Dear Marion,

In an oft quoted passage in his play Danton's Tod,
Buechner elaborates his loneliness:

Julie.
Glaubst du an mich?

Danton.
Was weiss ich! Wir wissen wenig voneinander. Wir sind
Dickhaeuter (pachyderms), wir strecken die Haende nacheinander aus,
aber es ist vergebliche Muehe, wir reiben nur das grobe Leder
aneinander ab - wir sind sehr einsam.

Julie.
Du kennst mich, Danton.

Danton.
Ja, was man so kennen heisst. Du hast dunkle Augen und
lockiges Haar und einen feinen Teint und sagst immer zu mir:
lieber Georg! Aber (er deutet ihr auf Stirn und Augen) da, da,
was liegt hinter dem? Geh, wir haben grobe Sinne. Einander kennen?
Wir muessten uns die Schaedeldecken aufbrechen und
die Gedanken einander aus den Hirnfasern zerren. -

I interpret Buechner's composition of Woyzeck as effort,
conscious or otherwise, to come to terms with loneliness.
Vietor does not go far enough, when he explicates Woyzeck
as emblematic of the loneliness of humankind. Woyzeck is the
projection of Buechner's own, most compelling experience, -
an insight which immediately raises the question: was Woyzeck
Woyzeck, or was Woyzeck Buechner? 

Vietor was also a gifted historian. The introductory chapters
give vivid descriptions of Buechner's fervent friendships that
developed in the course of his two years of study in Strassburg,
of his blissful engagement and happy marriage to Minna Jaegle,
of Buechner's growing concern with laying the groundwork of
proletarian revolution, facets of existence all of which seem
remote from if not contradictory to Woyzeck's desolation.

Buechner strikes me as an extraordinarily complex character.
In the light of the quotation from Dantons Tod about our
pachydermous existence, Buechner's projection of his loneliness 
onto poor Woyzeck may be construed as an ideologically driven
tour de force.  Buechner's own writings acknowledge that he
couldn't possibly "know" what was going on in the mind and
spirit of Woyzeck, the poor wretch who was beheaded in Leipzig
in 1824. But Buechner cared passionately for the spirits of
human beings whom he couldn't possibly know, and especially
for them. Hence the appropriateness of the transposition in
a puppet show which you describe, of Woyzeck into the social
turmoil of South Africa.  Caring passionately for the spirits
of human beings whom one can't  possibly know, reminds me once
more - of Margrit.

Vietor compares Woyzeck's Marie with Faust's Gretchen. Not so. Vietor
had been reading too much Goethe. Gretchen was an innocent child
seduced by a conquering hero. Marie was to Woyzeck a mother figure.
Her protective role is reflected (negatively - by her absence)
in the fable, recited immediately prior to the murder, a legend that
is at the heart of this play (and may well have been lost in the
puppet show translation):

GROSSMUTTER : Kommt, ihr kleinen Krabben! -
Es war einmal ein arm Kind und hatt' kein Vater und keine Mutter,
war alles tot, und war niemand mehr auf der Welt.
Alles tot, und es is hingangen und hat gesucht Tag und Nacht.
Und weil auf der Erde niemand mehr war, wollt's in Himmel gehn,
und der Mond guckt es so freundlich an; und wie es endlich zum Mond kam,
war's ein Stueck faul Holz. Und da is es zur Sonn gangen,
und wie es zur Sonn kam, war's ein verwelkt Sonneblum.
Und wie's zu den Sternen kam, waren's kleine goldne Muecken,
die waren angesteckt, wie der Neuntoeter sie auf die Schlehen steckt.
Und wie's wieder auf die Erde wollt, war die Erde ein umgestuerzter Hafen.
Und es war ganz allein. Und da hat sich's hingesetzt und geweint,
und da sitzt es noch und is ganz allein.

WOYZECK erscheint: Marie!

MARIE erschreckt: Was is?

WOYZECK: Marie, wir wollen gehn. 's is Zeit. 

There emanates from the play as I read it, a faint air of incest,
the illicit liaison of a child with its mother. The proud and forceful
Tambourmajor then is the father figure whose appearance precipitates
catastrophe.

Jochen