TAKING COURAGE FROM THE STURM UND DRANG, PT 5

The Influence of J.M.R. Lenz’s The Soldiers on Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children

[This is the fifth part of a series. Please scroll down to read the first four installments.]

A Lenz/Brecht Genre with Origins in Plautus

Brecht’s theatre resembles Lenz’s for its use of dark comedy as a means of conveying social criticism. What concerned Brecht the Communist and Lenz the social reformer, and what guided their choices of genre, was not the exceptional but daily experiences. As comic poets they were less attracted to conflicts between irrepressible foes than to the more nebulous anxiety in comedy, or, as Eric Bentley describes it, “the steady ache of misery which in human life is even more common than crisis and so a more insistent problem.”¹ Though tragic violence and death exist in plays like Mother Courage and The Soldiers, the tragic functions as an auxiliary to the comic.   The tragic seems incidental to a larger problem, the nagging sense of something stolen away. “Comedy deals with the itch to own the material world,” Bentley has written.²  His idea that tragedy usually involves murder and comedy theft relates to this discussion because the atmosphere in both plays suggests a thieving away of a central character’s identity, of their humanity, by the ordinary predicament of living in a cruel world. Similarly, Martin Rector sees in Lenz’s Gemälde der menschlichen Gesellschaft (painting of human society) “only the vain attempts of individual figures to establish themselves as freely acting characters in the face of their infelicitous circumstances.”³

Much has been written about Lenz’s theory of genre, deduced from his “Notes on the Theatre.” Given his aversion to rules and systems of thought and his intentionally scattered way of expressing himself, one can assume he would resist scholars pinning down a prescriptive set of comedy statutes from his theoretical writing.   In “Notes” he seems more eager to throw doubt on the established parameters of drama than to overthrow classicism with a system of his own. Karin Wurst has written:

For Lenz’s goal is not to counterpoise or replace traditional

poetics with his own logical, hierarchically organized conceptual

apparatus . . . The new aesthetic territory can merely be sensed

and circumscribed.⁴

In his comedy The New Menoza, the Prince expresses the author’s view:

. . . he who lives with no goal lives himself to death, while

he who frames a system all alone in his study, and will not

accommodate it to the world, either lives directly at odds

with his system, or does not live at all.⁵

For the most part, Lenz classified his plays as comedies. Though he mixed elements of tragedy, farce, melodrama, parody, and social drama into his three major works, the main subject matter is the young adult taking on adult responsibilities. In that respect he was working with an aggregate form and it is helpful to turn once more to his thoughts about audience reaction to clarify his intentions. After the poor reception of The New Menoza, in 1775 (Wieland had called the play a Mischspiel or mongrel play ⁶), a perturbed Lenz wrote in his “Review of The New Menoza, Composed by the Author Himself” that what he calls comedy is “not a performance that simply arouses laughter, but rather one that is for everybody.”⁷   This “popularity as an aesthetic determinant,”⁸ to use Max Spatler’s phrase, came from Lenz’s goal to hold up a mirror to society through drama, so that individual spectators didn’t identify with one character but would respond to the whole network of characters as a representation of the collective self. Unlike tragedy, with its relatively narrow definition and its class-oriented aristocratic or bourgeois tenor, comedy used laughter inspired by daily existence to include and appeal to a full spectrum of society. Then, once this wide audience had been assembled, it could mix in the serious or tragic. In the “Menoza Review” Lenz says that a new style of comedy descended from the past, from one ancient master in particular, could contribute toward building the German audience of the future.

Hence Plautus wrote in a more comic way than Terrence, and Molière

more comically than Destouches and Beaumarchais. Hence our German

writers of comedies have to write comically and tragically simultaneously,

because the people for which they are writing, or at least should be writing,

is such a mishmash of culture and coarseness, manneredness and wildness.

Thus the comic poet creates an audience for the tragic.⁹

By 1774, still in his early twenties, Lenz had already adapted and published five Plautine comedies—Aulularia, Trucculentus, Miles Gloriosus, Curculio, and Asinaria.¹⁰ Another German admirer of Plautus, Lessing, referred to the Roman as the “father of all comedy writers.”¹¹ Clearly Lenz was attracted to the anarchic qualities of Plautine drama, the penchant for social chaos with its masterful slaves who so often take charge. Barbara R. Kes-Costa points out that the plays Lenz chose to adapt from Plautus all question moral values and that his adaptation strategy was to shift the play to his, Lenz’s, own time while maintaining the focus on morality.¹²

Plautus, Bust of Roman Dramatist, c 254 BC – 184 BC

Interestingly, the word “virtue,” connoting an idealized sense of goodness according to ruling-class ethics (which is treated ironically in The Soldiers, Woyzeck, and Mother Courage), has its origin in the Roman word virtus, meaning the glorious defeat of one’s worst enemies.¹³ This early Roman definition for virtue comes closer to the contemporary English word victory. In Plautus’s time (c. 254-185 BCE), which included the Punic Wars, Rome had gone from a more or less insular republic to a dominant Mediterranean military power. It was a time of fluctuating values for the Roman people. David Konstan has written that virtus during this period signified both great accomplishment and the subjective or ethical qualities by which it was achieved.¹⁴ This dual meaning had a profound effect on Plautine drama and those dramatists who have been influenced by his work. Though it is virtue as moral correctness that Plautus targets for his mockery, it is virtus, characters vying with one another for social supremacy, that powers his plays. One of the plays Lenz adapted, Truculentus, portrays, as Konstan puts it, “the uninhibited operation and ultimate triumph of sordid and materialistic passions.”¹⁵ Essentially Truculentus, “one of the most remarkable pieces of stark realism in classical drama,”¹⁶ details the ruin of three men. One at a time the courtesan Phronesium relieves them of all their worldly goods. In the prologue Plautus warns the audience about the nature of his shocking comedy in which love of capital triumphs over all:

Old-fashioned virtues flourish here, I see—

How fast your Roman tongues say NO to me!¹⁷

The Dark Comedies of Plautus

Pertinent to the Lenz-Brecht discussion is that the original meaning of virtue was not derived from a religious context, but from a military one. Both The Soldiers and Mother Courage are pervaded by the Roman sense of winning rather than adhering to a moral code, a badness that becomes good due to an altered definition of good. William S. Anderson asserts that the rogue slave in Plautus who uses his wit to triumph over his enemies and makes a virtue of his badness or malitia is Plautus’ unique contribution to the comic genre.¹⁸ What Lenz and Brecht both seem to owe Plautus is this abandonment of a moral order, of good versus evil, in favor of game-playing by different types of manipulators, all vying for supremacy or virtus. In a sense the two protagonists, Marie Wesener and Courage, are feminine types of Plautian rogues, courtesans, in their use of wit and language to better themselves financially in a materialistic and militaristic society.
Though neither succeed to the “heroic badness” of the triumphant rogue/courtesan, as exemplified by the slave Pseudolus in the play of the same name or the courtesan Phronesium in Truculentus or the sisters in Bacchides, both Marie and Courage continue the fight to the end of their respective stories. They do their damnedest, as the expression goes. Along these lines, Anderson says about the Plautian rogue what holds true for the success-oriented protagonists of Lenz and Brecht as well:

It is the express emphasis on the dialogue between good and

bad within the rogue, the focus on his Roman virtus, his ‘heroic’

military enterprise and success, that defines the comic invention

of Plautus.¹⁹

Kes-Costa, in her essay about a newly discovered Lenz adaptation of The Captives, notes that Lenz saw a parallel between the Plautian parasite and the intellectual in his own day.²⁰ The friction of a slave or servant with far more wit than his master is clear from Lenz’s The Tutor. The tutor/domestic Läuffer begins his play with a comic prologue in the tradition of the Plautian slave, but despite his intellect Läuffer can not overcome his status in a despotic class structure. A character in Plautus who prefigures Läuffer is the pedagogue Lydus of Bacchides who must straddle the duel nature of his social role. Lydus, though a slave serving as tutor to a Roman household, must demonstrate authority as a teacher. In Bacchides he rages against his grown pupil Philonexus and his desire to consort with one of the Bacchides sisters while at the same time lamenting his powerlessness to affect matters. Relevant to the comic writing of Lenz and Brecht, in addition to the tutor motif, is Plautus’ efficient layering through language of a character’s predicament. In Act III Scene Three, in a three-part diatribe, the tutor responds to his pupil’s immorality and the claim that “Things are done differently today, Lydus.”

Indeed they are! I doubt it not! In the days gone by, a pupil

actually held elected office even before he had ceased to listen

to his teacher like a good boy. But now even before he’s seven

years old, if you so much as lay a finger on him, right away the

boy smashes his little writing tablet on his teacher’s head.

 

When you go to complain to the father, he says to the boy,

[Strutting about, imitating the father]

 

“That’s my boy! It takes a real man

to stand up to a teacher’s abuse!”

Then he calls in the teacher:

“Hey you worthless old bum,

don’t you dare lay a finger on that boy.

He’s only showing his spirit!

That’s the verdict. Case dismissed.

 

[To audience]

How can a teacher have any authority under these conditions

if he’s the one who gets the whipping?²¹

In the introduction to his adaptation of Miles Gloriosus, Lenz wrote that he admired Plautus’ “tiefe Kenntnis der Characktere mit Leichtigkeit und Naivität des Ausdrucks” (deep knowledge of character with lightness and naiveté of expression)²² In short order, Lydus laments the plight of the tutor, creates a scene within the scene that reveals how the blind love of a parent thwarts the maturation of the child, and confronts the audience with a social conundrum it knows first hand. There is amazing linguistic complexity exhibited here by a minor character that exposes the ineffectuality of the father figure—both a biological and pedagogical one—to prevent a son’s corruption by a prostitute.

Failed parenting, in fact, marks an important thematic divergence between Plautus and the Greek comedy writers whose plays he adapted (Menander, Diphilus, Philemon). Anderson has written that typical of the Greek models is the paternal authority of a family being tested by a son’s poor choice of a girlfriend. By the end of most Greek New Comedies, the father reasserts his control and social order by convincing the son to choose a woman acceptable to the family values of the time. Contrastingly, in Plautus, “instead of the father bringing his shamed son home from the courtesan, she seduces the father as well as the son into her house.”²³ The gap between parent and child is either unbridgeable, as in his darker comedies, or bridged indirectly with the help of the manipulating slave.

This difference does not speak, as it seems to, of the Roman family structure or its paterfamilias, being more degraded than the Greek. More likely it shows Plautus attempting to establish his and his audience’s aesthetic independence from establishment Greek culture.   Anderson points out that the angry old man of Plautine comedy is funny to his Roman audience, not because Romans had no respect for paternal authority but because he symbolized an older more sophisticated culture that they both admired and sought independence from.²⁴   Reacting to the Greek model, especially Menander’s plays, Plautus attempted to build a Roman audience that came together through his mockery of a dominant foreign culture.

The informal “pass the hat” nature of Roman theatre indicated in the prologues of his plays and the close relationship that Plautus sought with his audience resulted in frequent breaking of “the fourth wall” with asides designed to interrupt the illusion of the stage. The asides, which are absent in the extant fragments of Greek models, seem to come from the playwright’s desire to give the Roman audience permission to stand back and laugh at, not with, the characters on the stage. They are Plautus’ way of saying, “Now take note” (as in Brecht’s “SHOWING HAS TO BE SHOWN”). The asides show the playwright resisting the slumber of identification. “Illusion was never the central goal of Plautus in his plays, as it seems to have been for Menander,” says Niall Slater. “The Plautine process of composition is the very paradigm of metatheatre; he imitates not life but a previous text.”²⁵ Through the use of asides, soliloquies, and eavesdropping, Plautine drama appeals toward what Bentley sees as the overall strategy of comedy, to allow the audience to displace its guilt upon stage characters, to become “detached.”²⁶

In Act II, Scene Six of Truculentus, a vivid and humorous scene that must have fascinated Lenz as he was adapting this play, the pompous warrior Stratophanes enters with a triumphal procession and a scribe who tries to take down his every word. Stratophanes addresses the audience with the gestures of an orator. He becomes lost in his own rhetoric, even as he argues for the merits of the eye over the ear, and does not notice that he has put his own scribe to sleep. Key lines from his long speech are:

One eye-balled witness is worth more

than ten whose ears bring them reports.

Those who hear things can tell

only what they have heard:

those who see know the truth firsthand.²⁷

The effect of this spirit of non-identification or estrangement is that to the audience the characters on the stage have devolved from people to things, from Personen to Sachen, in Lenz’s idiom. Bruce Duncan views the characters in The Soldiers as “artificial constructs that are indistinguishable from the socio-economic forces that mold them.”²⁸   Their presence is that of marionettes, their speech, a mechanical reaction to their social circumstances. Lenz himself lauds puppet shows, the Punch and Judy popular in his time, in the final two scenes of The New Menoza. He celebrates puppet theatre’s freedom from the restraints of traditional drama. The Mayor in The New Menoza debates his son on the merits of the puppet show, placing entertainment in opposition to the stage as illusion and a platform for “the Beautiful in Nature.” In the play’s concluding speech, The Mayor says “the puppets will quite delight you.”²⁹

In the second scene of The Soldiers, Lenz has the lovesick Stolzius wearing a bandage round his head, in a Punch-like parody of the psychic wound Marie has inflicted upon him. His mother says: “Well, I do believe you’ve got that wretched girl stuck in your head, that’s why it hurts so much.” (p. 6) This petrification of the characters in The Soldiers enlivens their potential as beings that encourage the audience to draw its own conclusions. These conclusions are often in contrast to the rhetoric of the play. As a dramatic craftsman Lenz is at his most impressive in his use of gesture, indicated in the stage directions, to supplement meaning absent in the dialogue. At the end of Act IV, for instance, an impish gesture from Officer Mary contradicts the melodramatic tone of Desportes. By thrusting a piece of licorice in the despondent rake’s mouth, Mary both counterbalances the heaviness of the utterance and presages Desportes’ poisoning in the final act.

DESPORTES (who has withdrawn into a corner of the room):

I think of her all the time. To hell with the thought! What can

I do about it if she ends up one of them? It’s all her own fault.

(comes back to the others and falls into a dreadful fit of cough-

ing. Mary thrusts a piece of licorice in his mouth; he gives a

start. Mary laughs.)   (p. 46)

In The Soldiers Lenz improves upon his own gestural innovations of earlier plays. Bruce Kieffer notes that this play is less than two thirds the length of The Tutor, though the plot and the thematic range are similar. As he puts it, “There are an increased reliance on pantomimic actions and a concomitant reduction of dialogue.”³⁰ Unlike any other Sturm und Drang play, the mentality of the characters comes across through more than just their utterances. “Lenz was moving away,” Kieffer says, “from the idea that language is the most quintessential and revealing dimension of human behavior.”³¹

The playwight’s use of gesture is both subtle and aggressive in its defiance of exposition. The most pronounced evidence of this comes in Act II, Scene Three. The scene begins with Marie crying in an armchair with a letter in her hand. After Desportes surprises her, the stage directions have her try to hide the letter in her pocket. This hiding-the-letter gesture matches her hiding-the brooch gesture in the first act, word-lessly indicating that she is not morally simplistic and not the young lady of “virtue” that the other characters often say she is. After Marie rejects Desportes’ attempt to dictate a response to his rival Stolzius, she tears up the letter and uses the ink pen to fight instead a mock duel with him. From here the scene is almost equally balanced between dialogue and physical activity. Through the scene’s powerful visual movement, its marionette-like activity, Lenz connotes a sub-textual meaning: Marie jousts with the writing pen and then “a long pin,” both sword-like objects symbolizing her adoption of what Roman Graf calls “male strategies of thought.”³²   Like a caricature of Grimmelshausen’s Courage, she takes to the battlefield. From here she is doomed to fail, for she has discarded religious-inspired virtue in favor of military-inspired virtus. In terms of Kant’s inaugural lecture, she has disregarded her intelligible faculties in favor of the sensibile. Her doom, in what might otherwise be mistaken as lover’s horseplay, is confirmed by the grandmother’s song, a Plautine-style cantica, comparing a young girl’s fate to a roll of the dice.

The origins of Lenz’s style of comedy are in the Punch and Judy Shows, descended from commedia dell’ arte and Roman atellanae.   Along similar lines Brecht was inspired by the theatre of Karl Valentin, the open-air circus, the Augsburg Fair, and especially the silent films of Charles Chaplin. In a journal entry, from just before the five weeks he spent adapting The Tutor, Brecht explains:

 certain alienation effects come from the storehouse of comedy

which is 2000 years old. steckel’s puntila is magnificent, pieced

together on the basis of 1000 observations and with the grand

gestures of american film slapstick, the non-resolution of the

contradictions (of the comic tragic, likeable, unlikeable etc) . . . ”³³

 What Lenz and Brecht mainly took from the traditions of comedy was that reciprocal physical activity between characters can keenly engage audiences and convey meaning absent in dialogue. In defining Brecht’s lasting contribution to the modern theatre, Richard Gilman emphasized the physicality of his drama:

that the stage ought to instigate consciousness and not lull

or confirm it; that drama ought not to be a surrogate for

experience but an experience in itself; that acting ought to

be the physical or “gestural” expression of consciousness

and not a species of emotional enticement.³⁴

One instance of this physical expression of consciousness in The Soldiers, already alluded to, is copied by Büchner in Woyzeck and then again by Brecht in Mother Courage. In both later plays a gesture of guilt and hiding demonstrates an inner conflict in the character: an object is treasured for its aesthetic and symbolic value but hidden due to a sense of shame. Ethical pressures from society conflict with the natural pride a woman has for her sexual attractiveness. After Marie in The Soldiers has been forbidden by her father to accept a brooch that Desportes has purchased from him, she secretly defies him. Act I Scene Six of The Soldiers begins with the following stage directions:

Marie’s bedroom. Marie is sitting on her bed, has the brooch

 in her hand, and is looking at herself in the mirror, lost in

 thought. Her father comes in, she gives a start and tries to

 hide the brooch.    (p. 14)

With this efficient and revealing movement, no words are necessary.   The (like-named) Marie in Woyzeck also accepts a gift from a soldier, the Drum Major. She is studying and admiring her earring with a fragment of mirror in one hand and her child on her lap, delivering a monologue that works like a duet with her gestures. We understand the innocence of admiring something for its beauty coupled with the vanity of receiving it as a gift for the promise of sexual favors. Then her common-law husband enters unexpectedly, just like the father in The Soldiers.

Woyzeck enters behind her. She jumps and puts her hands over

her ears.³⁵

 The audience witnesses the guilt that creeps into both characters.   When Büchner’s Marie denies holding anything, Woyzeck responds with: “It’s glinting under your fingers for chris’sake,” a gorgeous line that brings home the visual power of the scene that has been painted so effectively with a gesture.³⁶

The same kind of scene painting takes place in Scene Three of Mother Courage with Courage, the prostitute Yvette, and the mute Kattrin.   After the Chaplain compliments the daughter Kattrin as an “enchanting young person,” Mother Courage corrects him. “That aint an entrancing but a decent young person.” (p. 26) The conflict between aesthetic pleasure and moral correctness is demonstrated in Kattrin’s subsequent movements. The stage directions indicate that she tries on the prostitute Yvette’s hat and struts around the stage like Yvette. After Courage notices her, she asks “What are you doing with that strumpet’s hat?” Then she pulls it off Kattrin’s head. (p. 28) This gesture parallels Wesener forbidding Marie to accept gifts from Desportes. Kattrin is made to understand the indecency of imitating an army whore, yet can’t resist. During a chaotic moment when enemy soldiers are approaching, she tries on Yvette’s red boots. When order is restored in the camp and Yvette asks where her boots are, we are shown, just as we were in The Soldiers and Woyzeck, the character’s inner conflict:

YVETTE: And where are them red boots? Fails to find them

 as Kattrin hides her feet under her skirt. (p. 29)

 With great efficiency Brecht demonstrates the mute daughter’s appreciation of herself in the natural world, the virtue of good looks as symbolized by the wearing of the hat and the shoes, in conflict with the ethics of her survivalist mother. All three plays utilize the gestic language of hiding-an-object to emphasize how an individual’s quest for identity is negated by the moral fixations of society.

Lenz may have been inspired by the jewel scenes in the Gretchen tragedy of Faust. Goethe had already begun Faust while he and Lenz were still friends in Strasbourg and Weimar, and it is likely that Lenz read an early version. Interestingly, Goethe may have first become aware of the Faust story through the puppet plays he attended as a boy.³⁷   Yet, clearly, he wasn’t influenced by the physical nature of puppetry to the extent Lenz was. In Faust, Mephistopheles relates to Faust that a priest confiscated the first case of jewels given to Gretchen. The priest incident is told, not shown. Gretchen withholds the second case of jewels from her mother and priest on the advice of her neighbor Martha. Note that in the other three plays a confidant like Martha is not necessary. And when surprised by the knock of a stranger (Mephistopheles) at Martha’s house, Gretchen doesn’t hide that she is wearing some of the jewelry.³⁸   In these jewel scenes, Goethe relies repeatedly upon explanatory language that diffuses Gretchen’s inner conflict. The language is often beautiful and witty but lacks the immediacy and power—and the trust in the audience—of Lenz’s gestural technique.

Endnotes

1. Eric Bentley, The Life of the Drama (New York: Applause Theater Books, 1964), 303.
2. Bentley, The Life of the Drama, 303-304.
3. Martin Rector, “Seven Theses on the Problem of Action in Lenz,” Space to Act: The Theater of J. M. R. Lenz, eds. Alan C. Leidner and Helga S. Madland (Columbia, South Carolina: Camden House, 1993), 74.
4. Karin A. Wurst, “A Shattered Mirror: Lenz’s Concept of Mimesis,” Space to Act: The Theater of J. M. R. Lenz (Columbia, South Carolina: Camden House, 1993), 107.
5. J.M.R. Lenz, The New Menoza, In Three Plays (London: Oberlin Books Limited, 1993), 97.
6. quoted in John Guthrie, “Lenz’s Style of Comedy,” Space to Act: The Theater of J. M. R. Lenz, eds. Alan C. Leidner and Helga S. Madland (Columbia, South Carolina: Camden House, 1993) 11. Wieland’s comment appears in Teutsche Merkur, 1774 (4:241).
7. J.M.R. Lenz, “Review of The New Menoza, Composed by the Author Himself,” In Eighteenth Century German Criticism: Herder, Lenz, Lessing, and others, The German Library Volume 11, ed. Timothy J. Chamberlain (New York: The Continuum Publishing Company, 1992), 204.
8. Max Spalter, Brecht’s Tradition, (Baltimore, Maryland: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1967), 34.
9. Lenz, “Menoza Review,” 204.
10. Kes-Costa, “On Lenz’s Rediscovered Adaptation of Plautus,” Space to Act, 172.
11. Kes-Costa, “On Lenz’s Plautus,” 163.
12. Kes-Costa, 163.
13. William S. Anderson, Barbarian Play: Plautus’ Roman Comedy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993), 92.
14. David Konstan, Roman Comedy (London: Cornell University Press, 1983), 70.
15. Konstan, Roman Comedy, 144.
16. quoted in Konstan, 143.
17. Titus Maccius Plautus, Truculentus, In Plautus: The Darker Comedies, trans. James Tatum (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 154.
18. Anderson, Barbarian Play, 92.
19. Anderson, 92.
20. Kes-Costa, 173.
21. Titus Maccius Plautus, Bacchides, In Plautus: The Darker Comedies, trans. James Tatum, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 42-43.
22. quoted in Kes-Costa, “On Lenz’s Plautus,” 163. From Lenz’s Introduction to Miles Gloriosus, Lenz, Werke und Briefe, 2:77.
23. Anderson, 135.
24. Anderson, 139-140.
25. Niall W. Slater, Plautus in Performance: The Theatre of the Mind (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 169.
26. Bentley, Life of Drama, 261.
27. Plautus, Truculentus, 178.
28. Duncan, “The Comic Structure,” MLN, 519.
29. Lenz, The New Menoza, In Three Plays, 133.
30. Bruce Kieffer, The Storm and Stress of Language: Linguistic Catastrophe in the Early Works of Goethe, Lenz, Klinger, and Schiller (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1986), 73.
31. Kieffer, 73.
32. Graf, “Male Homosocial Desire,” Space to Act, 39.
33. Brecht, Journals, 424.
34. Richard Gilman, The Making of Modern Drama (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1974), 216.
35. Georg Büchner, Woyzeck, In Georg Büchner: Complete Plays, Lenz and Other Writings, trans. John Reddick (London: Penguin Books, Ltd., 1993) 118.
36. Büchner, Woyzeck, 118.
37. Eudo C. Mason, Goethe’s Faust: Its Genesis and Purport (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 4.
38. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, trans. Walter Kaufman (New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1961), 273-291.