The temptation to discuss a great theorist abstractly, and to capitalize on the jargon which has grown up around him, has proved fatal to many critics. Any thoughtful discussion of Brecht must actually concern itself with the practicing playwright, and I will attempt to discuss The Caucasian Chalk Circle in relation to Brecht's broader accomplishment. This play enjoyed a successful run at the University last fall, and in the volume under discussion, represents to Bentley a peak of the author's accomplishment.

The Caucasian Chalk Circle was written during Brecht's exile during the early '40s, and was based upon Klabund's adaptation of a Chinese folk tale (The Chalk Circle), well known to the Berlin theater public twenty years before. Drifting gradually from the original version, Brecht crafted an original story of his own, by creating Azdak, a village scribe, who as an exradical retains a blend of disenchantment and idealism.

The first half of the play is devoted to the flight of "the good Grusha," a servant who has picked up the Governor's son, abandoned by his mother during an uprising. She is pursued endlessly over mountains and rivers, all because the child is a valuable object. Despite her suffering, Grusha refuses to desert him, which serves to show (in terms of character) how good she is, and (in terms of politics) what the right of ownership really entails.

Half the play is devoted to Grusha, and Grusha winds up as half a character. When Director John Hancock was analyzing her during the Loeb production, he charted fourteen "good" traits, which read like the Boy Scout Oath, and one fault (she lost he temper readily). Brecht's failure to elevate Grusha above generic goodness is particularly telling since he conceived the play in order to write a special part for Luisa Rainer, an expatriate German actress. His failure exemplifies the weakness invariably cited by the Communist critics: Brecht could create noble agitators and good proletarians, but never a flesh-and-blood working class character.

Azdak dominates the rest of the work. He shelters the escaping Grand Duke, and then tragically denounces himself for he feels he had betrayed the interests of the people. Expecting to be killed, he sings a denunciation of war profiteering, and the disrespect for human life it implies:

...The battle was lost, the helmets were paid for...

The miracle happens just as the soldiers are stringing Azdak up. The Grand Duke, restored to power, names him judge, and Azdak challenges the accepted idea of justice by simply inverting it. In one case, for example, a stableman is accused of raping a farmer's daughter; Azdak lays the blame on her. "Do you imagine you can run around with a behind like that and get away with it in court?" he asks. "This is a case of intentional assault with a dangerous weapon!"

But Azdak remains Azdak, a bitter man with no illusions about the durability of this golden age, or the tendons in his neck. From the depths of disenchantment and sorrow he sings "The Song of Chaos," which projects into a dreamworld of hope and social justice.

"...The nobleman's son no longer can be recognized

The lady's child becomes the son of her slave.

Five men are sent on a Journey by their master.

'Go yourself,' they say, 'We have arrived.'

...Where are you, General, where are you?

Please, please, please restore order."

Finally, the Governor's wife demands the child back, and Azdak settles the case by the ancient test of the Chalk Circle. She who has the strength to pull the child out of the circle must be adjudged his real mother. Both pull, and suddenly Grusha yields. And so the child is awarded to Grusha, who would not harm him.