a truly outstanding group of
characterizations. {Mother Courage, because of her hard—headed material—
ism,gand‘Kattrin, because of her final scene, emerge from this script
as portraits of fully dimensioned human beings. As will be noted, the
apdience was permitted a degree of identification with these charac-

ters which was unusual in Brecht up to this point in his career. Be-

cause there was the possibility of a close association with these people,
they tend to be remembered as more realistic and complete images than
most of Brecht's schematic characters.

Scene 1. Mother Courage and her three children, Eilef, Swiss

Cheese and Kattrin, try to get their provision wagon to the battlefield

 

Past a recruiting officer and his sergeant but, while Mother Courage is
distracted by bargaining with the sergeant over a belt, the officer en-
lists Eilef.

Scene 2. TwO years later, as Mother Courage is trying to sell a

caPon to a commander's Cook, her son Eilef is escorted into the commander's

 

 

 

 

311

tent by the commander himself. Eilef is being congratulated and rewarded
fer having taken some cattle from a group of peasants by trickery. The
mother and son are reunited for a moment.

Scene 3. Three years pass before we again see Mother Courage, her

 

son Swiss Cheese (who has now been made the Paymaster of a Protestant

regiment) and Kattrin. The camp follower Yvette Pottier tells Kattrin

 

of her betrayal by a soldier. The Chaplain and the Cook appear to woo
Mother Courage for the Cook and to drink her brandy, but they are inter-
rupted by a surprise attack by the Catholics, who win the battle. The
Chaplain hides his clerical garb and assumes the guise of a bartender,

Mether Courage changes her Protestant flag for the Catholic one, and

 

Swiss Cheese, trying to save the Regimental cashbox is captured. To

avoid Swiss Cheese being shot, Mbther Courage pawns her wagon to Yvette,
but then haggles over the ransom so long that her son is executed. She
has to deny knowing him or claiming his body in order to avoid incriminat-
ing herself. Swiss Cheese's body is thrown on the garbage dump.

Scene 4. Mother Courage intends to complain to the Captain about

 

the slashing of her wagon and the imposition of a fine but, while waiting

outside his tent, she encounters a young soldier who also plans to lodge

 

a complaint against the Captain. She sings him the Song of the Great
Capitulation and dissuades both him and herself from their aims.

Scene 5. TWO years later, General Tilly's victory at Leipzig
causes the wounding of a family of peasants who tried to save their farm.
Mother Courage refuses linen for bandages, but Kattrin and the Chaplain
overpower her and rip up her officer's shirts to care fbr them. Kattrin

saves a baby from the collapsing house. Courage regards these acts with

disgust because they produce no profit.

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

312

Scene 6. In spite of the fact that General Tilly has been killed,
the Chaplain assures Courage and the soldiers that the war will never end.
Mother Courage, who has promised Kattrin a husband when the war is over,
sends her to town to pick up some of her trousseau and while she is gone
repulses the Chaplain's advances. Kattrin returns with a wound which
will disfigure her fer life and prevent any possibility of marriage.
Mother Courage curses the war.

Scene 7. With the Chaplain and Kattrin pulling the wagon, Courage
goes on with her trade.

Scene 8. Because the King of Sweden was killed, peace is de-
clared just after Courage has purchased a large quantity of supplies. The
Cook, missing for some time, returns and re-establishes his control over
Mother Courage, even though Yvette reappears and identifies the Cook as
her seducer. The disillusioned Courage and Yvette go to army headquarters
to try to dispose of some of the surplus supplies. Eilif is brought in
under guard; he has been arrested fer the same activity which fermerly
brought him praise: he tried it during peacetime. For that reason, he
now stands condemned. Courage scrambles back with the news that the war
has broken out again and, since the Chaplain went with Eilif, she per-
suades the Cook to remain and help pull her wagon.

Scene 9. After sixteen years of war, all are on the verge of
starvation. The Cook has received a letter telling of the death of his
Mother and of his inheriting an inn. He tries to persuade Courage to come
With him to the inn, leaving the wagon to Kattrin. She is tempted, but
abandons the Cook and the two women pull the wagon off to more business.

Scene 10. Kattrin and Mother Courage pause in their weary way

along the highway to listen to the Song of Shelter sung by a farmer. They

mmhon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

313

Scene ll. Courage has left Kattrin and the wagon in a farmyard
while she goes to town to purchase more supplies. The Catholic soldiers,
preparing a surprise attack on the town of Halle, capture the area and
force the peasant's son to guide them. The Old Peasant places a ladder
against his roof and climbs up to see the forces advancing against the

town. Believing that they can do nothing, the Peasants kneel in prayer,

 

asking safety fer their son and his children in the town. The mention of
the children prompts the maternal Kattrin to climb to the roof with a drum
and begin to beat it to warn the town and save the children. The soldiers
return and threaten Kattrin, but are unable to make her stop her warning

noises. Just as they shoot her, the sound of a cannon from the town in-

 

dicates that she has succeeded in awakening the sleeping town and rousing
it to its own defense.

Scene 12. Mother Courage tries to convince herself that Kattrin
is only asleep, not dead, but when she hears the last regiment passing,
she leaves the body to be buried by the Peasants and harnesses herself
to the wagon to pull it after them.

This chronicle play, while allowing more contact with the Charac~
ters did not abandon all or even most of Brecht's Distancing devices.X
The Epic scape of the work was retained because of its extended time
span and the titanic forces which encircle and direct the activities of
the characters. It's possibly pathetic elements were countered by re-
iterations of the economic bases of the character's actions. "Scenes
full of tense action are followed by more harmonious ones in which

reflective elements predominate.”1 The whole of the work had a

_—

lMennemeier, op. cit., pp. 148—149.

 

314

predictable, yet artistic, ebb and flow. In addition, the form of the
play, falling neatly into three parts, each climaxed by the death of an—

other of the children, was clearly outlined and set forth in the opening

 

scene; the alert viewer could not avoid grasping the artistic formulation
of the content. "Byzivivid dissociation of form and content Brecht has
brought to consciousness the absurd character of war and its ideologi-

cal, mendacious vocabulary.”1 (The speeches of the characters were more

,
k

realistic in many respects than most of Brecht's dialogue, yet they were

still interrupted or superceded by songs which carried the burden of the
K"flfiwfl . 7

argument. The staging of the work was intended to be bare, sparse and

,d/

highly selective in its choice of elements and it still incorporated

 

specialized lighting, extended scene titles, visible notations of loca—

 

tion lowered from the flies and many other of Brecht's favoriate devices.
This was both an involving and a non-involving play; it was perhaps, the
most delicately balanced of all of Brecht's works in that regard.

A-i To return to the characterizations which dominate this script,
one must note that Brecht inadvertently allowed Mother Courage to appeal
to the audience's sympathies to such a degree that he found rewriting of
the part necessary. Following the play's initial production, Brecht was
dismayed to discover that the audience tended to find in Mother Courage
a Niobe figure; a Mater Dolorosa, whose sufferings distracted the spec—
tators from his intended message. His immediate response was to insert
additional scenes and rearrange others so as to lessen her empathic impact.

Intentionally, in part as an afterthought, Brecht has equipped
Mother Courage with ”disagreeable,” "inhuman" charactieristics

which are supposed to sabotage the empathy-mechanism of the pub—
lic which has been trained to expect the "humane.” The good

 

1173id., p. 150.

 

.-.ou‘i-

 

315

will the observer brings to Mother Courage is shaken again
and again by shocks setting in motion reflections about the
background of her act1ons.

Regardless of the spectator's final evaluation of the central
character, she does provide one of Brecht's clearest examples of a per—
son trying desperately to Distance herself appropriately from her cir—
cumstances. ”Take part and keep aloof: this is the contradictory slogan
of Mother Courage, born out of the senselessness of the situation."2 By
trying to participate in and profit from the war without paying anything
to it in return, Mother Courage became a walking embodiment of the Dis—
tanced attitude.

Her daughter, Kattrin, was defenseless enough throughout the play

 

to attract some sympathy from the audience but she did not really come

into her own until her death scene, ”that sudden eruption from the nar-

”3

rative flatness of the play. This scene, which Brecht did not change

from its initial form, caused the author to comment and defend it per-
haps more than any other episode he ever wrote. Brecht frankly admitted
that his characters in this play were intended, in some degree, to attract
emotional commitments; speaking first of Kattrin, Brecht has said:

Her helplessness
As she drags up her warning drum
To beat astride the roof,

She the great helper,

Should fill you with pride.

The capability of her mother

Who learns nothing 4
Should fill you with pity.

 

11bid., p. 148.

21bid., p. 144.

 

3Willett, op. cit., p. 186.

4Brecht, Peems on the Theatre, pp. 10—11.

 

 

 

 

 

316

This appears to be a complete abandonment of Brecht's Distancing efforts
until one encounters his later efforts to explain the degree and extent
of the involvement permitted and to retain it within the limits of an
alienated work.

In reality the epic theatre is in a position to portray other
occurrances besides excitements, collisions, conspiracies,
spiritual torments, etc., but it is at the same time also in

a position to portray these. Members of the audience may iden-
tify themselves with dumb Kattrin in this scene; they may get

into her skin by empathy and enjoy feeling that they themselves
have the same latent strength. But they will not have experienced
empathy thoughout the whole play, hardly in the opening scenes for
instance.1

This explanation does not ring entirely true, even when one is aware of

the circumstances which bracket it, of Brecht's attempts to control and

 

limit the involvement by an awareness of the factors which precede and
follow it.

The episode is simple, startling, magnificent, with
a mounting emotional crescendo created primarily through the
use of drumbeats. But the catharsis it accomplishes, so rare
in Brecht's drama, is followed almost immediately by grim,
cooling irony. Kattrin's sacrifice has really been in vain.
The town is saved, but the sound which signifies this is the
explosion of a cannon. The war will continue for another
twelve years; and after this war is finished, three hundred
more years of killing will follow.

The fact remains that Brecht wrote and retained a scene which he knew
would provoke a high degree of empathy on the part of the audience. His
approach to drama had undergone a modification during the World War II
period which he refused to admit and sought vainly to bring into accord
With his already stated theories.

Albrecht Schene has called this scene [Kattrin's death] "the
self—alienation of Brecht's Alienation tendencies.” It shows,

 

1Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, p. 221.

2Brustein, "Bertolt Brecht," The Theatre of Revolt, p. 275.

 

 

 

317

he says, the unconditional and presents compassion as a force
beyond any dispute; it grows into a parable of human behavior
which is no longer in any way subject to the criticism from
the viewpoint of any following period. One can put it much
.. ., . 1
more Simply. Kattrin s sacr1f1c1al death 15 unabashedly moral.
Brecht has sought deep within the human tangle the
”contradictions evidenced by the actions and characters of
real people" to which the ”Organon" refers, and in so doing,
he has strayed from the normative ways of logical demonstra-
tions. There comes a moment when the human evidence within
the stage person sends the spectator back into himself with
too much force: it is then that the spectator sees the per-
son on stage as himself and ascribes his own impulses to that
person's gestures. That character is no longer the author's:
it lives in the intimate lives of all who a£g_that character.

In Spite of himself, Brecht's feelings for the 'little people' and their

deep emotions had caused him to include a wholly empathic scene in a high-

 

ly Distanced work. The natural balance of a truly Distanced state, that
conscious but emotionally colored perception of a situation, had asserted
itself as the truly correct way to say what he wanted to communicate.
From this point on, each of Brecht's leading characters could command a
certain degree of emotion and participation on the part of the spectator.

p/GALILEO (1938-1939, with revisions continuing through 1954)

""‘--,.

The external devices which have been used to describe Brecht's
form of Epic Theatre were remarkably absent from this play. It was true
that there were prefatory poems fer most scenes, that the work spans many
Years and apparently deals with various incidents not wholly related to a

single compact central idea, and that the work was staged against projec—

 

tions taken from the works of the real Galileo. Still, the most immediate
impression that a spectator or reader was likely to gain was that he was

witnessing or experiencing a relatively conventional play which was not

__‘ \

1Politzer, op. cit., p. 112.

2Grossvoget, op. cit., p. 39.

L¥

 

 

 

strongly structured, a penetrating character study which rambled. To see

the piece as Epic Theatre, one must closely examine the formal scheme it
employed, keeping in mind Brecht's announced intentions in regard to form.
In conformity to the rules of his epic theatre, of

which Galileo is the most finished example, the life of the

great scientist is split into autonomous scenes. There is

no center of gravity, neither is there any dramatic pro—

gression.1
The play did consist of scenes which might conceivably be played in an-
other sequence and still retain much of their force as separate playlets.
Yet this total work is certainly more organic, more unified and more in
need of chronological presentation than the discreet units which make up
The Private Life of the Master Race.

Scene 1. Galileo is explaining the new idea of the earth moving
about the sun to the boy Andrea Sarti, the son of his housekeeper when
she introduces a young nobleman who wishes to be the pupil of Galileo.

In their conversation arranging for the lessons, the nobleman, Ludovico,
explains the construction of a new instrument, the telescope, which he
has seen recently in Holland. When he leaves Galileo sends Andrea to the
lens maker for lenses with which to construct a telescope. The curator
of the museum, Galileo‘s next visitor, has to refuse his request for an
honorarium and advises him that if he seeks money, he must either go to
the Medici court in Florence or invent something practical. Galileo feels
that he soon may have something practical to offer to the city elders.

Scene 2. Galileo presents the telescope he has made to the Sena-
tors, claiming that it is his own invention. But he is no longer inter-
ested in the money which the device will bring him; he has trained it

upon the heavens and has realized its importance to astronomy. Galileo's

 

1Grossvogel, op. cit., p. 39.

 

 

 

 

 

daughter, Virginia, recognizes Ludovico in the audience and brings him to

Galileo to congratulate her father on his discovery.

Scene 3. Galileo and his friend Sagredo are using the telescope
to explore and redefine the nature of the heavenly bodies when the Cura-
tor arrives to report that Dutch telescopes will be on sale the following
day. Galileo cannot be bothered with such trifles. The discoveries of
the friends make Sagredo realize that the new science of astronomy will
cause doubt about the existence of God. He pleads against Galileo's de-
cision to go to Florence where ”the monks are in power.”

Scene 4. In his new house in Florence, Galileo is trying to pre—
sent his discovery of the moons of Jupiter to the nine year old Cosimo
de Medici but he is circumvented by a Philosopher presenting the Aris—
totelian theory of the heavens. The Prince is rushed out of the room by
his counselors to attend a court ball without his ever having looked
through the telescope.

Scene 5. In the Papal College in Rome, Galileo waits and is
teased and lectured by the various monks and Cardinals while Christopher
Clavius, the Chief Astronomer of the College tests the telescope and
Galileo's assertions. When Clavius hastens through the room he admits
that Galileo is correct in his theories.

Scene 6. At Cardinal Bellarmin's house in Rome, while Virginia
and her fiance Ludovico enjoy a ball, Galileo disputes his findings with
Cardinals Bellarmin and Barberini. Bellarmin announces that the theory
of the earth's rotation has been declared a heresy. Galileo cannot ac~
cept their warning to abandon such teachings. His responses to the Car~

dinals are recorded by Secretaries and turned over to the Inquisitor.

 

 

 

 

320

 

Scene 7. A monk versed in physics has come to Galileo to tell
him that he, the monk, cannot reconcile the new concept of space with the
teachings of the Church and has decided to abandon his studies, accepting
the Church's decree. They debate the merits of silence on the new findings
and Galileo indicates that he cannot ignore the truth. Neither can the
monk, who, against his wishes, is fascinated with a new volume of Galileo's

writings.

 

Scene 8. While Mrs. Serti, the housekeeper, and Virginia sew her
trousseau, Galileo and his assistants Andres, Federzoni and the Little

Monk are conducting experiments with bodies which are heavier than water.

 

Ludovico appears to be sure that the new interest in sun spots will not

 

tempt Galileo into publishing something new. While Virginia dons her
wedding gown for Ludovico, the men discuss the approaching death of the
Pope and the probable succession of Barberini. It also becomes apparent
that Galileo has already weakened his eyesight in observations concerning
theznnispots. When Ludovico cannot convince Galileo to abandon his re-
searches, he breaks the engagement and leaves. The scientists turn their
attention to the sun spots.

Scene 9. Galileo's ideas have spread until they are the themes
of a Ballad Singer and a parade float on April Fools's Day. Galileo is
indicated as a destroyer of the old order of things and as the Bible
killer.

Scene 10. Virginia and the almost blinded Galileo are waiting in
an antechamber of the palace to present Galileo's new book on the mechan—
ics of the firmament to the Prince. The Prince will not receive them
but the Lord Chamberlain informs Galileo that ”The Florentine Court is

no longer in a position to oppose the request of the Holy Inquisition to

L

 

 

interrogate you in Rome.”

Scene 11. The new Pope, formerly Cardinal Barberini, is arguing
with the Cardinal Inquisitor about Galileo while he is being robed for a
conclave. The Pope begins by stoutly defending Galileo but the more he
is dressed, the more he bends under the Inquisitor's insistence. By the
end of the discussion, Galileo is to be shown the instruments of torture
in an effort to make him recant.

Scene 12. Galileo's assistants do not believe that the bell of
Saint Marcus will toll to indicate that Galileo has renounced his teach—
ings, but it does. When he enters, a broken man, no one acknowledges his
presence. Andrea turns away from him.

Scene 13. Galileo has spent almost ten years under the guard of
an Official of the Inquisition to be sure that he publishes no more.
Since his eyes have failed further, he now uses Virginia as a scribe to
record his thoughts and then furtively copies them over at night before
the original manuscript is confiscated by the Church. When Andrea pays
a formal call, he is given the secret copy of the Discorsi to smuggle out
of the country for publication and he realizes that Galileo's recantation
was the best thing which could have happened since it brought him the time
to complete the manuscript. Galileo does not necessarily agree with him.

Scene 14. While Andrea waits to be cleared by the Customs Offi-
cials, at the border, he tries to show a boy that an old woman is not a
witch merely because a shadow makes her seem to be stirring a cauldron.
His method of direct observation seems to have its effect, but when
Andrea crosses the border with Galileo's book, the children again attack

the old woman with their ignorance.

 

 

 

j/

322

Once again, as he did in Mbther Courage, Brecht managed to create

a unity out of partially unrelated segments by basing them all upon the

 

fascinating central character, whose personality and adaptation to an un-
feeling world provided the cohesive elements. "The later plays shift the
central interest from technical experimentation and the discussion of
ideological issues to an overwhelming creation of vital, 'earthy,‘ and
impressive dramatic figures.”1 The character and responses of this im-
agined Galileo were the central features of this play.

The complex seeing which Brecht advocated in regard to all drama-
tic presentations was certainly possible with respect to this Galileo.

The audience saw him at his best and his worst; he was neither a super—

 

man nor an impossibly heroic central character; he evolved into a contra—
dictory person who doubted and questioned himself as much as he did others
and the nature of the universe. At the same time that a spectator might
be dismayed by his imperfections, he was conscious of the man's achieve-
ments and was ferced to consider how much of a person's worth may grow
from his shortcomings. "It is possible, in the main, to stay pro-Galileo
to the end. A familiar Brechtian feature! Moral disapproval goes one

”2

way, but human sympathy goes the same way! One was alienated enough

to take objective stock of the man but involved enough to sympathize and

 

even to empathize with the character.
If the play had a high point of tension or a decisive point which
determined the audience’s reaction to Galileo, it must surely have been

his off~stage questioning by the Inquisition and its consequences.

h

 

1Demetz, op. cit., p. 109.

2Eric Bentley, "Introduction" to Seven Plays, p. xxvii.

 

323

Again, the author forced a double response from the perceiver, two con-

tradictory states of mind which enriched the play by working at cross

 

purposes and revealing all of the possible alternatives in a given situa-
tion.

Brecht, the epic narrator of the plot, who judges by hind-
sight, lets us know that at no time was Galileo's life in
serious danger; bold, decisive behavior would have saved him
from the torture.

What has Brecht achieved dramaturgically with this
device? The event acquires the depth of tragedy in its per-
spective backward. Galileo's failure is based upon a false
assumption; he could have avoided his renunciation of truth.

Even the author himself, observing the action from his omniscient position,

was of two minds concerning this event in the action:

 

Says Galileo matter-of—factly: "I cannot afford to be smoked
on a wood fire like a ham.”

This echoes a deep-lying sentiment of Brecht's. He
was once asked what the purpose of drama was. Brecht answered:
"To teach us how to survive.” Peculiarly enough, Brecht goes
on to argue that Galileo paid too high a price fer survival and
makes the absurd charge that his recantation aborted an age of
reason. To an audience, however, the treasoncHFthe intellectual
is less perceptible than the moving spectacle of an old man's
humiliation.

Once again, Brecht's ambivalent attitude, the precise attitude which he
wished to transmit to his audience, caused his work to become rich enough

in implications to perhaps defeat, in part, his objective instruction of

the spectators. When we know a person well enough to understand their

 

reasons for their actions, it is often difficult not to become involved
with them and to sympathize even with their weaknesses.
It may also be that Brecht, consciously or unconsciously, weighed

the 'evidence' of the play to provoke this empathic response. ” . . . one

_—

. lGUnter Rohrmoser, "Brecht's Galileo," Brecht: A Cbllection of
CTttical Eesays, ed. Peter Demetz (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-
Hall, Inc., 1962), p. 123.

anlack Comedy," Time, Vol. LXXVII, No. 12, March 17, 1961, p. 98.

 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII----:::______________

 

 

 

[__f—r

324

comes away from a performance . . . with the sense of an absolute demand
for courage."1

As with most of the major plays, Brecht achieved a marvelous
blending of involvement and non-involvement, of empathic entaglement and

abstraction, in Galileo.

THE GOOD WOMAN OF SETZUAN (1938-1940)

While Brecht still spoke here of the class and the economic sys—
tems of the Capitalist world, of his life-long preoccupation with the
problems of religion and of the inhuamnity of the gods and man to the
little person, the clearest impression to be gained from this play is of
Brecht's concern fer his central character, his basic humanity forced
its way through his own system and all of the Distancing techniques he
could bring to bear in this work. He made an impassioned cry fer justice,
for moderation, for relief from the miseries of this world-—fbr the per-

son who tried to do her best for all concerned and suffered as a result

 

of her actions.

Prologue. The Water Seller, Wong, expects three gods whom he
assumes to be coming to rectify the awful conditions which exist in the
city of Setzuan. When they appear, he tries to find them a place to spend
the night but can only place them in the home of the prostitute Shen Te.
The gods declare Shen Te to be the good person they were seeking (merely
to prove that such people still exist) and they decide to relieve her
poverty so that she may be truly good. They do so by paying her for their

lodging.

‘_.;

1Gray, op. cit., p. 85.

   

 

 

 

325

Scene 1. With the thousand dollars the gods gave her, Shen Te
purchases a tobacco shop. Immediately, the poor move into the shop of
the excessively good woman and, while they help her avoid some troubles
with the landlady and the carpenter by suggesting the existence of a
mythical cousin who will provide references and pay the bills, they eat
her feed, smoke her wares and wreck her shop by fighting. There will also
be too many of the poor for the small sh0p to hold shortly.

Scene la. Wong sleeps in his den in the sewer pipe and dreams
of the three gods. They command him to observe Shen Te and report on her.
In the meanwhile, they will continue their search for other good people.

Scene 2. The following morning, Shen Te's 'cousin' Shui Ta, in
reality, Shen Te in disguise, appears at the shop. He bluffs the car-
penter into taking twenty dollars for his shelves rather than the one
hundred he had demanded, arranges to have the 'spongers' arrested and
evicted, but cannot produce the six months rent which the landlady, Mrs.
Mi Tzu, demands in order to rent to a prostitute like Shen Te. The
friendly policeman suggests that the only way fer Shen Te to keep her
shOp is to advertise fer a husband who has money.

Scene 3. In the park, in the rain, the unemployed pilot Yang
Sun is about to hang himself when he is interrupted by Shen Te, who falls
in love with him. When WOng appears she buys a cup of water from him for
the flyer, but Yang Sun, his emotional crisis passed, has fallen asleep.

Scene Sa. While Wong dreams in his den, the three gods appear
to him again to receive his report on Shen Te. They are pleased with her
deeds except for the transaction with the carpenter, which WOng blames on
the cousin Shui Ta. The gods do not understand business but they condemn

the action. ang suggests that they should not ask too much all at once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

326

Scene 4. Wong is chased out of the barber shop by the barber Shu
Fu and burned on the hand with a curling iron. When Shen Te comes to the
shop after having been out all night with Yang Sun, she is reminded of the
necessity fer finding the rent money. The old couple in the shop next
door lend her $200 against her tobacco stock. WOng decides to sue for
the damages to his hand but can find no witnesses among the poachers in
the shop. Shen_Te agrees to testify even though she was not present.
Mrs. Yang, Sun's mother, introduces herself and reports that Yang Sun can
have a job flying if he can get $500. Shen Te pledges the $200 she has
and indicates that Shui Ta can get the rest of the needed sum.

Scene 4a. Shen Te sings the Song of Defenselessness as she re-
luctantly dons the mask of Shui Ta again.

Scene S. Yang Sun comes to the shop and encounters Shui Ta.

For once, that strong businessman cannot control the situation. Yang Sun
talks him into selling the tobacco shop fer $300. It is also made quite
clear that Yang Sun is simply using Shen Te fer his own ends. When he
has gone, Shui Ta arranges with the barber Shu Fu fer his 'assistance'
with Shen Te's problem, but as Shen Te is about to go to the barber to
talk over the ways he might help her charities to the poor, Yang Sun re-
appears and Shen Te goes with him in spite of the cost.

Scene Sa. On the way to her wedding with Yang Sun, Shen Te re-
views the action to this point and indicates that the old people who lent
her the $200 have asked for it back and she has promised to return it.

Scene 6. The wedding is held up, awaiting the appearance of Shui

Ta and the $300, until the priest and then the guests leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 6a. The gods appear again in Wong's sewer pipe. They re—

fuse to intervene in Shen Te's behalf and offer only a group of platitudes
as a solution to her problems.

Scene 7. Shen Te is back at her shop when Shu Fu rushes in,
having heard of her problems, and hands her a signed blank check "with no
strings attached.” Shen Te cannot force herself to use it, so she in-
tends to give up her shop and move into the shacks behind Shu Fu's shop.
However the discovery that she is to bear a child forces her to act like
a tigress in order to protect it. She once more becomes Shui Ta. He
immediately fills in the check for $1,000, appropriates some stolen to-
bacco the beggars have brought in and gives them the choice of working in
the tobacco factory he is establishing or getting out.

Scene 7a. In another dream, Wong appeals to the gods for a small
relaxation of their rules, to help Shen Te, but they refuse completely.

Scene 8. After he has dissipated the $200, Yang Sun applies to
Shui Ta for help and is given a job in the factory, the missing money to
be taken from his wages. Yang Sun quickly works his way into the position
of foreman.

Scene 9. While everyone wonders when the long-absent Shen Te
will return, only Mrs. Shin has discovered the double identity of Shui Ta
and his—her pregnancy. Shen Te's pregnancy, but not the dnguise, is re—
vealed to Yang Sun by Wong, leading Yang Sun to assume that Shui Ta is
holding his former fiancee a prisoner in the back room of the factory.

He tries to use this 'information' to blackmail his way into the control
0f the factory but is refused and leaves to find the police. Shui Ta is

interrupted while trying to get Shen Te's clothing out of the back room

 

 

 

328

and is arrested for the assumed murder of the missing Shen Te.

Scene 9a. Wong makes his final report to the gods, indicating
that Shen Te has vanished. The desperate gods, undable to discover an-
other good person, feel that they must find her.

Scene 10. In the courtroom, the three gods take the place of the
judges to hear Shui Ta's trial. The rich and the poor give such conflict—
ing opinions of Shui Ta and his actions that the gods are confused and
can render no verdict. Shui Ta asks that the court be cleared and tears
off his mask to reveal Shen Te. The gods are delighted to have found her
again, but rather than offer any solution or assistance, they tell her
to continue to be good and not to resort to her cousin's aid more than
once a month. Then they fly off to heaven, leaving the distraught Shen
Te to solve her problems as best she can.

This play constitutes a prime example of Brecht's final grasping
of the essential nature of the Distancing principle; it clearly shows
that empathic involvement and intellectual disengagement are complementary
activities which only reach their fullest realization in the presence of
their opposites. To have each function properly, the other condition must
be present and fully realized. It was vital for Brecht‘s complete devel—
opment that real sympathy for his central character be re-admitted to
his plays and accepted without question by the author himself.

This open acknowledgement of the emotional claims of a charac—
ter upon both the author and the audience did not preclude the use of
many alienating effects; instead, it simply allowed a free and complete
vacillation along the entire Distancing continuum, opening up levels of

complexity denied to the more simplistic Lehrstficke, for instance. The

 

 

 

end result of the use of his total resources was that Brecht produced one

of his masterpieces.

In structure, this is by no means ”epic" theatre: the plot
is an extremely complicated affair rather than a concatena-
tion; in addition, there is an intensity of argument,an ex-
aggerated caricaturing of situations, which both recall the
earliest plays and make it difficult to preserve an attitude
of detachment, although devices of estrangement are employed.
The clarity of outline in the propagandist plays has gone.
Yet this lack of clarity adds to the dramatic interest. In-
stead of a biased message, a dialectic of opposing attitudes
emerges, providing tension and involvement in the manner of
the traditional theatre. At the same time, it will be seen
that without some degree of detachment also the play is liable
to be misunderstood.

In this and the succeeding play to be discussed in this section
Brecht both involved and detached the spectator from the action in alter—
nation or simultaneously. The result of such varied reactions on the
part of the Spectator should be a rich, varied and complex perception of
the action, a rewarding and stimulating condition.

Among the Distancing devices employed in this work which have not
been mentioned earlier in this commentary, one might note both the basic
importance of the use of masks and the peculiar nature of the split per-
sonality of the central character.

The mask is a potent Distancing agent because of its power of
generalization and its ability to suggest contradictory states in a single
moment.

. . whereas the face imprinted on the mask remains immobile
as the dead, the actor behind it is alive, he acts and moves.
A contradiction is thus raised, to be reconciled in the know-
ledge that the mask emphasizes the permanent character of the
being which, unchanging, follows the actor's every action. It

gives the finite creature a supra-individual appearance, makes of
it the representative of a force, the personification of an afflatus.2

 

 

1Gray, op. cit., pp. 76—77.

2Michelis, op. cit., p. 34.

 

 

 

:vl'nu'ld

 

 

 

In this work, Brecht used Shui Ta's mask to protray the virtually eternal

characteristics of the self—seeking or self-protecting individual and
the application and removal of it to symbolize the psychic problems, the
tearing apart of the personality of anyone faced with the problems of life.
The modern use of the mask to Suggest the assumption by
the actor of different points of view, different phases of per-
sonality, is part of the same attempt to project the subjec-
tive self, to dramatize psychic tensions. For the multiple self,
multiple faces.
The mask was here used for symbolic purposes, not merely as a means of
forcing a disengagement of the audience's affections from the characters.
"Brecht's most exciting Alienation Effect, however, lies in the
human sphere. . . . In this world without human mercy, even the good is
possible--as an Alienation Effect.2 Never before had Brecht's perception
of the plight of the common man caused him to see that even the innate
humanity of the average person could be used as a Distancing device.
Still,
There is the same sort of strangeness, of irreconcilability,
about an individual who is naturally good in a society which
is evil. To understand, we must watch his path through society.
We must stand at a distance and judge him; we are owerless to
help him but we can recognize where he goes wrong.
Even kindness can be so unusual as to cause a probing, questioning reaction
of the part of the audience.
The conclusion of this play was also somewhat unusual for a Brecht
drama. Typically Brecht sought an inconclusive ending to the problem

Which he considered in order to force the spectators to debate the basic

questions after the fall of the final curtain. He wanted a continuation

 

1Downey, op. cit., p. 224.

2Politzer, op. cit., p. 102.

3Adler, op. cit., p. 202.

 

 

 

 

of the situation in the audience's mind and he sought endings which would

leave the spectator unsatisfied, unsure that the conclusion reached was a
proper one or the only acceptable conclusion. In his efforts to activate
the audience, Brecht had to avoid the 'pat' ending, had to leave a number
of unresolved threads of action, yet in no other play did the author
achieve this effect to such a high degree.

The fact that we find a question rather than an "ob-
vious" answer at the end of Brecht's parable turns out to be
an artistic device of great ingenuity. It is this seeming omis—
sion of a conclusion which gives the play ”the dynamic force of
a fragment. The intensity with which it causes the onlooker to
come to terms with the problems posed is even stronger than would
be the case with a well-rounded drama. Thus it evokes his dis-
satisfaction . . . urges him on to solve the seemingly insoluble.”
Volker Klotz goes on to compare the fragment in this respect to
the syntactic figure of an ellipsis, calling in similar fashion
on the reader or listener not only to supplement the missing part
but, in doing so, to proceed in an implied direction. There is
no longer a question of free choice-~the seemingly "conclusion-
less" end ”fits effectively the purpose of the didactic form of
the parable."1

 

THE CAUCASIAN CHALK CIRCLE (1944-1945)

As with most of the plays in this section, The Caucasian Chalk
Circle is a rich and varied work, well designed to exercise the critical
and analytical powers of its Distanced spectators or readers. There is
so much involved in this discussion of the proper rights of ownership
that an audience might not only follow the basic argument and be fas—
cinated by the characters but also exercise its ability to pinpoint the
Sources of various aspects of the work.

The plot and some of the language are Biblical; the 'Song

of Chaos' Egyptian; the technique of narration and comment Jap-
anese; the construction cinematic; the conclusion didactic;

 

1Ernst Loeb, ”Sartre's No Exit and Brecht's The Good Woman of
Setauan: A Comparison," Modern Language Quarterly, Vol. XXII, No. 2,
April 1959, p. 288.

 

 

 

332

the wedding scene a reflection of the Marx brothers' A Night

at the Opera; the soldiers an apparent recollection of Mann

ist Mann; the atmosphere a cross between Brueghel and the

pseudo-Chinese; the framework a commonsense, non-political

issue debated in modern Georgia . . . And several of the later

plays have a pedigree as complicated as this.
There was much here to attract and hold the attention of a mentally active
spectator.

Prologue. TwO Soviet communes are disputing the possession of a

single valley; the goat-herders had the land until the Nazi invaders drove
them from it, then the vineyard growers took control of it. Now that the

war is over, to whom should the land belong? The presentation of a plan

for irrigation of the area wins the land for the cultivation of orchards

 

and vineyards. To celebrate the decision, a story-teller will present the
”Circle of Chalk.”

Part One, Scene 1. In the story—teller's tale, the Governor,
his haughty wife and their child, attended with all possible pomp, go to
church, leaving a Palace Guard, Simon Shashava, outside the door where he
can speak to the peasant girl Grusha Vashnadze. Shortly after the church
services begin, the Princes stage an uprising and Simon is ordered to con—
duct the Governor's wife to safety. Before he leaves, he and Grusha for-
mally arrange their betrothal and she promises that she will wait until
he returns. In her frantic haste to escape and her great concern over
her dresses, the Governor's wife simply forgets her child and, since no
one else will help it, Grusha takes the child with her.

Scene 2. After carrying the child, Michael, a great distance
away from the city with much trouble, Grusha leaves him to be adopted by

a farm family and starts to return. But she encounters Ironshirts (Royal

 

1Willett, op. cit., pp. 123-124.

 

E

333

soldiers) and feels impelled to guard the child. She returns to it, de-
fends the child by knocking out the corporal and carries it further

away for twenty—two days. At the foot of the mountains, she baptizes and
adopts the child, then takes it up a pass and across a broken bridge to
safety, narrowly escaping the Ironshirts.

Scene 3. Grusha reaches her brother's farm and, much against the
wishes of his wife, spends the winter with them. The following spring,
to prevent further intimations of illegitimacy against Michael, her
brother arranges for Grusha to marry a farmer who is on his 'death bed.’
As soon as the ceremony is performed and someone mentions that the war is
over and the soldiers are returning, the 'dying' man, who has feined
illness only to avoid the draft,springs from bed and resumes his normal
life, but with a wife now. After some months, Grusha is at the stream
washing clothing when Simon appears. He does not understand the situation
and will not listen to her explanations. As he leaves, the Ironshirts
come to take Michael back to the city. Grusha follows him.

Part TWO, Scene 1. On the day of the uprising in part one, the
Village Recorder, Azdak, unwittingly gave shelter to the Grand Duke and
then denounced himself for the act. Instead of punishing Azda, the Iron-
shirts are amused at his antics and make him a judge. Though his decisions
do not follow the law or logic, still there is justice in them and, for a
two year period, Azdak champions the poor and punishes the lords. Only
when the Grand Duke returns withziPersian army to restore order does
Azdak's brazenness desert him. He promises the newly returned Governor's
wife that the servant woman who carried off Michael will be punished.

Scene 2. Just before the trial to determine the mother of Michael,

Azdak is denounced by some farmers and is being beaten quite thoroughly

 

 

 

334

when a dispatch from the Grand Duke arrives re-appointing Azdak as the
judge in return for having saved his life. Simon, who now understands
that the child is not Grusha's but does not understand her being married,
comes to tell her that he will swear that the child is his. When the
trial begins, Azdak accepts a bribe from the lawyers of the Governor's
wife, apparently overlooks the fact that the only interest the Governor's
wife has in the child is that he has inherited the estates of her former
husband, and arouses Grusha's indignation at his conduct so that she
further prejudices her case by berating him. Since Azdak often judges
two cases at once, he is also considering divorcing an old couple at the
same time that he is weighing the merits of the maternity case. Unable
to decide the child's parentage on the basis of the evidence presented,
Azdak arranges the test of the Chalk Circle: a circle is drawn on the
ground, the child is placed in it, the two litigants take their positions
on opposite sides of the boy and, upon command, they are expected to try
to pull the child to their side. Grusha twice refuses to pull on Michael's
arm for fear of hurting him, so Azdak declares her to be the true mother.
The judge further rules that the estates become the property of the city
and will be converted into a playground for the children. The Governor's
wife faints and is carried out of court. As Azdak steps down from the
bench, he remembers the divorce proceeding and writes out the divorce
decree. Unfortunately, he makes a 'mistake' and divorces Grusha and, of
course, he never retracts a judgment. After this final trial, Azdak
disappears but was long remembered for his justice.

The story-teller draws the moral that ”what there is shall go to

those who are good for it” and reinforces the decision to give the valley

to the vinegrowers.

 

 

 

 

335

In this work, Brecht used one of the classic Distancing devices,
the play within a play (prologue—epilogue framework), to set up the various
levels upon which the work could be studied.

With respect to the spectator's relationship to the outer play,

the play within a play is an associative device ("how can

people who are looking at a play be unreal?”); conversely, with

respect to the spectator's relationship to the play within a

play itself, the device is dissociative (”like me, those on-

stage spectators are looking at a play, something unreal").
While the author made no great point of this bracketing effect, it, never-
theless, removed the action one further step and prevented the emotion-
laden, potentially rather ”soap opera-ish” and empathic tale from be-

coming so emotionally involving that the critical faculties of the specta-

tors were dulled.

 

The play within a play also motivated the use of the Story Teller,
”a crossbreed between Greek chorus and personified alienation effect . . .”,
so that the author could demonstrate another of his theoretical Distancing
methods in the scene where Grusha is tempted to save the Governor‘s
abandoned son.

Grusha acts the whole scene out in pantomime while the Singer
relates what she is doing, in the third person and the past
tense. In this the Singer is doing for Grusha exactly what
Brecht, in his essay ”A New Technique of Acting," suggests
should be done to help an actor emancipate himself from the
Stanislavsky procedure. If an actor hears his role talked
about in the third person and his deeds talked about in the
past tense, he stands apart from the role and the deeds and
renders them, not as self—expression, but as history. When
he uses the device in Chalk Circle Brecht of course is radi-
cally "alienating” Grusha's actions so that we do not lose
ourselves in our compassion. He uses the third person, the
past tense, the art of pantomime, and a refined language as
massed alienation effects.

 

1Nelson, op. cit., p. 115.
2Politzer, op. cit., p. 107.

3Bentley, "German Stagecraft Today,” p. 642.

 

 

 

 

336

While the story of Grusha or that of Azdak followed a strict chrono-
logical sequence while it was the center of interest, the structure of this
play was still fragmented and doubled back upon itself by the mere process
of telling two divergent stories which occupied the same time and yet not
relating them concurrently or in alternation. By going back and beginning
the second tale at the same point in time at which the first story started,
the audience was forced to realize how much more was going on at the same
time and to broaden and deepen its understanding of the complexity of
life. One should not become too empathically involved in Grusha's af-
fairs if she obviously was not the only person who was living through im-

portant events at a given moment. This represents a highly sophisticated

 

Distancing device, not merely a structural weakness, because it adds

layers of meaning which the audience can grasp onlyfiyxmmfintallreadjustn-~

meats.

Brecht also assured the audience's Distance by refusing to develop
any of his characters too far. Certainly the spectator ”feels with" and
appreciates Grusha's efforts at motherhood and enjoys the rowdy and far-
cical aspects of Azdak's improbable rise to the heights, but neither
character was allowed to dominate the play to the point of the exclusion
of the other. The division in the plot development prevented this. In

addition, the dialogue given to each pushed the spectator away from them.
,/

/ Grusha and Simon spoke with great poetic formality; they seem almost

Q mechanical in their verbal precision. Azdak, on the other hand, was never

3 consistent,

There is nothing that can properly be called a self in Azdak,
nothing consistent or fereseeable in his actions: he acts on
impluse. He sets no store by his actions, any more than Grusha
does by hers, and it is this that helps to make him the most
fascinating character in the play, insulting and generous,

 

 

337

preposterous and humble, ignorant and wise, blasphemous and
pious.

They are both beautifully Distanced characters, Distanced by entirely
different means, in a successfully balanced and removed play.

. The Caucasian Chalk Circle . . . marks an end point.
I have read most of what Brecht is known to have written
afterwards, and I find him taking no new steps-~on1y retracing
old ones. In the sense here suggested, The Caucasian Chalk
Circle is his last play. ‘

 

THE PLAYS FOR THE BERLINER ENSEMBLE
When Brecht returned to Germany and to the active production of
plays in the theatre, of necessity he turned his attention to many tasks

with which he had not bothered for many years. He found himself responsi-

 

ble fer training an acting company, for the many problems of handling
finances, of planning seasons and tours, etc. He had to adjust to the
realities of life in a Communist country, to participate in ceremonial

affairs Which required much of his time, and to reconsider his theoreti—

cal statements in the light of practical productions. His time was taken

by so many other activities that his playwriting suffered as a result.

or perhaps it was simply that Brecht had really said everything which he

had to say. Whatever the reason fer the weakening of his powers, Brecht

created no more highly original works. Only one of the plays from this

period can be considered to be Brecht's work alone, Report on Herrnburg

(1951), and most of the critics rank it among the worst of his plays.

The Days of'the Commune (1948-1949) is in some degree Brecht's creation

but it represents a more variation on Nordahl Greig's The Defeat,

1Gray, op. cit., p. 110.

2Bentley, "Introduction” to Seven Plays, p. xivii.

 

 

338

utilizing characters and situations from the work that Brecht was counter-

ing in his play. All of the remainder of his output for the rest of his
life were adaptations of no great originality. The plays from this

period which have not been uentioned were The Private Tutor (1950), The

Trial of’JOan of'Arc at Rouen 1431 (1952), Don Juan (1952), Cbriolanus

(1952-1953), and Trumpets and Drums (1955).

 

SUMMARY

Throughout the whole of his literary career, Brecht demonstrated

the widest possible variations in his handling of Distance. He began his

work in a relatively Distanced, Expressionistic manner but then proceeded

 

to develop his alienating techniques to their absolute extremes in the

Learning Plays. During the werld War period, he deliberately tried to
work in an Aristotelian, empathic manner in some of his plays. In his

major period, Brecht seems to have achieved the best possible balance be-

tween involvement and non-involvement, a state which he tried, unsuccess-

fully, to maintain during his Ensemble period.

Brecht's plays alone, discounting fer the moment the importance
of his volumes of poetry, his narrative prose, his essays and theoretical
writings, his scripts fer motion pictures, his translations of the works

of others, his model books, etc., are an amazing contribution to the

literature of the world. Many of them in the more extreme styles are

probably doomed to be forgotten; many of the strictly topical works are

I

already virtually gone from the boards. But there will be a hard core

of at least a half a dozen of Brecht's plays which will be a part of

the world theatre for many years to come.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII
BRECHT'S STAGING

When Brecht returned to the Continent after World War II and had

the Theatre am Schiffbauerdamm placed at his disposal, along with a com-

pany of actors of his own choosing, and a yearly subsidy for the operation

of the theatre in excess of three million marks,1 he faced the problems

of making his theories of Distance and alienation workable under rela—

tively stable theatrical conditions. As will be pointed out again, many
of his theoretical ideas were radically altered or simply discarded. Even

his final major theoretical statement, the Organum

 

. . was also something of a liability to Brecht himself.

For when he returned to a more active theatrical life in

1948 he found that the workers were not all that scientific

and sceptical, any more than they had been under Hitler; and

the audience which he demanded was slow to come ferward.
This chapter will be devoted primarily to a consideration of the techniques,
methods and devices which he did retain and which stamped his production
work with his company, The Berliner Ensemble.

The dominant traits of Brecht's productions, as one might expect
from a study of his theories, were clarity, precision, objectivity of
acting and sparse settings which suggested rather than stated anything.
Much of the freakishness and deliberate attempts at shocking the audience
were discarded in favor of lucidity and pure style or, in other words,

lTynan, op. cit., p. 117. The Berliner Ensemble was founded in

the autumn of 1949 and opened its first show on November 8 of that year.
Brecht continued his work with the company until his death August 14,

1956.

2Willett, op. cit., p. 183.

339

 

 

340

Brecht stopped distorting the methods of Aesthetic Distance and began to
apply them in order to achieve artistic ends.

”In his rehearsals Brecht strove not only for clarity of speech
but for coordination of speech and gesture, that the speech might simply
serve to complete and explain the gesture."1 Brecht's imagination, on the
testimony of his friends and collaborators, was primarily visual in
nature. He began the composition of his plays by picturing to himself
the actions of the characters and then selecting the words which also con-
veyed the same Gestus. It was natural therefore, that he should continue
his stress on the pictorial and mimetic aspects of the plays in production
while never forgetting the poetic nature of his lines. He simply placed

the words in the service of the over-riding visual image which he held

 

in his mind's eye and if a conflict developed, the words were deemed the
alterable part of the whole. "'The gesture precedes the word,’ says
Brecht. And if the word is discordant with the gesture, he discards it
for another."2
This visually-oriented approach caused a great concentration on
the acting and the setting, and since the setting was so often reduced to
the bare minimum, to a 'report' on the environment, the physical presence
of the actor took on an especial prominence.
Brecht was extremely sensitive to groupings and ges—
tures, whichin all the early rehearsals were designed simply

to tell the story, in an almost silent-film way, and only later
became refined and polished up.

 

1Tretiakov, op. cit., p. 19.
ZIbid.

3w111ett, op. cit., p. 157.

 

341

According to Brecht himself,

The grouping of the characters on the stage and the move—
ments of the groups must be such that the necessary beauty

is attained above all by the elegance with which the material
conveying that Gestus is set out and laid bare to the under-
standing of the audience.1

The primary aSpect of the presentation which was intended to make it both

2

artistic and beautiful was the positioning of the actors and, to a lesser

degree, the movement necessary to attain and maintain a physical position.
As in most of his work, Brecht made the assumption that the simplest and
easiest method was the best.
The epic theatre uses the simplest possible group-
ings, such as express the event's overall sense. No more
'casual,‘ 'life-like,' 'unforced' groupings; the stage no

longer reflects the 'natural' disorder of things. The op-
posite of natural disorder is aimed at: natural order.3

 

 

But it should be noted that Brecht‘s ”simplest possible groupings" were

not intended to be naturalistic but were consciously stylized. He apparently
felt that simplified, stylized groupings would lend Distance and an artis—
tic focus to any event, no matter how brutal or real it happened to be.
”Reality may lack beauty, but that by no means disqualifies it fer a
stylized stage."4 Brecht intended to stylize his plays, both in their
writing and their production, to stress their artificial, arranged and
pedagogic nature. Such Distancing methods enabled him to treat of the

often brutal themes of the Epic Theatre without destroying the artistic

character of the plays and production.

lBrecht, ”A Short Organum,” p. 99.

2This stress on the importance of the grouping of the actors ex-
plained in part, why Brecht should have thought it a good idea to create
the Model Books, the photographic and textual analyses of productions
wh1ch were to serve as guides to all other producefs.

3Brecht on Theatre, p. 58.

41am. , p.1155.

_;

 

 

 

342

Art is in a position to represent the ugly man‘s ugliness in

a beautiful manner, the base man's baseness in a noble manner,
for the artist can also show ungraciousness graciously and
meekness with power. There is no reason why the subject matter
of a comedy portraying 'life as it is' should not be ennobled.
The theatre has at its command delicate colours, agreeable and
significant grouping, original gests—~in short, style--; it has
humour, imagination and wisdom with which to overcome ugliness.

 

1

Thus, in the Distancing style which set examples of the Epic Theatre apart
from the reality of which it presumably spoke one could find the dialec-
tical devices which underlay Brecht's methods and the artistic aspects of
the plays.

The staging of the Brechtian play was highly important and the
visual elements involved were particularly so, but Brecht was always in-
tensely aware of all aspects of the production. He, like Wagner, sought
a complete and totally realized art work.

Brecht strove for an all-encompassing work of art; the es—
sence of his plays is revealed only in their presentation,
in hi§_presentation, which breaks with all forms of the
theatre as we have known it.

REHEARSAL METHODS

In order to note the implementation of Aesthetic Distance in the
production situation it is necessary to delineate the techniques which he
used during his rehearsals and the things which he permitted and demanded
of his actors.

Because Brecht's reputation as an author is increasing as his works

are widely translated and become available for production in English, it

 

1Brecht on Theatre, pp. 155-156.

2Feuchtwanger, op. cit., p. 386.

 

 

may become ever easier to forget that he was a director of rare ability
and that a good portion of his creative life was devoted to direction.

During the last seven years of his life, his activities

(apart from some adaptations and a vast quantity of theo-

retical writings) were confined to his work as a producer,

putting into practice his novel theories of Stagecraft. It

was this practical side of his work which had the most im-

mediate effect on the Western theatre.1
While most of his theories were produced while he was in exile and away
from the theatre, they were finally tested in practical productions and

those elements which were retained would seem to represent Brecht's final

ideas on how the rehearsals of an Epic Theatre production should be con—

 

ducted.

Remembering always that Brecht did not specifically intend to
arouse empathic emotion but rather, that he sought to challenge the cri-
tical intelligence of both the actor and the audience, his invariable
first device in rehearsal made admirable sense.

Regardless of whether he directed one of his own plays
or somebody else's, Brecht would start his rehearsals by pre-
tending to have been struck with some form of total amnesia:
he couldn't remember what the play was about, he couldn't re-
member a line from it, he had no idea what characters were in
it and what they stood for: would the actors please explain
things to him?

With this Socratian gambit, the game opened. An actor
who had to explain himself and could survive this sort of grilling
stood a fair chance of developing into the kind of actor Brecht
admired: calm, collected, questing, ironical and skilled.2

Brecht brought the abstractive, analytical, extremely Distanced attitude
to the forefront of the rehearsals immediately and he kept it there through-
out the process, even though he allowed himself more emotional reactions

than he did his actors.

 

1H. F. Garten, Modern German Drama (New York: Grove Press, Inc.,
1962), p. 242.

2Borneman, op. cit., pp. 466-467.

L

 

 

.3.-

............. .. ..H...I..fii..im.......1........

 

 

 

344

During rehearsals Brecht was quarrelsome, domineering
and irritable. He would not rest until his actors had given
everything they had. He drove them to frustration and exhaus—
tion. He fed on the vitality of others, but he himself gave
without stint or envy.

In rehearsal he torments and challenges them [the actors],
again and again, till it clicks. When this happens, he will
jump up in excitement, as Chaplin does, and cackle with glee.

2
Setting a mood in which delight in proper performance and accurate
accomplishment could be applauded, demanding critical analysis and an al-
most combative attitude on the part of the actor toward the director, the
play, the character and the actions, Brecht also allowed any member of
his cast or crew to offer suggestions concerning the handling of any de-
tail. Yet, he did not want to discuss the various possibilities; he
wanted them visualized completely.
. . he was open to any suggestion, so long as it could be

shown to him on the stage. 'Don't talk about it,‘ he would

say. 'Act it to us.' In this way discussion was cut down,

and the actor himself was made quickly aware if his proposal

fell flat.
The suggestions had to be presented in an emotionally and intellectually
realized form, after which they were subjected to critical analysis and
suggestions for changes, and finally approved or discarded. Thus the cre-
ation of any of Brecht's productions, unlike Wagner's, was a group project,
with each person having added whatever he could and having been engaged in

the dialectical evolution of the finished product. Just as Brecht's

scripts could be regarded as compounds of absorbed suggestions, so also

 

1Feuchtwanger, op. cit., p. 386.

2"The Man Who Has Everything," The New Statesman and Nation,
Vol. LI, No. 1,319, June 23, 1956, p. 731.

3Wi11ett, op. cit., p. 157.

 

 

34S

might his staging of the plays be called collaborative.

Yet, just as he took an infinite number of suggestions during the
process of composition and still molded them into a play which bears the
imprint of a single mind, so his productions, were nevertheless distinctly
his own and obviously the product of the same mind which conceived the
Epic Theatre theories.

According to the critics Marieluise Fleisser and Herbert Thering,
Brecht, in his productions,

. did not analyse the characters; he set them at a dis-

tance. . . . He called for a report on the events. He in-

sisted on simple gestures. He compelled a clear and cool

manner of speaking. No emotional tricks were allowed. That

ensured the objective, 'epic' style.
Yet he accomplished the creation of this Distanced style during the re-
hearsal period without having imposed his theories upon his actors. From
the beginning of his directorial work to its end, Brecht apparently never
discussed theory with his casts. Commenting upon this facet of Brecht's
manner, Lotte Lenya said,

Directing Threepenny and Mahagonny in 1928 and 1931, Brecht

”never once talked to me about Verfremdung and all those

things. Either it was right or wrong and no more and no

theory ever.”

INVOLVEMENT AND ABSTRACTION DURING THE REHEARSAL PERIOD

The creation of the Brechtian style of production, as with any other

Style, is in large part a matter of determining the exact proportions of

involvement and abstraction on the part of the actors which will, in turn,

affect the audience's reactions and guide them to a proper appreciation

 

1Quoted in Willett, op. cit., p. 145.

2David Beams, "Lotte Lenya," Theatre Arts, Vol. XLVI, No. 6,
June 1962, p. 13.

 

346

and acceptance of the pre-selected Distance. Proper style may be merely
a question of choosing a workable and valuable Distance for what must be
said and then discovering the devices which will create the desired state
of mind. While he may not have mentioned theory, as such, to his actors,

Brecht, with his characteristic thoroughness, had fully evolved notions

 

about rehearsals and the methods for achieving desirable ends, and he com—
mitted them to paper.

Brecht outlined the whole process of developing a character in
this manner:

(1) Before you assimilate or lose yourself in a char~
acter you must first become acquainted with it without under—
standing it. This happens both when a play is first read and
during early rehearsals. You look resolutely for contradic-
tions, deviations from the typical, ugliness side by side with
beauty and beauty side by side with ugliness. The most impor-
tant gesture during this first phase is shaking your head.

You must shake your head like a tree losing its fruits until
each lies on the ground ready to be gathered up.

(2) The second phase is that of empathy, and search
for the character's truth in the subjective sense. In other
words, you leave it to its own volition, you permit it to do
what it wants, how it wants. But this is not yet a headlong
plunge. You allow your character to react to other characters,
to its environment, and to the plot. All this in a simple and
natural manner. Such gathering up is tedious process, but even-
tually the plunge does come and you fall headlong into the final
form of the character, becoming one with it.

(3) And then there is the third phase in which you try
to see the character from the outside, from the standpoint of
society. At the same time you must try to recall both the dis—
trust and the admiration you felt during the first phase. After
the third phase you are ready to present your character to
society.

(4) It is perhaps necessary to add that once working
rehearsals have begun, all things do not necessarily progress
so cleanly, according to a pre-established schedule. The evo-
lution of character knows no set rules. The phases will re-
peatedly displace and intertwine with each other. While some
characters will have almost reached the third phase, others
will sfill be meeting difficulties in the second or even first
phase.

 

 

1Bertolt Brecht, ”Notes on Stanislavski," trans. Carl R. Mueller,
The Tulane Drama Review, Vol. 9, No. 2, Winter 1964, p. 159. The piece
was written in 1952, after he began work with the Berliner Ensemble.

II[IIZZ;___________________________________________i

1
1

347

While this is a relatively late stage in Brecht's thinking and
represents his ideas after he had discovered that it was not really pos-
sible to exclude empathy from the theatrical process, nevertheless, such
statements give the lie both to Brecht's critics who maintain that he
never wanted or used empathy and to his own earlier theories on this
point. He did eventually see that empathy would function in spite of any—
thing that he might do to prevent it, that it would be present during
the performances as well as in the rehearsals and that he might as well
make a positive, if limited, use of the effect for his own purposes.

It is interesting how Stanislavski admits falsehood--
at rehearsal! In the same way I admit empathy—-at rehearsal!
(And both of us must admit them in performance, albeit in dif—
fering mixtures.)1

Brecht apparently found it difficult to admit that almost the whole
of his earlier theorizing had been misguided and was the result of mis—
understanding and overstatement of the Aesthetic Distance principle. He
recanted many of his principles but, instead of openly admitting that his
use of empathy was conscious, deliberate and relatively consistent, he
chose to admit its presence but maintain that his methods held it in check.
Theoretically he allowed the audience empathic responses during some por-
tions of his plays while denying them in others, thereby 'restricting'
the effect of the empathy, just as he ultimately allowed the actors to
experience this process during rehearsal but still asked that they avoid

it during performance.

But whereas the usual practice in acting is to execute it
[empathy] during the actual performance, in the hope of

 

1Ibid., p. 161.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

simulating the spectator into a similar operation, he [the
actor] will achieve it only at an earlier stage, at some time
during rehearsals.

As was noted above in Brecht's description of the process of char-
acter creation, empathy was finally acknowledged to be one step in the
actor's elaboration of a character but it was thought of as an early

stage in the process and one to be followed by more Distanced, controlled

 

and abstract thought patterns.

At one stage in his preparatory work the Brechtian actor also
has to feel himself into the character, but the results of
this process of empathy are only one of a number of elements
which fuse in the final performance on the stage. They must
be supplemented by acute and fu11y rational observations, by
implied comment on the character's actions .

 

Empathy was admitted to be useful in discovering certain aspects of the
character's personal life and nature:
Even if empathy, or self-identification with the char-

acter, can be usefully indulged in at rehearsal (something to

be avoided in a performance), it has to be treated as just one

of a number of methods of observation. It can help when re-

hearsing, for even though the contemporary theatre has applied

it in an indiscriminate way it has none the less led to subtle

delineation of personality.
Still, empathy would supply no data concerning the character's economic
life and status or his political committment-~but would only reveal his
emotional reactions to the world. These missing factors had to be added
in a lucid manner by an analytical and non-involved actor. This material

involved a kind of contact but it was of an intellectual,conceptual

nature rather than an empathetic one. Such facts reveal an attitude

 

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 137. This passage from "New Technique of
Acting” was not published, according to Willett, until 1951 but was prob-
ably written about 1940. Thus it may represent an earlier and perhaps
untried formulation.

2Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His work, p. 131.

3Brecht, "A Short Organum,” p. 92.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIZZ1_____________________________w

349

toward the world rather than a reaction to it and must be treated dif—

ferently.

Over the years, Brecht evolved many devices, which were almost ex-

 

clusively his, and which were intended to alienate the actor from his
character, to enable the artist to break free of the spell of the char—
acter and to examine the character's reactions in a controlled mullogical
manner.

An almost completely theoretical example of such devices were the
Practice Scenes fbr Actors. Had they been seriously employed during
rehearsals these debunking satirical scenes would have stripped a good

deal of the majesty from the characters and presented entirely different

 

perceptions of them to both the actors and the audiences. The practice

scenes were of two types:

'parallel scenes' by which the actors are to be made to
see hackneyed classical situations in a new--estranged-~light
(the murder scene in Macbeth is equated with the pangs of con-
science of a concierge's wife who has broken off the head of
a china statue belonging to the lady of the house, and fin—
ally blames the deed on a passing beggar); and 'bridge scenes,‘
to be acted during rehearsal but omitted in performance
(Hamlet learns that Claudius has ceded a strip of land to
Norway in return for a trade agreement, which guarantees the
sale of Danish salted herrings to Norway; this puts him into
the right mood to hear of Fortinbras's expedition to Poland
and explains his change of mind in 'How all occasions do in-
form against me'). But as Brecht never tackled Macbeth, Hamlet,
or any of the other plays for which he wrote these practice
scenes, they remain expressions of his love of debunking and
parody rather than constructive contributions to the art of
acting.

As Esslin indicates there is no record of such scenes ever being used in
rehearsal. One can see theoretically how they might alter the actor's
conception of his role but their practical effect, were they actually to

be used, remains unknown.

 

1Esslin, Brecht: A Choice of Evils, p. 123.

IIIIZZZ______________________________________.

350

Among Brecht's other techniques for alienating or maintaining

Distance during rehearsals are these:

. . . the actors should sometimes swap roles with their part-
ners during rehearsal, so that the characters can get what
they need from one another. But it is also good for the actors
when they see their characters copied or portrayed in another
form. If the part is played by somebody of the opposite sex,
the sex of the character will be more clearly brought out; if
it is played by a comedian, whether comically or tragically,
it will gain fresh aspects. By helping to develop the parts
that correspond to his own, or at any rate standing in for
their players, the actor strengthens the all-decisive social
standpoint from which he has to present his character. The

master is only the sort of master his servant lets him be,
and so on.

This method of development by contrast and opposition, by viewing the
character from an uncommon angle, by actually seeing those aspects of it
which normally go unobserved because they are so commonplace and normal,
was precisely the method of Distancing which produced the greatest shock
of discovery, the largest amount of fresh reflections upon the character.
When seen in such an unusual light, the character acquired contradictory
elements in his personality and greater depth in his overall make-up.

Another method was to get each actor to use his own local
dialect in the rehearsals, so that the real text would keep
a certain freshness, although its content was familiar.

Yet another was to make the actor change the tenses in his
part, to add 'the man said,‘ 'she said,’ at the end of each
speech,2 or to try and imagine each sentence in terms of
'not . . . but‘-—thus: 'he told her not to take the coffee
away but to hand it to him'-—so as to make it clear that
each sentence has its unspoken ('dialectical') alternative.3

 

1Brecht, “A Short Organum," p. 95.

2”During rehearsals the actors were invited to translate their
texts into the third person, so that they were made to relate the story
of the actions and speeches of the characters they were later to act.”
Esslin, Brecht: The Man and His Wbrk, p. 137. Note the relationship of
this technique to the narrated events of the Street Corner Incident.

3w111ett, op. cit., pp. 156-157.

 

351

Using the many dialects of German and carefully avoiding the artificiality
of stage 'High German', created a babble of almost unintelligible tongues
(the divisions among the various regional dialects are that extreme)

thereby forcing each actor to pay strict attention to what his partner

was saying in order to be able to follow it. This deliberate confusion

was as far removed from Wagner's insistence upon absolute intelligibility

at all times as one could well get. Brecht, too, insisted upon a re-

installation of a more uniform speech pattern during production, but he

found the dialects to be alienating and Distancing during the rehearsals.
Using the past tense and the third person during rehearsals was a

method of forcing upon the actor's awareness the distinct difference which

existed between the assumed time of the play and the present and between

the character and the actor portraying him. The actor, using such tech-

niques, could never forget the difference between illusion and reality.

Transposing it into the past gives the speaker a stand-

point from which he can look back at his sentence. The sen-
tence too is thereby alienated without the speaker adopting
an unreal point of view; unlike the spectator, he has read
the play right through and is better placed to judge the
sentence in accordance with the ending, with its consequences,

than the formfr, who knows less and is more of a stranger to
the sentence.

”Another device for inhibiting the identification of actor and
character is the inclusion of all stage directions in the text spoken

during rehearsals."2

Speaking the stage directions out loud in the third person
results in a clash between two tones of voice, alienating
the second of them, the text proper. This style of acting

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 138.

2Esslin, Brecht: .A Choice of Evils, p. 123.

 

 

 

352

is further alienated by taking place on the stage after having
been outlined and announced in words.

The interruptions in the flow of the play created by the inclusion of the
stage directions called for a great deal of concentration on the part of
the actors in order to sustain the flow and continuity of the action.
The actors were challenged to maintain the action in spite of the inter—
ruptions and, because of the repetitive nature of the spoken instructions
which were being acted out, the Distanced attitude Brecht wanted his
actors to assume toward their characters was generated quite early in
rehearsal. Brecht consistently sought to remind his performers that they
were actors and not the characters they presented.

If all of these methods for the creation of non—involvement or
alienation were used during the rehearsals, the level of empathy would
certainly be rigidly controlled. The actor would be able to consciously
determine the appropriate Distance for himself in relation to his charac—
ter, thereby controlling the audience‘s response to that character and to

the play as a whole.

THE BERLINER ENSEMBLE
The single theatre in which the most consistent attempt has been
made to bring Brecht's theories and methods to life on the stage is the
Theatre am Schiffbauerdamm on the Friedrichstrasse in East Berlin. This
is the home of Brecht's own personal company The Berliner Ensemble, the
only group in the world specifically trained by Brecht for the performance
of his own works and various classic plays which were adapted to an Epic

treatment. It was Brecht's rather curious boast that

 

 

 

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 138.

 

 

353

In fact our theatre can stage anything--from Oedipus to

Hauptmann's Biberpelz, not because it has an individual

style strong enough to melt down the products of so many
different authors, but because it lacks any style of its
own.

While most critics were aware of a distinctive clarity, pace and elan in
the Ensemble‘s performances, to the degree that the group did not exhibit
in production all of the techniques Brecht attributed to the Epic Theatre,
it might be said not to have a wholly Epic style. In spite of the use of
the methods and exercises detailed above, little seems to have been done
during rehearsals under Brecht's direction to make the members of the En—
semble aware of Brecht's theories or to impose any artificial style upon
their work. As a result, even the members of the company were not sure
that they had a particular style. One could explain the often reported
. uncertainty of the Ensemble' 5 members as to whether or

not there was a special Berliner Ensemble style of acting by

saying that, 'This is probably due to the fact that neither

Brecht nor any other Berliner Ensemble producer refers to

Brecht's theoretical works during rehearsals. In certain plays

use is made of one or two practical instructions to be found

there, but it is Brecht's view that the theatre is not at

present in a state to allow of their full application.2

By 1948, the time of the composition of the ”Short Organum,” Brecht

had discarded many of his more extreme demands in regard to non-involvemnt.
He had decided that the point of theatre, as of all art, was to provide
pleasure and that empathy (under controlled conditions) was admissible in
the theatre. Therefore, one might assume that this mellowed, aesthetic
and permissive attitude represented the mature and considered opinions of

the man. If any theories were to be followed in the Ensemble's rehear-

sals and productions, those contained in the 'Organum' would seem to be

 

11bid., p. 222.

ZIbid., p. 243.

 

 

354

the obvious ones to select, particularly because he returned to the con-
tinent that year and shortly thereafter formed the group. However,

The doctrines laid down in the 'Short Organum' were by all

accounts neither discussed nor put into practice in the Ber—

liner Ensemble. Regine Lutz, one of its principle actresses

from 1949 on, told me in 1957 that she had never read Brecht‘s
theoretical works.

In short, Brecht's theories were so altered by maturity and practical pro-
ductions that one could almost say that the descriptions of the Epic
Theatre did not apply to the Berliner Ensemble. Brecht had to fight
clear of his own theorizing in order to be able to produce his plays with
the Ensemble.

In the Ensemble, theory was seldom mentioned; visitors found

it hard to get Brecht to discuss it. The title, projections

and other mannerisms survived, but he plainly found it a con-

tinual nuisance to explain why he was not following all his

former recommendations to the letter. 'There is no purely

theoretical approach to Epic Theatre,‘ he said; and once again

'It is not true . . . that epic theatre . . . proclaims the

slogan “Reason this side, Emotion that;" finally, 'I cannot

rewrite all the notes to my plays.‘

The style mentioned above as distinctive of the Ensemble is one
which either grew out of, or was first exemplified in, Brecht's production
of Mother Courage, his first venture with the company. The style of that
production ”-—light, relaxed, and ascetically spare--set the pattern for
all his subsequent productions."3 A style which emanated directly from
the nature of the scripts themselves.

The style of acting in the Ensemble, and more partic—
ularly the care and thought that went into it, was a further

elucidation of Brecht’s intentions; it had a clean-cut, un—
sentimental matter—of-factness that is certainly required by

 

1mm, p. 236.
2w111ett, op. cit., p. 184.

3Tynan, op. cit., p. 113.

 

355

his language as a rule, yet which does not always translate
itself in non-Brechtian productions.

The thought expended in clarifying every detail, Distancing everything into
ideally clear statements, has made the Berliner Ensemble recognizable in
performance, even if their procedures were not consciously based upon
theory.

The ensemble is now widely recognized as one of the world's lead-
ing companies, ranking alongside the Moscow Art Theatre of the pre World
War II period in importance and influence. Yet it is questionable that
the group ever represented Brecht‘s ideal or, of course, ever will, since
he is no longer guiding it. Nevertheless, in spite of a lack of knowledge
of Epic theory on the part of the company members Brecht's directoral
force, continued to be a potent influence. Yet Brecht found fault with
their, and his, work, saying:

. . our mistakes are different from those of other theatres.
Their actors are liable to display too much spurious tempera-
ment; ours often show too little of the real thing. Aiming to
avoid artificial heat, we fall short in natural warmth.
The critics did not always agree with this evaluation, finding instead
that in spite of the use of various alienation effects, the company often
overwhelmed the audience and involved them greatly.
On stage the apparatus of alienation is called into action
as a fire brigade. The whole effort of the Berlin Ensemble
production is to counteract the natural flow of sympathy to
Galileo. These actors know this particular job well. They

have performed it for Puntila; as I write, they are perform-
ing it for a Threepenny Opera in which Mackie is not to be

 

 

lGray, op. cit., p. 33.

2Brecht on Theatre, p. 248.

 

 

356

allowed any charm; and they try in vain to perform it for
Mother Courage.1

The company which Brecht trained appears to be involved in the
same conflict which engaged SO much of Brecht's energies throughout his
life: they tried to follow his model books and directions in order to pro-
duce a cool, abstract, reasoned report of the dramatic events but, instead,
and in spite of themselves, they created empathy levels which were almost
as high as a conventional theatre. Their productions, as a result, had
enormous tension generated by the conflicting goals and procedures. ” .
it became the historic task of the Brechtian theatre to demonstrate night
after night at what point Brecht's techniques would break under the strain
of audience reaction.”2 As a result of the tension, Berliner Ensemble
productions seemed to explode with vitality and life.

The productions of the Ensemble achieved their distinctive flavor
and character as a result of many separate properties, no one of which
completely described the methods used. But, surely, one of the most im-
portant was the infinite care with which they dealt with every part of
the production, an attribute contributed by Brecht.

'Each scene,‘ says a writer in Theaterarbeit of his [Brecht's]
rehearsing of Mother Courage,

is subdivided into a succession of episodes. Brecht

produces as though each of these little episodes

could be taken out of the play and performed on its

own. They are meticulously realized, down to the
smallest detail.

 

1Eric Bentley, ”Introduction,” p. xxvii. "The very nature of the
dramatic process is hypnotic. If it were not, Brecht would not have had
to devote a life-time of writing and coaching to neutralize its effects.”
Grossvogel, op. cit., p. 18.

2Ernest Borneman, ”Credo Quia Absurdum: An Epitaph for Bertolt
Brecht," The Kenyon Review, Vol. XXI, Spring 1959, p. 197.

3Willett, op. cit., p. 153.

 

357

 

No pains were ever spared by Brecht and his co-workers to produce the
most finished and stylistically polished performance of which they were
capable. By dwelling endlessly, and in a highly conscious manner, upon
each detail,by bringing the critical intelligence of the actors and pro-
ducers to bear upon everything, the group tried for perfection. As the
producer, Brecht even had photographs and tape—recordings1 made of the
rehearsals, so that he might study them afterward to detect still other
things which needed correction.

With a completely equipped theatre provided, a company numbering
almost three hundred people, a yearly subsidy of more than three million
marks, no required number of productions or production deadlines, and no
dependence upon the box office, rehearsals in the Berliner Ensemble went
through sixty to one hundred sessions spread over the two to six months
prior to a production.2

The intent behind the extended rehearsal periods of the Ensemble
was simply to produce the most complete and the best possible reading of
the work being produced. It might also be that these enormously extended
periods of rehearsal contributed to the 'wearing off' of empathy through
the repetitiveness of the preparation process and the exhaustive nature
of the character analysis which would be possible.

The audiences attending the group's performances have tended to
expect just good theatre but the critics, armed with a knowledge of
Brecht's earlier theories, have expected peculiar or unusual production

methods and end results. The differences in the reactions of these two

 

 

1"The Man Who has Everything," p. 731.

2Tynan, op. cit., p. 117.

 

358

audiences, the one knowledgeable and the other not so much so, caused
Brecht to lament late in his life,

If the critics could only look at my theatre as the audience
does, without starting out by stressing my theories, then they
might well simply see theatre—-a theatre, I hope, imbued with
imagination, humour and meaning--and only when they began to
analyse its effects would they be struck by certain innovations,
which they could then find explained in my theoretical writings.
I think the root of the trouble was that my plays have to be
properly performed if they are to be effective, so that for the
sake of (oh dear me!) a non—aristotelian dramaturgy I had to
outline (calamity!) an epic theatre.1

In essence, Brecht here turned his back upon the highly rational and know-
ing frame of mind which he championed throughout the majority of his life

and indicated that the natural, the human, the emotional reaction to his

 

plays produced the most complete understanding of them. He abandoned his
strict requirement for a functional Distance or a practical reaction and
relied upon the artistic perceptions of even the common man.

This change in Brecht's expectations in regard to audience reactions
paralleled his modifications of his theories and production methods so that
the whole atmosphere of his theatre became more relaxed, less dogmatic and
more aesthetic. The productions of the company reflected Brecht's changed
desires.

. When it came to the practice of the Ensemble and to the
performance of the later plays there was little superficial
sign of their being based on a distinctive theory. . . . only
certain favourite methods remained to stamp this theatre as
Brecht's, and they seemed more like personal idiosyncrasies
than evidence of a special theatrical approach. The careful
narrative clarity, the perfection of detail, the acute obser-
vation, the concrete expression of attitudes, the emotional
restraint: these were the real essentials, and they might all
have been aimed at, and even sometimes achieved, by producers
of a more empirical school.

 

1Brecht on Theatre, p. 248.

2w111ott, op. cit., p. 185.

359

In spite of largely abandoning his own theories and modifying his
practices until the Berliner Ensemble became merely a superbly trained
theatrical company,

. . Brecht often managed, as he intended, to shed an un—
familiar light on our moral and social behaviour, illuminat—
ing, in his very personal way, that interesting and largely
neglected area where ethics, politics and economics meet.1
He succeeded in broadening the Subject matter, the production methods and,
‘ perhaps in some degree, the aesthetics of the theatre while building one
of the world's leading companies. "Though Brecht violated his theory in
practice, he held his theatre tOgether by the strength of his own person-

ality. Whether a successor can be found, only time will determine.2

 

 

 

lIbid. , p. 79.

2Lewis, op. cit., p. 241.

E

 

 

CHAPTER XI

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS
This study has dealt with three aesthetic theories: (1) Edward
Bullough's Aesthetic Distance, (2) Richard Wagner's Gesamtkunstwerk, and
(3) Bertolt Brecht's version of Epic Theatre. It has tried to explain
all three ideas in a clear and concise form so that the relationships

which exist among these concepts can be readily seen. It has further ex—

 

amined the plays and operas of the two theatre men and their methods of
staging their works both in the light of their own theories and in terms
of Aesthetic Distance, the theory which binds them together and clarifies
their relationships to one another.

There are a remarkable number of parallels between Richard Wagner
and Bertolt Brecht. Both were outstanding German writers. They were both
socially oriented, concerned in a profound manner with the structure of
the societies within which they lived. Each of them might, in modern
terminology, be considered to have been Communistically inclined. Each

of them felt that a better way of life could be evolved for mankind and

 

each chose to use the theatre as his instrument by which to bring a new
order or a new conception of life into being. They both endured political
exile because of their beliefs and each wrote his major works, both theo—
retical and practical, while he was forbidden access to Germany and to its
stage. They each did their best work while in an estranging isolation.
Both men were theatrical innovators of a high order, evolving ideas

of dramatic composition and production which have had profound influences

360

 

 

 

 

361

upon the theatrical activity of much of the Western World. Their theories
and methods continue to be studied and used even after their deaths.

Their startlingly divergent techniques were both based upon
analyses of audiences' involvement in, and reaction to, theatrical produc-
tions and virtually every device they Ch9§9~t9.HSe was intended to manip-

ulate and control the degree of the audiences'empathicjreactions.fl To

the degree that this is true, they were both vitally concerned with Aes-

 

thetic Distance. fl
In part, both Wagner and Brecht evolved or modified their theories
over a period of years and in a constant process of trial and error. Their

pronouncements about the theatre were, as often as not, justifications of

 

their intuitively derived procedures as much as they were fermulations of
a proscriptive nature for ” . . . in the theatre, as elsewhere, theory
does not govern art, but is deduced from the practice of the artists."1
They each altered their ideas after their works were in fairly regular
production, in both cases tending to reconcile them, in some degree, with
the established norms of theatrical practice.

To discuss the ideas of such towering figures and to attempt to

simplify, coordinate and regularise them or to bring them into accord

 

even with a theory which links and unifies them is a difficult procedure.

All aesthetic theories tend to be highly abstract and, consequently, some-

 

what intractable. But these men theorised and tried to explain what they
were doing and why. If they felt that aesthetic theories were valuable

in explaining their efforts, then surely the use of one more such concept

. 1John Drinkwater, The Art of’Theatre—Going (Boston: Houghton
M1fflin Company, 1927), p. 211.

 

 

362

which places their ideas in a specific relationship and perspective is
not amiss. That is the whole reason for this study.

We cannot hope to prove aesthetic theories definitely true
or false by recourse to concrete instances; but there is a
middle course between that and pure dialectic. One can, in
a broad sense, test a given theory in practice by going
directly to a variety of relevant objects of art with that
one theory uppermost in mind, and by noting the extent to
which that theory is borne out by one's own experience of
the objects.

That, of course, was the procedure used here, a direct examination of the
dramas and theories in the light of Aesthetic Distance. It is hoped that
the relevance of Distance to the analysis of dramatic activities has been
shown to be of some value.

"The style of each art—era, as it reflects the spirit of an age,
illustrates the aesthetic distance collectively established by its arts."2
Both Wagner and Brecht found it necessary to place themselves in opposi-
tion to the Distance—limits which their publics were initially trained to

N.— ..

accept.1 Both tried to enlarge the aesthetically acceptable topics and

___,.,

styles by consciously placing their work at one extreme of the Distance

scale, Wagner deeply involved in ecstatic empathy and Brecht trying to

prod h1s audiences into a non-involved, rat1onal, critical state of m1nd.z

They both used plot lines and pivotal concepts which were outside the
usual limits of the drama of their time.

Obviously, there is no experience which, theoretically, can—
not be utilized artistically, provided the artist knows how
to distance this material for his public. Individuals in
whom the power of distancing is slight will demand idealized
portrayals of life and refuse their sanction of trivial in-
cidents or commonplace characters.

 

1Thomas Munro, Scientific Method in Aesthetics (New York: W. W.
Norton and Company, Inc., 1928), p. 27.

2Michelis, op. cit., p. 36.

3Downey, op. cit., p. 196.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is, undoubtedly, the way in which Wagner viewed his audience while

Brecht either found, or felt that he could create, a more detached, scien-
tific audience for his plays. The ways in which these authors saw their
audiences are indicative, perhaps, of the periodic changes of style which
occur in the theatre and which each of these men tried to formulate and
'fix' for their periods. Neither one succeeded completely, but each

was successful to some degree.

Perhaps the least successful portions of their efforts can be re-
lated to the social applications they sought outside of the theatre. "It
seems to be the fate of the drama that audiences will frequently accept
and abide by its artistic and cultural injuctions but seldom, if ever,

"1 If this is true,

by its political, social, religious, or economic.
then both of these men are certainly subject to examination on aesthetic
principles rather than those of religion, politics and economics, the
principles they sought to invoke in defence and explanation of their work.
” . . . art's business is to display to us the endless beauty and
interest of things, not to argue us into the adoption of this or that view
of this infinite, incomprehensible world."2 ”Only as the artist expresses-—
and does not plead—-the social wedded to its sense-embodiment is he the
true artist.”3 Both of these author—directors did 'express' or embody in
their works the social conditions which they felt were extant or needed
by the world and both did it by controlling and manipulating the expressive,

emotional content and the Distancing form of their creations. Are their

 

1George Jean Nathan, Encyclopaedia of the Theatre (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1940), p. 227.

2Newman, hagner as Men and Artist, pp. 190—191.

3Morris, op. cit., p. 107.

 

 

 

364

motivating social concepts to be discounted entirely then? No, because,
having given them form through aesthetic means, they have given us a more
precise picture of certain eras or particular modes of thought. They have
clarified and captured for us certain ways of looking at the world; they
have used the artistic power of Distancing to structure otherwise nebu-
lous ideas into expressable forms.
For emotions
. . to be aesthetic at all . . . they must be felt, as it
were, at a distance. For this reason we can the more easily
objectify and study them. They then become objects of thought
in spite of their cloudy indefiniteness, and we can draw crit_
ical judgments from them.
This is a process of which both of these artists would probably have ap—
. . 1 I
proved, though they sought this end in entirely different ways. They em-
ployed the opposite ends of the Distance scale, involvement and non-
involvement, to achieve essentially the same goal.§ But the real point is
that they utilized the aesthetic concept of Distance to make their crea-
tions both artistic and informative.:
The notion of ”psychical distance” as a hallmark of
every artistic "projection” of experience, which Edward
Bu110ugh has developed, does not make the emotive contents
typical, general, impersonal, or ”static"; but it makes them
conceivable, so that we can envisage and understand them
without verbal helps, and withOut the scaffolding of an oc-
casion wherein they figure .
Through the application of Distance, "Art thus becomes a kind of contem-

plation; and its withdrawal of the artist from social activity on one

plane is in the interest of a social activity upon a higher plane.”3

 

1Alan Reynolds Thompson, The Anatomy of Drama (Berkeley, Cali—
fornia: University of California Press, 1946), p. 49.

2Langer, op. cit., p. 180.

3Henry Rago, The Philosophy of Esthetic Individualism (Notre
Dame, Indiana: The University of Notre Dame, 1941), p. 74.

 

 

 

365

Both men, the present author feels, would have been happy with

such a result.

 

 

 

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Rayner on Music and Drama, A Compendium of Richard Wagner's
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Articles and Periodicals

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1956), 201—204.

Aristotle. ”Nicomachean Ethics,” The Works of‘Aristotle, Volume II,
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Baxandall, Lee. "Introduction," The Mother. New York: Grove Press,
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Beams, David. "Lotte Lenya,” Theatre Arts, XLVI (June, 1962), 11-18 and
66-72.

Bentley, Eric. "German Stagecraft Today,” The Kenyon Review, XI (Autumn,
1949), 630-648.

 

 

 

 

 

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Bentley, Eric. ”Introduction,” Seven Plays by Bertolt Brecht. Edited by
Eric Bentley. New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1961, xiii-1i.

”Richard Wagner, Siegfriend, and Hitler,” A Century of Hero—
Wbrship. Boston: Beacon Press, 1957, 171-188.

”Bertolt Brecht: An Iconoclast in the Theatre,” The Times Literare Sup-
plement, 2,819 (March 9, 1956), 141-142.

 

”Black Comedy,” Time, LXXVII (March 17, 1961), 96—100.

Blackmur, Richard P. ”A Critic's Job of Work,” Problems in Aesthetics.
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Borneman, Ernest. ”Credo Quia Absurdum: An Epitaph for Bertolt Brecht,”
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”Two Brechtians,” The Kenyon Review, XXII (Summer, 1960),
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Brecht, Bertolt. ”Notes on Rehearsing The Measures Taken,” The Modern
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”Notes on Stanislavski,“ Translated by Carl R. Mueller.,
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”Notes to the Threepenny Opera,” The Threepenny Opera. Trans-
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”Bertolt Brecht in Folio," The New Republic, 144 (February 20,
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Gorelik, Mordecai. ”Brecht: 'I am the Einstein of the New Stage Form . . .'“
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Unpublished Material

eir Dramatic Theory

Graves, Marie H. "Schiller and Wagner--A Study of th
ation, Department of

and Technique." Unpublished Doctoral dissert
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376

Ley, Ralph John. "The Marxist Ethos of Bertolt Brecht and Its Relation
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Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, Department of Languages and
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Liddell, Charlotte Farrow. ”Music as Religion: An Inquiry into Wagner's
Concept of the Function of Art.” Unpublished Doctoral disserta-
tion, Department of Music, University of Michigan, 1964.

 

 

 

 

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