The History of a Film that Never Was

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A TALE FROM CONSTANTINOPLE
 Bo Florin and Patrick Vonclerau

A Tale from Constantinople

The History of a Film that Never Was

Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion

Hoor 2019
 Florin, Bo &■ Vonderau, Patrick
A Tale from Constantinople. The History of a Film that Never Was

Hoor:
Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion
2019
ISBN: 97S-91-S74S3-41-7

© Brutus Ostlings Bokforlag Symposion

and the authors 2019
All rights reserved.
Copying without the publishers consent is prohibited.
Also valid for teaching purposes.
Graphic design: Stilbildarna i Molle/Frederic Tackstrom
Cover photo: Constantinople, 1924. Photo: Julius Jaenzon
Print: Livonia Print Ltd, Riga, Latvia 2019
ISBN: 978-91-87483-41 -7

1
Table of Contents

Acknowledgements 7

Introduction 9
Bo Florin & Patrick Vondcrau

The Politics of Film Financing 31

Trianon Film AG, 1923 1925
Patrick Vondcrau

Murder in the Orient "5

Textual Genesis of a Script
Bo Florin

A Tale from Constantinople l55

Shooting Script
Maurilz Stiller and Ragnar Hyltcn-Cavallius
translated by Benjamin Mier-Cruz
To the memory of David Schratter (1893-1958)
Acknowledgements

this book would never have come into being had it not been for
Ola Torjas at the library and archives of the Swedish Film Insti­
tute who first contacted us about the SFVs collection of unrealized
film scripts, where one in particular had attracted his attention. His
promptness and eagerness to share his finding have, here as always,
been invaluable. We are also very grateful to the Hylten-Cavallius
family who kindly granted us the rights to translate and publish the
rediscovered script. Particular thanks go to Camilla Hylten-Caval­
lius, who generously shared pictures from the family archive and
granted us permission to use them in this book. Thanks to Susan
Amanda Schratler, David Schratters granddaughter, for bringing
us in touch with Mary and Jack, his children. We also would like to
thank Ralf Forster and Jeanpaul Goergen for invaluable advice and
Greg A. Waller for his support during the starting phase of the pro­
ject. Thanks to Melis Behlil and Ali Aydin for help with the Ottoman
language, to Natalie Wilson for proof reading, and to Bart van der
Gaag for technical assistance. A particular thanks goes to Frederic
Tackstrom for most efficient and engaged work with the graphic
design. Finally, our thanks go to the Henrik Granholm Foundation
and to the Holger and Thyra Lauritzen Foundation for generous
financial support.

7
Introduction
Bo Florin & Patrick Vonderau

many films from the silent era have been lost and will therefore
remain unseen by the audience of today. Some of these lost films still
may coincidentally be rediscovered, as in the case of Mauritz Stillers
Brother Against Brother (Gransfolken, 1913), for instance, which was
found in 2010 in a rather unlikely place - a church in Poland. Other
films of that era remain unknown not because all the prints are lost
but because they were never made. Our book is dedicated to one
of these abandoned projects, a 1924 feature film variously known
as Die Odaliske von Smolny in Germany and En historia frdn Kon-
stantinopel in Sweden. This project brought then famous talent from
Stockholm together with a cast and crew assembled in Berlin by a
young film producer named David Schratter who aimed to position
European film against the advances of Hollywood. Like many other
film projects, both past and present, A Tale from Constantinople
never made it to the screen.
Why the effort to study such a project that was not even com­
pleted, given the overabundance of under-researched films in
archives around the world? Throughout the arts, historians have
tended to base their occasional interest in lost artefacts on the sin­
gularity of these artefacts, premised on an assumed unity of work,
author, and nation. In this view, unearthing traces of a lost or unfin­
ished novel, score or painting is worth the effort because it helps to
situate a masters unique work in a given country’s cultural history.
At first glance, A Talefrom Constantinople is no exception. The proj­
ect has all the ingredients of a “lost classic”, while also explaining

9
a gap in the career narrative of two major artists.1 Accounts of this
production almost always focus on an actress, Greta Garbo, and
her director, Mauritz Stiller, to relate a story of spectacularly missed
opportunities. If the movie had been completed, the story goes,
Garbo might have become Europe’s - not Hollywood’s - greatest
star. Stiller, already famous for his contribution to the “Golden Age”
of Sweden’s national cinema in the 1910s, could have helped foster a
narrative and visual style of German film-making, something con­
temporaries were striving to achieve in the 1920s.2
While the Constantinople project certainly is a unique historical
case to be studied, our book does not aim to reiterate this story. It is
based on extensive archival research in both Germany and Sweden
and on the rediscovery of the film’s shooting script, signed Mauritz
Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, in the archive of the Swedish
Film Institute in 2011, a script believed to be lost after having ini­
tially been spotted in 1935. One of the main intentions of this book
is to make the script known to a larger audience. We have chosen
to frame it with two chapters, one engaged in a production study of
the film, the other in a textual analysis of its screenplay. Together,
the various parts of this book offer a strikingly different take on
A Tale from Constantinople than what has been proposed by his­
torians so far. The Constantinople project was neither designed to
further a classical style, nor to make Garbo a European star. Rather,
it offers rich historical material to analyse the politics of both cul­
tural production and of the stories spun around it over the years.

Unproduction Studies
The study of production has long been conceived and practiced as
a study of authorship.3 Although approaches vary greatly, the main
focus has been on the origins of a given work and on the causality
of the process from which the work emerged. Such research has
gone beyond traditional notions of creativity by showing that the

10
idea of single author primacy, so pervasive in film promotion and
auteurist ideas about film-making, needs to be questioned. Robert
L. Carringer, for instance, has meticulously reconstructed the script
development process of Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), relat­
ing authorial achievement to institutional contexts.'1 Authorship
perspectives have also helped debunk na'ive ideas about stardom,
reminding us that “Garbo” and her face, so often evoked in film
criticism and theory, are a product of film practice rather than a
point of its origin.5 At the same time, such research tends to remain
fixated on works and authors, relegating the production itself to the
background. This book reorganises issues of artistic agency and tex­
tual authority according to a historical division of labour that has
little in common with romanticist notions of creation or classical
Hollywood’s standardised mode of production.
In doing so, this book adopts a Production Studies perspective.
Over the past decades, Production Studies has evolved as a field that
investigates specific production sites, actors, and activities in order
to tell larger lessons about workers, their practices, and the role of
their labours in relation to politics, economics, and culture.6 While
long preoccupied with todays media industries, production scholars
more recently have also provided pioneering historical accounts.
Contributions include studies of hitherto marginalised sites, actors,
and activities, such as major studios outside of Southern Califor­
nia, production secretaries and other instances of female labour in
film production, or screenwriting and “non-creative” professions.7
In line with this research, our book re-orders the margins and the
centre of a story long obsessively fixated on a master and his muse.
It puts a spotlight on the producer, on financing arrangements, on
a screen idea and its textual legacies, on political ideologies and the
network of relations these formed a part of. The books “unproduc­
tion studies”8 also uncover creative and industrial tensions often
lost in accounts of successful studio production, tensions that arose
in development, prevailed on set, and permeated society at large.

11
An Aesthetics of the Possible
Perhaps unavoidably, unfinished works tend to engage us in an “aes­
thetic of the possible”,9 a tendency that informs research on screen­
writing in particular. Screenplays are not studied as fixed texts or
Ur-texts, but rather evoke broader questions about all the practices,
texts, and discourses that accompany the realisation of a given screen
idea.10 This in part is due to the specifics of film as a cultural good
which differs from consumer goods in requiring extended phases
of development and testing. In contrast to soap or cars, film is a
product which is kept open as long as possible to enable both cre­
ative experiment and adjustable marketisation. The establishment
of Hollywoods production system in the early 1910s went along
with scriptwriting as a multistage process and continuous story and
preview testing.11 Ever since, feature films have been largely shot on
paper, with pre-production often taking up more than 80 percent of
time, compared to the 20 percent it takes to actually shoot a film.12 In
a way, all films, not only unfinished masterworks, thus operate in a
“provisional zone”13 where concepts and ideas are constantly at play;
only temporarily stabilised as commodities, they never assume the
definitive shape of a sculpture or painting. In this respect, screen­
plays resemble other forms of scripted art and entertainment such
as stage plays, music or novels.
Accordingly, research on screenwriting has developed a more spe­
cific methodology than Production Studies overall. Studies of scripts
often take their cue from genetic criticism, an approach based in
French literary theory that goes beyond the final published text to
include various notes, drafts and other preparatory documents in
an analysis of the “movement of writing” to be inferred from them.1'1
That is, genetic criticism aims to reconstruct, from all available evi­
dence, the chain of events in a writing process. This has occasionally
led to painstaking reconstructions of the material base of film-mak­
ing, as in the case of Marc Vernets research on continuity scripts
used at production companies Triangle and Kay Bee before 1917,

12
for instance. Analysing forms of papers, handwritten notes, and
other silent witnesses of the pre-production process, Vernet was
able to detail a historical division of labour and its hierarchies and
responsibilities.15 Yet genetic criticisms focus on the preparatory
stages of a finished work is of limited use for research that deals
with unfinished films. While genetic criticism places the published
literary work against the background of its potential versions in
order to open the finished version to the infinite play of signs, that
obviously does not work for a history of unproduced media.
In its desire to discover the origin of a work in the creative pro­
cess, genetic criticism and the screenwriting research that follows
its lead also tend to turn the unfinished into a romantic artefact,
heightening its oneiric quality by a sense of unfulfilled possibility.
Here, an aesthetic of the possible may quickly turn into myth-mak­
ing or even pure fiction, as in the case of A Talefrom Constantinople,
a project whose failed production is unique also in having spurred a
surprising number of literary renditions, including several novels.16
There are certainly enough ingredients to fire imagination: a direc­
tor who had just finished a masterpiece; a leading lady, the directors
protegee, becoming known through his film; a Russian exile with an
extraordinary true story to tell; a film company with a spectacular
big budget production in Egypt on its track record; an extravagant
hotel in Constantinople, in a setting bridging East and West, pov­
erty and luxury, set against the background of the recent Russian
revolution; a heated quarrel on intellectual property rights; a film
crew in distress, left by their director on Christmas Eve as luck had
turned; The End. How to resist, in this context, the “indexical par­
adigm” of genetic research - the fascination of following traces and
interpreting clues, remindful of detective work or archaeology?17
The basic approach of this book is to weigh this interest in read­
ing textual traces, and in the archived materiality of the production
process, against broader concerns regarding the division of labour at
work in this process. As a field of study, Production Studies captures

13
“the way that power operates locally through media production to
reproduce social hierarchies and inequalities of the level of daily
interactions”.18 A large part of our book is dedicated to analysing
the social, financial, and textual organisation of production, and
the politics of this organisation. At the same time, it was striking to
note that politics at play during production in 1924 still prevailed
in parts of the discourse that told its story. The twisted politics of
the Constantinople project thus extend to the ways its actors, sites,
and activities have been framed in stories and histories, with the
surprising effect of marginalising an actor deemed central in most
production systems of that time: the producer.

The Script
Before we get to the history of production and the script, and to the
politics involved in both the telling of the Tale and its later historio­
graphic renditions, a few basic facts about the script are necessary.
What kind of a manuscript is this, and what does it tell us about
the film? A first thing to note is that the script is written “by Mau-
ritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius”, thus attributing primary
authorial credit to the director. As such, the script follows Stiller s
usual screenwriting practice and European production management
more generally. Swedish and German film production of the 1920s
was not based on a strictly enforced separation of the conception
and production phases of film-making, as compared to Hollywood,
where this separation had become foundational for the studio sys­
tem in the early 1910s. As opposed to Hollywood’s producer-ori­
ented system of the classic era, directors in Europe retained more
control over the scripting stage, and screenwriting itself was not
fully professionalised until the late 1920s.19 Stiller regularly collab­
orated with authors who had careers outside of film, such as the
theatre actress Ester Julin, the Finnish historian Alma Soderhjelm,
archaeologist and teacher Arthur Norden, poet Bertil Malmberg -

14
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Page 1 of the original script, part I, with the typical shot-centred

structure, alternating between shot and intertitle (“BILD” and
“text”). (Swedish Film Institute)
and Hylten-Cavallius, who was a lawyer before becoming a theatre
actor and director, and then the co-author of several Stiller films,
most recently The Saga ofGosta Berling (Gosta Berlings saga, 1924).
Stiller also regularly adapted existing literary works, such as Selma
Lagerlofs famous debut novel of the same title, while A Tale from
Constantinople was “based on the novel I livets virvlar by Vladimir
Semitjov”, according to the archived script.
A second thing to note is the structure of this script. A Tale from
Constantinople has two parts, each exactly 42 pages in length. The
two-part structure and identical length of the parts is not coinciden­
tal; there is indeed a clear indication that writing was guided by the
requirements of programming for theatrical exhibition, something
known to be standard practice in early cinema and later broad­
casting, but usually overlooked when it comes to the production of
feature film.20 The pages contain unnumbered descriptions of shots
and the action they depict, in part accompanied by remarks about
shot size and angle, thus allowing us to “see” the film through the
cameras eye, as well as intertitle texts that make us “read” (or hear)
the actors’ and the narrator’s voice. On average, each page in part I
contains about seven shots and two intertitles per page, while part II
roughly contains eight shots and two titles. While there is significant
variation in the number of shots and titles per page, depending on
dramaturgical needs such as expository or action scenes, thinking
through the minimal units of writing helps us to identify the overall
patterning of the script. In writing this script, pages were used as a
measure for screen time, and the distribution of shots and titles per
page indicates what the pacing of the film was meant to look and feel
like. This scripting technique also allowed to calculate the approxi­
mate length of the projected film, as shots and titles are aggregated
into larger units, scenes, and sequences. Each of the two parts con­
sists of numerous scenes and three such major sequences that are
clearly marked through cinematic “punctuation”, such as fade-outs.
Given the length of the six sequences, it is very likely that they were

16
seen to be identical to the number of film reels (“akter”, in Swedish;
“Akte”, in German). In other words, the finished film was planned
to have six reels.
There is indeed ample evidence that A Tale from Constantinople
was intended as a rather long and prestigious production that
would become the main evening attraction for an upscale audi­
ence in major urban movie houses, accompanied by live orchestra
and framed by a stage program. Clearest indicators are the budget,
the number of reels, and the previous success of Gosta Berlings saga
which obviously was the model for A Talefrom Constantinople from
a programming and production management perspective. Stillers
and Hylten-Cavallius* Gosta Berling script likewise consisted of two
parts of 100 and 190 pages, respectively, resulting in a two-part film
of 2345 metres (part I) and 2189 metres (part II), or a total run time
of more than two hours and 45 minutes when projected with 24
frames per second. While far from being that monumental in terms
of duration, the Constantinople project followed a similar patterning
of length calculated by shots per page and numbers of pages per reel,
resulting in six acts of between 13 and 16 minutes per reel. The two
parts of the script thus refer to an evening program with a minimal
runtime of about 90 minutes, meaning that every page was meant
to be roughly equivalent to 60-90 seconds of screen time.21 With
six reels and a budget exceeding 400.000 Reichsmark, Stiller s Ger­
man production was thus projected to become a “Groftfilm”, or big
budget event, as compared to the many “Klein- und Mittelfilme”, or
small- and medium-budgeted productions that crowded less exclu­
sive theatres across the country.22
Structure and form of the script partly deviated from scriptwriting
practices in Europe and the USA. The Hollywood continuity script,
standardised by 1914, was a detailed technical blueprint for pro­
duction that allowed to completely detach conception from execu­
tion. European screenplays, on the other hand, usually did not plan
out the shot by shot details of production in such specific fashion,

17
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Page 7 of the original script, part I, that leaves blank space for a scene
to be developed later (“pearl necklace scene”). (Swedish Film Institute)
but were confined to broadly outlined scenes.23 Ian MacDonald has
described the difference between the two as the difference between
shooting script and master-scene script.2’1 Accordingly, the first is
based on the shot as its key unit of narrative construction, while the
latter is based on the unit of the scene. Shooting scripts do not follow
the cinema convention of the screenplay, of a page being equiva­
lent to a minutes screen time, but rather are list of shots that direct
their readers’ interest to the actuality of what is in front of them,
MacDonald notes. Master-scene scripts, on the other hand, which
formed the script standard in the United Kingdom in the 1920s,
were to be read as narrative, structured in master scenes, and usually
lacked information about camera angles or details of movement. It
becomes clear from this description that the Constantinople script
did not follow a standardised script style, while still being closer to
the conventions of a shooting or continuity script. Overall, A Tale
from Constantinople documents a personalised mode of screenwrit­
ing. It is a work in progress, with some scenes more fully devel­
oped than others while leaving blank spaces on many pages which
probably were meant to be filled in by hand later, thus allowing for
extended improvising on set and through the camera, a practice
Stiller was known (and notorious) for.
When it comes to the film’s narration, a third important obser­
vation to be made about the script is its deviance from what has
become known as classical style. Hollywood storytelling during
the classic era has been described as building on psychologically
defined individuals who struggle to attain specific goals. As a con­
sequence, plots usually developed along a character-centred cau­
sality, or as chains of character-related events in time and space.25
During production, the continuity script allowed to establish and
maintain continuity of the scenes depicting such events at various
locations, preparing for a seamless, highly economic, and transpar­
ent style of narration that was designed to elicit what Noel Burch
calls a “diegetic effect”, whereby the fictional world is experienced

19
 as if it were the spectators environment and not on screen.26 A Tale
from Constantinople is hard to unite with this classic idea(l) of film
form that demonstrates harmony, unity, rule-governed craftman-
ship, and standardisation, a style reflecting on the “social stability
of the era”,27 because there was little such stability in Germany at the
time of production. Overall, the project has more in common with
melodrama as an imaginary mode or “mode of telling” than with a
straightforward classical Hollywood narrative.28
The films narrative premise or “generative matrix”29 revolves
around the question if murder may be justified to re-establish moral
order in a world marked by social injustice and political turmoil.
Out of this premise, the plot develops as a set of dualisms of charac­
ters and diegetic spaces that pitch good against evil and West against
East. The imaginary mode of this story and the way it unfolds are
highly melodramatic, portraying “the individuals powerlessness
within the harsh and unpredictable material life of modern capi­
talism”30 On the level of character, this involves two passive, instable,
and aimless protagonists, played by Greta Garbo and Einar Hanson,
rather than Hollywood's usual goal-oriented heroes and heroines.
Instead of linear causal chains of events, the film in part employs
what Rick Altman calls “following patterns”,31 that is, alternating
groups of characters, rather than sticking always to the same story­
line; coincidence also plays a major role. In addition, the narration
is hardly as invisible or transparent as required to provoke the illu­
sion of presence in the story world. Intertitles are used for con­
veying narrative commentary about the events, and to introduce
characters and their actors, not only for dialogue. What is more,
the films plot is structured around attractions as much as narrative
events, offering sights of unseen beauty and excess, exotic locales
and fictionalised scenes of historical turmoil, in order to convey
the melodramatic experience of a destiny out of control. Shooting
with Garbo and Hanson on location in Istanbul precisely allowed
to integrate such attractions; the melodramatic atmosphere of this

20
setting was captured in a photography by Stillers cinematographer
Julius Jaenzon, featured on the cover of this book. Similarly, the
open end of the film deviates from the classical norm; even today,
it appears strikingly modern.
Fourth and finally, the cast. Given that this was a shooting script
to be used as a blueprint or paper record for production, what does
the script tell us about Garbos alleged status as an upcoming star,
and about the shooting on location in Turkey? The script suggests
that neither Garbo nor Hanson, the two Scandinavian actors known
to have travelled with Stiller to Istanbul, were seen to be principal
cast or even stars of the picture. On the contrary, the intertitles offer
evidence that they were merely treated as supporting cast, at least at
this point of production.32 Here, it is instructive to follow the form
and order of character introduction which showcases Askot Bey, the
Turkish good-bad character played by German actor Conrad Veidt,
through the use of capitalised letters (“ASKOT BEY”) - and no one
else. Other characters, such as General Smirnoff, Fjodor Petrovitsch
Maschotin, and Sir William Carey, the latter probably to be played
by British actor Stewart Rome,33 were introduced via title cards, but
not so Count Alexander Alexejevitsch Karinski (played by Han­
son) and Countess Marja Ivanovna Galevitsch (Garbo). Production
records also show that Hanson received a considerably higher sal­
ary than Garbo, while both received much less than Veidt.31 Thus,
although Garbo and Hanson had to master a range of emotionally
highly charged scenes, and had more screen presence than Veidt, the
script treats them as generic “Russians” embodying a world out of
control, rather than as active individuals able and willing to change
the course of history.
Overall, the Constantinople script prompts the question if the rea­
sons for the production’s later failure detailed in Chapter 1 were the
only possible reasons why this project had to be abandoned. There
was clearly the potential for artistic troubles as well. This includes
Garbos and Hansons then yet unknown ability to master a broad

21
range of quickly changing, very strong affects without turning the
melodramatic moments of the film into pure kitsch. It also includes
the question if Stiller s artistic control over the picture was sufficient
to turn its partly old-fashioned, melodramatic plot into a film able to
compete with the modernity of German cinema in 1924. While hav­
ing a decidedly modern ending, A Tale from Constantinople evoked
older motifs of storytelling and forms that might have had a hard
time matching audience tastes now formed by films such as The Last
Laugh (Der letzte Mann, F.W. Murnau, 1924) which premiered on
the 23rd of December, 1924, while the team was in Istanbul. One
might also argue that if shooting had begun in Trianon’s studio
in Berlin, where it was meant to proceed, rather than on location,
Garbos involvement would never have become a focus of sustained
attention, because the narration clearly centered on male characters,
with Conrad Veidt in the lead.

About this Book

The first chapter, “The Mauritz Stiller Affair”, begins with an analysis
of film company Trianon and producer David Sch ratter. It provides
the historical context in which the company operated and out of
which the Constantinople project was eventually born, with com­
parisons to American film which had increasingly come to domi­
nate the German market. The chapter also details Stiller’s German
reception, the financing of his Trianon film, and the ways the film’s
failure became linked to larger scandals symptomatic for German
production at the time.
In the second chapter, “Murder in the Orient”, readers are more
properly introduced to Mauritz Stiller and to Ragnar Hylten-Cav-
allius as co-writer of the script. The chapter presents later fictitious
narratives about Garbo’s involvement as a background for a discus­
sion of the shooting script’s genesis itself. It traces the screen idea
from early sources of inspiration and Semitjov’s novel to film syn-

22
opses and other “avant-textes”, thus following a text genetic analysis
while also expanding beyond its borders. In doing so, this chapter
also makes a case for redefining the object of film and production
histories as to include a broader discursive surround. The two main
chapters are followed by a translation of the original shooting script
archived at The Swedish Film Institute.
This book is dedicated to the memory of David Schratter. As the
two main chapters will show, the way Schratter has been marginal­
ised by film historians, journalists, and popular writers is unjusti­
fied. There is no evidence that allows to cast him in the role of a vil­
lain who caused the problems used to explain the “Constantinople
gap” in Garbos and Stiller s career narratives, as many of them did.
Hence, before we re-open the curtain for this drama of a failed film,
it is worth pausing and to briefly contemplate the later phases of
Schratter’s own life and career.35

David Schratter left Berlin for Paris in 1926. According to his son
Herman (Jack) Schratter, with whom we had the pleasure to speak
by phone in June 2014 at his home in California, Schratter first
seems to have travelled to Bucharest and probably lived in Romania
for a while. He produced at least one more feature film for Trianon in
Berlin, Elterulos (Franz Hofer, 1927) before migrating to the United
States via the port of Hamburg on S.S. Washington in January 1934.
Schratter had been a frequent visitor to the United States since the
1910s. He had established a company there in 1916, became an
American citizen, and later married Alma Loewenthal in New York
in May of 191S.36 The 1919 Yearbook of the Merchants Association
of New York still lists his activities as a businessman, and he contin­
ued to travel via Cherbourg and Plymouth to the States during the
1920s. While it so far remains unknown what Schratter did between
1926 and 1934, ships record document his arrival with Alma and
his children Herman and Mary in New York on January 31, 1934.

23
The Schratters settled in California; census records refer to a rented
house in Santa Monica, to Schratters profession as “producer”, and
note that he had difficulties holding continuous employment.3'
In the years following the arrival in California, Schratter eagerly
tried to get a foothold in film production again. In June 1935> he
filed a court suit against Greta Garbo, demanding 11,305 USD from
the Swedish actress who by now had become Hollywood’s greatest
star. “Money is alleged to have been advanced years ago to the star
in Stockholm and Berlin”, Variety noted, “but circumstances were
not disclosed”38 Although the lawsuit was reported to have been
settled out of court in November that year, Schratter continued to
fight throughout 1937 for money “he spent on Miss Garbo in 1924
to give her a start in films”.39 Garbo avoided to appear in court at
this later trial, which was presided by Fletcher Bowron (who became
mayor of Los Angeles, 1938-1953), claiming that “she was busy with
picture work and would have no time until her present flicker is
finished”. Schratter “despaired over the delay”, arguing that he “pul
her on the road to success and gave her an opportunity to return
my own money. She has been torturing me for two years with one
excuse after another, but somehow the money is not returned to
me.” The actress, in turn, “denied owning Schratter a single penny”.40
Now and then, public opinion has sided with Garbo, although
there is ample evidence that Schratter might have been correct in
filing the lawsuit, not least because of the risk he took as a migrant
without a known track record aiming to land a producer job in Hol­
lywood. When Garbo finally appeared in court, Schratters counsel,
James J. McCarthy, confronted her with facts that historically are
proven to be correct, as our research shows, yet Garbo denied any
knowledge about them:

“Did you receive any money from Mr. Schratter at the Grand Hotel
in Stockholm?”
“No.”

24
David and Alma Schrattcr, heading to the Los Angeles County Superior
Court in 1937. (Authors collection)

“You didn’t receive from him 500 Swedish kronen [sic]?”

“Not that I know of. I can positively say no”
She was uncertain whether she was receiving the equivalent of
$1,250 a month when she began working for the Trianon com­
pany. She was under 21 and didn’t concern herself with such details.
Sell ratter, she said, was handling the deal.
“In Mr. Schratters arrangements you were to receive 5,000 Swed­
ish kronen [sic] a month?”
“I don’t recollect”, she said. “No.”
“As a matter of fact, you did receive 5,000 Swedish kronen [sic]
a month, didn’t you?”
“I don’t think”,, said Garbo, “that anybody received anything.”
The actress said she never completed a picture for the company,
but what happened she didn’t remember, if she ever knew in the
first place.

25
 “All I know is”, she said, “is the whole thing busted and I don’t
know anything more about it, and naturally I did not understand
anything about those things.””

In July of 1937, the lawsuit was dismissed.12 Schratter went on and

in that same year independently developed a project, entitled “Tam­
my’s Santa”, in association with Sam Efrus at Conn Studios, featuring
his discovery, a four-and-a-half-year old child actor named Tommy
Lynn; Charles Hutchinson directed.'13 According to Jack Schratter,
production was completed and got a preview screening before the
lab burned down in 1938, destroying all the film’s negatives. In i939>
Schratter wrote a screenplay, but the film never seems to have taken
form. He appeared depressed at times, according to his son Jack,
when relating his experiences of the Constantinople product ion and
of his time as producer in Germany. David Schratter passed away
on 13 March 1958 in Los Angeles.

26
Notes
1 A survey of relevant scholarship is provided in Chapter 1 which is based on
Vonderau s earlier book, Bilder vom Nordetv. Schwedisch-deutsche Filmbezie-
hungen, 1914-1939 (Marburg: Schiiren, 2007).
2 This era of Swedish cinema has been analysed by Florin in Den nationella
stilen, Studier i den svcnska filmens gulddldcr (Stockholm: Aura, 1997).
3 Janet Staiger, “Authorship approaches”, In: Authorship and Film, eds. David
A. Gerstner and Janet Staiger (New York: Routledge, 2003), 27-60; Robert
L. Carringer, “Collaboration and Concepts on Authorship”, In: PMLA 116,2,
2001,370-379.
4 Robert L. Carringer, The Scripts of Citizen Kane, Critical Inquiry 5,2, 1978,
369-400. See also Carringer, The Making of Citizen Kane (Berkeley: Univer­
sity of California Press, 1985).
5 Carringer 2001,378.
6 Vicki Mayer, “Bringing the Social Back In: Studies of Production Cultures
and Social Theory”, Production Studies: Cultural Studies of Media Industries,
eds. Miranda Banks, John Thornton Caldwell, and Vicki Mayer (New York:
Routledge, 2009), 15-24. See also Production Studies, The Sequel! Cultural
Studies of Global Media Industries, eds. Miranda Banks, Bridget Conor, and
Vicki Mayer (New York: Routledge, 2015) and Behind the Screen: Inside Euro­
pean Production Cultures, eds. Petr Szczepanik and Patrick Vonderau (New
York: Palgrave, 2013).
7 See, for instance, Petr Szczepanik, Tovdrna Barrandov: Svetfilmaru a politickd
moc, 1945-1970 [The Barrandov Film Factory: The World of Filmmakers and
Political Power, 1945-1970] (Prague: NFA, 2016); Erin Hill, Never Done: A
History of Womens Work in Media Production (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers
University Press. 2016); and Miranda Banks, The Writers: A History ofAmer­
ican Screenwriters and their Guild (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University
Press, 2016).
8 Peter C. Kunze, “Herding Cats; or, The Possibilities of Unproduction Studies”,
The Velvet Light Trap 80, Fall 2017, 18-31.
9 Daniel Ferrer and Michael Groden, “Introduction”, in Genetic Criticism:
Texts and Avant-Tcxts, eds. Jan Deppman, Daniel Ferrer, and Michael Gro­
den (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 6.

27
10 Ian W. MacDonald, Screenwriting Poetics and the Screen Idea (New York:
Palgrave, 2013).
11 See, among others, Janet Staiger, “Dividing Labor for Production Control:
Thomas Ince and the Rise of the Studio System”, Cinema Journal iS,2,16-25;
Leo G. Handel, Hollywood Looks At Its Audience (Urbana: University of Illi­
nois Press, 1950); and Susan G. Ohmer, George Gallup in Hollywood (New
York: Columbia University Press, 2006).
12 A recent sociological account of the development process has been provided
by Sara Malou Strandvad, “Analyzing Production from a Socio-material Per­
spective”, in Behind the Screen: Inside European Production Cultures, eds. Petr
Szczepanik and Patrick Vonderau (New York: Palgrave, 2013), 34-56.
13 Dan North, “Introduction”, in Sights Unseen: Unfinished British Films, ed. Dan
North (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008), 6.
14 Ferrer and Groden 2004, 2. Cf. Steven Price, “Screenwriting Conference,
Brussels, September 2011, Conference Keynote”, Journal of Screenwriting 4.1.
2013,93.
15 Marc Vernet, Ainsi naquit Hollywood: Avant /’ age dor, les ambitions de la
Triangle et des premiers studios. Paris: Armand Colin, 2018.
16 Most recently, the production history of the Constantinople project has been
retold in the novel Blekingegatan 32 by Lena Einhorn (Stockholm: Norsledts,
2013), for instance. See Chapter 2 for a full discussion.
17 Sybille Kramer, “Was also ist eine Spur? Und worin besteht ihre epistemologi-
sche Rolle? Eine Bestandsaufnahme”, in Spurenlesen als Orientierungstechnik
und Wissenskunst, eds. Sybille Kramer, Werner Kogge, and Gernol Grubc
(Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2007), 11-36.
18 Mayer 2009,15.
19 Janet Staiger, “Dividing Labor for Production Control: Thomas Ince and the
Rise of the Studio System”, Cinema Journal 18,2, 16-25; Kristin Thompson,
“Early Alternatives to the Hollywood Mode of Production”, in rfhe Silent
Cinema Reader, eds. Lee Grieveson and Peter Kramer (London: Routledge,
2004), 349-367; Juliane Scholz, Der Drehbuchautor. USA-Dcutschland. Ein
historischer Vergleich (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2016).
20 Francois Jost, “Die Programmierung des Zuschauers”, Kintop. Jahrbuch zur
Erforschungdesfriihen Films 11 (special issue Kinemalographen-Programme),
2002, 35-48.
21 This is now considered the cinema convention of screenplays. It is worth not­
ing that runtimes varied, however. Around the mid-1920s, reels in German
cinemas would contain between 300 and 500 metres of film, as projection

28
 technique had been improved to operate with larger reels. Projection speed
varied and could be as fast as 26 fps. Thanks to Ralf Forster and Jeanpaul
Goergen for pointing this out to 11s.
22 Jahrbuch der Filminduslrie 1923. 1. Jahrgcmg 1922/1923 (Berlin: Verlag der
Lichtbild-Buhne, 1923), 51-54.
23 This was the case in Germany, according to Thompson 2004, 355.
24 MacDonald 2013, 167-169.
25 David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film (Madison: University of Wis­
consin Press, 1985), 156-204.
26 Noel Burch, To the Distant Observer: Form and Meaning in Japanese Cinema
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 19.
27 Rick Altman, “Dickens, Griffith, and Film Theory Today”, Classical Flollywood
Narrative. The Paradigm Wars, ed. Jane Gaines (Durham/London: Duke Uni­
versity Press, 1992), 16.
28 In what follows, we rely on Claus Tiebers Stumnifilmdramaturgie. Erzdhl-
weisen des amerikanischen Feature Films (Munster: Lit Verlag, 2011). Tieber
describes the melodramatic imagination at the heart of “classical” Hollywood,
however, contesting David Bordwells and others’ history of “the system”.
29 Adrian Martin, “Where Do Cinematic Ideas Come from?” Journal of Screen­
writing 5,1,11.
30 Ben Singer, Melodrama and Modernity: Early Sensational Cinema and Its
Contexts (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 134.
31 Rick Altman, A Theory of Narrative (New York: Columbia University Press,
2008).
32 An alternative theory could be that Stiller and Hylten-Cavallius, when writing
the script, strategized to leave the potential star status of Garbo and Han­
son open until shooting was finished, either in order to use the film as evi­
dence in their discussion with the producer to showcase their presence, or
because they were not sure that both actors would deliver. There is, however,
no empirical evidence to back up this theory.
33 Anon., “Germans Sign British Actor”, Vie Film Daily, 27 May 1924. 19-
34 See Chapter 1 for the details. Note the difference between Swedish Krona
and U.S. dollars, with the dollar being the higher currency, and the fact that
Veidt received his salary for a much shorter period. As compared to the gold
standard, Garbos monthly salary of 5,000 SEK amounted to about one third
(36%) of the 3,600 USD Veidt received for merely one month of shooting with
her in the studio. Hereby we correct a previous, incorrect statement about
these salaries (Vonderau 2007, 285-286).

29
35 His professional biography up to and during the production of A Tale from
Constantinople will be related in Chapter 1.
36 Export Trade Directory>, 1922, no pagination; The Advocate. Americas Jewish
Journal, May 1918.
37 Such as, for instance, in the 16th Census of the U.S., 1940 (data from 1939)-
38 Anon., “Garbo Skeleton”, Variety, 5 June 1935.
39 The later sum was reported as amounting to USD 10,500. Anon., “Suit Against
Garbo”, Beckley Post-Herald, 8 May 1937.
40 Anon., “‘What Great Magic Surrounds this Woman?’ Lawyer Asks as Greta
Garbo Wins Continuance in L.A. Suit”, Nevada State Journal, 3 May 1937-
41 Anon., “Garbo Denies Taking Loan”, San Bernardino Sun> vol. 43, 30 April
1937-
42 Anon., “Suit Against Greta Garbo Dismissed”, The Straits Times, 4 July 1937-
43 Anon., “New 4-Year-Old Child Star”, The Film Daily, 20 May 1938; Anon.,
“Off Coast Wires”, The Film Daily, 15 December 193S.

30
The Politics of Film Financing
Trianon Film AG, 1923-1925

Patrick Vonderau

A.: Can you tell me what a film is?

B.: Certainly, my good man. A film is speculation in the human
cerebral vacuum.
A.: (looks up) Hmm... And who’s the actual creator?
B.: Look, the entrepreneur finds what could be called “gold-bear­
ing” ground. He drills into this ground. The required reservoir is
then reached at a certain depth. If it doesn’t yield enough, he drills
deeper.
A.: What happens then?
B.: Then the entrepreneur goes to a bar, or he makes an expedition
to a series of bars. And falls in love with a young woman.
A.: And?
B.: That’s the leading lady.
A.: (exhales smoke) And then what happens?
B.: He rents what’s known as the director. The director rents the
leading man. The leading man rents nice apartments, cars, dogs.
A.: Ah, then money gets spread around!
B.: No, debt gets spread around!

early in January 1925 an anonymous article appeared in Lichtbild-

Biihnet a major German trade journal, later revealed as having been
written by Karl WolfFsohn, its publisher. The article’s title, “Wetter-
leuchten” (heat lightning), foretold disaster, and WolfFsohn claimed

31
to observe “trouble brewing” in the German film industry.1 In his
opinion, an abundance of shady “adventurers” were responsible for
it gradually losing its foundation, which in concrete terms meant
the trust of financers, who supplied desperately needed loans. The
reason for these fears, which became obvious shortly after, was Tri­
anon Film AG, a company that apparently had just appeared from
nowhere. Trianon attracted a great deal of attention because of
spectacular big-budget productions in Egypt and Turkey, and also
because of the hiring of international stars, among them Mauritz
Stiller and starlet Greta Garbo. After a brief boom lasting fewer than
two years, the company was caught up in a maelstrom of legal inves­
tigations involving a misappropriation of government funds. The
“Mauritz Stiller affair” made newspaper headlines thanks to a trial
in July 1925, and Garbos career in Germany came to an early end.
At first glance it indeed appears as if Trianon was a classic example
of a film production company for that “time when washed-up coat
manufacturers founded production companies and made movies of
the lowest quality imaginable, with their models as stars and import­
ant employees as company presidents.”2 Historical accounts, which
deal with the company’s story primarily because of Greta Garbo and
Mauritz Stiller, have supported the contemporary view that in 1924
the German film industry was a playground for “adventurers and
soldiers of fortune” and that most film dealers were “racketeers.”3
In particular, the Swedish film historian Gosta Werner has widely
popularised this view, in which the actions of Trianon’s directors
were intentionally speculative if not directly fraudulent. They misled
Stiller and his coworkers regarding the company’s financial strength,
exploited them, and then fled the country; Stiller and Garbo thus
appear as victims of a specifically German style of production. Nei­
ther Wolffsohn’s contemporary description nor the historical view
of Gosta Werner clearly outline the grounds on which their judg­
ments are based, however. This chapter corrects this view based on
my discovery of a unique collection of archival files that never have

32
been thoroughly analysed and contextualised before, which contain
sufficient material to flesh out the details of events that were sim­
plified in past histories.'1
The aim of this chapter is to provide a historical context for
understanding the relevance of the Constantinople project, and
principaly, to trace the financing of this production and its under­
lying, rather complex and twisted politics of production. Relating
this never made film to a particularly German mode of production
and its associated practices allows us to better understand what was
unique and what was rather symptomatic of German production
policies at the time, if not German society at large. Trianon’s business
strategies also clearly relate to what is known as the “Film Europe”
movement of the early 1920s, a pan-European attempt within the
film industry to counter the advances of Hollywood.5

1 From Warehouse to Production Company

David Scln alter and Trianon Film A G
On 2S August, 1923, in the offices of Continentale Handels Aktieng-
esellschaft, Dessauer Strasse 2, an import-export company in Ber­
lin, the company agreement for Trianon Film Aktiengesellschaft
was drawn up. The company’s purpose was the “production, sales
and rental of films, and theatrical exhibition.”6 The capital stock
amounted to 500 million Papiermark (marks after the gold stan­
dard was abandoned in 1914) of 50 shares worth 10 million marks
each. Later the company’s basic assets were converted into 5,000
gold-based marks. Five partners contributed to this sum in equal
portions—the director Paul Ludwig Stein and four employees of
Continentale—who were obviously functioning as straw men.
Notarisation was arranged by David Schratter, who soon after that
assumed all managerial tasks and structured the company according
to his own ideas about the film trade.
When the company was founded, the 31-year-old entrepreneur

33
to observe “trouble brewing” in the German film industry.1 In his
opinion, an abundance of shady “adventurers” were responsible for
it gradually losing its foundation, which in concrete terms meant
the trust of financers, who supplied desperately needed loans. The
reason for these fears, which became obvious shortly after, was Tri­
anon Film AG, a company that apparently had just appeared from
nowhere. Trianon attracted a great deal of attention because of
spectacular big-budget productions in Egypt and Turkey, and also
because of the hiring of international stars, among them Mauritz
Stiller and starlet Greta Garbo. After a brief boom lasting fewer than
two years, the company was caught up in a maelstrom of legal inves­
tigations involving a misappropriation of government funds. The
“Mauritz Stiller affair” made newspaper headlines thanks to a trial
in July 1925, and Garbos career in Germany came to an early end.
At first glance it indeed appears as if Trianon was a classic example
of a film production company for that “time when washed-up coat
manufacturers founded production companies and made movies of
the lowest quality imaginable, with their models as stars and import­
ant employees as company presidents.”2 Historical accounts, which
deal with the company’s story primarily because of Greta Garbo and
Mauritz Stiller, have supported the contemporary view that in 1924
the German film industry was a playground for “adventurers and
soldiers of fortune” and that most film dealers were “racketeers.”3
In particular, the Swedish film historian Gosta Werner has widely
popularised this view, in which the actions of Trianon’s directors
were intentionally speculative if not directly fraudulent. They misled
Stiller and his coworkers regarding the company’s financial strength,
exploited them, and then fled the country; Stiller and Garbo thus
appear as victims of a specifically German style of production. Nei­
ther Wolffsohn’s contemporary description nor the historical view
of Gosta Werner clearly outline the grounds on which their judg­
ments are based, however. This chapter corrects this view based on
my discovery of a unique collection of archival files that never have

32
been thoroughly analysed and contextualised before, which contain
sufficient material to flesh out the details of events that were sim­
plified in past histories.4
The aim of this chapter is to provide a historical context for
understanding the relevance of the Constantinople project, and
principaly, to trace the financing of this production and its under­
lying, rather complex and twisted politics of production. Relating
this never made film to a particularly German mode of production
and its associated practices allows us to better understand what was
unique and what was rather symptomatic of German production
policies at the time, if not German society at large. Trianon’s business
strategies also clearly relate to what is known as the “Film Europe”
movement of the early 1920s, a pan-European attempt within the
film industry to counter the advances of Hollywood.5

1 From Warehouse to Production Company

David Sc!nailer and Trianon Film AG
On 28 August, 1923, in the offices ofContinentale Handels Aktieng-
esellschaft, Dessauer Strasse 2, an import-export company in Ber­
lin, the company agreement for Trianon Film Aktiengesellschaft
was drawn up. The company’s purpose was the “production, sales
and rental of films, and theatrical exhibition.”6 The capital stock
amounted to 500 million Papiermark (marks after the gold stan­
dard was abandoned in 1914) of 50 shares worth 10 million marks
each. Later the company’s basic assets were converted into 5,000
gold-based marks. Five partners contributed to this sum in equal
portions—the director Paul Ludwig Stein and four employees of
Continentale—who were obviously functioning as straw men.
Notarisation was arranged by David Schratter, who soon after that
assumed all managerial tasks and structured the company according
to his own ideas about the film trade.
When the company was founded, the 31-year-old entrepreneur

33
Schratter had virtually no experience in the film industry, but his
past seems to have qualified him for doing business on the inter­
national market.7 Born in 1893, he was the oldest of eight children
while growing up in Czernowitz (now Chernivtsi, Ukraine). At
school he studied German, English and French and worked in his
fathers clothing store for a year. After that he was gripped, as he
later described it, by a “desire to travel.” Armed with a few English
pounds given to him by an aunt, Schratter went to Cairo first, where
he ran a shop selling Swiss lace for a brief time. He then worked as
a commercial agent for a certain A. Gerngross of Vienna in Singa­
pore and founded an import-export company in Shanghai. Shortly
after the First World War began, Schratter travelled to New York
and applied for US citizenship, which was presumably granted in
1915. He built up a US-Chinese import company, through which
he earned enough reserves to finance his entry into the German
business world.8
Schratters switch to the German film trade was less the result
of long-term planning than an opportunity he successfully took
advantage of. In 1921 Schratter moved to Berlin and concluded a
contract with Continentale Handels AG involving exports to the
United States. This business went so well at first—due to inflation
in particular—that he was able to buy the company in 1922. When
the Ruhr Valley Region was occupied in January 1923 trade came to
a halt, and as a result Schratter put the business on the backburner
and started looking for new sources of income. That spring he met
the men behind the Trianon-Film-Compagnie, who were in the pro­
cess of shooting Zwei Menschen (1923, Hanns Schwarz) in Bavaria
and Tyrol and experiencing financial difficulties.9 Schratter became
the financer of the film, which was “barely half-finished”, and took
over Trianon itself that summer.10 In order to escape any subsequent
financial claims on the company’s previous owners, he founded the
Trianon-Film-Aktiengesellschaft in August 1923.11 The necessary
capital came from his reserves in dollars earned in the United States

34
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mathek)
and as the chairman of Continentale’s supervisory board, in addi­
tion to contributions from his brother Ignatz Schratter and funds
provided by the banker Otto Busch.
In terms of how it was founded and its organisation, Trianon
seems somewhat behind the times, particularly when compared to
the structure of film production in Hollywood. Similarities with the
central producer system in California’s dream factory were merely
superficial.12 Schratter watched over the company practically by
himself and in a way that resembled a family-run business where
personal trust in employees was decisive. He had unlimited power
of attorney and little by little purchased all the company’s shares.13
Just one day after the company opened, Schratter became chairman
of its supervisory board, and he took advantage of this position
to name his brother Ignatz Schratter, a military officer and self-
taught businessman, head of the company’s management board.
Otto Busch, a personal friend who had administered Schratter’s pri­
vate account at the Diskonto-Gesellschaft’s branch office since 1921,
one of Germany’s then largest banks, was recruited and made Tri­
anon’s production manager.1'1 Schratter took on two important offi­
cers (Prokuristen), Justus Klos and Ernst von Rhein, and the offices
from Continentale. While Schratter had no real use for its previous
owner, Georg Schaff'rath, he was made the company’s factotum to
show gratitude for permitting the use of the business premises.15
Although Schratter ran the company like the head of a family and
managed business matters almost by himself,16 he was able to avoid
the risks involved with founding a company in 1923. At first condi­
tions seemed promising for a film-production company. Schratter’s
entry into the industry was motivated by the excellent prospects
exported German films were still said to have. In August 1923 the
domestic market was still protected by a quota on imports, while
export of a large number of productions continued, particularly
to other European countries.17 With an eye on the foreign mar­
ket Schratter produced Nation (1923, Hanns Schwarz) and Steuer-

36
los (1923, Gennaro Righelli) for Trianon and started work on Ein
Traum vom Gliick (1923/24, Paul Ludwig Stein) between August
and December. The production costs specified in the balance sheet
for the fiscal year amounted to a total of approximately 580,000
marks.18 That autumn, licensing agreements were signed for the
four feature films, while a portion of the production work was still
ongoing, with the distributor Landlicht Film-Verleih, an Ufa sub­
sidiary, in exchange for 40 percent of the proceeds.19 By November
most of the company’s debt was paid off, and it had assets worth
600.000 to 800,000 marks.20
In Trianon’s first few months in business a number of other signifi­
cant differences between its production style and Hollywood’s became
evident. In the same way as most other German production compa­
nies, it was unable to compete with the US type of mass production
which maintained steady levels of quantity and product standards.21
More than 60 percent of such companies in the Weimar Republic
produced just two or three films each year, and eight percent made
nine or more.22 The production boom in the early postwar years was
long over by the time Trianon began doing business: In 1922 the total
volume of production dropped by 65 percent, then an additional 33
percent in 1923.23 Trianon’s planned schedule of making eight films
annually made it a medium-sized company of the type that charac­
terised German film production along with smaller operations.
A second striking difference was the manner of financing, though
companies like Trianon for the most part had access to the same
sources as companies in the United States: private contributions, loans
and proceeds from the sales of licenses.2'1 As one of 159 stock corpo­
rations founded in the German film industry in 1923, Trianon had a
small amount of non-sellable capital equity amounting to 5,000 gold-
based marks. By December 1923, David Schratter, his brother Ignatz
and production manager Otto Busch had invested an additional
223.000 gold-based marks in production from their own funds.25 The
contributions in the form of share capital and private equity there-

37
 Rtglsttur Mjurlce Stiller, Klvpftr, Gildtro*. Dir. SchntJlefSortmtn,
Pro/. Kipfni'fn. Dir. Goron and Reghstur Sturnju
Skandina vischc Gastc auf dcm Rog»IIof im ncucn KxkIusiv«Film

Der bretniraerade A © Ik e s'

Bishcrisc Erschcinungcn:
Der Gang in die IMacht und Ehrenschuld
bcidc mit Olaf Fdnss

Looking up to Mauritz Stiller: Ad for a film by F.W. Murnau.

1923. (Filmmuseum Berlin-Deutsche Kinemathek)

fore covered solely a small portion of the company’s financial needs.

Another portion of the costs involved with starting production was
paid off with the common “anticipated proceeds” from the presale of
licensing rights during production.26 However, during its brief history
Trianon was financed most importantly by means of loans. There are
two specific problems with this method that small and medium-sized
Weimar-era production companies were forced to deal with.
Firstly, the unfavorable conditions in the film industry, which
became most evident after introduction of the Rentenmark (which
4
replaced the Papiermark in November 1923 to stop hyperinflation),
represented a major burden. While the economic and social situ­
ation was regarded as fairly unpredictable before then, the risks
involved with loans and business in general rose to equal extents.

38
As a result of currency stabilisation exports, which had guaranteed
60 to 70 percent of amortisation in the previous years, collapsed.27
The ratio of the domestic and foreign shares of income reversed,
though production volume was not adapted to these new market
conditions: In 1924 the German market was oversaturated with long
feature films, amounting to 90 percent, and a considerable portion
of them came from abroad. The domestic market was flooded with
inexpensive imports from the United States, while domestic pro­
duction in Germany suffered from an explosion of expenditures,
which had become the rule since the onset of hyperinflation. Even
the turnover time of invested capital continued to increase, as a
result of which production companies were compelled to make and
distribute several films in order to guarantee income. Paradoxically,
this made the investment of increasingly greater sums necessary.28
The second problem was directly related to this unstable situation.
Not only production companies were affected, the banks able to pro­
vide the necessary moneys also suffered. Specialised loan companies
did not exist for the film industry in 1923; the Miinchner Bank fur
Handel und Filmindustrie was liquidated, as was the Internationale
Film AG (or Filmbank) before it.29 Private banks were extremely
conservative about giving loans to small and medium-sized compa­
nies in the film business, regarding it as too risky. In the same way
as a few larger companies, Schratter received personal loans at first
from the three banks he was connected to, the Bremer Privatbank,
the Rheinische Handelsgesellschaft and the Tschechoslowakischer
Bankverein.30 The switch to the Rentenmark resulted in these loans
being called in or such monumental increases in interest claims
that finding additional sources of funding was necessary.31 Schrat­
ter was forced to increase the speed of his company’s production
to maintain its profitability in the unstable economic climate, and
this necessitated personal loans without the security involved when
doing business with a bank.
From autumn 1923, staying in business by financing business

39
activity with loans from a single source involved an incalculable risk,
for both creditor and debtor. After Trianon had cash-flow problems
for the first time in November and December, obtaining funds took
on the utmost priority of business operations in January 1924. In
line with Schratter’s management style, Busch brought his brother-
in-law, government counsellor {Regierungsrat) Erich Bretschneider,
on board. Schratter and Busch accepted the offer of a personal loan
from the government official, who seemed trustworthy, and received
approximately 150,000 marks in securities that were then used as
collateral or sold to finance production of the four films.32 Then
something unexpected entered the picture: success.
In early 1924, Berlin had 715 movie theaters, 235 production
companies, 65 sales and S5 rental companies. Competition between
producers and distributors of films was heavy, and audiences tended
to stay away from theaters due to the hard economic times affect­
ing all social classes.33 Programs of the city’s theaters satisfied all
demands, with spectacular big-budget productions such as Die
Nibelungen (Part 1, 1924, Fritz Lang) and Carlos unci Elisabeth
(1923/24, Richard Oswald), Kammerspiele, or intimate melodra­
mas, such as Sylvester (1923, Lupu Pick), and US films released on
the German market in 1924.3'1 Despite the high degree of market
saturation, the premieres of Trianon’s Zwei Menschen on 9 January
and Nation on 1 February at Berlins top premiere house Mozartsaal
both turned out to be major successes. Schratter benefited in terms
of the reviews, at the box office, and from sales of licenses: In early
1924 the distributor Landlicht Film-Verleih brought in more than
300,000 marks from contract licenses, a sum that increased by sig­
nificant amounts each month.35 The company’s commercial manag­
ers regarded this as heralding a possible boom for Trianon’s sched­
uled productions and decided to expand quickly.
The effects of this decision in terms of Trianon’s business practices
differed from classic Hollywood production, as did the company’s
overall economic condition, the style of management employed

40
there, its production volume and its financing.36 In 1924 the com-
pany developed into a truly German-style corporate group. The aim
of producing, distributing and projecting films in a single operation
was laid down in the company agreement, but only after Schrat-
ter secured control of Trianon, found a financially sound source
of funds, and tested the production program on distributors and
audiences was this intention put into practice.
This confirmed a rule in the German film business: Whoever
wants to expand beyond the level of a small company with little
capital that makes do with commissioned productions must insti­
tute production in the form of a group.37 Sch ratter took notes from
large groups such as Ufa and Decla-Bioscop, in addition to rela­
tively smaller ones such as Progress, National and Terra.3S Incorpo­
ration reduced the amount of risk involved with production in that
sales to the affiliated companies were guaranteed. This helped save
costs, facilitated maximisation of profit in the individual companies,
and made for a more unified approach for meeting the heightened
domestic and international competition.39 In January i924Trianon-
Film Ateliers Gmbh was founded with capital stock of 20,000 gold-
based marks. The company’s purpose was purchasing, managing and
commercialising film studios. Schratter bought from Westfilm-Ate-
lier Gesellschaft a large studio building, at Konigsweg 148 in Berlin’s
Grunewald district, paying 82,500 US dollars.'10 He hired Hans Otto,
the engineer at Johannisthaler Film-Anstalten (Jofa), to expand and
set up the studio and serve as its technical head.11 The former riding
hall, which had little more than an old Pathe camera and some light­
ing equipment when purchased, was turned into a modern studio
thanks to an investment of about 130,000 gold-based marks.'12 The
new equipment included a low- and high-voltage power system,
diesel-powered motor generators and transformers, props, a grand
piano and a stock of costumes. Lichtbild-Biiline praised the Trianon
studio, where up to four films could be shot simultaneously,'13 as a
“model of German film-studio construction:”

41
 The large studio covers 1,500 square meters, the small one, 300, a
respectable amount of space, and the usable height is 16 meters.
Direct current of 10,000 amperes, converted from high-frequency
current of 6,000 volts, 160 floor lamps and 360 overhead lamps
mounted on the ceiling in rings of six each, where electrical pul­
leys can be used to raise or lower them to the desired height. Of
course, all other side rooms such as the painting department and
engineering and carpentry workshop have been designed and out­
fitted in an exemplary way. Even the dressing rooms are furnished
so as to be thoroughly hygienic and equipped with bathing and
showering facilities.'11

With an estimated new value of approximately 1.5 million marks,'15

which would be paid off quickly by means of frequent rentals,'16 this
studio represents Trianon’s largest investment, though not the only
significant one it made.
In April 1924 the former Trianon Film Compagnie GmbH
became Trianon-Film Verleih GmbH and provided with 5,000 gold-
based marks of capital stock; its purpose was the rental and sale of
films and all related business activities.*17 The films commissioned by
Trianon Film AG and shot in the studios of Trianon Ateliers GmbH
were to be distributed by Trianon-Verleih, which would then pay
its net income to Trianon Film AG. In other words, despite their
apparent independence, the studio and distributor were subordinate
to the financing and management of David Schratter.48 Schratter
made Fritz Mischke the distributors president after recruiting him
from another distributor, Landlicht Film-Verleih.
Furthermore, an advertising department was incorporated into
the parent company, and some experts estimated that it involved
more effort and expense than even Ufa’s, Germany’s major film com­
pany.49 Like Ufa with its Ufa-Blatter, Trianon began publishing its
own self-promotional company journal, entitled Filmsignale. Mit-
teilungen der Trianon-Film AG. Blatterfur die Interessen des Licht-

42
spieltheaterbesitzers.50 It also expanded its office space located near
Potsdamer Platz to comprise several floors, set up a projection room
praised by Lichtbild-Biilme as “a model of stylish interior design”,
purchased two Mercedes sedans (one open and the other closed),
and by the end of 1924 hired on a permanent basis about 40 com­
mercial and technical employees, which does not include the actual
production staff, directors or cast members.51
Trianon’s swift expansion into a group of companies with its own
production facilities and distributor reflected not so much “the
actions of a speculator” typical of those days than the expectations
and pressures filmmakers were subjected to: While on the one hand
political changes in Great Britain and France heralded a possible
export boom, on the other the dynamic trends involving currency
kept the industry’s future uncertain. Schratter’s decision to expand
was rational: It would help avoid financial losses and reduce the
amount of time required for capital turnover.52 The problem lay
elsewhere, in the contradiction that Trianon was gradually expand­
ing vertically like a large group but was not financed by a major
bank like Ufa.53 Schratter preferred not to wait for a new bank loan,
instead entrusting his company’s fortunes to Erich Bretschneider, a
creditor whose involvement contributed greatly to Trianon’s failure.
Bretschneider had no knowledge of or experience with either
film production or business. In the past he had worked at the Reich
Labour Administration (Reichsarbeitsverwaltung), managing
funds for construction of housing for the unemployed, and had
just become the CEO of a privately owned building society, Berlin’s
Wohnstatten GmbH.5'1 In this position he was responsible for the
use of 2.5 million gold-based marks from the Reich Labour Min­
istry (Reichsarbeitsministerium) earmarked for the construction
of apartments for civil servants. Due to a period of ground frost
and a construction workers’ strike, this capital was never used for
its intended purpose and continued to collect a small amount of
interest at a bank. Since the Rentenmark’s stability was uncertain,

43
Bretschneider seems to have believed that it was a good idea to
invest these funds in a company that worked with material assets
where their value would remain stable and earn a higher interest
rate. Why he chose a company that produced films is unclear, and
there is no evidence that he received a fee in return. After a check of
the company’s credit standing Bretschneider loaned Trianon a total
of 3,615,254 gold-based marks from the moneys he managed from
6 February to 29 December, 1924, in 77 separate amounts.55 This
made it possible for the company to finance an extensive production
program intended for the international market; its most valuable
assets were the actresses Mary Johnson and Greta Garbo, the star
director Mauritz Stiller, and not least Stillers Swedish production,
Gosta Berlings saga (Gosta Berling, 1924).

2 Sweden and the Policy of Securing a Market

How to explain Trianon’s involvement in Scandinavia? Answering
this question must begin with distribution, as opposed to produc­
tion, it represented the company’s actual core. In the mid-1920s
distribution was generally considered the most lucrative part of the
German film business.56 Accordingly, Schratter undertook extended
journeys across Europe in an effort to build up an extensive distribu­
tion network that would handle both his company’s own films and
productions purchased from other sources. As he himself stated,
he was reacting primarily to the hegemony of the United States in
Europe:

The Americans have been able [...] to carry the European market
by opening branches and distributors in Berlin, and from there ser­
vicing Central Europe. Furthermore, they have set up sales organ­
isations in Paris and distributors in London, which allows them to
control the entire European market.57

44
The company’s own distributor would therefore serve as a “whole­
saler”58 for distribution of the manufactured goods through a net­
work of dealers, in this way doing battle with foreign competitors.
More importantly, this would help the producer turn over capital
more swiftly. As long as Trianon worked with other distributors,
the company would not be able to claim more than a percentage
of the profits, which would be paid out at a relatively later date.59
In order to make the most profitable use of its own negatives and
those it purchased, the company became a monopoly. Thanks to
the branches opened in Diisseldorf, Frankfurt am Main, Leipzig,
Hamburg, Munich and Konigsberg (now Kaliningrad, Russia), Tri­
anon was able to service the entire territory of the former German
Empire.
In addition, a foreign department run by Adolf Kuthan was
opened in Berlin60 for sales of export licenses to the territory for­
merly covered by Austria-Hungary, Yugoslavia, Poland, Czecho­
slovakia, and other Balkan and Eastern European countries. Early
in October 1924 Schratter established a branch in London that was
run by Colonel Harry Anthony Browne.61 After extensive efforts,
in early January 1925 he opened a sales organisation in Paris for
distribution of Trianon productions in France, Belgium, Spain and
South America.62 Later he even began negotiating with potential
partners in the United States and entered into a joint venture with
the Selznick Film Corporation (Myron Selznick) in New York for
the purpose of making German-American co-productions at the
Berlin studio and selling Trianon films in the United States. This
deal was described in the trade press as a great personal achieve­
ment on Schratter s part and “a unique groundbreaking step for the
German film industry.”63
Schratters efforts to ensure foreign distribution was symptom­
atic of the “policy of securing markets”, widespread in Europe’s film
business in 1924 and the subject of lively debate in Germany’s trade
press.6'1 Even though Schratter himself never contributed to this

45
discussion, his actions were for the most part in accordance with
the ideas of presumably the most famous “Film European” at the
time, producer Erich Pommer. Just like Pommer, Schratter strove
to normalise and encourage networking in Europe’s film business
by means of branches and distribution agreements. And just like
Ufa’s head of production, Schratter’s objectives were not primarily
idealistic, but rather focused on making European film pay oh and
securing its survival.65
All the same, the consideration of efforts to control the market
should be not completely independent of the aesthetic and cultural
qualities of the films being produced, as emphasised by the discus­
sions concerning the “nationality” or “internationality” of German
films, which were just as controversial at the time.66 The film indus­
try’s concern with distribution was directly reflected in changes to
production policy. While the success of exports resulted primarily
from the fact that, until stabilisation of the currency, the product was
less expensive than anything the competition could offer, cost-in­
tensive production of quality films was thought to have the best
chances in terms of sales.67
Nevertheless, the discussion among trade experts of the day failed
to give the idea of European quality films a distinct aesthetic profile.
With regard to Schratter, it appears that the creative aspects of Tri­
anon’s productions received little attention, and the surviving corre­
spondence paints a picture of him as a businessman for whom—as
he expressed it himself—“decisions were not made on the basis of
opinions, but solely the numbers’’68 The business details of pro­
duction planning were taken care of by Otto Busch, Hans Otto was
responsible for technical aspects, and the production manager, Fred
Lyssa, organised shooting of the individual productions. A small
production group was put together for each project and managed
by a director who made his artistic decisions independently of com­
pany management for the most part, though both Busch and Otto
kept their eyes on finances.69 Furthermore, the production program

46
 HU IT/- MISCHIli:
*• Aucunt .192“.
Mr. U/Dt.
Hcrrn

Unurlts 3 t 1 1 1 o r

! Stock holn ,
Odcngntan .
Schr gcchrtcr Herr Stiller l
c Durch Herrn Morrio Schrottcr orfahre ich, dn-ir. Si* 11«-
benowtirdiGorneine Tkr F.rnchoir.on zur UrnuffllhrunK zuger.nr.t hnbon. Ich
frouo r.lch dosholb, Ihnon mttoilon zu kbnr.cn, dn::ti die UrnuffUhrung an
10. A'Jguat, nachnittagn 5 Uhr In Moznrt-5nal nn Hollcndorf j lnt.z vor rich
t Goht. bn vrorden zu dla3or Urauffdhrung sllatlichc t»rO=30n dor rronno end
uni (lie Spitr.cn dcr BohOrdon nnr.oocnd coin.
Hlr rctiron Ihnon schr verbundon, wonn cc Ihnon tntaOchlich r.ooh
ndglich coin oolite, Horrn HANSON, Frau Cerda Lundo<ivist-L'ahlntri3z: und
Frduloin Oreta CAJlfiO nitzubrineon; Jenny KASohlsYIoV Trordoi’. r»lr, da nio
sloh Ja in Doutnchlnnd bofindot, von hior auo oinlnden.
nir
Zu nunoorordontlichcn Danko «'ironvThnen verpflichtet, wpnn 3ie
trots Abnngo dcr Frau Solren LnCtoLOKi' doch noch Ihron ganzen Einfl c nuf-
bioten und die Dace r.ur Heioo noch UEHL1H r,ur Urnurff'hrur.g borrogon kCnntcn.
Sle kbnnon nlch keinon Begriff davon nnchen, ’.vie dan doutrcho Fublikun ge-
rndo di.c3o Dichtorin von TToltruf vorehrt, und nir vorsnrechen uno von 1er
Ar.rrooonhelt dleoor Daco clncn ga.nz unglaublichcn Erfolg f<lr den Schrreden-
Filn in Deutschland.
’.Vir omnrton Jedcnfallti Sio, oohr geohrter Herr STILLEB und die
von Innon brorcito nngecoldotcn Horrochnftcn und bitten Sio, una recht
bald Hachrloht su geben, Treil wlr unn r.och ftlr die Unterbrlnguns interes-
oioren nUnnon, bogrtlaaen Sie und solohnon
(s.

nit vcrz'lglicher Uoehachtuns

Leller from Fritz Mischke to Mauritz Stiller. (Swedish Film Institute)

was not characterised by a distinctive studio style; the objective was

balance and diversity which took the competitions successes into
account. The significance of Sweden possibly resulted from the rec­
ommendations of the director of distribution, Fritz Mischke, whose
previous employer, Landlicht Film AG, had numerous connections
in Sweden.

47
 Trianon produced big- and medium-budget films; the “Trianon
foreign week” (Auslandswoche, a newsreel); and comedy shorts for
pre-feature programs, while production overall centered on the
long feature film. The company’s features seem to have anticipated
implementation of the formulas publicised somewhat later by such
producers as Pommer and Wladimir Wengeroff for pushing Euro­
pean distribution of German films. In this case too the model was
“artistic light-entertainment films:” Trianon attempted to combine
education and diversion in a form resembling the tried-and-true
patterns employed by other companies.70 While identifying a sin­
gle continuous principle employed in the selection of material and
genres is not possible, the effort to intersperse moments of strong
attraction in otherwise conventional narratives are clearly evi­
dent. For example, the big-budget melodrama Orient-Die Tochter
dev Wiiste (1924, Gennaro Righelli) contains exterior shots taken
during a four-week expedition through Egypt’s desert, and the three
short “grotesque comedies” directed by Bud Pollard introduced the
young actor Curt Bois as “the German Harold Lloyd.” The concept
employed for Stimme des Herzens (1924, Hanns Schwarz) almost
resembles that of a revue. The beginning and ending, as described
by Filmwoche, are similar to the intimate “Swedish films” and their
“straightforward Nordic character.” In the middle, wholly in the style
of the social realism of sensationalistic works set among the pro­
letariat (Hintertreppen-Kolportage), the life stories of two women,
one rich and the other poor, unfold as parallel stories. In the end
there are some more lurid elements, such as the popular fall to death
from a skyscraper.71
However, regarding this as weak speculation with audiences’
taste would fall short of the mark. On the contrary, these and other
attractions represent an important basis for differentiation and
indication of superior quality compared to other German produc­
tions. A great deal was invested in the films’ look, in particular set
design, cinematography, stars and directors. Quality films with the

48
Trianon brand held the promise of clearly visible production value
and excellent craftsmanship. For this purpose the company con­
tracted several of first-class technical crewmembers from around
the world for extended periods, including the cinematographers
Axel Graatkjeer (who previously worked for Decla-Bioscop), Arpad
Viragh, Julius Reimvald and Hans Scheib, and set designer Professor
Stefan Lhotka. In addition, established actors such as Harry Liedtke,
Conrad Veidt and Viggo Larsen of Denmark appeared in Trianon’s
films. Schratter proved to be a competent producer, for example
by managing to engage Mary Johnson, Greta Garbo and Mauritz
Stiller for several films. This represented a major breakthrough, both
thanks to the great reputation that Stiller and “his” actresses enjoyed
in Germany, and also because to that point in time none of the
domestic competitors had been able to hire the Swedish thespians.
Later, even court experts had to admit the Trianon program could
boast of “without a doubt extremely significant successes, which
were recognised by both the German and foreign film industries.”72
The concentration on Scandinavia, and the high-quality pro­
duction program as a whole, was implemented for the purpose of
securing a market. “Quite intentionally”, as Schratter wrote later, “I
convinced these employees to work for my company to guarantee
sales of our films abroad.”73 Not only the cast and crew, but also the
locations and stories used for Trianon productions were attractive
for an international audience. Swedish elements—locations, nar­
rative motifs, actors or the director—involved an advantage on the
German market: they connoted familiar cultural values. Since the
films were intended for both domestic and international distribu­
tion, Schratter benefited doubly by employing Swedes: He created
trust in the Trianon brand by means of the program’s exotic, daring
and international reputation, and on the other he used the cultural
aspects to affect.
As a matter of fact, a trustworthy brand image was the greatest
possible capital a film company could have in the 1920s. It paid off

49
with theater managers—whom Trianon had to convince to purchase
their product, as the company did not possess any theaters of its
own—and with financers to the same extent. Furthermore, Schrat-
ters creditors played a significant role in his policy of securing a
market: A partial objective of the company’s expansion program
was creating collateral that could be borrowed on. The studio, the
distribution licenses, the films’ production value and contracts with
international Swedish stars all represented assets for obtaining the
loans that would finance its expansion.7'

3 From the North. Two of Sweden’s Stars in Berlin.

The biographies of Mauritz Stiller and Greta Garbo describe their
engagements in Berlin as brief, dark chapters on their way to Hol­
lywood. The path to stardom, suggested by Cesar M. Arconada’s
Vida de Greta Garbo (The life of Greta Garbo), led from Sweden “via
Europe to America.”75 Yet the success Stiller and Garbo enjoyed in
the United States was impossible to foresee in 1924. Victor Sjostrom,
who had lived in California since 1923 “to study”, did not have
solely positive things to say about the opportunities for employ­
ment there/6 In fact, the United States represented the initial rea­
son for Stiller and Garbo trying to make a name for themselves in
Europe. Their work for Trianon was not so much a product of their
individual lives but resulted more importantly from the political
efforts made at the time to streamline production and distribution
on a pan-European basis. Engagements spanning borders were con­
sidered key strategies for battling US hegemony, as were European
co-productions, mutual distribution agreements and the interna­
tionalisation of filmic style. At the same time, day-to-day business
never produced the results Germany’s trade press expected from
Film Europe. The subsequent execution involved those “piecemeal
series of enterprises” that characterised the daily routines behind
the ambitious plans.77

50
 By autumn 1920 a crisis in Sweden’s film industry was foreseeable.
Since the small domestic market did not enjoy the protection of a
quota system like Germany’s, and because the country’s stable cur­
rency was extremely attractive for foreign companies, the competi­
tion from abroad quickly gained ground. In 1922 Paramount, First
National, Metro Goldwyn Mayer, Fox, Universal and other studios
started to open Swedish branches. In 1924 the import of 384 pro­
ductions from the United States reached the preliminary high point
at the time, making the US share of Sweden’s film market about 70
percent.78 In addition, exports and box-office figures dropped, the
latter the result of a postwar depression, and maintaining Svensk
Filmindustris production program was no longer possible.79 Since
the film business in Germany came out of the First World War stron­
ger than before, emigration of Swedish film-industry workers began
soon afterward. The boom in film production during the period of
hyperinflation created an immense need for qualified workers in
Germany, and by the time of the boom for Swedish film that began
in 1921, trained workers from Sweden were in high demand. The
level of euphoria was so great that even con artists profited: In Berlin
in 1923, a “Nils W. Malmleaf” (Malmlof) posed as Victor Sjostrom
(Seastrom), who was working in Hollywood at the time, and claimed
to be a star director from Stockholm with experience in the United
States; he then piled up a mountain of debt in a short time.80
Mauritz Stiller was one of the few well-known directors during
the Weimar Republic, and his excellent reputation resulted in part
from the success of Sdngen om den eldroda blonnnan (Song of the
Scarlet Flower, 1919) in Germany, though Erotikon (1920) played
an even more important role. Erotikon ran at the prestigious Mar-
morhaus theater for four weeks in August 1921 and was a huge
critical success. Almost all reviewers claimed that the reason for the
film’s quality was Stillers “artful direction”,81 the characteristics of
which were praised in detail in reviews and interviews, some with
the actors. Willy Haas termed himself a “Stiller fan”, calling him “the

51
greatest master of film”, and described what were in his opinion the
distinct characteristics of Stillers style:

The enormous extent to which emotion and intellect pervade the

scenes; their unbelievably precise and thorough arrangement in
shots, which permits a maximum of complexity in terms of facial
expression, gestures and emphasis: At no time is there any footage at
all too much or too little; the possibilities of the acting are exploited
to the full, but never watered down; instead, there is precise rhythm
to the limitless interpretations of the musical, limitless interpre­
tations of the atmospheric. Obviously, he exercises an enormous,
almost hypnotic power of suggestion over the actors.82

In Germany Stiller was considered a master of film direction who

understood how to functionalise all filmic elements for the purpose
of telling a story—Joe May, Erich Pommer, Carl Hoffmann, Willy
Fritsch, Friedrich Zelnik, Fritz Lang and Thea von Harbou, and even
theatrical people such as Herbert Ihering and Max Reinhardt, who
saw Erotikon while appearing on stage during a guest engagement,
acknowledged Stillers skill in similar terms.83
Before and after the success of Erotikon—which premiered in
Germany in October 1921—and Herr Arnes pengar (Sir Arnes Trea­
sure, 1919) Stiller went to Berlin several times, staying weeks at
time. He received actors auditioning for a part in Gunnar Hedes saga
(The Blizzard, 1923), and numerous offers involving screenplays
and directing jobs were made.8'1 “Wouldn’t you like to take a shot at
a film with German actors for us?” Paul Ickes posed this question
in November 1921 during an interview for Film-Kurier. “I will not
say yes, nor will I say no!” was Stillers answer, “There was no dearth
of suggestions, but things never went beyond that point.”85 Accord­
ing to reports that appeared in the trade press, he was at the time
engaged in negotiations with Ufa and Decla-Bioscop concerning
establishment of a consortium of companies to finance a big-bud-

52
get period film he would direct in Germany. Although there was
possible even talk of a co-production with Svensk Filmindustri, and
German companies made lucrative offers, Stiller refused to commit
himself, due to the preparations for Giuinar Hedes saga*6
Gosta Werner has characterised Stiller as an aesthetically thought­
ful loner who was wholly vulnerable to the business interests in
his environment.87 Such an assessment, based on a romantic and
idealised view of an artist, overlooks the fact that Stiller was more
than just a director and acted in the interests of the corporate group
financing him. Stiller represented an indispensable asset for the
Swedish film industry, which accordingly paid close attention to
what he did in Berlin in 1921/22. “Tyskarna vilja ta ifran oss Mauritz
Stiller” [The Germans want to take Mauritz Stiller away from us] was
the title of an article published in the trade periodical Filmnyheter,
which expressed the fears of industry insiders at the time.88
As a matter of fact, Stiller began his time in Berlin by working in
the interests of Svensk Filmindustri. His presence there contributed
to the company’s reorientation toward Europe and possibly involved
exploration of German-Swedish co-productions.S9 Furthermore,
he provided decisive support for marketing Svensk’s program in
Germany and arranged sales of export licenses, and his reputation
enabled him to influence their prices. Last of all, he acted as an agent
for certain fellow actors, which goes beyond what a director does.
These actions, those of a businessman with a wide range of interests,
brought Stiller into contact with David Schratter.
Schratter proceeded strategically to convince Stiller to work for
Trianon, making use of opportunities that arose early in 1924. His
first step was engaging Mary Johnson: The actress’ breakthrough in
Germany was her appearance in Herr Arnes pengar, and she seemed
to be firmly established as a film star in Sweden after the German
premiere of Gunnar Fledes saga in January 1924.90 With the aid of
the director, Hanns Schwarz, who followed the actress to her chosen
home, Kristiania (now Oslo), Norway, Johnson was released from

53
a preliminary contract with Westi in mid-March.91 The Wenger-
ofi-Stinnes group had planned to cast her for a part in Abel Gances
epic Napoleon (1925). On 29 March Schratter purchased a full-page
ad in Lichtbild-Biihne announcing that he was able to convince
Scandinavias most famous and popular film actress” to appear in
ioui films for Trianon” the first of which was Die Stimnie cies Her­
zens, directed by Schwarz.92 In early 1924 May Johnson arrived in
Bei lin with her husband, Einar Rod,9' and suddenly claimed she did
not want to be bound to Trianon exclusively; this hesitance was pre­
sumably due to the screenplay, which would endanger the continuity
of her image as an international star.91 “Mary Johnson must be kept
at all costs [. . .] because she represents the biggest business deal”,
wiote Schratter to Otto Busch admonishingly on 18 May.95 Actually,
Johnson and Hanns Schwarz switched to the Sternheim-Film-Ge-
sellschaft immediately after shooting of Die Stimme des Herzens was
finished, and that company made a commissioned production for
Ufa, Das Fraulein vom Amt (1925), with them.96
Schratter, obviously not only aware of the importance of stars
for establishing a globally operating enterprise, was also capable
of employing them in a tactical fashion. The ink was barely dry
on the first contract with Mary Johnson when Trianon’s president
wiote the following letter to Mauritz Stiller at his private address
in Stockholm, dated 20 March 1924. This message clearly revealed
what Schratter planned to do:

Dear Mr. Stiller,

Mrs. Mary Johnson, who at present is our guest in Berlin, was so
kind as to provide us with your address. Before I come to the actual
purpose of my letter, I would like to provide you with some infor­
mation about our company.
Irianon-Film AG, to which I am attached as the director of all
productions, counts among the largest film-production companies
in Germany despite the fact that it was founded only ten months

54
: i
Trianox Firm
zvzv: w
TRIAMOH

nnt KKTio.N OEIUIM S W.

l Jlorm Hnurltz Stlllor

50 Odongutun
8!0C//. H 0 L ii.
flohr goohrtor Horr 3tillor-
Pruu Hnry Johnnon, die augenbllckllch nlo unpor Gant
In 3orlln wollt, wor no froundllch, ur.o rhre A’rosao nltn-
tellen. Eho loh su dor elgenllchon Zvreok rolnoj Briofna
konr.o, tochto lch Ihnon e Inigos ubar unccron Eonsorn nlttol-
lon.

Die Trlftnon-Pllo^A.G., der loh nlo Director ■'or go-

nacton i'roduktlor. tngohoro, lot, trotsdor. ule orot sol£ oi-
ner. Zoitrciun von on. 10 Ho mi ten beuteht, olno dor grosston
produslorealon Fllnflrcon Dootaohlnnda. Eo let von Anfang
nn unnor Eoatrohon £ano3on, fiir unnnra Prcdnktlon dlo ullor-
oraton Era f to su gowinnon und Kiinotlor. rlo l'jirln Jftcotinl,
grafin EJtorhasy, Harry Llodtke, dlo sactlloh olnen 7/eltruf
gonloaoon, gohoron unuorom Botrlobo an. So habon wi r awch
5
.• rau ilary Jobnaon fiir unooro nuchuter. ?ll co alo Hr wptdnrotol-
c lcrln gewonnon ur.d olnd stols darauf, dlo gro33o nchradla<fh e
kiinatlorln, don obon gonannton Hnr.on anglle'ern r.u •'iirfon.
Daun v/1 r untor dlooen Ucotrnden den tCorgroaMcn
*.iort dorauf logon, ooloho Dorotellor untor don bo.«ton Sogla-
aeuron arbolton su lnooon, vor3teht sloh wohl von aelbat.
L 3v»ar habon v/lnaionor unnnron eratklaaolgon doutaohen Sogis—'
aouren beroltu olnon lntarnutlonalon Roglaueur Signor G*s-
naro Rigb.elll fiir una verpfllchtet, oa wiirdo fiber t retain
fUr ;mo von hoahstor T71chtlgkolt aein, eln Splollcltor von
Ihroai Rrrn^o su gewlnnon. Dauu wlr Ihnon, oohr jtoohrter Herr
Stlllor, hLerbot In Jeder h'oloo ontgegcnkocr.en mi rdon. l>o-
durf vio'nl koiner booondoron Erwiihnung, da nn nlr habon d»u
grJjjto Inlvrojjo damn, go rad o don ?lln. In dor. ?rau Jojuiaon
dlo llauptrollo aplolon 3oll, von Ihnon gololtot su wlujon.
TJlr coohton Ihnon r.u Ihror Info rcutlon nooh rlttollon,
dnoo wlr olno dor grcSoaton und oohonaten vilnatellers nit
d»n booton und rodornaten tochnlaohon Slnrlohtungan bo altson,
In don *1 Pllno r.u gloloher So It. gadraht warden kon r.on.

David Schratters letter to Maurilz Stiller. (Swedish Film Institute)

ago. From the very beginning our efforts have been directed at
bringing on board for our films the very finest names, and artists
such as Maria Jacobini, Countess Esterhazy and Harry Liedtke, all
of whom enjoy international reputations, are part of our operation.

55
a preliminary contract with Westi in mid-March.91 The Wenger-
oft-Stinnes group had planned to cast her for a part in Abel Gance’s
epic Napoleon (1925). On 29 March Schratter purchased a full-page
ad in Lichtbild-Biihne announcing that he was able to convince
Scandinavia’s most famous and popular film actress” to appear in
“four films for Trianon”, the first of which was Die Stimme des Her-
zetiSy directed by Schwarz.92 In early 1924 May Johnson arrived in
Berlin with her husband, Einar Rod,93 and suddenly claimed she did
not want to be bound to Trianon exclusively; this hesilance was pre­
sumably due to the screenplay, which would endanger the continuity
of her image as an international star.94 “Mary Johnson must be kept
at all costs [.. .] because she represents the biggest business deal’,
wrote Schratter to Otto Busch admonishingly on 18 May.95 Actually,
Johnson and Hanns Schwarz switched to the Sternheim-Film-Ge-
sellschaft immediately after shooting of Die Stimme des Herzens was
finished, and that company made a commissioned production for
Ufa, Das Frciulein vom Amt (1925), with them.96
Schratter, obviously not only aware of the importance of stars
for establishing a globally operating enterprise, was also capable
of employing them in a tactical fashion. The ink was barely dry
on the first contract with Mary Johnson when Trianon’s president
wrote the following letter to Mauritz Stiller at his private address
in Stockholm, dated 20 March 1924. This message clearly revealed
what Schratter planned to do:

Dear Mr. Stiller,

Mrs. Mary Johnson, who at present is our guest in Berlin, was so
kind as to provide us with your address. Before I come to the actual
purpose of my letter, l would like to provide you with some infor­
mation about our company.
Trianon-Film AG, to which I am attached as the director of all
productions, counts among the largest film-production companies
in Germany despite the fact that it was founded only ten months

54
 \

FuiAXOX FlIuM A.(l.

i

••••
w
▼RIAMOM

•V'.V...

niUKICTIM.N BERLIN S W
*ko. lift r2 1024

l Horni llnurlts Stiller

00 Od ongutun
S 2 0 cuo L U.
Sohr goohrtor Horr Stlllor-
pruu Ur.ry Johnnon, die uugonhlleklloh uln unrer Seat
In Sorlln mollt, war no fround.llch, ur,3 Ihro Adrecno r-.ltsu-
tollnn. Kho loh su dor. olgonllohon ZxteoY. r.oinoa Rrlo;*no
fcon.no, rxiohto loh Ihnor. o Inigos iiber uncoron Eonsora nlttni-
lon.
Dio Trlftnon-Plln#iA.O., dor loh nlu Dlroktor •’or go-
uuiston Production ungohoro, lol, trotsdon ole orat ael^ el-
non Soltruun von on, 10 Uonaton tooteht, olno dor griioaton
produslorondon Pllnflrmon Dout3chlundn. Eu lot von An Inn.;
an wuor Boatrohon gonoaon, fiir unaoro Produktlon dlo uller-
oroten ilrafto su gowinnon und Kiinotlor, rlo liurlu JpeoMnl,
(jrb'fin Eatorhnsy, Hurry Llodtke, dlo onntlloh olnen T/oltruf
Gonloaaon, gohoron unuoron Betrlobo on. So hsbonwlr ouch
?rnu Mary Johnson filr unaoro ntichater. ?llr.o ols Heuptdnratol-
lcrln gauonnon und Bind stols dornuf, dlo groaoe ocf.wodlotfh e
kunatlorln, don ohon gonanntcn Ifur.on nngllodern au dUrfon.
Dana wlr unter dioonn Unatrnden dor. nrorgrosoten
Wort dnrnuf logon, aolcho Da^atellor unter don he.«ten Segla-
eourcn arfcolton sn lnoaon, ver3teh*. nloh wohl von ae lb.it.
2v»ar huton wir.vuuoor unnorcn er3tkla33leen doutachen Roglu-'
aouren borolta olnon lntornutlonnlon Roglaueur Signor G*s-
nnro Righolll fiir una vorpfllchtot, ea wtirde fiber trotaden
fur una von hoshatcr ’.ilohtlgkolt oeln, eln Spiel loiter von
Ihrors Run go su gowlnnan, Dnoo v.lr Ihnon, 30hr t:eehrt*r Herr
Stlllor, hlorbol in Jedor T.'oloo ontgogcnfcoir.on ru'rdon, bo-
darf wohl fcolnor bouond.oron Erwahnung, donn v. lr kubon duu
gruuato Inlereaao duron, gorode don Plln, lr. dor. 7ruu JoJin a on
dlo Kfiuptrolle uplolon aoll, von Ihnon gololtot su wlooan.
Hlr ruohton Ihnon su Ifcrrr Inforca.lon nooh rlttellon,
d«oo wlr olna dor groonton und oohonaton Pllnutcllora r.lt
d*»r. honr.on und r.odornaten toohnluohon Elnrlohtun^jon hooltson.
In dors 4 Pllno su glolohor So It godroht word on fco nr. on.

David Schratters letter to Mauritz Stiller. (Swedish Film Institute)

ago. From the very beginning our efforts have been directed at
bringing on board for our films the very finest names, and artists
such as Maria Jacobini, Countess Esterhazy and Harry Liedtke, all
of whom enjoy international reputations, are part of our operation.

55
 For this reason we have also engaged Mrs. Mary Johnson to appear
in our upcoming films as the female lead and are proud to add this
great Swedish artist to the names listed above.
Oiat fact that in these circumstances we attach supreme impor­
tance to such actors working under the best directors goes without
saying. While we have already managed to hire an international
director, Signor Gennaro Righelli, to complement our first-rate
German directors, engaging a director of your stature is vital. Of
course, we would be willing to accommodate you in every way, dear
Mr. Stiller, as we are highly interested in having you direct the film
in which Mrs. Johnson will star. [...) The purpose of this letter is
as follows: We request that you, should you have any interest in
being involved in or directing our major film with Mrs. Johnson in
the lead role, come to Berlin at our cost, where we can discuss the
details, as was the case with Mrs. Johnson, [handwritten addition
begins] Should you already have a firm engagement, we would still
be interested in discussing the situation with you. [end of addition]
In that case we would be much obliged if you were to inform us as
soon as possible [bold face in original] when you could be here,
which would give us sufficient time to arrange for accommodation
and someone to meet you.
In the meantime we would like to state once again that we have
the greatest interest in working with you, and we now close with
the request for a prompt reply,
yours [sic] sincerely,
Trianon Film AG97

Schratter wanted to conclude a long-term contract between Stiller

and Trianon, and for this reason made an attractive offer of a big-bud­
get film with Mary Johnson and at the same time indicated that there
would be unlimited financial reward. In this game Johnson served on
the one hand to arouse Stillers interest in working for the company,
and on the other as an aid for engaging Stiller to make additional

56
films. This offer must have been tempting for Stiller, and not only
in an economic sense. Since Svensk Filmindustri was under pres­
sure to reorient its production program in light of US competition,
Gosta Berlings saga had not enjoyed a great deal of success since its
premiere in Stockholm on 10 March, and Selma Lagerlof refused to
permit further adaptations of her works by Stiller,93 there was really
no avoiding the capital of Film Europe. In addition, on 27 March
Stiller had already purchased the rights to material that seemed pre­
destined for a major period film in the German style: Odalisken frcin
Smolna [The Odalisque from Smolny], later known as A Tale from
Constantinople." Early in April 1924 Stiller went to Berlin.
Trianon’s expansion plan also included further acquisitions from
Sweden. In addition to hiring the great director and his star, Schrat-
ter wanted to buy a share in Svensk Filmindustris latest prestige
project, the big-budget Stiller film Gosta Berlings saga. The timing
was fortunate: Since early 1924 Svensk Filmindustri had been offer­
ing its films to independent distributors, because Ufa-Decla-Leih,
which had a monopoly in the field, ran them in the groups theaters
for solely three to eight days, and advertising was not particularly
extensive.100 For example, Internationale Filmvertrieb Deitz & Co
purchased Gunnar Hedes saga “at a great sacrifice” and, with more
advertising, premiered it to great success.101 With Trianon’s “gener­
ous permission” PR appearances were planned for Mary Johnson
as part of festival performances. 102
Around 10 April, shortly before the successful premiere of the
Mary Johnson vehicle Johan Ulfstjerna (Human Destinies, 1923,
John W. Brunius), the company laid out a banquet at Hotel Espla­
nade at which its various business plans would be specified.103 On
the surface this event was held in honor of Mauritz Stiller and Gun-
nar Hedes saga, but the dinner actually involved three different ben­
efits. For example, it promoted Trianon’s upcoming productions,
particularly the Johnson film Die Stimme des Herzens. Schratter
and Stiller’s first personal meeting led to an exclusive licensing

57
agreement for Gosta Berlings saga. Thanks in part to the loans pro­
vided by Bretschneider, Sell ratter was able to secure distribution of
the big-budget film for five years in Germany, Austria, Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and the other Balkan countries, Russia,
Turkey and Egypt.101 This investment was worth every penny, as
Trianon paid solely 130,000 marks for the license and earned gross
receipts from distribution deals amounting to about 600,000 marks
soon thereafter.105 Stiller himself received a 10 percent commission
from the agreement (12,025 Swedish crowns). 106
This deal brought Schratter closer to his objective of hiring the
director for a long-term engagement. As announced in his March
letter, he had a contract for two films drafted at this same opportu­
nity. The offer, for “Mr. Mauritz Stiller, c/o Hotel Esplanade, Ber­
lin” and dated 10 April 1924, stipulates that shooting would begin
immediately, the first film on 1 May and the second on 1 July. Equal
portions of the exterior shots would be done in Sweden and Ger­
many, and the interior shooting would take place in Trianon’s stu­
dio. Stiller was promised 100,000 crowns and 30 percent of the net
receipts from sales and rental of each film; a minimum of 50,000
crowns would be guaranteed for the latter. Furthermore, he received
the right to conclude separate agreements in the Scandinavian coun­
tries. Lastly, his expenses outside Berlin and Stockholm would be
compensated and he would have a car at his disposal. 107
While no information has survived about agreements involving
the films’ production costs, content, cast or crew, it would appear
that at first Trianon’s management attempted to replace Stiller with
Hanns Schwarz and make Die Stimme des Herzens with the tried-
and-true duo of Johnson and Einar Hanson, thus benefiting from
the successful concept employed for the last few Svensk productions.
Just as in Johnsons case the contract was not binding, probably
because the offer had come too suddenly for Stiller. He returned to
Stockholm, and Trianon made the film as announced, with Schwarz
directing Johnson and her husband, Einar Rod, in the lead roles.

58
The exterior shots were made in Sweden, the Norwegian fjords,
Copenhagen and Germany. 10s
After meeting Stiller, on 17 April Schratter began a two-month
business trip to Vienna, Paris and London involving distribution of
the films Trianon had produced so far and also Gosta Berlings saga.
At this opportunity he concluded a distribution agreement for the
Lagerlof adaptation with the film dealer Micheluzzi.109 In a letter
from Vienna dated 5 May, Schratter urged Otto Busch to transfer
to Svensk Filmindustri the royalties it was due. “I telegraphed you
today”, wrote Schratter,

that you should definitely send Swenska [sic] the $15,000 so that we,
firstly, do not lose Stiller, because he’s in extremely high demand,
and secondly, if Swenska has the money it will be easy for me to
sell our four films and future productions. Thirdly, it would be
extremely embarrassing for us and the money has to be refunded
to Micheluzi [sic]. [...] Fourthly, we would lose the business with
Scandinavia and sales in France and Italy. no

In addition to the assurance that Stiller would participate, Trianon’s

purchase of the license made a second business deal possible, the
launch of the company’s films on the Scandinavian market. After
Paris and London Schratter continued on to Stockholm, where
he expected to receive “30-40,000 dollars” for Trianon’s films.111
However, evidence exists solely that the deal was concluded for Ein
Traum vom Gluck (with Le Mats Filmbyra). The other films possibly
fell victim to Sweden’s strict censorship.112 At Stockholm’s Grand
Hotel, Schratter met Stiller once again on 22 May. After the overly
hasty offer in April, Schratter tried to induce the director to commit
to “keep[ing] himself available” for future Trianon productions.113
Stiller agreed and handwrote a preliminary contract in German in
which he declared his willingness to “begin shooting the first film
in July-August [sic], the script for which is being written at pres-

59

agreement for Gosta Berlmgs saga. Thanks in part to th 1
vided by Bretschneider, Schratter was able to secure dist^^ Pro.
the big-budget film for five years in Germany, Austria HUtl°n°f
c-:
Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and the other Balkan countri
Turkey and Egypt.10'1 This investment was worth every ^ USS‘a'
i?U- ‘ :ore detailed contract would be drawn up concerning terms and
Trianon paid solely 130,000 marks for the license and earned^'^
gross
receipts from distribution deals amounting to about 6
00>°oo marks
soon thereafter.105 Stiller himself received a 10 percent commission
from the agreement (12,025 Swedish crowns).106
This deal brought Schratter closer to his objective of hiri
ngtht
director for a long-term engagement. As announced in his M
letter, he had a contract for two films drafted at this same opj
nity. The offer, for “Mr. Mauritz Stiller, c/o Hotel Ps\>h v.
lin” and dated 10 April 1924, stipulates that shooting y
immediately, the first film on 1 May and the second <
ml.
, , aiso agreed to make a total of four films, receiving 75.000
. for the first two and 100,000 crowns each for the next two.
. ip of that, he demanded the licensing rights for all Scandinavia.
matters”, wrote Stiller and added the following clause below his
or
..nature , “This affirmation represents a firm agreement”, beneath
hich Schratter signed his name.11'1
To all appearances this represented a concession to Trianon on
.tiller’s part, but in fact he was asserting his own interests. He would
receive profits from distribution of the four films in Scandinavia,
to which would be added his script in the process of “being writ-
ten .” The melodrama about refugees, set in Constantinople, not only
meant both an opportunity and a significant risk for the German
company, as shooting of Orient, in progress at the time, was expe-
riencing a dramatic cost overrun: The crew had been stuck in the
Sahara for eight weeks; the actress Maria Jacobini became ill; the
director, Righelli, was going over both the schedule and the budget;
and on top of all the studio lighting failed due to a problem with
a generator.115 Trianon was no longer solvent and after Schratter
left the country, production management, headed by Hans Otto,
requested loans amounting to 961,294 marks and simultaneously
stopped paying interest to Wohnstatten.116 This was part of the rea-
son that Schratter, who wanted to finance the Stiller production
"''-th foreign sales of films the company had already completed,117
cd Stiller to enter into a binding agreement.
1 Stiller s partial agreement, Schratter once again went
■de of Trianon’s programs to partners in South­
ern F.-U
nd South America. He sent a request to
Berlin fui , •eign versions—some reediting and
sealing the deal was impossible
1 immediately.118 Bretschnei-
redit line of one million
nayments on the loan,
_

agreement for Gosta Berlmgs saga. Thanks in part to th 1
vided by Bretschneider, Schratter was able to secure dist^^ Pro.
the big-budget film for five years in Germany, Austria HUtl°n°f
c-:
Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and the other Balkan countri
Turkey and Egypt.10'1 This investment was worth every ^ USS‘a'
i?U- ‘ :ore detailed contract would be drawn up concerning terms and
Trianon paid solely 130,000 marks for the license and earned^'^
gross
receipts from distribution deals amounting to about 6
00>°oo marks
soon thereafter.105 Stiller himself received a 10 percent commission
from the agreement (12,025 Swedish crowns).106
This deal brought Schratter closer to his objective of hiri
ngtht
director for a long-term engagement. As announced in his M
letter, he had a contract for two films drafted at this same opj
nity. The offer, for “Mr. Mauritz Stiller, c/o Hotel Ps\>h v.
lin” and dated 10 April 1924, stipulates that shooting y
immediately, the first film on 1 May and the second <
ml.
, , aiso agreed to make a total of four films, receiving 75.000
. for the first two and 100,000 crowns each for the next two.
. ip of that, he demanded the licensing rights for all Scandinavia.
matters”, wrote Stiller and added the following clause below his
or
..nature , “This affirmation represents a firm agreement”, beneath
hich Schratter signed his name.11'1
To all appearances this represented a concession to Trianon on
.tiller’s part, but in fact he was asserting his own interests. He would
receive profits from distribution of the four films in Scandinavia,
to which would be added his script in the process of “being writ-
ten .” The melodrama about refugees, set in Constantinople, not only
meant both an opportunity and a significant risk for the German
company, as shooting of Orient, in progress at the time, was expe-
riencing a dramatic cost overrun: The crew had been stuck in the
Sahara for eight weeks; the actress Maria Jacobini became ill; the
director, Righelli, was going over both the schedule and the budget;
and on top of all the studio lighting failed due to a problem with
a generator.115 Trianon was no longer solvent and after Schratter
left the country, production management, headed by Hans Otto,
requested loans amounting to 961,294 marks and simultaneously
stopped paying interest to Wohnstatten.116 This was part of the rea-
son that Schratter, who wanted to finance the Stiller production
"''-th foreign sales of films the company had already completed,117
cd Stiller to enter into a binding agreement.
1 Stiller s partial agreement, Schratter once again went
■de of Trianon’s programs to partners in South­
ern F.-U
nd South America. He sent a request to
Berlin fui , •eign versions—some reediting and
sealing the deal was impossible
1 immediately.118 Bretschnei-
redit line of one million
nayments on the loan,
_
 I'ROYM.

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:

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y vJLA £> i AA AA^ ^5^Lc_-c-»_>

^e2st jA JL*^, ?c£*z6y
I

Mauritz Stillers handwritten letter to Schratter. (Swedish Film Institute)

ent” He also agreed to make a total of four films, receiving 75,000
crowns for the first two and 100,000 crowns each for the next two.
On top of that, he demanded the licensing rights for all Scandinavia.
A “more detailed contract would be drawn up concerning terms and
other matters”, wrote Stiller and added the following clause below his
signature, “This affirmation represents a firm agreement”, beneath
which Schratter signed his name.114
To all appearances this represented a concession to Trianon on
Stiller s part, but in fact he was asserting his own interests. He would
receive profits from distribution of the four films in Scandinavia,
to which would be added his script in the process of “being writ­
ten.” The melodrama about refugees, set in Constantinople, not only
meant both an opportunity and a significant risk for the German
company, as shooting of Orient, in progress at the time, was expe­
riencing a dramatic cost overrun: The crew had been stuck in the
Sahara for eight weeks; the actress Maria Jacobini became ill; the
director, Righelli, was going over both the schedule and the budget;
and on top of all the studio lighting failed due to a problem with
a generator.115 Trianon was no longer solvent and after Schratter
left the country, production management, headed by Hans Otto,
requested loans amounting to 961,294 marks and simultaneously
stopped paying interest to Wohnstatten.116 This was part of the rea­
son that Schratter, who wanted to finance the Stiller production
with foreign sales of films the company had already completed,117
pressured Stiller to enter into a binding agreement.
Armed with Stiller s partial agreement, Schratter once again went
to Paris to push the sale of Trianon’s programs to partners in South­
ern Europe, Switzerland and South America. He sent a request to
Berlin for funds to produce foreign versions—some reediting and
new intertitles were necessary—but sealing the deal was impossible
because of his orders to return to Berlin immediately.118 Bretschnei-
der was nervous because the company’s credit line of one million
marks had been exceeded and the interest payments on the loan,

61
originally intended to be a short-term measure, were two months
late. The government official was demanding new collateral even
though Wohnstatten had already taken possession of the land on
which the studio stood, the company’s carpool and most of its stock.
This tense financial situation changed the company’s family atmo­
sphere: Hans Otto, Otto Busch and Bretschncider openly discussed
taking possession of Schratter’s private share capital and replacing
the president. Otto accused Schratter of being an “optimist”, that his
calculations of expected earnings were overly positive. In part, this
was obviously an effort to divert attention from his own responsi­
bility for the events relating to the productions of Orient and Die
Puppenkonigin (1924, Gennaro Righelli), which also failed to pro­
ceed according to plan.119 After Schratter returned on 16 June, a
heated discussion ensued, and afterwards Schratter remained in the
same position; his brother Ignatz was replaced by Hans Otto on the
company’s board of directors; and a security agreement that would
guarantee additional deferment of loan repayments until Septem­
ber 1924 was concluded. Furthermore, all film negatives became
Wohnstatten’s property at their value at production.

4 A Gosta Berling of the Romanisches Cafe

In order to regain financial control over the company, its manage­
ment hurried the German premiere of Gosta Berlings saga despite
the inopportune time of year, the middle of summer. On 2 July
the advertising department sent a letter to Stiller, requesting still
photographs and portraits of the films actors and announcing that
it would “publish advertisements for the film ‘Gosta Berling’ on a
major scale.”120 No mention was made of the Constantinople proj­
ect, production of which was scheduled to begin in July or August
according to the contract. Stiller then sent a telegram to Schratter,
informing him that work on the planned big-budget film’s screen­
play was finished for the time being and that he would like to come

62
to Berlin with Greta Garbo, who was being discussed for the lead
role.121 This was anything but opportune for Schratter, since he had
to wait for more profits to arrive from the conclusion of domestic
contracts before the film’s production could begin; on top of that,
no licenses had been sold in France or Great Britain by that time.
Wohnstatten, no longer solvent, was forced to obtain a loan from
the Reich Labour Ministry so it could carry on with its construction
business.122 Schratter attempted to buy time with an answer dated
12 July which made use of Stiller s previous hesitation:

After six weeks this telegram was the only thing I have heard from
you, and as a result I am wholly in the dark concerning whether
you intend to honor our contract or not. Of course, your note arriv­
ing after such an extended period of time was a source of joy, but
I am wholly unprepared for your visit after such a long period of
silence. For this reason I must ask you to postpone your arrival
for 14 days to three weeks, which will give me an opportunity to
make new financial arrangements and be free to work with you
without obstacles of any sort. I recently returned from my trip and
was greeted with some extremely arduous tasks. [...] On 20 July I
intend to go to Paris; after my return I will begin the negotiations
concerning our work immediately and hope that we will then be
able to start without delay.123

This succeeded in diverting Mauritz Stiller s obviously keen interest

in preparing for the German premiere of Gdsta Berlings saga, which
was vital for the company, both financially and in terms of market
strategy. At the same time, he was able to make use of the Lagerlof
adaptation to advertise for the upcoming Trianon program, which
included four of Stiller’s films.124
Vital to the communication strategy employed for marketing in
Germany were the names Selma Lagerlof and Mauritz Stiller, and
that of a potential future star, Greta Garbo. In 1923 German-speak-

63
ing film-industry insiders had already been prepared for the “great­
est film to be produced in Scandinavia to date.”125 A major advertis­
ing campaign that Trianon launched in mid-July 1924 in the most
important trade periodicals focused on “Sweden’s best known direc­
tor” and the “world-famous novel by the country’s greatest writer.1.”126
Theater managers were promised a “Swedish film ne plus ultra”:
narrative art and sensitivity, and at the same time a major roman­
tic film that can hold its own against the international competi­
tion. “A masterpiece of Nordic narrative art! A film full of unparal­
lelled natural beauties!” claimed an advertisement that appeared in
Reichsfilmblatt, adding “A paean to romanticism, youth and love! A
monumental work made with Sweden’s greatest thespians! Trianon
films to the fore!”127 Garbo’s face, placed next to the advertising
copy (“Greta Garbo as Elisabeth Dolma”), gave the names Stiller
and Lagerlofa youthful and romantic touch.128
The premiere for invited guests and the trade press only was
announced for 15 August at the Theater am Nollendorfplatz, though
two weeks beforehand the date changed to 19 August, probably
in order to intensify the advertising impact.129 This is just one of
the many means the distributor, Trianon-Verleih, employed shortly
before the premiere to communicate the films key qualities. Inter­
ested theater managers were given the opportunity of requesting
a “special offer for advertising purposes” (which included designs
for ads, etc.) and trailers of coming attractions.130 There was also
a special edition of Illustrierter Film-Kurier for moviegoers with a
summary of the film’s plot, a list of the most important scenes, and
the names and photographs of the cast. By that time the popular
magazine Filmwoche had already published two two-page features
on the film with advertising copy penned by Stiller s co-screemvriter,
Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius.131
The stars themselves were also made use of for advertising pur­
poses. In early August Schratter wrote Stiller a letter, asking him to
come to the premiere with the leading actors Greta Garbo, Gerda

64
Lundequist and Lars Hanson.132 Selma Lagerlofwas contacted, blit
she declined, as did Lars Hanson, which was not mentioned in the
advertising, presumably for tactical reasons.133 Somewhat prema­
turely, the periodical Film-B.Z. welcomed Selma Lagerlof to Berlin
in a rhyming tribute published on 17 August:

And then you came, kind woman,

From the far North
To be with us in a movie theater. -
He who has come to be through you:
Gosta Berling the dreamer,
Grown into moving pictures,
And as you’re his mother,
Welcome to Berlin.
Individual, woman, philosopher,
Create a place for yourself in film.
How intimate is your “Marbacka”,
How your “Herr Arnes Treasure” shines.
In your pure humanity,
The films able to proclaim—
As it flourished in your country—
Its well known, the Swedes stir the emotions.
Berlings in Berlin now,
The city’s people were glad to hear it.
His spirit is your spirit,
So we welcome him.
This film is Stiller,
As we expect from him.
Since you’re Gostas mother:
Welcome to Berlin.131

Around 15 August Stiller, Garbo, who was still unknown in Ger­

many, and Gerda Lundequist arrived in Berlin. The films premiere

65
there was also important for Svensk Filmindustri, above all in light
of the still unsigned distribution contracts in England and France
and with regard to potential European co-productions. For publicity
purposes the director and his actresses posed for photographs at the
Brandenburg Gate and inside Scherl Verlags building. Stiller, rather
than Garbo, was the focus, and her star potential certainly comple­
mented the master directors attraction. “The Swedish woman was
dragged to the editorial offices of all periodicals”, remembered the
editor of Kinematograph, Artur Rosenthal (Aros), in 1932, “and she
spent two hours with us in the Scherl building, chatting about the
past and future of international film”.135
The German premiere for trade journalists and invited guests
from the film industry and professional associations took place on
the evening of 19 August at the elegant Mozartsaal (Theater am
Nollendorfplatz). According to the release strategy common in the
“premiere system” at the time136 the film would first premiere at a
theater as an event and then move from its initial first-run venue
to smaller theaters and provincial areas. Accordingly, Schratter
declared his intention to make the premiere “a first-class artistic and
social event”,137 with some of its glamour carrying over to the sec­
ondary distribution market. While a date in summer was chosen for
this purpose, it was at the seasons very beginning, which involved
the strategic advantage that a successful premiere might set a pos­
itive trend among theater owners for the program as a whole. The
proximity to the premiere of a US production—Paramount’s mon­
umental The Ten Commandments (1923, Cecil B. DeMille) opened
at the Grofies Schauspielhaus on 20 August—also made it possible
to take advantage of the European identity of the film and its cast.
On the evening of the premiere an elaborate display with por­
traits of the actors and “metre-high illuminated letters” decorated
the Mozartsaal theaters entrance.138 Inside “an audience in a festive
mood [...] wanted to greet Mauritz Stiller.”139 The crowd included
prominent critics and trade writers such as Herbert Ihering, Willy

66
 •y

Greta Garbo and Mauritz Stiller. Photo taken by Scherl Verlag 1924. (SZ
Photo)
Haas, Roland Schacht and Kurt Pinthus. Before the curtain rose,
Hans Brodnitz, the Mozartsaal’s director, addressed the audi­
ence, delivering an “extremely well thought-out” speech, as Haas
described it in his report for Film-Kurier:

Distinguished Ladies and Gentlemen,

As all of you are aware, tremendous combinations are being assem­
bled in the film industry to bring together leading producers accord­
ing to the motto “Europe for the Europeans.” We will not be able to
impress the Americans by abandoning our personal characteristics
to pursue American taste and degrading ourselves by chasing after
dollars at any cost. America respects only the closed ranks of a solid
phalanx of European producers. [...] These insights have thankfully
become popular over the past few months and are preparing the
ground for mutual understanding. The “Gosta-Berg” [sic] premiere,
which will take place during this period, can justifiably be regarded
as a political event for the film industry of the very highest order.
We are honored to have in our midst Sweden’s most famous director
and his outstanding cast. The home of Otto Brahm, who created
the theater of the soul, greets the creators of film of the soul. [...]
Distinguished ladies and gentlemen! Remember the days when film
was a brilliant invention, a promising mechanism! Then technology
was conquered through the knowledge that the proudest machinery
without nerves, without a soul, without music is nothing more than
machinery. The conqueror of the technical megalomania [...] was
Mauritz Stiller. [...]
The Nordic element has in the past few decades exercised an
enormous influence on intellectual life in Germany. Five names,
Ibsen, Strindberg, Munch, Bang and Hamsun, have secured such a
strong right to this land that we now barely regard them as foreign.
And it is a symptom of this uninterrupted exchange when Mauritz
Stiller leaves his homeland to work in Germany, a place that most
great Nordic minds regard as a second home.

68
 Mauritz Stillers melancholic films are rooted in the sad disquiet
of modern man, which is clarified and soothed by an almost worldly
resignation. His characters love the pain and laugh with tears in
their eyes. All of life’s bitterness unfolds and solely artistic restraint,
translation into the artistic makes it bearable.110

In part because of his speech, the theater director helped advance

Gosta Bcrliugs saga as evidence of movement toward European
solidarity in opposition to the United States, and for this purpose
he updated the cliches concerning the reception of Swedish films.
According to this view, Stiller and his “film of the soul” could help
overcome the hegemony of “technology” and unite the European
front against US competition. Firstly, Brodnitz made reference to
the current discussion of film policy which had been ongoing since
March 1924, encouraged by Uchtbild-Biihne and involving such
producers as Wladimir YVengeroff and representatives of profes­
sional associations such as Lupu Pick and Erich Pommer (Verband
der Filmindustriellen e.V., an association of film-industry work­
ers).ln Secondly, he addressed the ideological facts of the day—ideas
concerning pan-Germanic “exchange”, expectations of remedies
involving Northern Europe and the cliche of a pure Swedish national
culture—and freed it from the regressive air that had dominated the
discussion of film culture two years previously. The truly contempo­
rary aspect of Stiller s work was the “sad disquiet of modern man.”
After this opening speech in the warm, summery theater the film
began, accompanied by an orchestra conducted by Willy Schmidt-
Gentner. T1le complete two-part version was shown rather than
a shorter print intended for export. During the intermission and
at the end “Stiller gave his personal thanks, along with the entire
cast, for the enthusiastic and honest applause.” Willy Haas wrote,
“Gray-haired, in evening dress according to the latest London style.
But at the same time with the uncomprehending, agitated nervous­
ness of an intellectual artist. In conclusion he asked the directors of

69
 ”144 There was another
and not only as a result of the warm weather
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
lity film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
European qua
convince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
“historical film”145 this Lagerlof adap-
ma te chamber film than a
diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
tation
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
___bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
its a
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown. 146 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro-
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.]A7
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svensk Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(I),1*18 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,149 and
Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin wP® one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
Filrn Institute) without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas-
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
f this Svenska film, to jouit
Trianon, the exclusive distributors o diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
on stage.”142 and
munication miSln§ exPenses and a clearlydirectedcmt The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
not wholly satisfi Stmegy’ exPectations ofthepremiered the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a Europ ean
} Satlsfied> for neither Trianon nor MauritzStiller.^
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
Verleih would receive the most netpl/ sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
the distributor Trianon- made in Germanyandits(oft? film in years”,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin-
“box-office successesSdv&
111,740 crowns, from the income
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically tr
ans-
d43 in Berlin the —was somewhat 0^
distribution areas Stiller
a letter to 71
later characterised it in
 ”144 There was another
and not only as a result of the warm weather
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
lity film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
European qua
convince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
“historical film”145 this Lagerlof adap-
ma te chamber film than a
diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
tation
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
___bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
its a
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown. 146 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro-
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.]A7
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svensk Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(I),1*18 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,149 and
Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin wP® one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
Filrn Institute) without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas-
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
f this Svenska film, to jouit
Trianon, the exclusive distributors o diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
on stage.”142 and
munication miSln§ exPenses and a clearlydirectedcmt The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
not wholly satisfi Stmegy’ exPectations ofthepremiered the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a Europ ean
} Satlsfied> for neither Trianon nor MauritzStiller.^
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
Verleih would receive the most netpl/ sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
the distributor Trianon- made in Germanyandits(oft? film in years”,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin-
“box-office successesSdv&
111,740 crowns, from the income
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically tr
ans-
d43 in Berlin the —was somewhat 0^
distribution areas Stiller
a letter to 71
later characterised it in

Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin 1924* (Swedis.
Film Institute)
Trianon, the exclusive distributors of this Svenska film, to join him
on stage.”142
Despite all the advertising expenses and a clearly directed com
munication and release strategy, expectations of the premiere u
Mauritz Stiller. Wh*
not wholly satisfied, for neither Trianon nor
rofiti
the distributor Trianon-Verleih would receive the most net p
111,740 crowns, from the income made in Germany and its 01
distribution areas,143 in Berlin the “box-office success —-as Sc ra ^
later characterised it in a letter to Stiller—was somewhat m
70
result of the warm weather”144 There was another
and not only as a
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
European quality film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
nvince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
chamber film than a “historical film”1,15 this Lagerlof adap­
tation diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
its a bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown.146 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro­
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.147
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svensk Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(!),148 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,149 and
one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas­
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a European
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
film in years ,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin-
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically tr
ans-
71

Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin 1924* (Swedis.
Film Institute)
Trianon, the exclusive distributors of this Svenska film, to join him
on stage.”142
Despite all the advertising expenses and a clearly directed com
munication and release strategy, expectations of the premiere u
Mauritz Stiller. Wh*
not wholly satisfied, for neither Trianon nor
rofiti
the distributor Trianon-Verleih would receive the most net p
111,740 crowns, from the income made in Germany and its 01
distribution areas,143 in Berlin the “box-office success —-as Sc ra ^
later characterised it in a letter to Stiller—was somewhat m
70
result of the warm weather”144 There was another
and not only as a
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
European quality film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
nvince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
chamber film than a “historical film”1,15 this Lagerlof adap­
tation diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
its a bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown.146 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro­
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.147
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svensk Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(!),148 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,149 and
one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas­
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a European
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
film in years ,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin-
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically tr
ans-
71

Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin 1924- (Swedish
Film Institute)
Trianon, the exclusive distributors of this Svenska film, to join him
on stage.”142
Despite all the advertising expenses and a clearly directed con
munication and release strategy, expectations of the premiere we
not wholly satisfied, for neither Trianon nor Mauritz Stiller,
rofiti
the distributor Trianon-Verleih would receive the most net p
111,740 crowns, from the income made in Germany an its
distribution areas,143 in Berlin the “box-office success as
later characterised it in a letter to Stiller—was somewhat
A not only as a result of the warm weather.”1,1'1 There was anothei
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
European quality film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
convince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
mate chamber film than a “historical film”145 this Lagerlof adap­
tation diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
its a bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown.1'16 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro­
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.147
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svenslc Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(I),1'18 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,1'19 and
one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas­
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a Europ ean
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
film in years”,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically trans-

Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gerda Lundequist in Berlin 1924- (Swedish
Film Institute)
Trianon, the exclusive distributors of this Svenska film, to join him
on stage.”142
Despite all the advertising expenses and a clearly directed con
munication and release strategy, expectations of the premiere we
not wholly satisfied, for neither Trianon nor Mauritz Stiller,
rofiti
the distributor Trianon-Verleih would receive the most net p
111,740 crowns, from the income made in Germany an its
distribution areas,143 in Berlin the “box-office success as
later characterised it in a letter to Stiller—was somewhat
A not only as a result of the warm weather.”1,1'1 There was anothei
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
European quality film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
convince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti-
mate chamber film than a “historical film”145 this Lagerlof adap­
tation diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
its a bsolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown.1'16 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro­
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature, “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt.147
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svenslc Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustris European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(I),1'18 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,1'19 and
one critic compared the multitude of the films “beautiful” moments
without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas­
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a Europ ean
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
film in years”,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin
thus: The periodical Kinematograph saw in her romantically trans-
Greta Garbo, Mauritz Stiller, and Gcrda Lundequist in Berlin 1924. (Swedish
Film Institute)

Trianon, the exclusive distributors of this Svenska film, to join him

on stage”142
Despite all the advertising expenses and a clearly directed com­
munication and release strategy, expectations of the premiere were
not wholly satisfied, for neither Trianon nor Mauritz Stiller. While
the distributor Trianon-Verleih would receive the most net profit,
111,740 crowns, from the income made in Germany and its foreign
distribution areas,143 in Berlin the “box-office success”—as Schratter
later characterised it in a letter to Stiller—was somewhat “marred,

70
and not only as a result of the warm weather”1'11 There was another
disappointment in terms of market strategy: The concept of a great
European quality film with Stiller and Gosta Berlings saga failed to
convince the representatives of German film culture. Less a inti­
mate chamber film than a “historical film”,145 this Lagerlof adap­
tation diverged excessively from the original novel, in the critics’
opinion, and also from the core virtues of Swedish film through
its absolute narrative functionalisation of all its elements and the
supposed “inner” motivation based in the national culture of what
was shown.146 Even worse: In direct contrast to earlier Swedish pro­
ductions, Gosta Berlings saga provided evidence that film cannot be
judged on the basis of such established arts as literature. “No one will
be able to breathe the mystery, power and unspeakable into strips
of celluloid as a genius does between the lines”, noted the Berliner
Tageblatt,147
However, the reputation of Stiller and Svensk Filmindustri in the
German industry was slightly damaged as a result of the premiere,
which affected foreign sales and Svensk Filmindustri’s European
strategy. The adaptation by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius was supposedly
elliptic and contained an excessive number of intertitles, Stiller s
direction turned out to be “more a technical than a musical matter”
(!),148 the “richness of his tones” were deemed “not unlimited”,149 and
one critic compared the multitude of the film’s “beautiful” moments
without a function to the “delicious bowls” in a Swedish smorgas­
bord.150 In other words, the Svensk Filmidustri production was
diagnosed with the very cinematographic growing pains that the
representatives of the film industry in Berlin felt called upon to cure.
The director of Gosta Berlings saga played a less significant role in
the attention it attracted than Garbo, whose potential as a European
star was clearly recognised. “The young Greta Garbo”, “who pos­
sessed the loveliest countenance to appear on screen in a European
film in years”,151 caught the eye of not only the journalist Kurt Pin-
thus: The periodical Kinernatograph saw in her romantically trans-

71
figured features the "new star in the cinematic heavens”152 Even Fred
Hildenbrandt, who in his ornate, literary review put Lagerlof s char­
acters in a movie theater, where they failed to recognise themselves
on screen, spared Garbo in his rejection: While Berling, played by
Lars Hanson, might have been a “guest at the Romanisches Cafe”
(a popular meeting place for artists), “Greta Garbo, you are two
and one, you are Elisabeth Dohna and Greta Garbo, o, and I, the
most unfaithful and weakest of all cavaliers, were you not merely an
actress? Were you not so lovely, so graceful, so stunningly beautiful
that I cried? Would you cross the lake with me, Greta?”153
And so the German premiere of Gosta Berling created the para­
dox that Trianon on the one hand managed, thanks to the financial
gains, to kick start its production program—most importantly the
Constantinople project—while on the other its most important asset
created for this purpose, Mauritz Stiller, became less valuable. Garbo
and her unmistakable features, both in hindsight and as perceived in
1924, profoundly affected the reputation of Swedish-German film
relations. This would seem to be a result of both the communication
campaign and the film itself, in which the impression Garbo—as
opposed to, for example, the stage actress Gerda Lundequist—left
on audiences involved her physical beauty more importantly than
her acting, and the former was emphasised in key dramatic scenes
by means of soft-focus closeups and thereby made the lynchpin of
empathy in the story.
In fact, Berlin represented a steppingstone of an importance that
can barely be underestimated for this future stars image. It benefited
not only on the surface, becoming more distinct thanks to the pho­
tographs shot at Scherl Verlag and at Atelier Binder in early 1925, but
most importantly in a figurative sense: For the first time her faces
expressive beauty was tested as a trademark, the “physiognomy of a
certain emotional state”, which Rudolf Arnheim, Siegfried Kracauer
and Bela Balazs retrospectively recognised as “a [sorrowful] beauty
suffering from the whole of life, its environment.”15'1 This face reflected

72
the “disquiet of modern man” formerly linked to Stiller s name, evi­
dently in a more striking manner than in the most recent Swedish
period film. Furthermore, the directors Trianon project will be a fre­
quent subject later in Garbos stories about her career. The legend of
the goddess began with the mysteries of Constantinople.155

5 To the Borders of Film Europe

A Talcfrom Constantinople
To this day clearly reconstructing all the details of events concerning
the big-budget European film Trianon Film AG intended to make
in Berlin and what was known as Constantinople at the time has
been impossible. Tie available material, still not complete; encour-
ages the writing of a personalised historical account based primarily
on narrative conventions. Biographies and novels tell a story that
lives from the charm of its location and juxtaposes David Schratter
and Mauritz Stiller as antagonists. With regard to the sorrowfully
beautiful Garbo, she appears as a passive woman caught between
the two men, in what could be termed a direct extension of the
part she played in Gosta Berlings saga. Neither this equating of a
stars image and the actual individual nor the cultural stereotypes
still associated with Stiller and Schratter are problematised in the
historical research.
Swedish sources in particular have portrayed Schratter as a con
man who caused Stiller more personal than professional injury.
In his autobiography Stillers co-screenwriter at the time, Ragnar
Hylten-Cavallius, describes Schratter as an unscrupulous speculator
who made a fortune by misusing the money of small-scale investors,
intentionally ran the company into the ground, and then ran off to
his “filthy-rich daddy” in London. “I remember how Garbo, sob­
bing, clung to Stillers chest at the train station”, wrote Hylten-Cav­
allius, who switched to operettas after unsuccessfully attempting to
establish himself as a film director, about the Constantinople pro-

73
ject’s failure.156 Gosta Werner too described Schratter as a “swind­
ler” who consciously misled Stiller and ran from the law while the
Swedish director, conscious of his responsibility for cast and crew,
made “desperate attempts” to save the project.157
Such reporting of historical events provides evidence for a nexus
between cinematic history and stories about film which is not insig­
nificant in terms of past experiences with the field. However, in
this case A Tale from Constantinople is interesting primarily as a
symptom of the structures in Europe’s film business rather than its
most prominent biographies. Even if the attempt to keep separate
the histories of individuals, films and productions in the 1920s in
light of the authority to make decisions that Schratter, Stiller and
other like them certainly possessed seems to be a poor idea, the
conclusions must go beyond narrative details: The Trianon films
failure anticipated the failure of the misguided production policy
characterising other Swedish-German agreements, and even Ger­
many’s film business as a whole in the 1920s.
The core problem lay in the divergent ideas and interests that
Trianon Film AG and its linancers at Wohnstatten had in relation to
the “certainties” of the film business. While Trianon tried to survive
by building a brand, with its core competency in the distribution of
international big-budget films, Wohnstatten regarded neither films
nor distribution agreements as true assets. On the contrary, it saw
films as goods with a value that must be determined on the basis of
production costs alone.158
This misunderstanding was fateful for Trianon, as it involved the
expectation that the costs invested in the product would be made
back in the short term. As this is certainly not the case in the film
business, because long-term investments in the brand—i.e. in a stu­
dio, stars, a production program and distribution—must be made in
advance. This was the reason that Schratter and Busch took a loan
from Wohnstatten in the first place. Eventually, Trianon demanded
increasing amounts of money while Wohnstatten urged prompt

74
repayment with interest, which it had counted on from the very
beginning. This friction culminated when production on the Oda-
lisken frdn Smolna adaptation began.
This major European project put Trianon’s president in a dilemma.
Its announcement made Stillers name vital for his program, even
though by July it had become obvious that adequate funds would
not be available to complete production. Should the director leave
the project, Trianon might lose the trust of film dealers, and then
its films would be in danger of losing their value for sales and
rental deals.159 Trianon therefore had to come to terms with Stiller s
demands, who acted the part of an active businessman and pursued
his own interests through the project. At the same time Schrat-
ter was forced to pressure Wohnstatten to provide new loans, even
though it did everything in its power to gain control over Trianon
and had less and less trust in the company’s business practices. As a
result of this situation, the beginning of production, which Schrat-
ter had set for summer in the preliminary contract, was delayed,
although presumably his intention for doing so was keeping Stiller
under contract for a longer period of time.160
In Berlin nothing happened in this matter by the time Gosta Ber-
lings saga premiered. When Stiller wrote a letter to Trianon in early
August asking when shooting would start, he was told to be patient
until just after the Svensk Filmindusri film premiered. With the
exception of a visit to the studio, at which Schratter was not present,
no real work took place while Stiller was in Berlin. For this reason,
the director contradicted a report that had reached Sweden’s trade
press, that he would direct four films for Trianon; after all, by that
point there was not even a binding commitment. 161
Stiller had a great financial interest in the project’s success, as
did Svensk Filmindustri, which would possibly be involved in the
film’s distribution. Perhaps in part to apply pressure to Trianon, he
started work for the German group in July. Together with Ragnar
Hylten-Cavallius he wrote an initial treatment and began conduct-

75
 !

Tkianox Fii.m .V. (1.

TB1AHOH

lUIlKhTID.N OCRV.lt* *» W II
lS.Sept'raber 1*524

Kerra llaorlts Stiller

Sreagataa 114
STOCSEOLl.
'v
Sohr gsehrter Herr Stillor-
as lO.Septczber babe Ich elnen Brlof no Sic abgeannit,
aof dca ich za colaen groasen Sratacnan bio heats chns Ant-
wort geblleben bla. ich fragt© Slo In dlosen Briofe an, ob
Sis eTOatuall geaeigt oaiu warden, nit un noren Archltekten za
arbsitaa. Uns llegt aohr viol daron, Jl 03S fiaoaorot wlchtig*
Frags echoa ror Ibren Sintraffea in Eorl in ra IDsea, an Ihnea
nnadtse Arbeit to orapsron.
Ich bstte eigentlich die absicht obzureican, aber ea
ist. uia i=er, nichts darans gc^orden, da ich hler oasrh’Srt
▼ iel rn ton hsbe. Cn nun Ecdo Ecrenbar odor aufaag Jaaaar
nit den Filn hersa3kaetsa :a kbnnoa, iot es cnbellngt orfor-
derlich, dasa Sie so bald wic nogltch barkoazett. In dieses
Zassnnsnhange sochta ich Ihneo dea t'olgcndan i'orachlog nachan:
V
Ich fahxa gaaz beaticrat spatcotona on 26.S*pter.ber ven
Berlin ab and kohre on 9.October zuruck. Co Slo nun 70ren­
ters, tor Beglrni Ihrcr srbelt bier each -Tonstantinopel ta rei-
ssa, 7rlrde ich es fur rctaan haltca, senn Sis sofort nach Sr-
V balt dLesss Schreiben3 each Berlin cbfnhren w’Jrdea, •— alt
nir each einige T3gs vor neiner Abreiae ruaanrea zu eetn.
Cam koaatoa Sie vahrenl usioor Annoeenhalt 7on perl in nach
ffoaataatinop^l gohan and eTentaell sur solber. Salt trio teh,
bierhar zoruc-kkehrea. Cana kdanea wir genelnsan die 7orar-
fceiten fur I hr on Filn beginnen.
Solihe as Ibnes Jodoch onnjgllch 3etn, bio sun Cieootag
bier za sain, dann wards ich Sis bitten, ntcht frtlber ala an
S.Citober her
k rzahomen,
* da ich ontor alien Czatandea bsl den
7orfcaraitoagaa zza Ibren Filn dobeieein will. Bitto. dberle-
gen Sie sich die aagoleg enhslt reiflicb uni geben Sie sir ce-
legrsfiach Saschoid.
es Ic h bin gleichfalla oebr eretounl dae-
viber, d*zs S io asir coch nlchta Uber Fr-iulcin darbo asitgeteilt
bates and ob as Ihnec cogllch geneses iat, ibren Vertmg nit

Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Trianon Film AG. (Swedish Film Institute)

ing screen tests at Rasunda studio.162 Preproduction began on A

Talefrom Constantinople, and the director had purchased the adap­
tation rights for Vladimir Semitjov that spring. The choice of this
material reflected Stillers concept for the big-budget Trianon film

76
and the financial claims on the company that were involved, and
the relevant correspondence suggests that Schratter exercised little
influence over this decision.
Semitjovs material is a composition of proven ingredients that
had however never been used in this combination: He updated
motifs employed in 1910s films about traffickers of young girls for
a story set in recent Russian history. Familiar was not only the genre
of white-slave films,163 but also the idea of setting a romantic melo­
drama in the turmoil of the Russian Revolution. Svensk Filmindustri
had already tried a similar formula, in De landsflyktige (Guarded
Lips, 1921, Mauritz Stiller).161
The brief outline of the plot that Trianon received, probably in
mid-August 1924, clearly reveals the productions cost- and plan­
ning-intensive nature. After the unsatisfactory work with Gennaro
Righelli on Orient and the moderate success of Gosla Berlings saga
in terms of PR, the company’s management discussed how closely
Stiller should be watched during production, above all in light of the
fact that he was famous (or infamous) for week-long experimenta­
tion as a director.165 In fact, Stiller proved to be a difficult partner
for Trianon, as he disliked making firm commitments. For example,
Schratter was forced to conduct drawn-out discussions with him
concerning interior shooting. Stiller, who had already begun plan­
ning with the set designer, Vilhelm Bryde, wanted it to be done at
Rasunda, while Trianon preferred building large-scale sets at its own
studio with the renowned Ernst Stern.166 Since the group wanted to
release its “Stiller film” at years end, his ten days of silence in this
matter caused some discomfort on Schratters part.167
Erich Bretschneider, whom Schratter was forced to pressure so
he could obtain the necessary financing, possibly contributed to
this discomfort. Schratters strategy was to push the start of pro­
duction and make public note of it; the company then announced
in an early September issue of Film-Kurier that Schratter had hired
“the Swedish director Mauritz Stiller, whose ‘Gosta Berling’ film is

77
being widely admired at present, and in the course of this month
Stiller will start working in Berlin”168 Schratter himself told the
director in a letter dated 10 September that production manager
Bruno Lopinski had already been working “on the screenplay for
several days, and we are making all the necessary preparations.”169
Trianon’s tactics failed to obtain the desired result, however, as
it turned out in early October, when the problems in the produc­
tion process climaxed for the first time. The general public heard
nothing about the conflict of interests between Trianon, Stiller and
Wohnstatten.
Then, all at once the company’s financial troubles became sud­
denly became obvious: Schratter needed loans but was unable to
make the high interest payments they involved, while Bretschnei-
der’s hands were tied because Wohnstatten itself was no longer sol­
vent.170 Bretschneider then sought the advice of supervisory-board
chairman Dr. Otto Glafi, who had known nothing about Bretschnei-
der’s business dealings with Trianon: As it turned out, Bretschneider
had provided the loans without the boards knowledge. Glafi ordered
a thorough audit of Trianon and conducted a number of talks with
Schratter and Busch.171 Since this time-intensive reevaluation of the
company did not produce any arguments against additional loans,
a new security agreement was concluded between Wohnstatten and
Trianon on 25 October. The interest rate was reduced this time, and
repayment of the total claim was deferred until 31 December 1926;
at the same time, Wohnstatten obtained de facto unlimited financial
control over the company.
Stiller did not cancel work with Trianon as a reaction to these
events. Although negotiations with Metro Goldwyn Mayer were
underway at the time, he decided to become a shareholder in the
film’s production. On 27 October 1924, Trianon Film AG con­
cluded a company agreement with the Swedish director to give him
a financial share in the film. This fact, generally unknown until now,
explains why Stiller invested so much money in the Constantinople

78
project and was no longer willing or able to work in Germany after
the setback, as he described it later, of the “Trianon story and its
consequences”172
The contract from 27 October was also the sole binding agree­
ment between Stiller and Trianon for which evidence exists. While it
has not survived, some of the terms can be reconstructed, in part at
least, on the basis of interrogation transcripts and other documents.
One thing is certain, that it was not conventional and that Wohn-
statten, which reserved the right to approve all agreements, was
unaware of its existence.173 The purpose was production of a single
film, A Talefrom Constantinople. Stillers role was apparently that of
subcontractor, as with a commissioned film, who was responsible
to Trianon for production until the finished product was approved.
The agreement most probably came into effect on 31 October, and
evidence shows that it expired for Stiller at the films completion.174
The director was to be paid a generous fee of 85,000 crowns, 31,000
of that in advance. Presumably, he was able to contribute a small
amount of his own capital and production funds from Svensk Fil-
mindustri to be repaid with moneys from subsequent distribution,
for which he reserved the Scandinavian rights. No evidence exists
to indicate whether the production budget had already been set
down in a contract, though at a later date sources indicate that over
400,000 marks was agreed upon.175 This sum was significantly higher
than any other project that Trianon made during its brief existence.
Schratter promised to raise the money primarily from distribution
proceeds from foreign sales of Gosta Berlings saga.176
Another aspect that remains uncertain is the extent to which this
agreement included contracts with the individual members of the
cast and crew. In all, Trianon’s business records contain nine con­
tracts for actors and technical staff,177 and the group listed Greta
Garbo, Einar Hanson and Conrad Veidt on its payroll. Garbo
received a contract no later than 31 October, 1925, and a monthly
fee of 5,000 crowns. The duration of her employment probably

79
! 1
rOt
T 'A

<c~4a S/Ls/M,* •1 *n 22/11 IC2-S.

•K-l s/Sl&s*

cVah Eerr laurltz Stiller,

3tockhol -.
c

Eefererande till for'.a underhandl!near leer"'*,* r* kXrl-*encs

C
dlTT14 tr&ffade upp^orclre.

ZleTrtrlalrn la--.or.
.
VJ utl&na till Sler:

1 st. Ssnshlne

2 * everljualsicpor

2 * stLlacpor

1 ” ator Spotlight

1 " liter. <2:5,

c at&Iarpsrsa a ter. atstlv.
I

Lacpoms c''r.2ae for 3ier risk till v/ 'Her Jpp.;l7en ndrea:.

Se h* 7l-2 ne2pac!crjln.~en c-efannlto vara ! f-llt ar.vinl‘car t a.:fck uteri

soa h&lst felalctltfiet.

Lacporrza bora &7 32er fSraaxrao cot alia 2e rlaler eo* Swag®
*- tr.k a a uppsti. HI gn ran t a rnr oco at t lacporna AterlSccas I »*ss* sklclc,

•2.7.3. zAdom reparationer so.; ever.tuellt Kro r.Sdvi'r.i1 ra ocfc ocr. kunr.a
utfdres betalaa av 3d«r. Siculle nagcn oiler nArra av lecporrm ej kunns

reparerta p?t let oXtt att de fcunne cSttao f Ilka f. otlnd a«s 2«» idar
tefinna slg I, her Hi ckyldirhet ctt ensknffa oas wiir* laapor av
3 '-.'-C kvalltot lotallet. Hi /umnlerAr att lerpornu tiro oto Iter i henJos
ecrast den 1 april 1>2>, I r^jcantt fall X^a v! rSttlghot act det2ter\

dor. till deraa rail* y&rd«.

Letter from Charles Magnusson, Svensk Filmindustri, to Mauritz Stiller, concern­

ing lamps ...
 Eorr i'ouri tz Stiller, Stockholm. -2- 22/11 1?2*.

.Ttillun Japps on.

1*1 Hger r&tt ntl dlapor.era over honon Tor den file nor. ~1
avaer ntt lnopoln 1 Konntantlnopal n.fl. plainer. ITl totalnr •,! 11 sos
horfor Kronor fvutuaonfechunIra (2.5CO:-) per -Anad under -ler. lid
herr Jacnson ulfor arbeto for tder och rftknna ttden a a nx-.a nhi r. * n. r. -
y^V
de, d.r.n, pa. dot aiitt. atl HI botolar honor, engda gege fr’.r. och r.:d

den 24 nov. 192-* t.o.n. den dag d& herr Jnenzon alutforl oil-. arbe-

c te for £4cr. HI bciolnr cA-ledea ln^et ^age till herr Jae-zor. iirckt.
oi-.dn 2.5C0 kr. debt tern *1 ft Sierl kor.lo 1 vnnli£ or^nlng och

anocs ouooa kontant uIbetalning till 3der, Herr Jaer.zor. her red
c S7ennk PI lrJ nduolrl ebb avtal 1 vllkol ntipuierao nf. han n:*er

r&ltlghel rat lyfta 5 pu don nettofortjilnat acr: de Hirer ir.-

br*n^a ao:. "nan uppttmor. ill arran.jcr&r ojalv denna fraffa red herr
;
J-enzon dlrekt och hava •/! Intel ansvar durfbr.
Hoeakt.nl n,gafulll
/XDEBOUAOET
SVEHF'< \ ‘UOUSTRI

... and for Stiller to dispose of Julius Jaenzon as cinematographer for the
project. (Swedish Film Institute)
reflected Trianon’s desire to keep the starlet under contract for a
second project in the event that the first was a success. Schratter also
paid her compensation for cancelling a theatrical engagement.1'8
Einar Hanson was given a contract by 25 January 1925, and a fee of
7,500 crowns, while Conrad Veidt was hired for only one month,
from 15 January to 15 February 1925, for shooting at the Berlin
studio, and was to be paid 3,600 US dollars. The crew included
set designer Stefan Lhotka and his assistant Willi Habantz, cine­
matographer Hans Scheib and the commercial clerks Goldberger,
Karge and Braun; Bruno Lopinski was presumably responsible for
the studio work in Berlin alone. Stiller, not satisfied with the camera
operator Scheib,179 also hired Julius Jaenzon and his assistant Carl
Axel Soderstrom until 31 January 1925, and Svensk Filmindustri,
where both were under contract, later invoiced 6,450 crowns. ISO
The screenwriter Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius did not receive a con­
tract from Trianon, as his work would presumably be financed with
funds from the production budget or private capital, as was the case
with Stiller, Jaenzon and Soderstrom.
Unfortunately, this agreement did not eliminate the basic problem
involved with making a European big-budget film in Germany, as
became apparent in the following months. Immediately after it was
signed, in early November, Schratter went to Paris, while Stiller trav­
eled to Turkey for the purpose of scouting locations for the exterior
shooting and work on the wardrobe began at the Trianon workshops.
Both Stiller and Schratter returned to Berlin around 10 November.181
The Swedish director met Otto Busch for the purpose of obtaining
equipment for the film expedition, at which time he learned that Tri­
anon was unable to fulfill its contractual obligations because Wohn-
statten had reduced the size of its loans to such an extent that the pro­
duction company could pay solely its fixed costs.1S2 Since proceeds
from domestic distribution were some 200,000 to 260,000 marks
below expectations and sales of distribution licenses in Paris were a
failure, the company was, once again, not solvent.183

82
 By this point in time the Swedish and German partners involved
in the project must have realised that there was a considerable dis­
crepancy between the policies and practices in Germany’s film busi­
ness. Ironically, the European productions difficulties came to a
head lor a second time when the ideas concerning a united Film
Europe were enjoying the greatest amount of attention among jour­
nalists, critics and other film insiders. And Trianon’s Constantinople
project seems to have not only directly anticipated the production
and distribution concepts popularised by Wladimir Wengeroff, but
also the reasons they failed. A Tale from Constantinople was a “gen­
erously produced film” tailored to a “sales area that was precisely
defined in advance [...], firstly in Europe.”18'1 At the same time the
“generosity” that characterised production was accompanied by
incalculable financial uncertainties.
The surprising aspect of the situation in November was the desire
of everyone involved to find a solution acceptable to all, even though
Stiller and Schrattcr had become entangled in a latent form of com­
petition with Wohnstatten; after all, the latter’s loan was of vital
importance for a variety of reasons. After Trianon told Stiller about
its financers and the outstanding loan payments,185 he turned to
Glaft and Bretschneider.186 Around 20 November an evening con­
ference took place in Schratter’s private apartment, attended by the
host, Stiller and government officials Erich Bretschneider, Dr. GlaB
and Dr. Friedrich Wenzel, the latter from Wohnstatten.187
The “extended negotiations”188 revolved around the size of the
production budget and loans it would require. “Mauritz Stiller
declared that the suggestion, which would undoubtedly be binding
for him and not result in additional costs, would set a production
budget of approximately 400,000 marks.” Trianon expected 300,000
marks from the contracts concluded in Paris, meaning that Wohn­
statten should approve solely an initial payment of 100,000 marks.
At the same time, Stiller made it clear that “in light of the business
situation he would begin shooting only after Wohnstatten gave him

83
its approval personally.”189 He also stated that he “would approve
immediate termination” of the company agreement if the payments
were not authorised:

He asked the gentlemen from Wohnstatten to consider whether

they, having become Trianon’s financers, as he had heard, had not
recognised a particular advantage in this, that because of his work
Trianon would be in possession of an asset worth at least one million
marks, while the costs would amount to 400,000 marks at the most.190

Schratter calculated that Stiller s film represented an “asset worth at

least 1 V2 million”; 700,000 marks could be expected from distribu­
tion proceeds in Germany, about 30,000 to 40,000 pounds in Eng­
land and 400,000 to 500,000 marks from the rest of the world. Fur­
thermore, the project, just as with all the directors films, involved a
certain option for sale in the United States.191 Wohnstattens repre­
sentatives then asked for 24 hours to consider the matter, after which
they would give Stiller a “binding declaration” concerning whether
they would finance A Tale from Constantinople at the terms agreed
upon. Schratter was promised that the first due dates for repayment
would be deferred for an additional two months and additional
funds would finance establishment of a British distributor. Hands
were shaken to seal the agreement.192
There is no doubt that all those present considered this handshake
binding and that as a result realisation of the project, despite of all
the adversities that were expected, was certain. Stiller then went to
Stockholm for a few days, where he met with Vladimir Semitjov
to clarify once and for all who owned the exploitation rights to the
material.193 After that he returned to Berlin and there boarded a train
to Constantinople on 27 November together with a “film expedi­
tion” staffed by 12. Stiller had received an advance from Wohnstat­
ten, 120,000 marks, “to support the actors and auxiliary staff he had
hired while in Constantinople.”19’1

84
 The incomplete and unreliable reports concerning the crews time
in Turkey suggest that the preparations for shooting were sloppy if
not unprofessional. As Stiller had been the sole member of the pro­
duction team present in Constantinople before that point in time, he
must be considered at least partially responsible. During the three-
day train ride, which took the crew through Prague, Budapest and
Belgrade, Stiller and Hylten-Cavallius continued to work on the
script. Even after the group arrived on 30 November and checked
in at the elegant Pera Palace Hotel, it seems that the production
management staff was not at all concerned with sticking to the
shooting schedule. The necessary permits had obviously not even
been obtained, and for this reason exterior shooting was delayed
until the next day.195 While Stiller, Lhotka, Habantz and Jaenzon
worked with Angorafilm of Turkey to set up an improvised studio,
lor which they had additional equipment sent from Stockholm, the
actors and the rest of the crew spent their days strolling through the
city, while their evenings were occupied with fine dining, such as at
the Swedish embassy. 1%
In light of these circumstances it is no surprise that Wohnstat-
tens money failed to last long. That December Bretschneider sent
Trianon by bank transfer ten separate payments totalling 263,760
marks; this amount, minus the 120,000 marks mentioned above,
were all the funds earmarked for A Tale from Constantinople, and
they were used to pay current expenses and finance establishment
of the British distributor.197 It seemed to Wohnstatten that the pro­
ductions costs were getting out of hand, and since it claimed control
over what the company produced, payments were stopped for the
time being. Stiller invested about 120,000 marks of his own money
to pay the crew and additional expenses incurred in setting up and
equipping the studio.198 By Christmas 1924 all the funds had been
used up, and for this reason Stiller returned to Berlin alone to rene­
gotiate additional loans with Wohnstatten.
Several factors were responsible for the ambitious pan-European

85
projects failure, which began to loom on the horizon in the final
days ot 1924. In addition to the sloppiness demonstrated during
planning, for which Trianon and Stiller were equally responsible,
Wohnstattens loan policy was one of the most important causes.
In business terms, its dealings with the production company rep­
resented “wholly misguided speculation”, as the district attorneys
office would subsequently state.199 In fact, Bretschncidcr and GlaB
were caught in an irreconcilable “conflict of duties” between their
roles as entrepreneurs and government officials. YVohnstatten
worked in the private sector with public funds, and its chief bore
responsibility in both areas.200 In addition, the building society soon
experienced its own financial difficulties, which served to worsen
this conflict and made it completely incapable of acting from about
mid-December. When Stiller went to Berlin around Christmas
1924, he immediately attempted through a lawyer, to exert pres­
sure on Wohnstatten—rather than Trianon.
On 26 December, a meeting was held at Trianon, and Stiller
talked to the groups legal adviser, Dr. Hans Rehfisch; Schratter was
in Paris at the time.201 Stiller then hired R. Vallentin, a lawyer at
the court of appeal, to compose a letter to Bretschneider. In this
note dated December 27 Bretschneider was first of all reminded of
the binding promise he made in November, to provide production
costs of 400,000, “possibly 450,000 marks, depending on the amount
required by my client for the film”:

Contrary to this promise, which represented the sole reason for my

clients decision to leave for Constantinople, you not only failed to
make funds available to him, you also left him in the lurch together
with his party of 12 individuals in that city despite his urgent admo­
nitions by telegram, as a result of which my client was compelled,
so as to prevent the other members of the party from starving, to
advance them money in addition to the sums he was forced to dis­
burse in Constantinople for the film.

86
This letter ended with a demand for “immediate fulfillment of this
promise” by 29 December, which was to be delivered the form of a
“confirmed letter of credit for Constantinople amounting to 450,000
marks” This higher amount was supposedly justified because “the
previous failure to make the funds available has postponed shooting
by one month at least”202
With regard to the claims on Wohnstatten, which were justified in
the opinion of Stiller and Trianon—two days later Schratter wrote a
long letter to its supervisory board203—the debts incurred by the film
group and its partner from Stockholm themselves must be taken
into consideration. Planning and financing of production should
have been overseen more closely. Equally surprising as the fact that
Stiller, though he was aware of the production company’s finances,
set the budget at over 400,000 marks, Trianon agreed in spite of the
experiences it had had with Orient. In the end, none of these factors
were to blame for the project failing; it was the German trade press
that turned A Tale from Constantinople into a political issue and
ultimately led to the project’s demise.

6 “A Laughingstock Throughout Europe”

Anatomy of a German Film Scandal
When David Schratter returned from his trip to Paris, he sent a
seven-page letter to Bretschneider, Glafi and Wenzel. Dated 29
December, its slated objective was to “clarify affairs and the future
of Trianon Film AG” and to convince its recipients “to provide the
company with financial support through an honest portrayal of
these facts.”20'1
Schratter supported Stiller’s claims on Wohnstatten and at the
same time expressed Trianon-Verleih’s need for capital in order to
maintain the British branch office. Furthermore, he was forced to
admit he “knew quite well” that its “financial resources are fully
exhausted.” Still, he hoped to break down the financer’s resistance

87
by means of threats and promises: “If Mr. Stiller is not able to com­
plete his film, we will firstly lose 120,000 marks, and secondly we
will be a laughingstock throughout Europe”, claimed Schratter. On
top of that the company’s reputation would suffer among German
theater operators, which would entail forfeiting an asset worth more
than a million marks and reduced chances of selling the film in the
United States.
As a result of Stiller s and Schratters threats, the responsible par­
ties at Wohnstatten agreed to another conference of the Constantin­
ople projects partners on 31 December 1924. Hans Rehfisch, who
attended this meeting along with Glafi, Bretschneider, Schratter and
Stiller, later noted that Wohnstatten s head

considered at that time procuring funds for continued work on the

Stiller film from a third party, while Mr. Schratter demanded that
these moneys be paid not to Mr. Stiller, but to Trianon-Film-AG,
the reason being that, on the one hand, the English distributor
established a short time previously required more funds, and on
the other Mr. Stiller would not need the entire amount immedi­
ately and in the meantime significant sums could be expected from
distribution.205

In this way the previously latent competition between Schratter and

Stiller manifested itself in the matter of Wohnstattens loans. The
opposing interests that had been revealed might also explain why
Stiller and his Swedish collaborators later had solely negative things
to say about the German film producer.206 In spite of any differences
of opinion the desire to complete the project dominated on both
sides. Wohnstatten even agreed to fund a recapitalisation of Trianon
after an audit, because the estimated value of the company’s assets
was still considerable. It was under these circumstances that the
gathering on Dessauer Strafie received a letter bringing the Swed­
ish-German Constantinople project to an unexpected denouement.

88
 This letter, dated 31 December 1924, was addressed to President
Schratter and marked Confidential. It bore the signature of Karl
Wolfisohn, publisher of Lichtbild-Biihne and publisher in chief of
Ullstein AGs Film B.Z. 'Hie ostensible reason was a financial scandal
causing a stir at the time, which damaged the Prussian Maritime
Trading Company [Preufiische Seehandlung]. Wolfisohn linked it
with Wohnstattens dealings with Trianon:

Regarding the investigation taking place at present, conducted by

the Prussian State Bank, we have learned from a well-informed and
reliable source that your company has also received loans indirectly
from the Maritime Trading Company. We have successfully man­
aged to delay publication of this fact in another periodical until all
the facts are known.
We are contacting you for this reason, to clarify this matter com­
pletely.
As we have learned, you received the loans from the Deutsche
Siedlungs-Aktiengesellschaft [a stock corporation that dealt with
residential construction], which you then passed on to the Mari­
time Trading Company. [...]
We respectfully request that you explain this situation in full. We
will then make a decision as to whether and to what extent publi­
cation of the facts would be in the industry’s interest. 207

As it soon turned out, the informal tone of this letter was as false
as the conjecture it contained. In any case, Bretschneider and Glafi
reacted promptly: After the two men made one final loan payment
on December 29, they declared immediately after seeing the letter
that “provision of additional loans will not be possible for the time
being.”208 The talks with Stiller were suspended.
Why did Wolfisohn write this letter, and why did Wohnstatten
react as it did? The misguided and high-handed speculation with
loans fails to provide a satisfactory explanation, because this situ-

89
by means of threats and promises: “If Mr. Stiller is not able to com­
plete his film, we will firstly lose 120,000 marks, and secondly we
will be a laughingstock throughout Europe”, claimed Schratter. On
top of that the company’s reputation would suffer among German
theater operators, which would entail forfeiting an asset worth more
than a million marks and reduced chances of selling the film in the
United States.
As a result of Stiller s and Schratter s threats, the responsible par­
ties at Wohnstatten agreed to another conference of the Constantin­
ople projects partners on 31 December 1924. Hans Rehfisch, who
attended this meeting along with GlaB, Bretschneider, Schratter and
Stiller, later noted that Wohnstatten s head

considered at that time procuring funds for continued work on the

Stiller film from a third parly, while Mr. Schratter demanded that
these moneys be paid not to Mr. Stiller, but to Trianon-Film-AG,
the reason being that, on the one hand, the English distributor
established a short time previously required more funds, and on
the other Mr. Stiller would not need the entire amount immedi­
ately and in the meantime significant sums could be expected from
distribution.205

In this way the previously latent competition between Schratter and

Stiller manifested itself in the matter of Wohnstattens loans. The
opposing interests that had been revealed might also explain why
Stiller and his Swedish collaborators later had solely negative things
to say about the German film producer.206 In spite of any differences
of opinion the desire to complete the project dominated on both
sides. Wohnstatten even agreed to fund a recapitalisation of Trianon
after an audit, because the estimated value of the company’s assets
was still considerable. It was under these circumstances that the
gathering on Dessauer StraBe received a letter bringing the Swed­
ish-German Constantinople project to an unexpected denouement.

88
 This letter, dated 31 December 1924, was addressed to President
Schratter and marked Confidential. It bore the signature of Karl
Wolffsohn, publisher of Liclitbild-Biihne and publisher in chief of
Ullstein AG’s Film B.Z. The ostensible reason was a financial scandal
causing a stir at the time, which damaged the Prussian Maritime
Trading Company [Preufiische Seehandlung]. Wolffsohn linked it
with Wohnstattens dealings with Trianon:

Regarding the investigation taking place at present, conducted by

the Prussian Stale Bank, we have learned from a well-informed and
reliable source that your company has also received loans indirectly
from the Maritime Trading Company. We have successfully man­
aged to delay publication of this fact in another periodical until all
the facts are known.
We are contacting you for this reason, to clarify this matter com­
pletely.
As we have learned, you received the loans from the Deutsche
Siedlungs-Aktiengesellschaft [a stock corporation that dealt with
residential construction!, which you then passed on to the Mari­
time Trading Company. [...]
We respectfully request that you explain this situation in full. We
will then make a decision as to whether and to what extent publi­
cation of the facts would be in the industry’s interest.207

As it soon turned out, the informal tone of this letter was as false
as the conjecture it contained. In any case, Bretschneider and Glaft
reacted promptly: After the two men made one final loan payment
on December 29, they declared immediately after seeing the letter
that “provision of additional loans will not be possible for the time
being.”208 The talks with Stiller were suspended.
Why did Wolffsohn write this letter, and why did Wohnstatten
react as it did? The misguided and high-handed speculation with
loans fails to provide a satisfactory explanation, because this situ-

89
ation involves more than merely consequences for Bretschneider
and Glafi. Fully comprehending the meaning of Wolffsohn’s letter
requires viewing it in the context of three aspects that, in addition
to those mentioned above, characterised German film production
at the time: dependence on the current political situation, the insta­
bility of value and the low level of business ethics.
In fact, the ongoing negotiations between Wohnstatten and Tri­
anon Film AG were in danger of turning into a political scandal
thanks to the involvement of Lichtbild-Biilme. After all, this was
playing out at a point in time when increasing impoverishment
across social classes was accompanied by a rise in social polari­
sation and an acute shortage of living space in Berlin. It could be
expected that right-wing Christian conservative circles (and those
normally not kindly disposed toward cinema) would react to pub­
lication of the affairs details as threatened by Wolffsohn by taking
action against Wohnstatten and the film industry.209 In the Reichstag
Martin Schiele, parliamentary group leader of the German nation­
alists, moved in December to subject all business dealings involv­
ing loans from Reich offices to privately owned corporate groups
to painstaking examination; the right-wing press then tried to link
more and more names with the financial scandal involving the Prus­
sian Maritime Trading Company. 210
The connection between Wohnstatten and Trianon represented
sufficient grounds for political outrage: While the former was a
privately owned and independent company, it was founded by gov­
ernment-owned corporations and received government subsidies.
The conservatives’ mantra, “filming away government money”,211
spread quickly, firstly because the moneys invested in the pro­
duction company were sufficient for construction of 200 to 220
three-room apartments.212 Secondly, the chairman of Wohnstat-
ten’s supervisory board, Dr. Wenzel, was none other than Martin
Schieles son-in-law. And on top of that, David Schratter was a Jew.
Indeed, Wolffsohn would hardly have been able to act as he did

90
were it not for Trianon employees who were personal enemies of
Schratter. As it turned out later, Wolffsohn was in contact with
Georg Schaffrath, the previous owner of Continentale Handels AG,
whom Schratter had hired as a factotum in exchange for the busi­
ness premises. Schaffrath visited Wolffsohn in the latter’s office after
the publisher had launched the campaign against the production
company in Lichtbild-Biihnc and was informed that the company’s
registry file at the municipal court contained minutes of a super­
visory-board meeting at which mention was made of a payment
to the government official Bretschneider.213 Before Wolffsohn was
able to lodge a complaint against Wohnstatten and Trianon at the
Reich Labour Ministry, Schaffrath penned an anonymous letter to
the district attorneys office, calling attention to the company pres­
ident’s alleged misconduct.
This letter employed some clearly anti-Semitic argumentation.
“Probably the sole guilty party” to blame for the “company’s col­
lapse” was “David Schratter, a Jewish American from Czernowitz
who employs his two brothers [. ..] and an uncle at the company,
while two sisters receive money from it.” Schratter was alleged to
have “constantly deceived” Bretschneider, had a “nest of ill repute
built for himself at the studio’s cost”, [. . .] “caused a great uproar”
in the press, and made “worthless” films:

While these foreigners waste good German money, we wage earn­

ers might go hungry Almost every one of us is familiar with the
activities of these gentlemen. [...] Summon them as witnesses and
then off to jail with such con men. But lake care, he is a foreigner.21'1

Of course, Wolffsohn hardly shared Schaffrath’s political views,

being Jewish himself. And he supported neither a new nor contro­
versial point of view in the editorials published in Lichtbild-Buhne
between 3 and 31 January 1925. Wolffsohn called for an increased
amount of self-regulation in the film industry, particularly relat-

91
 ing to unlawful provision of loans. “The German film industry”,
as he quoted the “head of a financial institution”, must be able to
muster the courage on its own to eliminate individuals who could
weaken trust in the business.”215 All the same, this opinion took on
additional political weight in relation to film due to when Lichtbild-
Biihne made it part of the agenda.216
The other trade publications agreed that the supposed informa­
tional campaign was not at all credible because of its link to the
actions of right-wing Christian conservatives and its language. Fur­
thermore, the successive release of information and increasingly
shrill pitch suggested that YVolffsohn was pursuing his own objec­
tives on the side. For example, in his first editorial of 3 January he
held forth with vague insinuations concerning a businessman who
“suddenly believed that he had to make films, became involved in
the construction of studios, and hired stars and crew members for
fantastic sums”217 Later, Wolffsohn wrote about Trianon and Stiller
by name: The director “was sent to Constantinople with an expe­
dition, and this expedition failed to shoot any usable footage at all,
and had to stop in its tracks....”218
As seen by other periodicals, these claims were so incredible
because it was Lichtbild-Biihne that did everything in its power in
the previous months to help Trianon succeed: The company not only
purchased advertising space in its pages, Trianon was the subject
of several articles published between April and autumn 1924 that
praised the company’s structure and program.219 At the time film
journalists quickly noticed that Lichtbild-Biihne, and also Film-B.Z.,
were trying to “twist the matter involving Wohnstatten into a Tri­
anon affair”, even though the production company was obviously
not the focus of potential charges.220 In fact, Wolffsohn’s letter and
the newspaper campaign with the articles represented a blackmail
attempt motivated by private business interests and provided evi­
dence of a close connection between film journalists and members
of the industry.221

92
 WolfFsohn was acting not of his own initiative, but as a repre­
sentative of the publisher Ullstein. As with the Hugenberg group,
which owned a share of Ufa and Scherl Verlag, Ullstein too was on
the lookout for new investment opportunities in the film business.
Alter this large group of companies purchased the majority of Terra
AG s slock, an indirect takeover of Trianon was planned, and as men­
tioned above Lichtbild-Biihne played an important role in the increase
in its value.222 According to press reports at the time, WolfFsohn filed
a complaint at the Reich Labour Ministry, intending in part to set
himself up as a “trustee or representative” in the film industry.223
And so, the publishers objective was to “put [Trianon] in the hands
of individuals he was close to”22'1 during the recapitalisation, which
was supposed to happen immediately after the “scandal” broke. For
this purpose Trianon was pressured by means of the letter and the
first, “discreet” editorial at the beginning of the new year; the plan was
to bring about its bankruptcy and then buy it for 200,000 marks.225
Since the rest of the trade press saw through this strategy easily, the
matter blew up in the face of the publisher and his periodical, and
Ullstein, the Vereinigung Deutscher Filmfabrikanten e.V. and Licht­
bild-Biihne all distanced themselves from WolfFsohn.226
Regarding A Tale from Constantinople and the careers of Stiller
and Garbo in Germany, everything came to a swift end. This was
however not a result of either Trianon’s bankruptcy or Schratter’s
disappearance, as has been claimed in previous accounts. Although
Trianon was experiencing serious liquidity problems in early 1925,
it in no way had an excessive amount of debt: By the time the court
case began in June, it took in a net sum of 480,000 marks from dis­
tribution and studio rental fees of 15,000 marks a month.22/ Further­
more, Stiller, Wohnstatten and the film group made every effort to
keep the Constantinople project on track. While Wohnstatten had
a working committee formed to discuss the films future financing,
Schratter attempted to sell Gosta Berlings saga to a foreign buyer
through Trianon’s British office.228 Stiller sent a telegram to Charles

93
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Telegram to Stiller from Charles Magnusson: ’’now too late of course, I can
get 400 ooo in April/May, how about gosta [Gosla Berlings Saga] in London?”.
(Swedish Film Institute)

Magnusson, asking whether Svensk Filmindustri was interested in

investing 400,000 marks in the production.229
However, all these efforts failed. And on top of that, disputes
between the various individuals involved flared up although Trianon
was attempting to reach a settlement and Schratter even offered to
resign. While the group managed to reach a provisional agreement
with its creditors on 27 March 1925, the actions of Wohnstiitten
and Stiller got in the way of the out-of-court agreement concern­
ing payment of the debt: Stiller, because he made exaggerated—in
the general opinion—financial claims; and Wohnstatten, because it
had new management that distanced itself from Bretschneider and
Glaft and dealt with its former business partner in a “thoroughly
inquisitorial manner”230

94
 This proved to be a serious mistake, the more so because a court
case had become unavoidable after Wolffsohn’s charge lodged his
complaint at the Reich Labour Ministry. As a result, the value of the
company’s assets plummeted—the total loss was estimated at 2.5
million gold-based marks.231 As a result Wohnstatten was unable
to retrieve the total claims of four million gold-based marks,232 and
Stiller had to forget about the excessive 450,000 marks he had asked
for. In the end, Trianon’s losses in terms of reputation and value
made the company easy prey for takeovers from a wide variety of
buyers: In addition to the Deutsches Film-Syndikat of Diisseldorf,
Joe Schenck (United Artists) showed an interest.233
In the heated political climate of 1925, the cultural value Trianon
Film AG had created in the form of film within a short amount
of time dissolved rapidly and without a trace. In this sense too,
the production company’s story is symptomatic for other German
companies in the film business who had a similar amount of capital
and volume of production. It proved fateful for Trianon to have nei­
ther a standardised business model nor sufficient financial security;
furthermore, it existed during a period of political and economic
instability and no cultural consensus concerning the material and
intellectual value of film. Nevertheless, it would not suffice to regard
the key players in the film business as nothing more than victims of
various difficulties, as they bore a significant amount of responsibil­
ity for the situation that can be seen in retrospect. This is particularly
obvious in the business dealings of those involved.
Indeed, claiming that any of these individuals acted in a fair
or reliable manner would not be correct. Bretschneider failed to
inform Wohnstatten’s supervisory board of the loans and on top of
that had them incorrectly entered in financial statements as securi­
ties. The manner in which he made capital investments was just as
reckless as his efforts for Trianon were unpredictable and incom­
petent. Schratter could be termed a notorious optimist with un­
realistic expectations of his program’s chances of making a profit,

95
and when promises of great success failed to bring the desired
results, he responded with threats of significant losses. Furthermore,
he employed a trick that is not uncommon in the world of business,
obligating a creditor to provide more and more loans by expand­
ing; at the same time he employed these funds unprofitably.23'1 It
must be said about Stiller, who is often characterised as a victim,
that in spite of Trianon’s financial situation, of which he was aware,
he negotiated for an extremely large production budget (and fee)
while never committing himself to his decisions in due time when
business or artistic matters were involved. This was shown during
both organisation of the Turkish expedition and his negotiations
with Metro Goldwyn Mayer at the same time. Furthermore, he gave
Semitjov the mere pittance of 300 crowns for the world rights to his
story, 200 of which were paid out only after numerous reminders
from the impoverished Russian emigrant.235
In addition to the main players—Karl Wolffsohn could certainly
be counted as one—the scandals minor characters must not be
forgotten: the court expert Vogel consulted during the trial, who
attempted to gain possession of shares in Trianon;236 and the head of
distribution, Mischke, who made a wrongful claim to Trianon-Ver-
leih AG as a whole during the subsequent meeting of creditors.23'
Though the Wohnstatten-Trianon trial ended after 17 days, on 12
July 1925, with a verdict of not guilty for all the accused, the view
that the film industry was morally deficient remained, and not only
in the courts opinion.

Epilogue
What happened to Greta Garbo in the meantime? Together with the
rest of the crew the starlet was stuck at Pera Palace Hotel until about
mid-January, and then she and her co-star Einar Hanson left for Ber­
lin. The costs of travel and hotels were paid by the production com­
pany Sofar (Societe des Films Artistiques, Michael Salkin), which

96
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Negotiations with Metro Goldwyn Mayer in November 1924... (Swedish

Film Institute)

was preparing to make Georg Wilhelm Pabsts The Joyless Street (Die
freudlose Gasse, 1925). Pabst had seen Garbo in Gosta Berlings saga
and wanted to cast her as Grete Rumfort rather than Vilma Banky,
who had left for Hollywood. Sofar also hired Einar Hanson and the
former Trianon actress Agnes Esterhazy for Pabsts film. 238
This production did not represent a new beginning for Gar­
bos career in Germany. It relied on an ensemble of stars, and the
Swedish actress’ name was not even featured in the advertisements.
Feuilletons in the major daily newspapers focused on Asta Niel­
sen instead, mentioning the “apprentice thespian” from Stockholm
solely in passing.239
According to reports published in the Siiddeutsche Filmzeitung

97
Stiller showed an active interest in “shooting for ‘The Joyless Street’ ”
and “he could frequently be seen at the Efa studio where shooting
is taking place”2’10 Without a doubt he failed to receive as many
offers from producers as in the past, particularly in light of the fact
that talks with Trianon were still ongoing and he had apparently
earned a reputation among Berlins industry insiders as a director
whose work was too expensive if not ruinous.2'11 After Nordwesti was
founded in early February 1925, Stiller did receive an offer from a
consortium involving Westi, Ufa and Svensk Filmindustri to direct
six films over a period of three years2'12, but by that point he had
signed a preliminary contract with Metro Goldwyn Mayer. Garbo
concluded her own agreement with MGM around 20 March 1925,243
and early that summer the two went to Hollywood via Stockholm.
Trianon remained active for some time: For example, in late August
1925 the Trianon groups distributors announced the 1925-1926 sea­
sons program, which would include “Trianon’s four Swedish films”
“in the near future.”2’1'1 Apparently, the company’s management was
trying to regain the trust of theater operators and external distrib­
utors. On 6 February 1926, bankruptcy proceedings began after a
joint petition was submitted by Wohnstatten (as the chief creditor)
and Trianon (as the debtor).245 David and Ignatz Schratter were not
present, and an investigation by Berlins police found that they had
already left the city for Paris in early March.2'16 On 14 May 192S, Tri-
anon-Film AG was officially removed from the commercial register.24'
What remained was Wohnstatten GmbH. Despite the fears that
led to implementation of the company’s restrictive loan policy,
its relationship with Trianon survived until long after the Second
World War. Not until 1967 did Trianon-Wohnstatten, the company’s
name at that time, disappear from Berlins commercial register.218
With regard to Greta Garbo, the regret caused by her departure
for Hollywood lived on. In Diegoldene Galeere. Ein Roman aus der
Filmindustrie (1930) the film agent Prager reminds producer Man-
delberg of the missed opportunity for German film:

98
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Telegram from Victor Sjostrom (Scastrom) to Mauritz Stiller in February

1925 - a welcome to Hollywood. (Swedish Film Institute)

“Do you remember when an actress sat in your outer office one day,
a woman I recommended, and you didn’t want to hire her? You
weren’t the only person at the time, but that’s no excuse. You’d give
your right arm if that actress worked for you today! At the time I
spent hours trying to convince you, but it didn’t change anything.
All you wanted were big names. The Americans are smarter. They
realised what the woman had to offer and brought her over. Now
she’s the most popular actress....”
“And who’s that?”
“Garbo.”
Mandelberg sat down. That’s right, the tall, blonde Swede with the
enigmatic eyes had waited in his outer office, day after day. And he
sent her away. Mauritz Stiller had asked him to give her a chance

99
Postcard of Constantinople. (The Hyllen-Cavallius private collection)

with a small part. He refused. Every time he passed a movie theater

which was playing a Garbo film, every time that this most strange
and most soulful of all human countenances returned his gaze
from lobby cards and posters, he remembered those hours when
he had the greatest opportunity of his entire life in his hands—and
passed it up. He thought about those hours often. But he shouldn’t
be reminded of his mistake. He couldn’t stand that. The fact that he
had failed to recognise an artist, that didn’t bother him so much.
But the fact that he had let a star slip through his fingers, some­
one whose films would later break box-office records—he couldn’t
get over that. This wound continued to pain him. Whoever dared
mention the matter brought Mandelberg’s hatred upon himself.249

100
Notes
1 Karl Wolffsohn, “Wetlerleuchten”, Lichtbild-Biilme 1, January 3,1925.
2 Stefan Grossmann, “Erich Pommers Slurz”, Das Tagebuch 5, January 30,
1926.
3 Fritz Olimsky, Tendcnzen der Filmwirtschafi and deren AuswirkungaufFilm-
presse. Diss. Berlin, 1931.
4 A Rep 342-02, no. 2S4, 1a and lb, at the Berlin Slate Archive (Landesar-
chiv Berlin, LArch) contains the court records which include portions of
Trianon Film AGs business correspondence, expert business reports, pay­
rolls and other important documents, approximately 200 pages in all. They
were evaluated in addition to Trianon’s file in the commercial register (no.
90S7), which contains financial statements that are not necessarily reliable.
Other sources that were evaluated include: Svenska filminstitutet (SF), no.
24, Victor Sjoslroms arkiv/Mauritz Stillers papper (MS) and Gosta Werners
papper (GW); and the Trianon-Film AG, no. 2356, and Trianon Film-Ate-
liers, no. 1054S, files from the Deutsche Kincmalheks Archive of Scripts,
Gray Literature and Audio Documents (DK) in Berlin. Finally, eyewitness
reports published by the trade press and autobiographies have been eval­
uated in full for the first time. In 2011, Thomas J. Saunders published an
article in Film History which is quite similar to the account presented in
my 2007 book, Bilder vom Norden: Schwedisch-deutsche Filmbeziehungen,
1914-1939 (Marburg: Schiiren), on which the present chapter is based. My
own research was conducted in 2002-2003 and became part of a doctoral
dissertation, handed in at Humboldt University Berlin, in 2004. See Thomas
J. Saunders, “Film and Finance in Weimar Germany: The Rise and Fall of
Schratter’s Trianon-Film, 1923-1925”, in Film History 23,1, 2011, 3S—56.
The Saunders article contains numerous inaccuracies, however.
5 An initial overview can be found in Kristin Thompson, Exporting Enter­
tainment: America and the World Film Market, 1907-1934> London: British
Film Institute, 19S5, 111-1 iS.
6 LArch 9087, Berlin-Mitte municipal court, miscellaneous files relating to
Trianon-Film-Aktiengesellschaft of Berlin.
7 This biographical account is based mainly on the statements Schratter made

101
 at the 1925 trial which were then verified by the court. LArch 284, lb, Chief
district attorney at Berlin municipal court; Schratters interrogation by Dis­
trict Attorney Dr. Duden, February 27,1925; and Complaint brought by Dr.
Duden, April 9, 1925.
8 Ibid., Interrogation transcript, February 1925.
9 The Reichs-Kino-Advefibuch (1921 /22) lists josefLanger as the managing
director. Schralter mentioned Mr. Freudenberg repeatedly.
10 LArch 9087, Board of directors business report on Trianon Film AGs first
year in business, July 14, 1924.
11 LArch 284, lb, Transcript of interrogation by Dr. Duden, March 3, 1925-
12 See David Bordwell, Janet Staiger and Kristin Thompson, The Classical Hol­
lywood Cinema. Film Style Mode of Production to i960, London: Rout-
ledge 1985, 143ft'.
13 LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925.
14 LArch 284,1a, Otto Busch, transcript of statement, January 14, i925-
15 LArch 9087; for information on the change in management, see the com­
pany’s financial statements for 1924, which includes minutes of supervisory
board meetings.
16 LArch 284, lb; Schralter repeatedly described himself, and was termed by
numerous others, as the “soul” and “engine” of the deal.
17 Lichthild-Biiline, “Die Ausfuhrstatistik”, 16, April 21,1923; Lichtbild-Biilme,
“Unser Auftenhandel im letzten Quartal”, 38, September 22, 1923.
18 LArch 9087, Business report, July 1924. A total of 160,000 Reichsmark was
listed for Zwei Menschen, 140,000 for Nation, 200,000 for Stcucrlos, and
Si,217.95 for Ein Traum vom Gluck, which was still in production at the
time.
19 LArch 284, lb, Attorney Halperts statement, June 25, 1925.
20 LArch 284, lb, Transcript of Schratters interrogation, March 3, 192.51 and
Schratter, undated letter to Wohnstatten’s board of directors.
21 Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson, 92ft'.
22 Jurgen Spiker, Film und Kapital. Der Wegder deutschen Filmwirdschaft zum
nationalsozialistischen Einheitskonzern. Berlin: Spiess 1975, 39.
23 Olimsky, 29.
24 Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson, 313ft.
25 LArch 284, lb, E. Noetzel, expert opinion, February 9, 1925.
26 Edwin H. Weinwurm, DerFilmverleih in Deutschland. Inagural-Dissertation
zur Erlangung der Doktorwiirde an der Philosophischen Fakultdt der Fricd-
rich-Wilhelms-Universitat zu Berlin. Berlin: Typoskript, 68f.

102
27 Spiker, 37.
28 Spiker, 37 and Thompson, 106-111.
29 Weinwurm, 72.
30 LArch 284, ib, Schralter’s interrogation, March 1925.
31 LArch 284, ia, Transcript ofSchratter’s interrogation by police, January 16,
1925; and Transcript of Busch’s interrogation at police headquarters, January
1S, 1925; and LArch 2S4, ib, Noetzel, February 1925.
32 Ibid., Busch’s interrogation, January 1925.
33 Jalirbucli der Filmindustric 1923/1925, 21-23
34 “Film production in 1924 was characterised by the watchword ‘American
competition.’ The Americans had a great deal of success in our country.”
Willy Haas, “Das letzte Filmjahr”, Das grofie Bilderbuch des Films, n.d.
[1925]. supplement in Film-Kurier 6; see Saunders 1994, 117-144; and
Garncarz 1993.
35 LArch 2S4, ib, Halpert’s statement, June 1925.
36 See Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson.
37 Weimvurm, 66f.
38 Karl Zimmerschied, Die deulsche Filmindustric. Ihre Entwicklung, Organ­
isation and Stcllung im deutschcn Staats- and Wirtschaftsleben. Stuttgart:
Poeschel 1922, 50-72.
39 Weinwurm, 66JT.
40 LArch 284, ib, Complaint April 1925; and ibid., Noetzel, February 1925.
The building was used as a studio before 1924, and Karl-Wilhelm-Film and
Hallen am Zoo GmbH were listed as the owners at various times.
41 LArch 284, ia, Transcript of Hans Otto’s interrogation.
42 LArch 9087, Trianon’s financial statement for 1924; and LArch 284, ib,
Complaint, April 1925.
43 SF 24, MS, David Schratter, letter to Mauritz Stiller.
44 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12,1924*
45 LArch 284, ib, Noetzel, February 1925.
46 The studio was always booked during the trial.
47 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925.
48 LArch 284, ib, Noetzel, February 1925.
49 L. A. Hermann, “ ‘Gosta Berling’ firar triumf i Berlin”, Biograf-Bladet 17,
September 1, 1924.
50 DK 2356 and 10548.
51 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12, 1924. The “list of Trianon
Film A.G.s employees” in LArch 284, ia, included two cleaners, four chauf-

103
 feurs, three messengers, technical crew members (including one projection­
ist), etc.
52 LArch 284,1a, Schratlers interrogation, January 1925.
53 Alfred Kallmann, DieKonzernierungder Filmindustrie erldutert an den Fil-
mindustrien Deutschlasnds und Amerikas, Diss. Universitat Jena. Wurzburg:
Konrad Trilsch 1932, i4f.
54 LArch 284, 1a, Bretschneiders statement, January 8, 1925.
55 LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925.
56 Spiker, 40.
57 LArch 2S4, lb, Schratter, letter to chairman of Wohnstatten’s supervisory
board.
58 Weimvurm, 20.
59 LArch 2S4,1a, Busch’s interrogation, January 1925.
60 Kino-Adressbuch 1924-25; no page numbers in original.
61 Film-Kuriery “Die Verleihorganisation der Trianon-Film A.G. in England ,
237, October 7,1924; and Der Film, “Die Trianon in England”, 42, October
19,1924-
62 Lichtbild-Biilme, untitled notice, 1, January 3, 1925; and LArch 284, ia,
Schratter, letter to Wohnstatten GmbH, December 29, 1924.
63 Film-Kuriery “Eine deutsch-amerikanische Interessen-Gemeinschaft”, 170,
July 21,1924; and Liclitbild-Biihnet “Eine amerikanisch-deutsche Alliance”
July 19,1924. A few farcical situations arose with the director, Bud Pollard,
in this connection, though discovering more information about this pro­
duction was not possible. In winter 1924/25 Schratter concluded a deal with
the French company Aubert that involved the Pollard films; see LArch 2S4,
1a, Schratter, December 1924.
64 Lichtbild-Buhney “Europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 23, March 1, 1924; and
Film-Kuriery “Die europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 107, May 6, 1924.
65 Erich Pommer, “Film, Filmgeschaft und Weltmarkt”, Der Film 9/10, May
23, 1923; see Thompson 1985, 113-114.
66 For example, see Felix Henseleit, “Film und National-Charakter”, Reichsfilm-
blatt 5 (February 2, 1924); Georg Otto Stindt, “1st der Film national oder
international?” Der Film 10, March 9, 1924; Viktor Mendel, “Praktischer
Pazifismus. Die volkerversohnende Mission des Films”, Kinematographische
Monatshefte 3/4, March/April 1924; Willy Haas, “Zur Frage des nationalen
Films”, Film-Kurier 103, May 1,1924; and Aros [Artur Rosenthal], “Gegen-
seitigkeit. Bemerkungen zum Problem der Filminternationalitat”, DerKinc-
matograph 901 (May 25, 1924).

104
67 Olimsky, 29.
68 LArch 284, in, Schraiter, December 1924.
69 LArch 284, in, List of Trianon Film AGs employees. For more information
on Lyssa, see LArch 284, 1a, Note by police, January 26,1925.
70 See Wolfgang Jacobsen, Erich Pommer. Ein Produzent macht Filmgeschichte.
Berlin: Argon 1989.
71 Die FilniwodiCy “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 46,1924. See the censors approval
certificate, no. 22286, April 25, 1929. For more information about the fall
from a skyscraper motif, see Sebastian Hafl'ner: “Kintoppromantik”, Koralle,
January 17,1937.
72 LArch 284,1b, Noetzel, February 1925.
73 LArch 284,1a, Schraiter, December 1924.
74 Ibid. For more information on collateral for loans, see the discussion in
Film-Kurier dealing with films eligibility as securities, -cl. [Carl Linner],
“Der Wohnstatlen-Trianon-Prozeft. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, Film-Kurier
154. July 3,1925.
75 Cesar M. Arconada, Lcben der Greta Garbo (Giefien: Kindt & Bucher, 1930),
82.
76 Der Film, “Victor Sjostroms Amerikareise”, 5, February 4, 1923; for more
information, see Florin 2000.
77 Andrew I ligson and Richard Maltby eds, “Film Europe"and “Film America".
Cinema, Commerce and Cultural Exchange 1920-1939. Exeter: University
of Exeter Press 1999. 4.
78 See Thompson, 128. See also Bertil Wredlund and Rolf Lindfors, Ldngfilm
i Sverige 1920-1929. Stockholm: Proprius 1987, 322.
79 Leif Furhammar, Fihnen i Sverige. En historia i tio kapitel. Hoganas: Forlag
AB Wiken 1991,92; Mats Bjorkin, Amerikanism, Bolsjevism och korta kjolar.
Fihnen och dess publik i Sverige under 1920-talet. Stockholm: Aura forlag
1998,21-72
80 Filmbladet, “En svensk filmskojare i Berlin”, 10, May 24,1923.
81 H. W. [Hans Wollenberg], “Erotikon”, Lichtbild-Buhne 32, August 6, 1921.
Seep.-cs [Paul Ickes], “Erotikon”, Film-Kurier 181, August 5,1921; PL, Ero­
tikon”, Der Film 32, August 7, 1921; Ludwig Brauner, “Erotikon”, Der Kin-
ematograph 756 (August 14, 1921); Erich Effler, “Erotikon”, Der deutsche
Film in Wort und Bild 33 (August 19,1921); G., “Erotikon”, Deutsche Licht-
spielzeitung 2, January 14, 1922.
82 Willy Haas, “Auslandische und deutsche Spieltechnik. Dramaturgische Beo-
bachtungen”, Film-Kurier 19, January 22,1924.

105
 53 Filmjournalen,“Tyska rosierom Stiller”, 19, November iS, 1928;F. E.,“Max
Reinhardt om filmen nu och i framliden”, Filmjournalen 1, 1921. Licht-
bild-Bulme, untitled notice, 3, January 15,1921; and Ihering 195S, 467.
54 Gosta Werner, Mauritz Stiller. Ell livsode, Stockholm: Prisma 1991, 15 5-
85 J-s. [Paul lekes] “Mauritz Stiller in Berlin. Eine Unterredung mit dem Ero-
t ikon-Reg isseur”, Filnt-Kurier 277, November 28,1921.
S6 BiograJ'-Bladet, “Mauritz Stiller i Berlin?” 6, March 15, 1922; Filmnyheter,
“MauritzStillers tyska filmplaner”, 12, March 20,1922; Filmbladet, “Mauritz
Stiller flyttar till Berlin i host?” 11, March 18,1922; DerFilnu “Mauritz Stiller
kommt nach Berlin?” 13, March 26,1922; and Filmnyheter, “Tyskarna vilja
ta ifran oss Mauritz Stiller”, 1, January 1, 1922.
87 Werner.
88 Filmnyheter, “Tyskarna vilja ta ifran oss Mauritz Stiller”, 1, January 1, 1922.
89 Stillers reports on the German film market possibly provided the inspiration
for Karusellen.
90 See the report F. W. Koebner, “Beim schwedischen ‘Kathchen,’ ”5. Bciblatt
des Film-Kurier 17S, July 30, 1927. Additional evidence for Johnsons suc­
cess was the interest demonstrated by popular periodicals. Henry Ernest,
“Schwedische Filmkiinstler”, Neue Illustrierte Filmwoche 2, 1923; and S. F.,
“Schwedische Filmarbeit”, Neue Illustrierte Filmwoche 5, 1923. In the latter
she and Einar Hanson were presented as a dream couple.
91 Meinhart Maur, “Ein Abend bei Mary Johnson. Elsalill in Berlin”, Der Film
23, June S, 1924.
92 Lichtbild-Biilme 35, March 29,1924, advertisement.
93 Willy Haas, “Zu Nutz und Frommen unserer Branche. Was Mary Johnson
und Hanns Schwarz von der Svenska und von Stiller erzahlen”, Film-Kurier
108, May 7,1924.
94 L. A. Hermann, “De tyska filmuthyrarnasgeneralforsamling” Biograf-Bladct
10, May 15,1924.
95 LArch 284,1 b, David Schratter, letter from London, May 18,1924. Cf. ibid.,
Schratters last letter from London, May 5,1924, in it he wrote that “Mary
Johnson must be held back at all costs”.
96 Film-Kurier, “Geschaftliches”, 272, November 17, 1924.
97 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, letter to Stiller, March 20, 1924.
98 The net box-ofiice figures in Sweden totaled 391,296 crowns, and the pro­
duction costs amounted to 555,219 crowns. SF, GW, “Regissor Mauritz
Stiller Provisionsnota for Gosta Berlings Saga per 30.6.1926” Cf. Werner
1991, 176, for more information on why Lagerlof was unhappy.

106
99 SF, 24, MS, Vladimir Semitjov, letter to MauritzStiller, March 27,1924; letter
on Stillers stationery. This letter, signed by Semitjov, transferred all world
rights for film adaptations to the director for 100 crowns.
100 L. E. Hermann, “Stabiliserad filmkris”, Biograf-Blaciet 4, February 15,1924.
101 See the advertisements in Reichsfilmblait (December 29, 1923); and Film-
Kuricr 8, January 9, 1924.
102 Film-Kuricr, “Mary Johnson komml nach Deutschland” 90, April 14,1924.

103 Filnmyhcler, “Gosta Berling borjar sitt segertag ute i varlden”, 17, April 22,
1924.
104 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926.
105 Inlormation about the expenses vary to the same extent as those concern­
ing income: 100,000 to 130,000 Reichsmark were invested, and 600,000 to
Soo,ooo were taken in. LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, undated letter to
Wohnstatten; and Halperts statement, June 1925.
106 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926.
107 SF, 24, Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, April 10, 1924, type­
written manuscript, unsigned.
108 2. Bcibhitt zuni Filni-Kurier, “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 235, October 4,
1924; Dcr Kincmatograph, “Die Stimme des Herzens”, 924 (1924)'* M-s.,
“Die Stimme des Herzens”, Film-Kuher 258, October 31, 1924- The first
press screening took place on October 30, 1924, at Hotel Esplanades Mar-
morsaal. Possibly because of the films length, which included nine acts, it
was only moderately successful. The film has not survived, but the censors
approval certificate clearly describes a motif inspired by Swedish films in the
first intertitle: “1 Where the wildly foaming waves of the surging sea sing
their eternal song at rugged shores... / 2 .. .Where the rustling treetops of
an ancient, vast wilderness join the thunderous melody... / 3 .. .Our story
begins.” No. 22286, Film-Prufstelle Berlin, April 25, 1929.
109 LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, letter to Otto Busch from Vienna, April 20,
1924.
110 LArch 284, lb, David Schratter, letter to Otto Busch from Savoy Hotel,
London, May 5, 1924.
111 Ibid.; and LArch 284, lb, Halpert’s statement, June 1925.
112 See the overview of approved German fiction features in Wredlund and
Lindfors 1987.
113 LArch 284, lb, Halperts statement, June 1925.
114 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, September 1924. Werner (1991) provides an incom­
plete description of the contract, failing to mention Stillers breach.

107
115 LArch 284, ib, Halpertsstatement, June 1925.
116 From April 25 to May 30 the total moneys amounted to 1,916,296 marks;
this is the largest sum paid out during the entire period. LArch 284. ib,
Complaint, April 1925.
117 [Carl Linner], “Der Wohnstatlen-Trianon-ProzeB”, Film-Kurier 140, June
17,1924.
11S LArch 284, ib, Halperts statement, June 1925.
119 LArch 284, 1a, Transcript of Ottos interrogation; and Complaint, April
1925.
120 SF, 24, MS,Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, July 2,1924, signed
by Weinberg, a secretary.
121 Ibid., signed by Schratter.
122 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925.
123 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, letter to Stiller, July 12, 1924.
124 Lichtbild-Biilme, “Mauritz Stiller bei der Trianon”, 92, July 19, 1924-
125 Film-Kurier, July 23,1923, advertisement.
126 Film-Kurier 169, July 19, 1924, advertisement.
127 Reichsfilmblatt 32 (August 9, 1924), advertisement; see also the full-page
announcement in Lichtbild-Biilme 95, August 16, 1924.
128 Lichtbild-Biilme 95, August 16,1924, advertisement; and Reichsfilmblatt 32
(August 9,1924).
129 SF, 24, MS, Trianon-Film, letter to Mauritz Stiller, Berlin, August 4, i924>
signed by Weinberg. The first premiere that was open to the public look
place on August 20,1924.
130 Film-Kurier 206, September 1, 1924, advertisement.
131 R. H-C. [Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius], “Einige Worte zu Gosta Berling”, Die
Filmwoche 15,1924; and Die Filmwoche, “Gosta Berling”, 34,1924.
132 SF, 24, MS, Trianon-Film, August 1924; and ibid., Schratter, letter to Stiller,
August 5,1924.
133 Biograf-Bladet, “Tysk reklam med bakslag”, 16, August 15,1924. notice.
134 Fillem, “Selma Lagerlof in Berlin. Gosta Berlings Mutter zum GruG”, Film-
B.Z. Beilage der B.Z. am Miltag 225, August 17, 1924.
135 Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stockholm bis Holly­
wood, Berlin: Verlag Scherl 1932, no page numbers in original
136 Fritz Scharf, “Filmpremieren und Kritiker”, Der Lichtbildtheater-Besitzer
47, December 9, 1922. Scharf also provided some interesting information
about what the companies expected of the critics.
137 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, August 1924.

108
138 Richard Kuhn, Greta Garbo. Dcr Weg enter Frau unci Kiinstlcrin. Dresden:
Carl Reissner 1935, 95.
!39 Tli., “Gosta Berling”, Der Film 34, August 24, 1924.
140 Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20, 1924. For more
information on Hans Brodnitz, see Hans Brodnitz, Kino intim. Fine verges-
sene Biographic. Teetz/Berlin: Hentrich & Hentrich 2005.
141 Lichtbild-Biihne, “Europaische Monroe-Doktrin”, 23, March 1, 1924; Lupu
Pick, “Europaisches Filmsyndikat”, Lichtbild-Biihne 74, June 28,1924; Wlad-
imir Wengeroff, “Es darf nicht gezogert werden!” Lichtbild-Biihne 86, July
26, 1924; and Wladimir Wengeroff, “Das Europaische Filmsyndikat”, Der
Film 38, September 21, 1924.
142 Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20,1924.
143 SF, GW, Provisionsnota, 1926.
144 SF, 24, MS, Schratler, letter to Stiller, September 10, 24.
145 Prof. Paul Hildebrandt, “Der Gosta-Berling-Film”, Lichtbild-Biihne 97,
August 21,1924.
146 Frank Aschau, “Gosta Berling”, Die Weltbiihne 38, September 18,1924-
147 Fred Hildenbrandt, “Gosta Berling in Berlin”, Berliner Tageblatt 395, August
20, 1924.
148 Willy Haas, “Gosta Berling”, Film-Kurier 196, August 20,1924.
149 Der Kinematograph, “Gosta Berling” 914 (August 24,1924).
150 Roland Schacht, “Gosta Berling”, B.Z. am Mittag 227, August 17, 1924.
151 Kurt Pinthus, “ ‘Gosta Berling als Film”, S-Uhr-Abendblatt 195, August 19,
1924. See also Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, “Gosta Berling”, 394, August 19,
1924.
152 Der Kinematograph, “Gosta Berling” 914 (August 24,1924).
153 Fred Hildenbrandt, “Gosta Berling in Berlin”, Berliner Tageblatt 395, August
20, 1924. The author of this article referred to one of the films key scenes,
in which Berling and Dohna ride a sled over a frozen lake.
154 Rudolf Arnheim, Kritiken und Aufsdtzczum Film, Miinchen: Hanser 1977*
229-230 and 288-289; see also Bela Balazs, Der Film. Werden und Wesen
einer neuen Kunst, Wien: Globus Verlag 1980, 263-266; and Siegfried Kra-
cauer, Kino. Essays, Sludien, Glossen zum Film, Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp
1974.
155 See the novels of Gustaf Sobin, In Pursuit of a Vanishing Star. New York/
London: W.W. Norton & Company 2003; Guido Bagier, Das tonende Licht.
Berlin-Wilmersdorf: August Gross Verlag 1943; Frizt Rosenfeld, Diegoldene
Galeere. Ein Roman aus der Filmindustrie. Berlin: E. Laubsche Verlagsbuch-

109
 handlung 1930 and Joseph Maria Frank, Der Mann, der Greta Garbo lieblc.
Berlin: Universitas / Deutsche Verlags-Aktiengesellschaft 1933.
156 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, Folja sin genius. Stockholm: Lars Hokerbergsbok-
forlag i960, 234.
157 Werner, 19if.
158 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-Prozess”, Fihn-Kurier 154, July 3> i925*
159 LArch 284, lb, Schratter, undated letter.
160 LArch 284, lb, Halperts statement, June 1925.
161 Filnmyheter, “ ‘Gosta Berlings saga gor succes i Berlin”, 26, August 25,1924.
162 SF, GW, “Utlagg av A.-B. Svensk Filmindustris Rasundakontor for Regissor
Mauritz Stillcrs Konstantinopelfilm (bilag 6).”
163 See Manfred Behn ed., Schwarzer Trawn and weifie Sklavin: Deutsch-
ddnische Filmbezieliungen 1910-1930. Miinchen: edition text+kritik 1994-
164 For example, see J-s. [Paul Ickes], “Die Landesfluchligen”, Fihn-Kurier 226,
October 13, 1922: “A story of our times: Russia is flooded because of the
revolution; whoever feels threatened by the revolutionaries must cross the
border.”
165 See Willy Haas, “Zu Nutz und Frommen unserer Branche”, Fihn-Kurier 108,
May 7,1924.
166 SF, 24, MS, David Schratter, letters to Mauritz Stiller, September 10 and 19,
1924. One of the films that Ernst Stern worked on was the famous big-bud­
get The Loves of Pharaoh (1921, Ernst Lubitsch).
167 SF, 24, MS, “Dear Mr. Stiller”, Schratter wrote on September 19, “on Septem­
ber 10 I sent a letter to you and have to my great surprise failed to receive
answer as of today. In it I asked you whether you might be inclined to work
with our set designer. We are eager to receive an answer to this extremely
important question before you come to Berlin.
168 Filni-Kurier, “Mauritz Stiller fur Deutschland gewonnen”, 216, September
12, 1924. See Lichtbild-Biiline, “Produktion 1924/25”, 104, September 6,
1924.
169 SF, 24, MS.
170 LArch 284, ia, Bretschneider, January 1925.
171 LArch 284, ia, Dr. GlaB, statement, January 8,1925.
172 SF, GW, Mauritz Stiller, letter to Charles Magnusson, New York, August 2,
1925.
173 Bretschneider and GlaB were indignant as a result of this occurrence. The
former made an accusation, that Trianon was not authorised to draw up a
company agreement on its own; Busch and Rehfisch responded that “this

110
 company agreement is not the type commonly known, being limited to the
film that Mr. Stiller committed himself months ago to make for Trianon
and Trianon alone.” LArch 284, lb, Description from Rehfischs undated
account.
174 LArch 284, ia, List of current contracts with actors.
175 LArch 284, ib, Attorney Dr. Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case”, undated
account.
176 Ibid., Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.”
177 LArch 284, ia, Current contracts with actors; and list of employees.
178 SF, 24, MS, Schratter, September 1924.
179 Werner, 187L
180 SF, GW, Utlagg, Filmnyhcter, “ ‘Gosta Berlings saga gor succes i Berlin”, 26,
August 25, 1924.
181 Film-Kurier, “Personalnachrichten”, 263, November 6, 1924.
182 LArch 284, ia. Itemised statement of loan, unsigned.
183 LArch 284, ia, Schratter, December 1924.
1S4 Wladimir WengerofF, “Es darf nicht gezogert werden!” Lichtbild-Biihne 86,
July 26, 1924.
185 The relevant files fail to indicate equivocally whether this happened at that
point in time, but it can be assumed.
186 LArch 284, ib, Court judgment, undated.
187 This provided the basis for the statements in LArch 284, ib, Halpert, “The
Mauritz Stiller Case.”
188 LArch 284, ib, David Schratter, letter to Wohnstalten, undated.
189 LArch 284, ib, Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.”
190 Ibid.
191 Ibid., Schratter, undated.
192 Ibid., Halpert, “The Mauritz Stiller Case.”
193 Filmjournalen, “Full fart pa Konstantinopel”, 40, November 20, 1924; and
Filniiiylietery “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk i Stockholm”, 39, November 24,
1924.
194 LArch 2S4, 1a, Schratter, December 1924.
195 This was claimed in articles by Aros 1932, no page numbers in original; and
Kuhn 1935, 100. Cf. Werner 1991; and Hylten-Cavallius i960.
196 Der Film, “Die Trianon und der neue Mauritz-Stiller-Film”, 49, December
7,1924. Cf. Werner 1991, 189; and Hylten-Cavallius i960, 228-229.
197 LArch 284, ib, Complaint, April 1925.
198 LArch 284, ib, Schratter, December 1924.

Ill
199 LArch 284, lb, Complaint, April 1925.
200 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-Prozefi. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”,
Film-Kuricr 154, July 3,1925.
201 LArch 2S4, ia, Transcript of Hans Rehfisch’ interrogation by Dr. Duden.
202 LArch 284, ia, R. Vallentin, letter to E. Bretschneider, December 27, 1924-
203 Tliis letter was addressed to whomever was still unaware of the deal with
Trianon. Two versions, one seven pages long and the other 15, both undated
though presumably written on December 29, can be found in LArch 2S4,
ib.
204 LArch 284, 1a, David Schratter, letter to GlaB, Wenzel and Bretschneider,
December 29, 1924.
205 LArch 2S4, 1a, Rehfischs interrogation.
206 See Stillers August 2,1925, letter to Charles Magnusson in SF, GW, in which
he writes that he was not at all fond of the Germans after this scandal; and
the unconcealed dislike expressed in Hylten-Cavallius i960.
207 LArch, ib, Karl Wolflsohn, letter to David Schratter, December 31, 1924-
208 LArch 284, ib, Court judgment, undated.
209 In fact, since then there has been a nexus between the reservation demon­
strated with regard to film financing and the conservative behavior of
financers. In 1918 Lichtbild-Bulme remarked: “There is a close relationship
between the conservative character of German industrialists, that they tend
to hesitate before financing cinematography, which seems somewhat less
than socially acceptable.” Lichtbilci-Biihne, “Die neue Basis”, 16, April 20,
1918.
210 Berliner Morgenpost, “Die Wohnstatten-Kredite fur Trianon-Film”, 10, Jan­
uary 11, 1925.
211 Film-Kuriery “Der Wohnstalten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 139, June 16, 1925.
212 Film-Kuriery “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 147, June 25, 1925.
213 LArch 294, ib, Transcript of Karl Wolffsohns interrogation by Dr. Duden,
January 31, 1925.
214 This letter is undated: A second anonymous anti-Semitic letter, dated Jan­
uary 1, 1924, can found in LArch 284, 1a. Furthermore, Hans Otto, who
spread the rumor that Schratter had threatened Bretschneider, saying he
would reveal everything should the other man fail to pay, proved to be the
formers enemy and was compelled to retract this statement in front of the
district attorney. The hostility was probably the result of Schratters accusa­
tions relating to Trianon’s uneconomical manner of production.
215 [Karl Wolffsohn], “Wetterleuchten”, Lichtbild-Bulme 1, January 3, 1925.

1 12
216 Aros, “Wie man Gewitter macht”, Der Kinemalograph 935 (January 18,
1925).
217 [Karl Wolflfsohn], “Welterleuchten”, Lichtbild-Biihne 1, January 3, 1925.
218 Lichtbild-Biihne^ “Der Fall Trianon”, 4, January 24, 1925.
219 Most importantly, see Lichtbild-Biihne, “Trianon-Filme”, 41, April 12,1924;
and Lichtbild-Biihne, “Produktion 1924/25” 104, September 6, 1924.
220 Artur Siebert, “Der Judas der deutschen Filmindustrie”, Film-Arena 4, n.d.,
LArch 284, lb.
221 See Olimsky.
222 Siebert.
223 Aros, “Wie man Gewitter macht”, Der Kinemaiograph 935 (January 18,
1925).
224 This was stated by Walter Goldschlag, the head of advertising and dramatic
adviser at Trianon, -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB. Gedanken zur
Prozesslage”, Filni-Kuricr 149, June 27, 1925.
225 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstalten-Trianon-Prozess”, 142, June 19,1925.
226 Der Film, “Von der Fulag, Herrn Wolflsohn und anderen”, 4,1925; and Karl
WollTsohn, “Auch der Fabrikantenverband!” Lichtbild-Biihne 5, January 31,
1925.
227 -cl., “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB. Gedanken zur Prozesslage”, Film-
Kurier 154. July 3, 1925.
228 Stiller was supposed to take care of this in London. SF, 24, MS, Charles
Magnusson, telegram to Stiller, undated.
229 SF, 24, MS, Charles Magnusson, telegram to Stiller, January 9, 1925*
230 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 143, June 20,1925.
231 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 152, July 1, 192.5.
232 LArch 284, lb, Noetzel, February 1925.
233 Aros, “Der DolchstoB”, Der Kinemalograph 937 (February 1,1925)-
234 Film-Kurier, “Der Wohnstatten-Trianon-ProzeB”, 155, July 4,1925- See SF,
GW, Mauritz Stillers insinuations in a letter to Charles Magnusson, August
2, 1925.
235 SF, 24, MS, Vladimir Semitjov, letter to Stiller, September 3, 1924.
236 For this reason the valuations of assets were extremely low. LArch 284, 1a,
Attorneys Kempner & Pinner, letter to Wohnstatten, January 17. i925-
237 Film-Kurier; “Die Gliiubiger-Versammlung der Trianon”, 57, March 8,1926.
238 Pabst 1997; and note from Michael Pabst to the author, May 23, 2004. Cf.
Haas i960, 94-99, who told a different version of the story.
239 DK, 2323, “Die freudlose Gasse” [The Joyless Street].

113
240 Siiddeutsche Fihnzeitimg, “Schwedische Schauspieler beim Sofar-Film”, n»
March 13, 1925.
241 Kuhn, 103.
242 Werner, 196-199.
243 Siiddeutsche Fihnzeitimg “Rund um den Film”, March 20, 1925.
244 Der Kinematogmph 967 (August 30, 1925), advertisement.
245 LArch 284, lb, Announcement from Berlin-Mitte municipal court, Depart­
ment 213.
246 LArch 284, lb, Chief of Police, note, Department IV, March 29,1926.
247 Jahrbuch der deutschen Fihnindustric 1926/27, 174.
248 Note from Berlins Charlottenburg municipal court to the author, May 18,
2004.
249 Rosenfeld, 23.

114
Murder in the Orient
Textual Genesis of a Script

Bo Florin

"mauritz stiller vanished without a trace!” This dramatic headline

from Filmjournalen in October 1924 was triggered by the fact that
Stiller had remained invisible for a couple of weeks. The article, by
the signature Pan, describes how different rumours had now started
to spread, most notably that the directors disappearance was only
a trick to generate interest in his new film project. That Stiller had
a “secret” project in Constantinople was already known, as was the
fact that he had some form of agreement with the German company
Trianon Film. The author concludes: “It all starts very well! The Con­
stantinople film is an enigma, Mauritz Stiller has vanished, Trianon
is a mystery and the public is most interested. What else can you
demand from a great film production?”1 Later, the disappearance
was claimed to be due to a severe cold, which led to a new article
under the headline “Mauritz Stiller found again - in Berlin”.2 The
real cause was however, as shown in the first chapter, his negotia­
tions with the Trianon Company.

Some Methodological Remarks

When trying to analyse the Constantinople film project - that was
never accomplished as film but still remains a film project shot on
paper - traditional film historical methods, often focusing on the
finished work on screen, have little to offer. The history of the Con-

115
 stantinople project is instead formed in a complex process of over­
lapping stories, synopses and script versions, of predictions, com­
ments and reinterpretations, which calls for a new way of approach­
ing the work, where social, textual or material histories may also
be included. Film history has mostly dealt with completed cine­
matographic works, but only more rarely with their written basis,
with the film work considered as a process, including scripts and
other written or visual sources.3 On the contrary, all these have to a
large extent remained untheorized, excluded from the official canon.
In practice, this would also exclude the Constantinople project from
film history.
In extending Gerard Genettes term “palimpsest” to a cinematic
production context, Sylvie Lindeperg has developed an approach
where not only all the predefined stages of production of a work
are analysed, but where a micro-historical approach is also used
to follow any thread, any fragment that may come across the way
throughout the research process. She proposes “to go back to the
creative process, enter the ‘black box’ of the ‘film under construc­
tion and unearth its layers of writing”.'1 The clues gathered, she
argues, relate to “the layers of meaning and successive interpre­
tations that have superimposed a palimpsest of views on the work
over time”. Still, her object of research is the production process of
a finished film.
In order to account for a project like Stillers in Constantinople,
aborted but nevertheless an important part of the broader history of
film culture, a multiple, palimpsest concept of the text is all the more
needed, which also allows for the “avant-texte”, that which belongs
to the history of the work without being present in the “final” text,
to be included. Such a text-genetic method, proposed in a Swed­
ish context, and extended to film, by Jon Viklund and Anna Sofia
Rossholm, allows for all avant-texte material to be included in the
analysis; this should be defined only by the critics construction of
what the documents have to tell. They also argue that intermedial

116
questions must be in focus when studying the film medium.51 would
argue that this must also include the “apres-texte”, the different ver­
sions and variations occurring in the aftermath of a project, or after
its interruption, most relevant in a case like Stillers. The notions of
the project that were formulated in the contemporary film press also
play an important role here. They form the ‘discursive surround’ of
the project, which here has come to constitute a more important
part than usually of its actual history.6
This essay starts with framing the Constantinople project from
the perspective of the film press. The original hype of the project
was followed by silence as the production was interrupted, even
though a number of articles were published after the actual interrup­
tion. Interestingly enough, however, the project was soon enough
picked up internationally in different accounts, which continued to
appear and reappear in several biographical and more fictionalised
versions, both of Stillers life and work and that of Greta Garbo.
The fact that this was supposed to have been her second great role
after the break-through in Gosta Berlings saga, and in addition the
exotic touch of the location, has added to the mythical quality that
the Constantinople project has later been given in Garbos biogra­
phy. In fact, a red thread in all these stories, from the Swedish film
press to the international biographers and novelists, is the Oriental­
ist touch which keeps reappearing in all accounts of the interrupted
production story.
In the second part of the essay, after having explored these dis­
cursive surrounds in some detail, I go on to trace the actual script
by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius and Mauritz Stiller, as a physical object
- the text as such - as well as in the complex web of texts of which it
is part. Here, a short film synopsis ascribed to Vladimir Semitjov, a
serial published by Bengt Idestam-Almquist, an earlier script under
a different title by Stiller, a novel by Vladimir Semitjov and a much
later novel by his son Eugen Semitjov all play important roles, as
well as a novel by Claude Farrere, formally unrelated but still highly

117
relevant for the case. In addition to the theme of Orientalism already
explored through the press, two other important and reoccurring
themes in Stiller s work may be traced, namely that of the ethically
justified murder and that of exile, the latter being a central theme in
the script, but in addition also doubly true of Stiller, who was of Rus-
sian-Jewish descent and later went on to a new exile in Hollywood,
which he shared with Garbo and many other Europeans at the time.
By uncovering this textual palimpsest, the script is framed in a
way that allows for a text-genetic reading of its origin and develop­
ment, as well as a deeper historical understanding of related texts
and contexts.

Great Expectations: Stiller in Constantinople

The expectations in the national press were great at the time that
Mauritz Stiller, one of the Swedish directors who, together with
Victor Sjostrom, enjoyed international fame, would go on to new
important accomplishments. Initially, two articles from 1924 were
mentioned - both published at a point when there was already a
heated discussion in the Swedish film press about what film project
Stiller would undertake next, after his great success, both nationally
and internationally, with Gosta Berlings saga, which had premiered
in March 1924.
Already in April 1924, Filmnyheter noted that Stiller was abroad:
“to recover after the protracted work with the Gosta Berling film
- or does he nourish new film plans? The question remains un­
answered.”7 Would he go abroad, to the United States or to Germany?
In June, Filmnyheter reassures its readers: he will stay in Sweden
(where at the time he had just moved to Lidingo).8 As Filmnyheter
was published by Svensk Filmindustri, the production company for
which Stiller had been working and with which he was still asso­
ciated, the journal obviously had a special interest in his plans. In
August, there is a new reassuring message, emphasising the silence

118
about Stiller during the summer and repeating the rumours (his
threat” to go abroad): “This, however, is not the case”; instead, it is
now revealed that Stiller and “Mr R Hylten-Cavallius for real have
taken on the elaboration of a script to a film that he has planned
after Gosta Berlings saga”9 The article also states that the script is
finished, and that the production will be international with Julius
Jaenzon behind the camera. Already in the next issue, a week later, it
is also revealed that Greta Garbo will play the female lead, and that
the film will be shot “in an Oriental environment” and in addition
suggested that Constantinople may expect to host a Swedish film
crew. The comments on Garbo, interestingly enough, are similar to
those on Stiller: that there had been a surprising silence about her
since the breakthrough in the Gosta Berling film, but that the expla­
nation in her case was to be found in her fidelity to a promise to her
first director, namely Stiller, to be at his disposal for his next proj­
ect.10 Yet another week later, Filmnyheter published another note,
that the recently published German news of Stiller s engagement
with Trianon was false, a disclaimer which, according to the article
was based on an inquiry with Stiller; in retrospect, though, it is clear
that these “news” were false." On 1 September, Stiller had returned
from the Berlin premiere of Gosta Berlings saga, and he confirmed
once again in Filmnyheter that Garbo would star in his next film and
that the film would take place in Constantinople - but now it was
also added that the story was about a Russian exile.12
Filmnyheter was indeed the Swedish journal devoting the most
attention to the Constantinople project. On 22 September, they
reported that “Four Gentlemen and One Lady Went to Constanti­
nople”, focusing on CA Soderstroms participation as second cam-
eraman (the same year, he had shot two films, both directed by
Gustaf Edgren). He also adds to the already known facts about the
crew (Stiller, Garbo and first cameraman Julius Jaenzon) that the
art director at Filmstaden in Rasunda, Vilhelm Bryde, who had also
acted in Stillers Erotikon, would take part in the trip.13

119
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Telegram from Charles Magnusson to Stiller in Constantinople: ’’Like to hear

from you and if you have made any deals concerning your new film [...)".
(Swedish Film Institute)

After the intense focus on the different question marks concern­

ing the new project - the crew, the financers, the content of the
script, the time frame - followed a long article on 10 November by
scriptwriter and assistant director Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius on the
content of the script, a story which was supposed to take place in
Constantinople 1920-21. Rather than an ordinary film article of
the kind that usually filled Filmnyheter, it was a piece of journalism
offering an analysis of the political situation in Turkey at the time,
which formed the backdrop for the story about the exiled Russian
soldier. He made a connection to “an earlier film that bore the mark
of our firm”, De lands/Jyktige (1921), which also dealt with “Russians
scattered abroad”.M A week later, the news about Conrad Veidt (The

120
Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) as starring - but still with a question mark
- were released, and the fact that Stiller was expected to return from
Constantinople shortly.15 Yet another week later, this was confirmed
by the headline “Mauritz Stiller on flying visit in Stockholm”.16 In
the interview that follows, Stiller talks about the project: that a new
studio had to be built, as Turkey at the time didn’t have a film indus­
try, that the extras would be locals, that he had been very favourably
received - and also adds that Goldwyn had sent him a proposal to go
to the United States. His visit to Stockholm also generated an arti­
cle in Filnyournalen, “Full speed for Constantinople!”, where Stiller
once again emphasised that he had been kindly received, where he
talked about the film being financed both from Sweden and from
abroad, and stated that he, together with Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius,
had worked on the script for no less than seven months, “and that
should be enough”; now, “everything is ready” and the shooting was
supposed to start in a couple of days.17
On 1 December, a new series is advertised, exclusive for Film-
nyheter: a forthcoming travel diary in the form of letters from Con­
stantinople by Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius.18 These news are repeated in
the last issue of 1924, in an editorial anticipating the year to come.19
A first letter is published in January 1925, only to be followed, one
week later, by a note: “Mauritz Stiller s filming suspended”.20 Filmjour-
nalen also devotes an article to this: “Something quite sensational has
occurred in Constantinople: Stiller has been forced to interrupt his
filming by the Bosporus, which started with great hullabaloo, and go
to Berlin...”.21 The article then goes on to explain the economic diffi­
culties of the Trianon company, but in terms quite optimistic about
a solution at hand. “Perhaps only another company will function as
financier. Next notice from Stiller will probably be that work goes on
according to plan, though whether it will be in Constantinople or in
another part of the world is not that easy to predict.”22
Filmnyheter, however, in spite of the interruption, continues to
exploit the theme of Constantinople, first in an interview with Julius

121
Jaenzon, who gives some impressions from his stay, published on 2
February, and then with a second travel letter from Hylten-Caval-
lius, dated in December 1924 but published on 9 February, in the
same issue where it was announced, as a rhetorical question, that
“America takes also Mauritz Stiller?” - which Filmjournalen equally
noted with a headline ended by a question mark.23 These short
paragraphs also put an end to the reporting about the suspended
Constantinople project; further on, the news would only concern
America. On 23 February, an article about the rumours of a Swed­
ish emigration was published, also noting that Greta Garbo and
Einar Hanson had started filming in Germany. On 2 March, under
the heading “The three conquered by America”, it was suggested
that both Garbo, Hanson and Stiller would depart for the United
States, and on 16 March, finally, there was an article on “New Stiller
rumours: will travel, will not travel, to America”.2'1 Tims, the story of
the Constantinople project was concluded, and in spite of the many
reassuring comments when its interruption was first announced,
that there were no reasons to believe that this would threaten the
project, it would never reappear in reality. But it would continue to
vividly stimulate a collective imagination for many decades; to this,
we will return in the following.

“To the East I Want to Go”

A Case of Swedish Orientalism
The main theme in the long-lasting attractiveness of the Constan­
tinople project as source for many later imaginative explorations is,
however, apparent already from the press comments of the period
- namely the fact that the film was supposed to be shot “in an Ori­
ental environment” The reports from Constantinople in the Swed­
ish film press thus still deserve some further comments. When the
travel letters from Hylten-Cavallius were first announced, Film-
nyheter noted that this production would be of particular inter-

122
est to the readers, as “the shooting takes place in an environment
which for us is strange and at the same time so attractive as the
Orient”.25 This strongly evokes the concept of Orientalism, as defined
by Edward Said: a discourse about race, nationality and otherness
- travel literature is indeed one of the genres on which he focuses.
Orientalism creates, according to Said: “an imaginative geography”,
coinciding with colonialist ideologies, but distinct from them first
and foremost by its basis in the historical threat that Islamic culture
represented to Western Europe. Orientalism served to control and
domesticate the “fearful yet fascinating prospect” that the very exist­
ence of the Ottoman Empire represented.26 For Said, “The Orient
was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity a
place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes,
remarkable experiences”.27
The interview with Julius Jaenzon, however, as he talks about the
six weeks that he spent in Constantinople, at first seems to have little
to do with Orientalism, but rather gives an impression of realism.
First of all, he notes that women no longer were veiled, and then
goes on to notice the “race mixture” in the film company, and the
fact that the Turkish hosts were extremely attentive to their guests.
Upon a direct question on the refugee situation, he mentions a for­
mer Russian officer, now a beggar on the streets, that “exceeded my
expectations”; “one could hardly stand the sight of him”. He also
notes the mud of the streets, the dogs that are constantly run over,
or the famous bazars, “where almost all commodities are - German.
But still, he concludes: “One is constantly reminded of the Orient
out here”.28
The first letter from Hylten-Cavallius initially emphasises the
good-bye to “asphalt and grey cold”, by quoting a traditional Swed­
ish folk song: “To the East I want to go”.29 Apart from this, the article
mostly concerns the trip by train to Constantinople, and its differ­
ent stages: Berlin, Prague, Hungary, Belgrade, Bulgaria - and then
finally, Turkey.

123
 [...] this is the South with fig trees over flat wooden roofs, with
walls partly in decay from a city hidden under the one that now
smiles at you with cries and murmurs and noise, and in the same
way under this noisy daily life another life hidden under that one,
a stillness, a peace, a joy of the kind that only the Orient can offer
- in one word, it is Constantinople in the light haze of the Decem­
ber day over the thousand ships masts of the Golden Horn over
minarets and mosques.30

In his second letter, as the shooting had become interrupted, he

focuses on impressions from the city, but quite different from those
of Jaenzon. He describes his colleagues in the crew and how they
spend their time in the city. Stiller is looking for places to shoot
- which are to be found everywhere; Hylten-Cavallius gets quite
carried away in his description of all both picturesque and histori­
cal places - buying costumes or looking for extras, which also may
be found everywhere. Garbo is trying on a new Persian lamb coat,
while “the little guide Muhamed” is waiting for her in order to bring
her to the Grand Bazar, to “his fathers store (Muhamed has fathers
wherever it suits him)”31 Einar Hanson on his side has to grow a
beard which he is ashamed of and thus avoids the public, but enjoys
Turkish food, which Hylten-Cavallius describes eloquently. He then
turns to the problems of the crew: the 5000 kilos of American “film
lamps” that were brought into the new studio, but with considerable
delay; when they finally arrived, the German electrician who was
supposed to deliver them had been arrested. “Oh, Balkan!”, con­
cludes Hylten-Cavallius. The mixture of romanticism and realism,
of picturesque views and sceptical observations that the articles in
Filmnyheter testify to, are eloquent examples of Orientalism within
Swedish film culture.
Orientalist discourses also appear in connection with the project
in international publishing. In a novel about the life of Garbo, Cesar
M. Arconada notes that: “The Orient lies somewhere in the remote.

124
One speaks of Eastern Europe as if of a legend, the distance of which
had never been measured. There, the sun rises.”32 The novel goes
on to discuss the cultural mixture between a Mediterranean and
an Oriental culture, which to a large extent characterised Turkey at
the time. And from a Garbo biography from 1935 by Richard Kuhn,
we learn that Stiller in this air felt at home, and that “the Oriental”
in him woke up.33.
Like other German accounts of the interrupted project, Kuhn also
emphasizes a number of unforeseen difficulties on location, which
are not mentioned in the Swedish film press. Here, Constantinople
is clearly staged as the site of the Other:

But they had no luck by the Bosporus. Certainly, the city provided
excellent pieces of scenery for an environment populated by swin­
dlers, diplomats, black-marketeers, pimps and ‘houses in which
the daughters of the country sold their bodies to strangers’. But
these props were too narrow, stood too tight together, were too
close for the camera to fit in between them. Only the mosques pro­
vided sufficient inner and outer space, the wide areas needed. Once
finally, with great effort, the useful sceneries had been found, it soon
became clear that all efforts had been in vain. The Turkish author­
ities had no comprehension for the film. They refused permission
for the Berlin expedition to shoot street scenes. And they prohibited
filming of mosques, as these are sanctuaries and no film props.3'

Turkey, at that time, had no film production of its own, the prohi­
bition of images in Islam being the historical reason for this, which
also may explain a certain restraint towards this foreign film project.
However, the new regime was eager to promote a new, secular Tur­
key, where the film project fitted in perfectly. Stillers own version
of how the project had been received in Constantinople emphasises
on the contrary this positive altitude. He states that:

125
 Everywhere, I have been met with the utmost kindness and oblig­
ingness. Both authorities and individuals have done everything to
facilitate my work. It is forbidden to film in Turkey but no objec­
tions have been raised against my case. With utmost amiability, the
government has permitted the filming.35

While quite contradictory to Kuhn’s account, Stiller s evidence nev­

ertheless is nourished by the same Orientalist discourse, not least
as he continues: “The speed of everything increases, the pulses beat
faster, one wishes to assimilate the progress of the Occident, and at
the same time, the nationalistic feeling is said to be stronger than
ever.” The article was illustrated by a clip from an interview with
Stiller in a Turkish journal, in Arabic letters. The project, indeed,
was conceived as foreign, exotic, Oriental.
In her analysis on Orientalism in Danish silent cinema through
the theme of white slavery, Constanze Gestrich has used a metafic-
tional or metamedial approach as a central perspective; she sees the
European woman locked up in the harem as emblem for the female
spectator locked up in the cinema, sharing a similar passion for the
exotic.36 This may well be true also of the Constantinople project,
which in a similar way focuses on gazes, the veiled womans as well
as the unveiled, the repeated and emphasized exchanges of looks
which become causes for turning points in the story, or the distant
gaze of the constant wanderer.

From Anonymity to the Divine

Constantinople as Fictitious Turning Point.
In the discursive surround of the Constantinople project, but not
least in its apres-texte, the role of Greta Garbo is one of growing
importance for the almost mythical character that the aborted film
project has acquired through the decades. Thus, discourses on - and
by - Garbo also form important parts of the general palimpsest of

126
the production project, which are worth to be investigated more
closely.
In Filmnyheter January 1924, the, at that time, not at all rhetorical
question was posed: “Who is Greta Garbo?” The article starts by
stating that: “Greta Garbo is a completely new name within Swed­
ish cinema, but a name that the public will probably remember, as
it is part of the great Gosta Berling film”.37 Then her change of name
from the former Gustafsson is mentioned, explaining in an almost
apologetic tone the frequency of this habit within cinema and how
useful it is in an international context. This article is thus the first to
introduce “Garbo before Garbo”. At that time, however, the articles
in the Swedish film press, not least the anticipations of the Con­
stantinople project, were mostly, if not entirely, focussed on Stiller.
This would change dramatically in the next few years. First of all,
through Garbos international breakthrough in Gosta Berlings saga
1924, her appearance in Die Freudlose Gasse 1925, and then the
arrival in Hollywood, with Torrent and The Temptress (where Stiller
also started as director but was replaced by Fred Niblo), both 1926,
as her first American films.
In later accounts of the Constantinople project, Garbo is in focus.
In spite of the fact that the project was never realised - or just because
of that - it has remained an enigmatic interlude in her career, subject
of numerous recounts and reconstructions. Garbo herself has often
mentioned the project in her own accounts of her past, like in the
Swedish Greta Garbos saga, where she exclaims: “Constantinople!,
and tells both about her fascination and her deception, both with
the city and the interrupted project, but says that she doesn’t regret
her stay and wishes to return to Constantinople some day.3s Other
stories of her career also mention the Constantinople project, but
with differing emphasis. From the beginning, her life and career
become fictionalised, also in reports and biographies. As already
suggested, a number of stories about Garbos life appeared in the
early 1930s - Arthur Rosenthal’s Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stock-

127
 holm bis Hollywood (1932), Rilla Page Palmborgs The Private Life
of Greta Garbo (1932) or Richard Kuhn's already mentioned Greta
Garbo, Der Weg einer Frau mid Kunstlerin (1935), as well the novel,
Leben der Greta Garbo, Roman, by Cesar M. Arconada (1930).39
Here, Arconada recounts the story as if Constantinople had been
unknown to Garbo, “The Orient lies somewhere far away”, empha­
sising the contrasts between the narrow streets and corners of the
city and the need for space to be able to film, between the Turkish
people, walking with slow, cautious steps, and the blonde Swedish
girl walking at a tremendous pace.10 In some accounts, Garbo is por­
trayed as left abandoned and sad in Constantinople for Christmas
1924, as Stiller had to go to Berlin to try if not to save the project,
so at least to get enough money to bring back his stars, his negatives
and his equipment.11 This is supported by Ragnar Hyilen-Cavallius
in his autobiography, who recalls: “I remember how Garbo, sobbing,
clung to Stillers chest at the train station. It happened to be Christ­
mas Eve, and it was a particularly somber one.”'12 A letter from Garbo
herself to her friend Vera Schmiterlow indeed supports this version:.

Here are a few lines from a Turkish woman in a grim mood. Believe
me, it is nasty here, rainy and accursed in every way. In fact, the filth
is just incredible. Not to speak of all the animals that walk around
on you whenever you go out in public. No shooting has taken place
so far, everything’s so silly. These people work so incredibly slowly
that no one, not even Stiller, has managed to get things going. Einar
Hanson is here too, though we don’t spend much time together. I
spend much time alone. I am becoming so ugly here, believe me, if
you would care to lose a bit of yourself, come here. I spend most of
my days being mad at something, and that does nothing to make
me more attractive. How I miss you, just imagine if you and Mimme
[Mirni Pollack] were here. We would only laugh at all the misery.
There is no pre-Christmas spirit here, which I miss so much. But
if you would write to me about Christmas, that might make up for

128
 it. (...) Write to me when you find the time, that would make me
so happy, and tell me about everything. Has The Lady of Camelias
premiered? Just imagine, Tm already looking forward to seeing you
- and what I will have to tell you about this damn people. AskGostis
to send me a few books. I don’t have a single line to read. Just the
ceiling to stare at.;’3

Another of Garbo’s many biographers, however, tells about her

“excitement of getting settled in that strange city of Constantino­
ple. She could hardly wait to explore the narrow, crooked streets
and the open shops that bordered them”. When Stiller left for Berlin,
“His little band of players felt alien and forlorn when they found
themselves left alone in this foreign town on Christmas Eve. All but
Greta. She did not care. Being alone never bothered her. She knew
that she could find plenty of interesting things to do in this strange
city”4’ This alternative reading finds support in another comment
from Garbo, where - in relation to the Constantinople project - she
says how she loves to travel, and that she “would like to travel - only
travel - everywhere! (...) I wouldn’t care about company, it is, at least
that is what I think, not necessary to have company when you trav­
el!”45 The few facts known and existing comments about the stay in
Constantinople have obviously inspired numerous interpretations.
Whereas Constantinople was just an episode in earlier novels of
which Garbo was part, like that of Cesar M. Arconada, two later
fictions focus mainly on Constantinople, the “screenplay” Garbo
och eumicken by Thomas Bendix and Ulla-Britta Ramklint from
1995) and GuslafSobin’s novel In Pursuit ofa Vanishing Star, 2002.46.
The first concentrates on politics in Constantinople: on Mus­
tafa Kemals rise to power, after the deposition of the sultan. In the
screenplay, the Stiller character states that “Mustafa Kemal has just
scrapped Ottoman culture. 1000 and one nights were crushed to
paper pulp in his modern mill”. The fictitious Stiller calls the film
project “the last trip”, when it would still be possible to capture the

129
 last rays of the setting sun with their cameras. “It is going to be the
last great exotic film - and it is not going to be filmed in studio.”
While never expressed explicitly in those terms, this view of the
project is historically quite well grounded, supported not least by
the first of the three articles in Filmnyheter on Constantinople pub­
lished by Hylten-Cavallius. At one point in the screenplay, “Stiller”
becomes stressed and quickly has to find an argument for his proj­
ect, and he then pleads for the introduction of a moral argument: are
there circumstances under which it is right, or even an imperative,
to murder? This idea comes to him spontaneously, with a glance
at a novel on a table beside him: Claude Farreres The Man Who
Killed. When he has to exemplify, he continues: “An example? Oh,
there are many. An old usurer perhaps - she has nothing to live for
- only money - only her meanness - to suck people out - or - a...
a politician... who deprives a whole people of its identity -“',7 This
conversation also establishes a link to the other, purely fictitious part
of the drama. Here, Bendix and Ramklint leave all historical facts
behind in favour of creative fantasies. Garbo is offered another film
role, most likely the one that also seems to be filmed in the screen­
play: “The Man Who Killed, scene 26, take 3.”‘18 This connection
is particularly interesting as the novel bears many similarities to
Stillers and Hylten-Cavallius actual script, which will be discussed
further in the following. The screenplay in addition lets Garbo visit
Kemals yacht, and later, an ennuch from the sultans former harem,
which Garbo has befriended, is falsely accused and punished for an
attempt to murder Kemal. The question of murder, and of guilt and
innocence, stand in focus both for Bendix and Ramklints screenplay
- which they call “a film” - and for Stillers and Hylten-Cavallius*
original script. Thus, Bendix and Ramklint in their fictitious proj­
ect remain solidly grounded both in the historical context and the
intertextual connections of the Constantinople project itself.
Gustaf Sobins novel is on the one hand a text based on an ambi­
tious piece ofjournalistic research, where real characters - like film

130
historian Gosta Werner or archivist Margareta Nordstrom - appear,
and where related episodes are grounded in the historical source
material, which on the other hand is mixed with a completely fic­
tional part with invented characters and memories. In the novel,
dying writer Philip Nilson, after a thorough research into the history
of Garbos life and career in order to write a script about her, gets
more and more intrigued by the short period of time that Garbo
spent in Constantinople, as he has become convinced that “some­
thing occurred to her very person and, in turn, to her cinematic
persona at that exact time”.49 Nilson becomes almost obsessed by
this question, which is rhetorically repeated no less than five times
over four pages: What exactly happened in Constantinople,.

[...] that brief midwinter escapade into that Byzantine labyrinth,

the domes and minarets of that ancient city choked in coal smoke
and the billowing vapour of intense marine traffic. In searching
for the ‘magic moment’, I realized, I’d have to scrutinize that very
smoke, very vapor. For there, in the city’s nebulous mass, lay -1 felt
increasingly convinced - the key itself.50

Thus, further adding to Orientalist discourse, Sobin’s fictitious

writer also finds the answer herein: according to him, it was in Con­
stantinople that “the‘Divine one [...] first emerged: come writhing
- finally - out of Stiller s heated imagination”.51 By completely inter­
nalising her screen personality, she “was virtually released into an
illusory dimension of her own. Her lifelong masquerade [...] had
begun.” - and this, Sobin argues, could never have taken place with­
out Constantinople.52 In his fictional imagination, “two and a half
reels of footage” were actually shot - but lost. “The loss, of course, is
inestimable, for within that footage, ‘The Divine One’ emerged for
the first time in all her elusive beauty.”53 The mysticism of the Orient,
which was mentioned by many who wrote on the film project at the
time of its supposed production, has here completely blended with

131
the ever-increasing mysticism of Garbo herself. Finally, in Sobins
novel, the Constantinople project appears as a fiction which itself
is constantly being produced and reproduced by others - as yet
another fiction “shot on paper”.

A Textual Palimpsest - From Smolny to Constantinople

After having explored the many discursive surrounds of the Con­
stantinople project, the time has now finally come to approach my
second focal point in this essay, the very heart of the matter - the
script of the film, its rediscovery and its actual textual genesis. On
closer investigation, this also turns out to be a much more complex
story than the press comments have revealed, including important
intertextual references as well as heated conflicts on copyright mat­
ters. Sources of inspiration as well as both earlier and later versions
of the story all contribute to forming this textual palimpsest, where
the script appears as the central node for the interrupted produc­
tion project.
In his biography of Mauritz Stiller from 1991, Gosta Werner
devotes a chapter, “Constantinople round-trip”, to the unaccom­
plished film project.54 Here, he establishes that Vladimir Semitjovs
stories about Russian emigres, published in 1925 as a novel, In the
Whirls of Life - A Womans Fate, formed the base for the script.
Semitjov, born in St Petersburg in 1882, was a Russian engineer
and writer, who came to Sweden in 1923. But Werner also mentions
Claude Farreres novel L’homme qui assassina - The Man Who Killed
- from 1906, which appeared in Swedish translation 1916, earlier
mentioned in connection to Bendix’ and Ramklint’s screenplay.55
Farrere, pseudonym of Frederic-Charles Bargone, was a captain in
the French navy who resigned to concentrate on his writing career,
his books set in exotic locations like Constantinople, and with clear
inspiration from the film medium. In the introduction to the Swed­
ish translation of the novel The Man Who Killed, Johan Mortensen

132
notes that Farrere has a capacity to clearly and vividly depict “towns,
landscapes and manners”:

But it is as if he didn’t have time to immerse himself in his depic­

tions. There is something nervous and restless about his way to
depict [reality], which is characteristic for this time of automobiles
and last travels, where new impressions rapidly succeed each other.
[...] Claude Farreres landscapes and characters glimpse past with
the lightning-like rapidity which characterizes the pictures of the
cinema theatres.

This novel was brought to the screen already twice before the
Constantinople project - in 1913 by Pathe, directed by Henri
Andreani, and then in 1920 by Famous Players Lasky, directed by
George Fitzmaurice - with the title The Right to Love. Later, a new
film in four versions was made based on the same novel, at the time
of multiple-language versions - a French and a German version in
1931 and a Spanish and an English version the following year.56-
While Werner is absolutely right to connect these two works, he
does not really develop his arguments for the relevance of this con­
nection in his book. Furthermore, his partly erroneous description
of Farreres novel suggests that he may not have had the novel very
fresh in mind. Thus, more parallels may be drawn from Werners
connection between novel and film project than he would probably
have anticipated. Werner himself drew the conclusion that it was
impossible to know from the short synopsis for the Constantinople
project whether Stiller ever integrated any aspects of The Man Who
Killed in the film script - because at the time when Werner wrote
his biography, the script itself was believed to be lost.
According to Biografbladet the script was first rediscovered by
Victor Sjoslrom in 1935. A short news item describes “the joy of
Victor Sjostrom when he in his attic found the lost script, which was
the basis for Mauritz Stiller s last, at least planned, film recording”; it

133
 PRO FINLANDIA

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UOK. OCH MANUSKHimCKTIONEN
I A.-U. II. BL'KOUSKIS KO.VSTHAMJKL AH5F.NALSCATA.V 2.
STOCKHOLM. DEN 28-29 FEIHU/AIU
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Exlibris from the inside of the book cover of Front cover to the list of books and man-
A Talefrom Constantinople, verifying it as part uscripts for the auction Pro Finlandia,
of the Pro Finlandia auction. (Swedish Film (Authors’ collection)
Institute)
is emphasized that the script was rediscovered after 10 years. How­
ever, it is not included in the Sjostrom archive.57 It was hence again
believed to be lost until 2011- though Hylten-Cavallius’ copy of the
script was actually deposited, but unnoticed, during the 1970s in
the archive of the Swedish Film Institute.58 Now, the script included
an exlibris: Pro Finlandia.
This stems from an auction of books and scripts, held at Bukowskis
in 1940 in favour of the people of Finland, after the Finnish Winter
War.59 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, who had previously worked in Hel­
sinki, thus seems to have donated his script to this auction. The script,
devoted to diasporic Russians and other exiles, was thus sold in favour
of the Finnish diaspora in the aftermath of war. The script as a physical
object thus underwent many vicissitudes before it was finally redis-

134
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Front page of the early script ’’The Vorgotten Country” with Stillers hand
written annotations. (Swedish Film Institute)
covered again in the Swedish Film Institute’s archive. Another version
of the story, the first in the form of a film script, appears under the
title “The Vorgotten (sic) Country”, written in 1924 by Stiller (despite
the “copyright” notice which says 1925) - apparently a first working
script with many comments and revisions by hand.60 This was also
deposited in the Swedish Film Institutes archive, but was apparently
not at first identified as a version of the “lost” Stiller script.
But the Constantinople story not only contains two script ver­
sions with changes and variations, but these also turn out to have
several previous versions and ramifications. Here, I will attempt to
disentangle the complex web of the varying versions of the story,
with a focus on text and motifs. Together, these different versions
trace the contours of an international drama, starring Russians,
Brits, Turks etc., in an exotic setting - Constantinople, bridging
Europe and Asia, was indeed the ideal set for this story. On one
hand, it fits well with contemporary Orientalist trends in literature
but not least in cinema, what Edward Said has called “a marvellous
instance of the interrelations between society, history and textual-
ity”61 On the other hand, it also emphasizes a theme dear to Stiller
as a director: namely the morally justified murder, which had first
appeared in Dolken - The Dagger - in 1915. In a letter to Victor
Sjostrom from Sicily 1923, Hjalmar Bergman writes:.

Stiller has been here. As you know, he had asked me for a script on
the same theme as dealt with in The Man Who Killed. This, he got.
On a first look, he was enthusiastic, on a second, he had a hundred
objections and on a third a thousand proposals, after the fourth I
asked him to leave.62

This script, according to Werner, was “A Rascal of a Lieutenant”,

written in February 1923, which, set in a Swedish context, repro­
duces important parts of the original themes from Farrere: the
“imprisoned” woman, the evil man who keeps her imprisoned, the

136
male saviour and the threatened love, as well as the themes of death
and guilt.63 All these themes would also reappear in the Constan­
tinople project.
The author Vladimir Semitjov had met with Stiller during the
summer 1923, when he was employed as construction worker on
the set for Gosta Berlings saga, and told him his personal memories
of Russian refugees in Constantinople in 1921.6'’ A similar story
was published in the newspaper Stockholmstidningen as a Sunday
series in four parts, September and October 1923, under the title
“Odalisken fran Smolna” (The Odalisque from Smolny).65 Here, the
papers new film critic Bengt Idestam-Almquist - without mention­
ing Semitjovs name - tells a story, which he claims has been told
to him by what he calls “a young Russian author of the authentic
kind”. In a formal document dated 27 March 1924, Semitjov releases
the global film rights “to his story rfhe Odalisque from Smolny’ to
Mauritz Stiller for 100 kronor, adding that he would receive another
300 kronor if the film was to be released in Sweden.66 In a letter to
Stiller in September the same year, referring to a telephone conver­
sation the day before, he mentions a number of additional wishes,
“which should not be of any particular difficulty for you to fulfil but
that for me are of utmost importance”: 1) he wants to be credited
also in the advertising of the project, 2) he proposes his services on a
more stable basis at Svensk Filmindustri, 3) he wishes the additional
300 kronor to be paid in advance, as he is in financial trouble.67 There
is no evidence of any answer from Stiller.
In a new letter from Semitjov to Stiller on 17 November 1924,
he mentions that, as Bengt Idestam-Almquist apparently in two
news items had hinted at Stillers future film project as taken from
the Sunday series in Stockholmstidningen and authored by Ides­
tam-Almquist, he (Semitjov) now wants to add a two-page syn­
opsis by his own hand: “The Story of a Russian Womans Escape,
Film Subject”, signed Vladimir Semitjov, which overlaps with the
story told by Idestam-Almquist in the Sunday series but omits the

137
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Letter to Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, releasing ’’the global rights” to ’ his
story 77ie Odalisque from Smolny”. (Swedish Film Institute)

names of the characters. He also encloses a copy of a letter sent the

same day to Bengt Idestam-Almquist.68 In this letter, he expresses
his surprise in learning that Idestam-Almquist had claimed the right
to the story, which should only have been told to him by Semitjov,
and not based on any novel of his. The tone is sharp, as he asks

138
whether Idestam-Almquist does this deliberately: “In my capacity
as author of this story of mine, I claim the right to use my theme as
I find appropriate, be it for a novel or for cinema, which you your­
self should be aware of as you suggested that I should include this
story in the collection of short stories that I have the intention to
publish.”69 No less sharp, however, is the tone in a letter from Bengt
Idestam-Almquist to Mauritz Stiller less than a week later, where
he formally protests against Stillers plans to bring the story to the
screen, claiming the rights to the story. He adds that he has been
informed that Stiller had bought the rights from Semitjov, but that
he did not have any right to sell it, having no rights whatsoever to
the story. The letter is concluded by a threat: “Should you leave this
claim of mine without consideration, I will claim my right to dam­
ages by taking measures against you in court.”70
The day after, Stiller receives another note from Vladimir Semit­
jov, confirming that he has released the rights to Stiller of his story of
“on the dest inies of Russian emigrants during their trip over Krim to
Constantinople, the dissolution of the ‘white army etc”.71 It is likely
that this confirmation serves to clarify that, if Idestam-Almquist
could legally claim the rights to his published story “Odalisken fran
Smolna” (a title that Semitjov actually used in the first formal docu­
ment on the rights), the rights to the story behind these articles still
remain with their originator. In 1925, Semitjov published his novel,
entitled I livets virvlar, where the story is further developed, and
were it is stated on the flyleaf that “The theme of this story has been
acquired for cinema by director M. Stiller”.72 Thus, the affair was
concluded. But the antagonism between Bengt Idestam-Almquist
(the signature “Robin Hood”) and Stiller seems to have remained.
At least Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius testifies to this as late as in i960,
when he sarcastically writes in his memoirs about Robin Hood’s
account of how Garbo cunningly and tactically manipulated Stiller
in order to be able to go to Hollywood.

139
 The peak is reached by our historian when he credits himself- and
not Stiller - for Garbos meteoric career. Because if Semitjov had
not contacted him, Robin Hood, about his story on the ‘Odalisque
from Smolny’, there would neither have been any film script nor
any trip to Constantinople, and then Garbo would never have gone
to Berlin and then she would not have been engaged for America -
and never become the most admired film star throughout all times.
For all this, Garbo has Robin Hood to thank - for all! Here, the
antipathy towards Stiller is no longer hidden, but naively revealed/3

The first, already mentioned script version by Stiller, “The Vorgotten

Country”, was developed into a more complete version the same
year, now in collaboration between Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cav-
allius: A Tale from Constantinople. Here, Semiljovs novel, which
was not published until 1925, is already credited. Finally, in 19S6,
Vladimir Semitjovs son Eugen wrote a book on “the Garbo film
that we were never allowed to see”.7'’ Here, he retells the story from
his fathers novel, however, as we shall see, with some significant
changes.
Basically, the Constantinople story deals with the fate of a young
Russian refugee, who is sold as odalisque or concubine to a Turkish
harem. However, she escapes and manages to make a living in Con­
stantinople. The relation to her former Russian fiance plays a key
role in all versions of the story, though with different emphasis. In
some versions of the story, she finally leaves for France or England.
The names of the protagonists vary between the versions; in Sell­
ers and Hylten-Cavallius final script version they are called Marja
Ivanovna and Alexander Karinski, to be played by Greta Garbo and
Einar Hanson, and the villain, to be played by Conrad Veidt, is
called Askot Bey.
Albeit their differences, the several different versions as a whole
still give their reader a strong visual impression of what the film
might have looked like if it had ever been shot. The changes between

140
[ ;
Vc Uf.h •
? pi: oi sr if? • •m
;
l tiller err' • a ;r»,r Hylteo-ttvalHur i
• • " on the book ty Vladiair Ceaiijov

• jw-j’y 1 r
i
by
r f'yllen- ''a*/;,lliur.

/
l: l._ ihr hit*- ' •jiT-ir/J armies, broken b; the O*
Bolchevlk , r* retree ting on ’.hr Black fea, carrying nil hi
J Is • • 'f* ...
in th-ir i r In numbers oi the civil population rho rh&re their
' vie •.vo» On' .hip if tor another leaves for Constantinople,
Panic. '.-■ater:: ..rt exceed in,.; 1;* critical, ecp' cirlly for the
' thoar an~1 s o: : n* ■ \ u officers 'ho suddenly find the :selver -ithout
■neanc of livelihood, They live in hope* of a successful outcome
to negotiations hich their leader, Gen' ral fnimoff. is carry hi?
on with c. rt-cr*t • ;;cnt, i *kot ?ey. for the incorporation of these
officers i-. the forcer of the revolutionary Young Turk* at ,/igora.
Terrible miifci-y prevails among the refugees in Constantinople.
Officers sell catches and bootlaces on ti.e streets, ^hil* the
General himself, dressed up as a bear, conducts the orchestra of
a restaurant at hich the waitresses are forcer F.ussian raaids-of-
honour. People are selling theaselves for a crust of bread.
•'skot Bey would be the raving of then if he can only arr. ngo
for the enrolment of these officers undetected to* the Old lurk
Government....
Keanrhile, the rtrean of refugees from Krla continues, . zons
i-
the refugees in the young rountess "• ria Ivanovna l-r-vltrch. . no.
her fiance, Count .'ley.~r.drr , lex«-i,VvlInch S'arinrkl. ho a Guards
officer and she a lady-in-waiting, In the frantic crowd storalng
the last refugee riilp they become separated fro~. each other and,
before Etrlrickl realises -hat has happened,he ir carried ty the
rush of peopl*' -'o n to the lower deck of the chip, while . rj..
------------------- stands .hclnler.s on the c*«~.v watcher th- vessel cove awor
Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius’ synopsis - for long mistaken to be the synopsis for De
landsflyklige (Guarded L/ps), Stiller 1922. (Swedish Film Institute)
 the two script versions, “The Vorgotten Country” and A Tale from
Constantinople are here particularly interesting. In reality, the two
typed scripts turn out to be relatively similar, though the many revi­
sions in the first version, with several pages in handwriting, did
suggest a number of changes. One main difference, however, con­
sists in the level of detail of the story. In the opening scenes, “The
Vorgotten Country” outlines a number of scenes - a woman selling
a ring for a piece of bread, an improvised burial of some refugees,
an old consumptive man coughing and finally dying - whereas
A Tale from Constantinople has simplified the opening of the film
to describe the general chaos in the port, with no emphasis on indi­
viduals. This is equally true of the final scenes discussed below. The
depiction of “Stambul” also varies between the versions; in the first,
the description of the festive city at night during the Ramadan is
much more elaborated and stands in sharp contrast to the sombre
life of the Russian exiles, thus also further emphasising the exo-
tism and Orientalism in an envisioned grandiose cinematic spec­
tacle. The final script version has adopted a much less dramatic
approach, with more focus on the inner drama. Consequently, a
few psychological points in the story have been developed in some
more detail, such as in Karinskis delirious visions of his fiancees
supposed future fate, or the details of his complicated relationship
to his friend Fjodor Petrovitj.
But there are also a few “scenes” which reappear in all, or almost
all, of the stories, and which are clearly cinematically conceived
regardless of whether they appear in serial, novel or script. One of
them is a scene with strong visual counterparts in other silent films
of the period: the wild dance with veils performed by the main
protagonist, as she attempts to stimulate the interest of the master
of the harem in order to later be able to escape. This is indeed a
reoccurring cinematic topos; as Gaylyn Studlar has shown, “dance
played a crucial role in [silent cinemas...] visualization of an imag­
inary Orient identified with unleashed sexual desires and womens

142
fantasies”.75 Another reoccurring scene is the herd of sheep driven
through the city, where the heroine discovers her former fiance on
the other side and throws herself into the flock to try to reach him;
both these scenes are highly cinematic and both draw on many other
similar motifs during the silent period.
Interestingly enough, however, the endings of the story vary sig­
nificantly. In The Odalisquefrom Smolna, the Russian lovers are hap­
pily reunited in a somewhat abrupt ending. In Vladimir Semitjovs
novel, the Russian lover, here called Nikolai, is overpowered with a
pistol in his hand by a Turkish girl, a friend of his former fiancee. The
latter now prefers her Turkish lover Faredin Bey (the brother of the
man who bought her for his harem, who does not appear in Stiller s
scripts). In the end, however, she leaves for England under the pro­
tection of a British gentleman, Wilton, but “without promises”. In
Eugen Semitjovs account of the novel, it is the brother, Faredin Bey,
who overpowers the Russian lover, Sergei. During their struggle, a
shot is fired and the Russian lover accidentally dies. Only thereupon,
his former fiancee leaves for England with a British gentleman, by
Eugen Semitjov called Brian Jenkins.
In “The Vorgotlen Country”, Askot Bey is injured as Karinski
shoots him. Here, Carey, the Brit, comes to rescue, but Askot takes
his own life with a dagger. This part of the script has been scrupu­
lously rewritten by hand and is highly dramatic, complicated and
elaborated. In the end, Carey tells the rest of the story to a friend: the
Russian lovers are reunited in Paris, working together in a fashion
house. A Tale from Constantinople, however, develops the theme
further, while at the same time reducing the dramatic elaboration
of the scene. Askot Bey here appears as the very incarnation of
an “Orientalist” character: both good and bad, both familiar and
strange. When Karinski here actually murders Askot Bey, it is in
order to save his fiancee. The murder, however, is only hinted at in
the script, where Karinski looks up and lifts his revolver as Askot
enters the room, “and armed, he exits the frame”. Only five shots

143
later, there is a “short cut” of Askot Bey lying on the floor. Further­
more, through a letter, Karinski s friend Fjodor discovers that Askot
has double-crossed both him and his Russian compatriots, which
morally may justify the killing. Karinski and Marja leave Constan­
tinople together on Careys yacht. In the end, as Carey talks to a
friend, their conversation reveals that he was in love with Marja but
was unselfish enough to save her and her lover. Thus, in the final
version, Stiller has added a morally justified murder to Semitjov s
story, though in a very discrete way. An outline of names and end­
ings would look like this:

Vie Odalisque from Smolny (Ides-
tam-Almquist 1923);
"Synopsis” (V. Semitjov 1924)
Vie Vorgotten Country (Stiller 1924)
A Tale from Constantinople
(Hylten-Cavallius/Stiller 1924)
In the Whirls of Life (V. Semitjov
1925)
Eugen Semitjov (1986)
Russian lovers - Maria and Sergei in
Vie Odalisque; anonymous in ”Synop­
sishappily reunited
Askot Bey injured by Russian lover. Bey
commits suicide. Russian lovers -.
Marja and Karinski - reunited in Paris.
Russian lover kills Askot Bey. Russian
lovers - Marja and Karinski - unhap­
pily reunited on Careys yacht and later
on another ship.
Russian lover - Nikolai - overpowered
by Turkish girl. Lover disappears and
Helena leaves for England with Wilton.
Faredin Bey overpowers Russian
lover - Sergej - who accidentally dies.
Helena leaves for England with Jenkins.

This brings us back to Claude Farrere and the story of The Matt
Who Killed. There are clear connections between this novel and
the film script. Both not only take place in Constantinople, but the
city is at the very heart of the stories, which could never have been
conceived without its particular geography, its cosmopolitan char-

144
acter and its mixture of cultures. Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius wrote
in his first account in Filmnyheter that “Constantinople is [...] a
strange city, these days it was the setting for extraordinarily strange
events, for dramas with an extremely dense course of events, for
brutal episodes filled of cold and naked reality”76 This portrayal of
the city links A Tale from Constantinople to The Man Who Killed,
rather than to the other stories based on Semitjovs novel. Whereas
in Semitjovs account, Constantinople mostly remains a dirty city,
terrible to live in, Stiller s and Hylten-Cavallius portrayal of the city
is more positive, with references to the beauty of the city: “Tonight,
Constantinople is bathed in light. Minarets aglow, rockets crackle.
Ramadan: the month of joy”77 This echoes the colourful portrayal
of the city in The Man Who Killed - which rendered Claude Farrere
a street in his name: Klod Farrer Caddesi in Sullanahmet, Istanbul.

Stories of Murder and of Exile

Tlie main connection between The Man Who Killed and A Talefrom
Constantinople, however, reveals a more profound connection to a
motif dear to Stiller as a director - the story of the morally justified
murder, which has already been dealt with above. Both Farreres
novel and the Constantinople story tell the story of a man who com­
mits a murder in order to save a woman, in Farreres case the wife
of a British diplomat whose brutish husband is constantly humil­
iating her, keeping a concubine in his household. He also tries to
trap her to get a divorce and separate her from their son. It is worth
noting that the dagger used for Askol Beys suicide in Stillers first
script version is also the deadly weapon used in this novel, by a
cross-dressed man - a French diplomat in love with the Brits wife,
but giving up his love in the end, as he leaves Constantinople. Thus,
Stillers two protagonists, Karinski and Carey, together form “the
man who killed”; the first being the actual killer and the second the
man who unselfishly gives up his love.

145
 “That man had to die!”; “ - she must be saved - “I knew, how­
ever [...] Everybody remained silent...” - all these phrases from the
script A Talefrom Constantinople could just as well apply to Vie Man
Who Killed, where the same conflict appears. The basic story is the
same: the woman in captivity - whether kept in a harem or forced to
live with a concubine - is liberated, whereas the guilty man is pun­
ished by death. In both Farreres novel and in the script, “everybody”
knew but said nothing. Thus, the only one who reacts, and takes on
the task to liberate the woman, is provided with heroic qualities.
In both cases, the murderer also goes free in the end. Hylten-Cav-
allius and Stiller, as well as Farrere, obviously absolve him for the
greater moral good. At the end of Farreres novel, “the man who
killed” leaves Constantinople alone. In the American screen ver­
sion however, which was imported to Sweden by Svenska Bio and
premiered in May 1921, the male main character has been turned
into a former lover of the heroine, and his motifs for the killing
are thus not as unselfish as in Farrere. At the end of this film, the
two former lovers are finally reunited: “the ultimate reunion [...]
has pleasant sequence in their sailing away to happiness on a fairy
ship”78. It is tempting to imagine Stiller having seen The Right to Love
in 1921, and drawing inspiration from the story of an ethically jus­
tified killing, from the spectacular setting of drama as well as from
its picturesque conclusion, thus starting out in mind to formulate
his own version, first by asking Hjalmar Bergman to write a script
based on Farreres novel but then, having met with Semitjov and
heard his story, by rather choosing to develop a version of his own.
The other central Stiller theme that appears in the project, as we
have also already seen, is that of exile. Here, the Constantinople story
remains in accordance with Semitjov rather than with Farrere. If the
main focus in the film press was on Orientalism - of which there
are also clear traces in the script - it is rather the concept of exile
that remains absolutely central in the latter. In itself, this is nothing
unique. John Durham Peters has noted that “concepts of mobility

146
lie at the heart of the Western canon; otherness wanders through
its center. Exile is, perhaps, the central story told in European civ­
ilization”/9 There is a rich literature on exile in cinema, where the
dominating part however is related either to European exiles in Hol­
lywood and Hollywood exiles during the cold war, or to stories of
exile in relation to World War 2. The first world war has more rarely
been used as historical framework for studies of exile; whether this
is caused by the fact that fewer films actually deal with the subject
remains to be explored historically. In A Tale from Constantinople,
though, the theme is introduced from the beginning with the des­
perate refugees trying to leave Crimea for Constantinople, where
the destiny awaiting them was equally cruel; a fact also referred to
in Jaenzons travel account. The references to exile also reoccur on
several occasions throughout the script, both in descriptions of the
grim destiny of the refugees, and in explicit remarks such as that
from Alexander Karinski’s cynical friend Fjodor: “No, Sascha, exile
isn’t exactly making angels out of us”; or when his beloved Marja
in her despair claims: “Alexander, now you see what exile has done
to us”. It is probably no coincidence that the script was grounded
in actual experience. The original story behind this script on Rus­
sian emigres in Constantinople was first told by a Russian exile in
Sweden. His story must have appealed to Stiller, who himself was of
Russian-Jewish descent; he had also spent time working in Finland
before arriving to Sweden, and was thus himself doubly an exile.80
This experience of exile also appears to have been crucial to Stiller
throughout the years; in fact it became, in Arne Lundes phrasing,
“part of a mixed identity which he struggled with”.81 His co-writer
on the script Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius shared with Stiller the expe­
rience of having worked in Finland, with its close connections to
Russia.
But in a broader sense, the theme of exile is also expressed
through a regime of gazes. The theme of vision, of the gaze, has
indeed become a commonplace particularly in early cinema; as Tom

147
 Gunning has put it: “Heidegger calls this modern realm of vision as
mastery ‘The Age of the World Picture’, in which the world is con­
fronted and organised into a picture by man’s technological proj­
ect”. In a previous analysis of Stiller s later Hollywood production
Hotel Imperial (1927), partly based on Gunning’s observation, I have
traced several themes central to Stiller throughout the years, not
least that “this thematic of the gaze is related to the strive to win con­
trol over the world, connected to motives of guise and truth, reveal­
ing and concealing. This appears as a characteristic Stiller thematic
from the Swedish years” - and the script for the Constantinople
project, written on the verge to his Hollywood years, was no excep­
tion here.82 The soldier, who rather wants to die as a soldier than to
hide away, as well as the morally justified murder, both central to
Hotel Imperial, also appeared in this earlier project. In A Tale from
Constantinople the murder is finally concealed: “Everyone wisely
kept silent...”, and similarly in Hotel Imperial, through the repeated
“You heard nothing - you saw nothing”. At the end of A Tale from
Constantinople, Marja in Stiller’s and Hylten-Cavallius’ script has
finally liberated herself from the state of exile, in making the exile
her chosen condition of life. But she has also acquired the mastery
of the gaze and is no longer the subject of the gaze of others. On the
contrary, she is able to claim that “I am a wanderer”, adding: “The
world is my home”. Certain parallels might here also be drawn to
the actress that was supposed to incarnate her in the film.
As we know, Stiller’s short passage through Constantinople left
no trace in the history of cinema in the form of an actual film.
Nevertheless, the project has offered a significant contribution both
to production history and to the general history of film culture.
The episode of Stiller in Constantinople indeed calls for a widened
concept of film history, including text-genetic dimensions - as well
as production history, which was explored in the previous chap­
ter. What this essay has tried to outline is a story of a film project
coming into being, with the palimpsest character of its numerous

148
 —'-Stsr „ .

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Mauritz Stiller s permission to make a film in Constantinople. (Swedish Film

Institute)

script versions and other intertextual relations, as well as different

discursive surrounds. In approaching the absent Constantinople
film, which never came into being - or was shot only on paper - a
phantasmalic story surrounding it occurs, that for ever has made
its imprint into film history.

149
Notes
1 “Mauritz Stiller sparlost forsvunnen!” sign. Pan, Filnijounialen 35, vol 6, 26
Oct 1924, 686.
2 “Mauritz Stiller aterfunnen - i Berlin”, Filnijounialen 37, vol 6, 9 nov 1924,
737-
3 See for example Alison Castle, Stanley Kubricks Napoleon. The Greatest
Movie Never Made, Koln: Taschen, 2009.
4 Sylvie Lindeperg, “Film Production as a Palimpsest”, Behind the Screen: Inside
European Production Cultures, eds. PetrSzczepanik & Patrick Vonderau. Lon­
don/New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2013.
5 Jon Vildund & Anna Sofia Rossholm, “Verkets forvandlingar. Ekelof, Berg­
man och den genetiska kritiken”, Tidskrift for litteraturvetenskap nr 1, 2011,
5-24.
6 Within media history, the term has been used by, among others, Barbara
Klinger, “Film History Terminable and Interminable: Recovering the Past in
Reception Studies”, Screen 38:2 (Summer 1997), 107-128. Klinger attributes
the phrase to Dana Polan.
7 Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 15, 7 April 1924, 1.
S Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 23, 21 June 1924, 3.
9 “Mauritz Stiller paborjar inom kort en ny stor film”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 24,
11 August 1924, 1.
10 “Greta Garbo filmar aven i ar. Skall vara med i Mauritz Stillers nya stora film”,
Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 25,1S August 1924, 1.
11 Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 26, 25 August 1924, 10.
12 “Mauritz Stiller hemma fran Berlinpremiaren. Skall nu snart borja sin nya
film I Konstantinopel”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 27, 1 Sep 1924, 11 (sign. XII).
13 “Fyra herrar och en dam reste till Konstantinopel”, Fihnnyheter vol 5 no 30,
22 Sep 1924, 1.
14 Ragnar Hyllen-Cavallius, “MauritzStillers Konstantinopel-film”, Fihnnyheter
vol 5 no 37,10 Nov 1924, if.
15 “Conrad Veidt I en Stiller-film nasta ar?", Fihnnyheter vol 5, no 3S, 17 Nov
1924, 2.
16 “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk vist I Stockholm”, Fihnnyheter vol 5, no 39, 24
Nov 1924, if.

150
17 Filnijournalen vol 6 no 40, 30 Nov 1924.
1S “Den svenska filmexpeditionen till Konstantinopel”, Filnmyheter vol 5 no 40,
1 Dec 1924, 1.
19 “Nittonhundratjugufem” Filnmyheter vol 5 no 44, 29 Dec 1924, 1.
20 ‘ rillfalligt avbrott I Mauritz Stillers inspelning”, Filnmyheter vol 6 no 4, 26
Jan 1925, 5.
21 "Stillers Konstantinopelinspelningavbruten”, Filmjournalen vol 7, no 5,8 Feb
1925, 82.
22 Ibid.
23 Filmnyhetcrvol 6, no 5,2 Feb 1925,2,16; Filmnyhelcr vol 6, no 6,9 Feb 1925,
4; Filnijournalen vol 7, no 8, 1 March 1925, 143.
24 Fihnnyhetervol 6, no S, 23 Feb 1925,2; Filninyhctcrvol 6. no 9,2 March 1925,
1; Filninyhctcrvol 6 no 11, 16 March 1925,10.
25 “Den svenska filmexpeditionen till Konstantinoper, Filninyhctcr vol 5 no 40,
1 Dec 1924, 1.
26 Matthew Bernstein discusses this in relation to cinema in his introduction
to Visions of the East, Orientalism in Film, eds. Malthiew Bernstein & Gaylyn
Studlar (London and New York: LB. Tauris Publishers, 1997), 3.
27 Edvard Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage, 1979), 1.
28 "Litet interior fran film och bio i Konstantinopel. Julius Jaenzon berattar for
Filmnyhelcr om vistelscn dar”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 5, 2 Feb 1925, 2, 16.
29 "Till Osterland vill jag fara...", Swedish folksong from the 18th century, attrib­
uted to Anders Floija.
30 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, “Med Mauritz Stiller och hans filmtrupp till Kon­
stantinopel. Resebrev n:r 1”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 3, 19 jan 1925. 5-
31 Hylten-Cavallius, “Niir Mauritz Stiller skullespela film I Konstantinopel. Brev
n:r 2”, Filnmyheter vol 6, no 6, 9 feb 1925; the episode is retold in a similar
way in his memoirs, where Muhamed is called Ahmed.
32 Cesar M. Arconada, Leben der Greta Garbo, Roman, Kindt & Bucher Verlag,
1930, 90.
33 "In dieser Luft fiihlte er sich zu Hause. DerOrientaleerwachte in ihm.”. Rich­
ard Kuhn, Greta Garbo, Der Weg Eincr Frau und Kiinstlerin, Dresden: Carl
Reissner Verlag, 1935, 99.
34 Ibid, 100. Cfalso Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stock­
holm bis Hollywood, Berlin: Verlag Scherl, 1932 (no page numbering in orig­
inal).
35 “Mauritz Stiller pa fransysk visit i Stockholm”, Filmnyheter vol 5, no 39, 24
Nov 1924, 2.

151
 36 Constanze Gestrich, “Die Macht der dunklen Kammern. Die Faszination des
Fremden im friihen danischen Kino”, Berlin: Nordeuropa-Institut 200S.
37 “Vein ar Greta Garbo?” Fihmiyheter vol 5, no 3, 14 Jan 1924.
3S Ake Sundborg, Greta Garbos saga, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers forlag, 1929*
308.
39 Arthur Rosenthal (Aros), Greta Garbo, Ihr Weg von Stockholm bis Hollywood,
Berlin: Verlag Scherl, 1932; Rilla Page Palmborg, The Private Life of Greta
Garbo, London: John Long, Ltd 1932; Kuhn; Arconada.
40 Arconada, 90-91.
41 Rosenthal, (no page numbering in original); Kuhn. loi.
42 Hylten-Cavallius, Folja sin genius, Stockholm: Lars Hokerbergs bokforlag,
i960, 234.
43 Greta Garbo, letter to Vera Schmiterlov, 23 December, 1924, Greta Garbos
Correspondence, Krigsarkivet, Stockholm.
44 Page Palmborg, 3S-39.
45 Ake Sundborg, Greta Garbos saga, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers forlag 1929-
46 Thomas Bendix & Ulla Brilta Ramklint, Garbo och eunucken, Lund: Eller-
stroms forlag 1995; Gustaf Sobin, In Pursuit of a Vanishing Star, New York
and London: WAV. Norton & Company 2002. An exception to this is Ulf
Peter Hallbergs novel about his father, Europeiskt skrdp, Stockholm/Stehag:
Symposion, 2009, where, in a chapter about his fathers and his own shared
admiration for Greta Garbo, the Constantinople episode is briefly mentioned
(250 f), however with many fictionalizing changes; Garbo is said to first have
played in Pabsts Die Freudlose Gasse, the articles in Stockholmstidningen by
Bengt Idestam-Almquist are attributed to Vladimir Semitjov, Stiller is said
to have smartened up the articles etc. See also: Lene Einhorn, Blekingegatan
32, Stockholm: Norstedts 2013.
47 BendLx & Ramklint, 37.
4S Ibid., 88.
49 Sobin, 59.
50 Ibid. 59f.
51 Ibid. 81.
52 Ibid. 84.
53 Ibid. 102.
54 Gosta Werner, Mauritz Stiller, ett livsode, Stockholm: Prisma 1991,181-190.
55 Claude Farrere, Mannen som mordade, Stockholm: Albert Bonniers Forlag
1916. (Original: Vhomme qui assassina, 1906; English translation: The Man
Who Killed, 1917).

152
56 Vhomme qtti assassina (Kurt Bernard! & Jean Tarride; Der Mann, der den
Mord beging (Kurt Bernardt); El hombre que asesino (Dimitri Buchowetzki
& Fernando Gomis); Stambul (Dimitri Buchowetzki).
57 Biograjbladct no 56, 1935, 40.
58 Gun Hylten-Cavallius (1929-2000) was head of information at the Swed­
ish Film Institute 1966-1991. According to archivist Ola Torjas, the script,
marked “Donation, Gun Hylten-Cavallius”, appears to have been donated
to the archive before 1978, as per the way the script was marked. Whether
she (who was only remotely related to Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius) was the
donator or receiver of the donation is unclear. Why the script was never
registered in the archive remains equally unclear. In 2011, Ola Torjas con­
tacted me about the script, which had then been found in a collection of
unrecorded scripts.
59 The exlibris was exclusively created for this auction and only the works sold
there got such an exlibris. There is an added text, which includes Ragnar
Hylten-Cavallius’ description of the script, which is part of the catalogue
made for the auction. [73] is the number of the post in the catalogue. The
script was sold for 52 SEK (which today would correspond to 1233 SEK).
60 Mauritz Stiller, 'Hie Vorgotten country, working script. Swedish Film Institute
Archive.
61 Said, 24.
62 Letter to Victor Sjostrom from Hjalmar Bergman, 5 March 1923. Sverker R.
Ek, Marianne Ek, Fredrik Palm, Hjalmar Bergman: korrespondenser 1900-
1930, tillgangligt pa http://www.hjalmarbergman.se .
63 Werner 1S3; see also Hjalmar Bergman, ”En lojtnantsspoling”, Film, Stock­
holm: Albert Bonniers forlag 1940, 233-262.
64 Werner 181.
65 Bengt Idestam-Almquist, “Odalisken Iran Smolna”, Stockholmstidningen 2
Sep, 16 Sep, 30 Sep, and 14 Oct 1923.
66 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 27 March 1924. Swedish
Film Institute Archive.
67 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 3 September 1924. Swedish
Film Institute Archive.
68 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 17 November 1924- Swedish
Film Institute Archive.
69 Ibid.
70 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Bengt Idestam-Almquist, 22 November 1924.
Swedish Film Institute Archive.

153
71 Letter to Mauritz Stiller from Vladimir Semitjov, 23 November 1924. Swedish
Film Institute Archive.
72 I livets virvlar, oversattning fran forfattarens manuskript av K SteenhofT,
Stockholm: Wahlstrom & Widstrand, 1925.
73 Hylten-Cavallius,i960, 235.
74 Eugen Semitjov, Garbofilmen vi aldrigfick se, Stockholm: Fabel 19S6.
75 Gaylyn Studlar, “Out-Salomeing Salome”, Visions of the East, Orientalism in
Film, 105.
76 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, “Mauritz Stillers Konslantinopel-film”, Filmnyheter
vol 5, no 37, 10 Nov 1924,1.
77 Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, Synopsis, 4; Script.
7S Exhibitors Herald, August 21, 1920, S7.
79 John Durham Peters, “Exile, Nomadism, and Diaspora, The Stakes of Mobil­
ity in the Western Canon”, in Home, Exile, Homeland, Film, Media, and the
Politics of Place, Hamid Naficy ed, Routledge/AFI Film Readers, New York/
London, 1999, 17.
50 It was only in 1921 that Stiller became a Swedish citizen.
51 In a chapter on “The border crossings of Mauritz Stiller”, Arne Lunde notes
that Stillers “family origins left him marked outside of a national Swedish
hegemonic concept. Nordic Exposures, Scandinavian Identities in Classical
Hollywood Cinema, Seattle & London: University of Washington Press, 2010,
66f.
52 Bo Florin, “’You heard nothing, you saw nothing’ - Hotel Imperial och Holly-
woodaren”, Moderna motiv - Mauritz Stiller i retrospektiv, Stockholm: Svenska
Filminstitutet 2001, 55-62

154
 A Tale from Constantinople
by

Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius

Based on the novel 1 livets virvlar (Whirlpools of Life) by Vladimir Semitjov.

Part One
Title: It was in the time of Civil War when the White Army of
Southern Russia was defeated by the assaulting Bolsheviks^
and all who trembled before the victors (led in haste to the
coast s of the Black Sea.

fade in: above a set of gleaming train tracks. A train

crammed with passengers rushes by. Shot dissolves to:

train consisting of only one passenger coach, the rest are

flat cars with rope around them and full of people; women,
children, soldiers in tattered uniforms, all rounded up like
cattle and wearing frightened, grim or defeated expressions.

the lower ends of the cars with rapidly spinning

wheels; footboards and platforms full of people; people on
the bumpers and axletrees cling to the train. The shot fades
to:

DESOLATE JOURNEY ACROSS A DISMAL PLAIN: Crowds

with bundles of items, such as kitchen utensils, rush past the
camera with frantic or fatigued expressions. One of them
looks around, frightened.

Title: Along the harbors of Crimea, thousands of Russian refugees

awaited the allied ships that would take them across the sea
to Constantinople.

LONG SHOT. A HARBOR WITH DOCKS AND PIER that

extend into the sea, washed over by waves. The docks along
the harbor are closed off by a high fence and huge wicket
gates, people scurry in panic and frantically rush to get closer
to the front of the gates, a chaotic swarm of people, horses
and carriages.

156
 ft
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Einar Hanson, Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius, ancl Greta Garbo in Constantinople.
Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collection)

the harbor, medium long shot of the gates. People

begin to force their way through. A motley crew of old men
and children, of women holding infants, soldiers in tattered
uniforms, men in Turkish or Greek costume, Russian peas­
ants of all ages.

Panic and fear brand all their faces, which peer through the
bars of the gates with yearning gazes at the sea.

a majestic, giant steamship brightly glistening; its lights

aimed at the sea. Steam emits at the top. Shot dissolves to:

A BLOWING STEAM WHISTLE

the harbor, outside the gates. The crowd starts to

157
 push. There is shouting and shoving; pushing against the
gates, the fence is ready to burst open.

THE HARBOR, INSIDE THE ENCLOSURE. The port Captain

rides up to the gate with a revolver raised in the air and threat­
ens: “Whoever barges through will be shot to death at once!”
But his face is pale as a ghost, and he strokes the horse as he
holds the gun in front of him.

HARBOR AREA. CLOSE-UP OF THE CROWD. Shoving, shOUt-

ing, contorted expressions.

the large steamship. Its light slowly begins to shine on

the harbor. Bathed in the bright light of the ship, a steam
launch sails speedily toward the steamships gangway.

the steamship’s gangway. The captain and the steam

launch officer are talking. The captain makes a deprecating
gesture:

Title: I cannot take so much as a tenth of all these refugees.

Title: The captain adds:

Title: If I approach the dock, there will be a terrible panic! You must
send them out in boats.

He cuts off the officers response with a sudden gesture.

Title: In Constantinople the flow of Russian refugees had already

flooded the city, and the situation grew worse by the day. A
vast amount of refugees were officers of the disbanded White
Army.

158
 long shot of a large room where a crowd of officers
in either worn or elegant uniforms—including semi-civilian
and full civilian attire—argue and quarrel. The scene dissolves
to:

officers’ club. An amiable, temperamental, gray-haired

general of noble character sits at the end of the table and
demands silence in vain, a kind of chairman position. He
yells and pounds on the table.

Title: General Smirnoff Mr. X

cut to: officers’ club. The officers continue their quar­

relling.

officers’ club, cut to: a distinguished Caucasian, stand­

ing up and leaning against the wall, listening to all the fuss
with the restrained dignity of a poised Oriental.

Title: askot bey Mr. X

officers’ club. The general. He notices that it’s quiet. Then

the general speaks:

Title: Allow me to explain the situation in a few words: In the past

few days, Turkey has conducted itself like a country with two
governments, an officially established Turkish government in
Constantinople and the other a revolutionary Young Turks
government in Angora.

officers’ club. Impatient officers yell: Well, well?

officers’ club. The general points in the direction of:

159
 officers’ club. Askot Bey, who bows gracefully in the style
of an oriental greeting.

officers’ club. The general continues.

Title: This man has been sent by the government of Angora. He can
save us all. He can provide us a position in the brave Young
Turks Army, which is in need of capable officers.

officers’ club. Askot Bey.

officers’ club. The officers’ faces express the need for

relief. They see a chance opening up before them, they look
at Askot, begin to move about and leave the shot.

officers’ club. Askot smiles gracefully. Imploring, be­

seeching, and pleading hands enter the frame. They reach
out to Askot, but he pushes their hands away. He says:

Title: Today I will return to Angora in disguise. I will settle nego­

tiations of this matter with my government. I hope to return
with their response within 14 days.

officers’ club. Askot walks toward the door but stops

himself, raises his hand and says:

Title: But remember, absolute discretion! The government and

commanding authorities will thwart our plans if this sort of
recruitment were to be discovered.

officers’ club. Askot continues making his way to the

door. The general follows him, shakes his hand goodbye.
Askot bows, leaves. Delighted, the general turns to the others

160
 and cries: Isn’t it remarkable? We are saved, etc. He turns to
one of the officers in particular, the one sitting next to him
and listlessly supporting his arm on the table.

officers’ club, close-up of the officer.

Title: Fjodor Pelrovitsch Maschotin Mr. X.

Fjodor raises his head. His haggard features and his gaunt
body in a poor uniform give him an air of hopelessness, yet
he looks patronizing and contemptuous as he remarks:

Title: I don’t believe in any of it! We will never get to Angora!

And he adds some dismissive words.

officers’ club. The general becomes enraged and yells.

Title: You talk as if the entire world were at your disposal! Yet you
don’t even have a shirt on your back!

officers’ club. All of a sudden the general yanks off

Fjodor’s waistcoat. He is bare from the waist up. Fjodor
dodges away and attempts to cover his bare chest. He does
not give up but rather continues to argue his point. The gen­
eral becomes even more upset and exclaims:

Title: And your wife, why did she leave you? Because you didn’t
have so much as a piece of bread to give her!

officers’ club. Fjodor leaps up at lightning speed, stands

completely still, sits back down.

161
 officers’ club. An older officer approaches the general,
makes a suggestion, but then the general shouts:

Title: I will say as I please! Aren’t you the one who sells matches on
the streets? You, a colonel?!

officers’ club. Another group, protesting.

officers’ club. The general. A self-mocking sneer forms

on his lips. He adds:

Title: Well, we won’t discuss what I do in the evenings.

The general summarizes everything he has said in a retort:

Title: Oh no, gentleman, Askot Bevs offer is the solution we have

been waiting for. It will be our deliverance from adversity and
misery!

officers’ club. Officers start to change their minds and

eventually come to support the generals proposal.

officers’ club. The general starts to lighten up and says:

Title: And what about our unfortunate fellow officers, who are dis­
charged from the quarantine barracks on a daily basis? What
joyous news for them!

The general warms up to them.

officers’ club. Officers cheer in agreement. General

enthusiasm. The scene fades to black.

162
 __S.!
Greta Garbo. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collection)

Title: Meanwhile the refugees of Crimea continued to flow in.

Panorama. A train with cars packed full of people. The shot

fades into:

a fully packed car. A young couple among all the other

passengers: a young girl in an elegant fur coat and a young
man in a worn uniform, unshaven but with all the signs of a
noble upbringing. The girl suddenly grabs the young man by
the arm, points and cries: The ship! The ship!

CUT TO: a LONG SHOT OF THE STEAMSHIP.

car. The young girl, Countess Marja Ivanovna Galevitsch,

is anxious yet elated, and turning to the side, she kindly calls
out: Hello there, don’t you see the ship? Look, there it is!

163
 car. cut to: the ones to whom Marja called out: a half-
grown girl and an old man sitting next to her on the cars
bumper. The girl cries: Grandfather, look at the ship! The old
man becomes excited, lets a bit of his grip go, but is jostled
off the bumper by scrambling passengers. The girl screams.

car. Marja is paralyzed with fear. A Russian priest grabs hold

of the girl and tries to console her.

the onward charging train. People jump from the

train, which is still moving, and they proceed to run forward.

car. People are still jumping off. Marja looks around in ter­
ror.

railway embankment. Harbor in the background. Flocks

of people running toward it.

car. Marja clings to the young man. She buttons up her fur
coat as she proceeds to speak fervently:

(pearl necklace scene)

railway embankment. Marja and the young man jump

off the train. They run with the others.

Title: The rumor had spread among the refugees that this would be
the last transport to Constantinople.

harbor. The gates, seen from behind. The people are like
packed sardines in front of the gates. People suddenly begin
surging through the crowd like a wave. People are pushed
forward amidst screams, shouting and fighting.

164
harbor, front of the gates. The gates burst open.
Masses of people pour in like a wave amidst all the jostling
and struggling.

HARBOR. IN THE CROWD. MARJA AND THE YOUNG MAN.

As he leads her forward, he tries to defend her from being
struck and pushed around.

HARBOR. LOWER SHOT OF THE CROWDS FEET. The gates

close. Feet trample over a fallen old man and a child.

harbor, the gates. Threatening, wild, screaming faces.

Hands shaking the course bars.

ships at the dock. Droves of people jump from the dock.

at the foot of the dock. Ships, into which people jump

from the dock; some fall in the water and climb into the ship,
which sails away overcrowded. An empty ship arrives, fills up,
rows away.

dock. The swarm of people sway to and fro. Now the ones
near the dock push themselves back to keep from falling into
the sea.

The crowd from above. A billowing sea of heads, a fierce

struggle visible at the end. Marja and the young man hold
each other by the hand.

dock. A new ship sails up to the dock.

dock. The harbor, the crowd from above. Violent movement

in the front. The young man, Count Alexander Alexejevitsch

165
 Karinski, is shot forward. His hand, tightly holding Marjas,
is now seen at head level. He is swooped forward with the
crowd. Their hands still gripping.

harbor, close-up of their hands, which are torn apart

from each other.

HARBOR. AMONG THE CROWD. MARJA is flung back, as if

taken by a whirlpool. Her hand waves helplessly in its white
glove. She cries desperately: “Sascha, Sascha!” and tries to
push herself forward, but is pulled backward.

harbor, among the crowd. Karinski is flung forward,

tries to turn around and head back. He calls for Marja, but is
pushed recklessly in the direction of the dock.

harbor, among the crowd, zoom-in on Karinski, who

is pushed forward at lightning speed.

HARBOR. AMONG THE CROWD. ZOOM-IN Oil Marja, who is

pushed back. She cries again:

Title: Sascha!

dock. The boat is rapidly filled with people who leap into it
or swim up to it and climb in.

dock. Karinski is seen on the dock for a brief moment. He

is pulled along and falls headlong into the boat.

harbor, the crowd. Marja is knocked down and crawls

on the ground, crying.

166
 dock, long shot. People fling themselves or push their
way into the boat, which is now overloaded.

dock, on the shi p. It is filled with people. Karinski staggers

forth from the chaos of bodies and bundles. He looks around
desperately.

dock, the boat. An oar is pulled out and pushes the boat
along the dock in an effort to pull out to sea.

dock, in the water. Some people are crushed between

the long side of the boat and the black rock of the wharf. With
outstretched hands, they cling to the gunwale.

dock, the ship, cut to: the gunwale with hands cling­
ing desperately to it. There is shouting and the striking of their
hands until they let go.

dock, on the ship. Karinski has made it past all the arms
and legs. He jumps from thwart to thwart, trampling over
others, reaches the front and cries:

Title: 1 have to get back on land!

A crewmember grabs him and violently yanks him back.

dock. Marja has gotten up and sees him, waves and cries:
Sascha! She tries forging ahead. She is in utter despair.

dock, on the ship. Karinski falls, lies lifelessly for a

moment, lifts his head, and sees Marja.

167
 dock, cut to: Marja, who spies Karinski and desperately
cries out.

dock, on the ship. Karinski is shoved and kicked by some­

one. He passes out.

Title: And without knowing how it happened. Count Alexander

Alexeievitsch Karinski found himself among thousands o_f
other refugees stowed on TEuropes” lower-class passenger
deck.

steamship’s passenger deck. Karinski: bleeding brow,

hatless, surrounded by a motley crew of refugees. He looks
around drowsily.

a steamwhistle blows.

steamship’s passenger deck. Alexander comes to his

senses, shouts:

Title: I don’t want to go! Maria!

He forces himself up the stairway, which is full of people. The

door is locked. He pounds on the locked door to the upper
level.

THE STEAMWHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN.

at sea. The majestic steamer emits a terrible cloud of smoke,

begins its voyage ahead.

pier on the harbor, long shot. Following their

instincts, the crowd has hurled itself onto the long pier. Marja

168
 appears in the foreground, but she does not run; she stops
next to a pillar, leans against it, and presses her hands to her
heart.

the pier, zoom-in on Marja.

Title: Amidst all the fear and chaos were cold-blooded people who
knew exactly how to take advantage of the situation.

dock at water level. From a nearby canal or behind a

corner comes a motorboat, whose crew, two suspicious men,
sail along the dock.

Title: And they selected their prey very carefully.

PIER. THE MEN IN THE BOAT FROM BEHIND. They nudge

each other and point.

on the pier. Marja against the pillar, from a distance, her

eyes searching the waters.

pier. boat. Facing the men, one of whom stays in the boat,
the other creeps up to the dock.

pier. Marja from behind. One of the men enters the frame
and gently touches her arm; she turns around, startled. The
man begins to speak and points:

cut to: the motorboat with the other man.

pier.Marja, hesitant, looks at the man with an expression of

hope mingled with fear. The other man motions to her:

169
Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlie Hylten-Cavallius* private collec­
tion)

Title: We know the way to Constantinople. Do not be worried,

Madame. We will get you there unharmed!

Marja casts a long glance at the sea.

cut to: pier. A group of refugees watch Marja and shake

their heads at such naivete. One of them reacts:

Title: Poor girl, she doesn’t know what she is getting herself into!

pier. Marja and the man. She is already convinced, almost

happy. She ardently replies, “Lets be off at once!” He stops

170
her: “Payment first.” She looks for her purse. She remembers
where she put it, unbuttons her fur coat and is about to pull
at her blouse, but she turns shyly away from the man, who
takes the opportunity to motion to his companion.

pier, zoom-in on Marja, who, with her back to the camera,

pulls out her change purse, takes out some bills and puts her
wallet back.

pi er. long shot. The men take some banknotes but ask for
more. Marja complies. He then invites her to follow him.

pier, cut to: refugees, who shake their heads and shrug
their shoulders: “Well, its none of our business!”

pier, long shot. Marja and the man step onto the motor-
boat and disappear.

passenger deck of steamship. Karinski. He is lying

down and has just dozed off from exhaustion; meanwhile,
some of his fellow poor passengers cast indifferent or pitying
glances at him.

at sea. A motorboat with a navigation light. A long shot

dissolves to:

marja on the boat, illuminated by the navigation light.

She looks at the men, becomes ill at ease.

at sea. on the motorboat. Marja sits at the stern of the

boat and observes the men who begin to talk animatedly with
each other, and with one light, they signal to someone.

171
 extreme long shot of the sea. The silhouette of a
felucca with a tall sail. Its navigation light responds to the signal.

the sea. Marjas boat. The men nod to each other. They sig­
nal again.

the sea. marja’s boat. Marja anxiously watches the men.

the sea. long shot. From a distance, bright spots or sil­

houettes grow closer to each other. Shot dissolves to:

the sea. Marjas boat beside the felucca.

the sea. medium long shot of the felucca. The captain

of the sailboat is discussing something with the driver of the
motorboat, who replies something back to him.

Title: Words in Turkish.

The captain nods and asks something. The man points to

Marja, who is sitting near the stern.

the sea. motorboat, close-up of Marjas angst-ridden

face.

the sea. felucca. The captain and the driver of the motor-
boat. The motorboat driver says:

Title: Words in Turkish.

the sea. motorboat. Marja is growing even more terri­

fied. The motorboat driver enters the frame and says with an
off-putting calm:

172
Title: Madame, this boat will take you straight to Constantinople.

Marja rises, exits the frame.

FELUCCA. AT THE GANGWAY OR GUNWALE. The ITlOtOr-

boat captain offers his hand to Marja to help her aboard the
felucca. She offers him her gloveless hand and steps aboard.

felucca, close-up of marja’s hand, which has a spar­

kling diamond ring on it. Her hand is grabbed by a dark fist.
Marja’s hand is visibly trying to break loose. The fingers of
the dark fist begin to pull Marja’s ring from her ring finger.

felucca, long shot. Marja is already standing on the

deck. The captain of the motorboat tears off her ring. She
screams and cries: “My ring!” The motorboat captain sneers
and grins, offering his most charming smile: “A small token
for a poor seaman.” Then he jumps lithely into is boat and
pushes away from the felucca. He disappears from the frame.
Marja calls after him.

a cabin on the felucca decorated with oriental tapestry.

Askot Bey is sitting at a small desk and writing, smoking his
hookah; he is suddenly attentive and goes up to the cabins
window.

felucca’s deck, cut to: Marja, anxious and terrified. Her

lips are quivering, and she wipes her cheek with a gesture of
helplessness.

CABIN WINDOW FROM THE OUTSIDE. CLOSE-UP of Askot,

whose face comes closer to the pane.

173
 CABIN FROM THE INSIDE. ZOOM-IN Oil Askot, who StareS
at Marja at length.

felucca’s deck. Tlie captain approaches Marja, asks her

to follow him. She hesitates but follows him. The man points,
exits the frame. Marja follows him.

askot’s cabin. Askot’s eyes follow Marja until she is out of

sight. His face takes on a puzzling, brooding expression.

OUTSIDE ANOTHER CABIN ON THE FELUCCA. Marja lias

just entered. The captain and a seaman shut the door, peer at
Marja and briefly smile at each other, the same way the men
on the motorboat had smiled at each other.

askot’s cabin. Askot sits back down at his desk. Resumes

smoking, looks down.

askot’s cabin. A Turkish-dressed man sitting on the floor

and tending to Askots hookah. Askot’s boot is now visible in
the frame, and he kicks the servant’s shoulders. He looks up.

askot’s cabin. Askot, with a furrowed brow, says to the

servant:

Title: Look, the crew on this felucca, which you lodge, is not to be
trusted!

He resumes smoking, looks one last time at the window.

marja’s cabin. Marja, exhausted and terrified, sits down

on a bench, looks at her hand and presses her bare ring finger
to her mouth in silent desperation. Her eyes swell with tears.

174
 The shot dissolves to:

a court ball. Marja and Alexander are dancing the

mazurka. They are graceful and refined; they are called forth.
Marja receives a bejeweled ring from a prominent dignitary.
The shot dissolves to:

cabin. Marja shudders. She wraps her fur coat more securely
around herself. She collapses. Fade to black.

Title: Constantinople, that beautiful and peculiar city in the Bos­

phorus, was under the control of the Triple Entente and occu­
pied by foreign military forces. For the first time, the city is
the focus of political pursuits—this city of pleasure, luxury,
and misery.

LONG SHOT OF CONSTANTINOPLE’S HARBOR with ships,

the Galata Bridge—over which troops are riding on horse­
back—crowds, and busy street life.

Title: And this is where Alexander Karinski ended up.

wide panorama of the city. Fade in to:

a street. Fjodor and Karinski, who is freshly shaven and

handsome, in a cab. Fjodor points out places and sights, but
Karinski is only half-listening. He then proceeds to tell Fjodor
about his separation from Marja:

Title: She was the only thing I had left to live for, Fiodor Petrovitsch,
and now I have lost her, too.

Karinski flicks away the cigarette he was smoking, turns

175
 away to conceal his tears and wipes his eyes with the back
of his hand. In the meantime, Fjodor seizes the opportunity
to pick up Karinskis cigarette and quickly takes some puffs.
Once Karinski has dried his eyes, he mutters: “Forgive me,
Fjodor, I have to...” Fjodor quickly hides the cigarette and
says mechanically, entirely vacantly:

Title: Yes, that is quite sad.

Fjodor barely glances at Alexander and adds:

Title: You have to distract yourself. I shall take you to a charming

little restaurant.

Karinski nods mechanically. Shot dissolves to:

the evening sea. The felucca emerges slowly from the

sunset. One of the navigation lights is reflected in the ships
shadow against the water. A man in a somewhat ragged Turk­
ish costume and with a ferocious countenance is at the helm.
On the deck, Askot Bey paces back and forth, visibly deep in
thought. The shot dissolves to:

felucca. Askot Bey hesitantly approaches Marjas cabin.

Stands by the window, looks around, then peers inside.

felucca. Marjas cabin. Marja is dressed, sleeping, with her

head resting against her arm, and illuminated by the naviga­
tion light. She appears touchingly childlike and weary.

felucca, close-up of Askot watching her. He jerks his

head back, looks in the direction of the steersman.

176
 felucca. The steersman: large, round head, some kind of
negro, fleecy hair and thick lips. He raises his grinning face.
His glance meets Askots for a moment, and then he quickly
looks away.

felucca. Aslcot Bey. He approaches the steersman, fixes his

searching eyes on him. fade out.

Title: Several weeks had gone by without the Russian officers having
heard anything from Askot Bey, and even General Smirnoff
was happy to resort to his special job in the evenings.

the shot opens over an enormous head of a grimacing

bear and expands to reveal a man dressed up as a ‘Russian
bear’ with a Russian cap on his head and a conductors baton
in his hand. He is conducting an orchestra, whose members
are all dressed as Russian bears. They are sitting around and
behind the conductor on the bandstand.

long shot of an exotic restaurant with several

patrons, couples dancing between the tables. The bear sig­
nals the orchestra to stop, turns away from the camera.

restaurant, zoom-in on the m An, who lifts up his bear

mask and dabs his sweaty face. It is General Smirnoff; he turns
around after someone calls to him.

restaurant. A woman wearing a white ermine fur and

pearls, an elaborate hairdo, and with magnificent poise enters
the scene and says gracefully:

Title: My dear General, you cannot take such long breaks. The
guests will leave us.

177
 The general sighs, composes himself, bows, pulls down the
bear mask, puts the Russian cap on and resumes conducting.

outside a restaurant with an illuminated sign in Rus­

sian letters. Fjodor and Sascha exit a cab. Fjodor looks at the
entrance and discourages them from entering, but Karinski
says: “But I would like to go inside”, and he pays the driver.

RESTAURANT ENTRANCE FROM THE INSIDE. Drapery

closes off the entrance. Some type of compartment for coats
to the side. The drapery is pulled aside, Fjodor and Karinski
step inside. Karinski stops and stares with curiosity. At that
moment an old man with glasses and shoulder-length hair
enters the shot and asks for their coats. He takes Fjodors and
is about to take Karinskis, but he looks perplexed.

hallway, medium shot. Karinski smiles a bit nervously,

hands his coat to the gentle old man, who is peering at Karin­
ski through his glasses, trying to place him, after which he
leaves. Karinski looks around. Fjodor to Karinski:

Title: That was a former professor at Moscow University.

LONG SHOT, a SEMICIRCLE SHAPED RESTAURANT, low

ceilings, narrow tables and booths, orchestra in the back­
ground, peculiar decorations on the ceiling and walls. A lot of
people, smoke, music, attractive lighting. The patrons appear
to be unique and very diverse. The aforementioned hostess
approaches. She walks up to Fjodor.

restaurant, cut to: A table with peculiar guests. An

Armenian with flabby features, an oddly dressed officer, a sus­
picious Greek. On the table is a large block of ice with caviar,

178
Champagne in ice. A young beautiful woman, charming and
in full dress, has turned around upon hearing the hostess’s
plea. She smiles: “I am coming”, swallows some caviar and
gets up: “Gentlemen.” As she exits the frame, she wipes her
hands on a small apron, which is for some reason tied around
her beautiful dress.

entrance. The hostess points to a table and says: “Welcome,

gentlemen.” She leaves. Fjodor and Karinski proceed. Restau­
rant: an empty table. The young, charming woman enters the
frame. “Is this table suitable?” She tidies some flowers and
an unusual centerpiece. In the same moment, Fjodor and
Karinski enter the frame. They choose their seats, Karinski
somewhat confused, stares at the woman.

restaurant, close-up of Karinski, staring at the woman.

restaurant, close-up of the woman, who sits down,

smiles encouragingly at the men, and pulls out a little notepad
from her pocket and a pen hanging from her pearl sautoir.
She says: “Well, what will we be having?”

restaurant. Fjodor dictates politely. The woman writes.

restaurant, close-up. A notepad with a hand that writes:

“Caviar aux blinis, vodka.”

restaurant. The woman puts the pen and pad away, gets
up. Karinski has been staring at her the whole time. She says
gracefully and nonchalantly: “It will be right out.” Karinski
stands halfway up, is about to call after her, but sits down,
astonished. He says something to Fjodor. He nods calmly and
responds:

179
Title: Oh, yes, that was Countess Lydia Bariatinskaja! You have
danced with her several times at the roval balls.

Fjodor makes a subtle gesture to her, and as he offers a cig­

arette, he begins to point: “And look there!” Karinskis eyes
follow in the direction he is pointing: “And over there, and
there!” Karinskis face takes on a different expression at each
and every one of them that Fjodor, still handing out boring
information, identifies throughout the dining room. Fjodor
continues: “And that gentleman with the woman over there...”

cut to: restaurant. Entering the frame is a couple, seen

from behind. The man, an older gentleman, pauses. At the
same time, the woman turns around. She is very chic and pro­
vocatively dressed. She asks: “Shall we sit here?” and makes
a subtle gesture. She turns to the older man: “There is a fine
spot over there.” She points far off, and the older gentleman
proceeds to exit the frame. The woman looks around furtively.
She exits the frame.

restaurant, karinski’s table. Fjodor suddenly stops,

drops his arms, quickly adjusts his seat so that he is sitting
with his back to the other diners. Karinski immediately rec­
ognizes the woman and says to Fjodor:

Title: Look, its your wife. Wont you go and fetch her?

Fjodor motions to Karinski: “Sit still. Don’t say a word!”

Karinski does not understand: “Why not, what is the mean­
ing of this?” Fjodor replies quietly and automatically:

Title: I no longer have a wife.

180
 Karinski does not dare ask any more questions. Fjodor stares
ahead, his lips begin to move:

Title: She has left me. I could not provide for her.

Fjodor fiddles with a match, snaps it in half, and fights his

emotions; however, unable to resist his curiosity, he leans into
Karinski and asks softly and jealously with pursed lips:

Title: Who is that accompanying her tonight?

Karinski replies: “Don’t know.” Fjodor nods: “Is that so, you
don’t know who that is.” Fjodor shifts his glance to Karinski,
sinks his eyes into him and says: “You ought to be happy that
you only have yourself to worry about.” Suddenly both of the
men look up.

restaurant’s bandstand. The general resumes his play­

ing, this time a Russian dance with a feverish pace. The gen­
eral stops conducting and begins dancing a few basic steps
in his bear get up. Then he resumes conducting once again;
all of this is carried out at an incredible speed.

restaurant. Karinski’s table. All of a sudden Fjodor sits

back with laughter, thrusts himself forward, toward Karinski,
points and says:

Title: “And the one jumping about up there, he is none other than
our General Smirnoff.”

This is too much for Karinski. In some kind of confused des­

peration, he bursts out in a nervous laughter, which he cannot
subdue. Fjodor looks at him.

181
 restaurant, cut to: a table, one of the men is watching
Karinski with interest and smirks: “No, look. That one is in a
good mood!” and laughs out of sympathy. The others concur
with laughter.

restaurant. karinskTs table. Karinskis laughter has

passed into paroxysm. He convulsively points to the platform:
“Look, just look!” Fjodor attempts to quiet him.

restaurant, bandstand. Proud and pleased with himself,

the general is dancing his bear-dance.

restaurant, karinski’s table. Fjodor tries once again

to quiet him down, but Karinski gets up and in a sarcastic,
despairing, and scornful manner, he yells:

Title: Bravo, my fellow-countrymen! To happiness! Long live Rus-

sia!

But in the next moment, he falls to his seat, resigned.

restaurant, some tables. Karinski’s behavior has

aroused attention. People look at him and make comments.
Countess Lydia is seen heading toward Karinskis table.

restaurant, karinski’s table. Countess Lydia arrives

with vodka and caviar. Karinski takes a nip, empties it in
one gulp, slams the glass, flings everything off the table and
shouts:

Title: I want to have fun tonight! Champaign at once!

Fjodor takes him by the arm, shakes him: “Are you mad, what

182
are you doing?” But Karinski, utterly desperate, does not heed
him. The scene fades to white.

marja’s cabin on the felucca. She is sitting on a bench

with her cheek resting in her hand. She suddenly raises her
head. She hears something.

FELUCCA. THE CABIN DOOR FROM THE INSIDE. The door

opens, the captain and some strange men enter the room.
Hastily, the captain exchanges a few words with the strange
men, then, smiling and with gentle steps, they exit the frame.

FELUCCA, marja’s CABIN. ZOOM-IN ON MARJA with eyes

wide open with fear. She backs away, clings to the wall.

xMarja’s cabin, long shot. The men suddenly pull out

a large piece of cloth and throw it over Marja. She tries to
defend herself; she screams.

felucca, askot bey’s cabin. Askots servant is assisting

his master with some luggage. Suddenly, Askot grabs hold of
the servants arm and exclaims: “Stop!” They listen intently.

felucca, the deck. The men exit Marja’s cabin, carrying

Marja—fully covered by the sheet—across the gangway to
shore.

felucca, askot’s cabin. Askot looks out the window. He

sees:

A STRIP OF A SHORE. THERE IS A HOUSE ON THE SHORE.

Men carrying Marja enter the shot. They take her inside the
house.

183
 felucca, askot’s cabin. Askot says something to the
servant, and they rush out. Askot stops, searches his luggage,
takes something out and puts it in his pocket, then proceeds
to run out.

inside the old house. A rundown room with a couch;

Marja is on the couch. The men remove the cloth in which
Marja is wrapped. At the same time, a door opens in the back­
ground; Askot is visible. The captain of the felucca charges at
Askot and starts shouting at him.

INSIDE THE OLD HOUSE. CLOSE-UP OF MARJA, who

half-consciously watches the scene by the door.

THE OLD HOUSE. ENTRYWAY FROM OUTSIDE. Askot

negotiates with the captain, whose violent demeanor turns
to excessive flattery. Finally, mutual agreement is visibly
reached. Askot makes a gesture that signals his intention to
pull out money, but he stops and says: “First get rid of all these
people!” The captain bows: “I understand.” He yells some­
thing to his men inside.

inside the old house. By the couch. The men release

Marja and head to the door, toward Askot and the captain.

the old house from outside. The captain gives his men
an order. They walk out the door and exit the shot. The cap­
tain and Askot remain. The captain is visibly waiting: “Well,
first things first.” Askot takes out his wallet and starts count­
ing out bills.

inside the old house. The couch. Marja watches and is

engrossed in Askot’s and the Captains exchange.

184
Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius private collec­
tion)

INSIDE THE OLD house, the door. Askot hands over the
last bill. The captain bows and thanks him. Askot motions:
“You can go.” With obsequious politeness, the captain slips
out. Askot closes the door behind him. He turns to Marja and
exits the shot.

inside the old house. Askot approaches Marjas couch.

She stands up with feverish excitement. She asks something.
He bows respectfully. She asks again. He says:

185
Title: You were as good as sold to a sailor in town.

He points behind him. She proceeds to ask questions in the

same frantic manner. He makes a simple but reassuring ges­
ture and further explains:

Title: Fortunately, I was able to make a bid, and I...outbid him!

She is still astonished and terrified. Askot makes a reassuring

gesture and says with a smile:

Title: You don’t have to fear them any longer. Please, calm down,
Madame!

and he bows.

inside the old house, close-up of Marja. She is too

upset to thank him; she just stands still and stares at Askot.

inside the old house, long shot. Askots servant

enters, tells something to Askot, who then turns to Marja:

Title: Madame, it is too dangerous to stay here. We have to continue

our journey at once. It is still 200 kilometers to Constantinople.,

Marja is still shocked and astounded; she mechanically mut­

ters: “Yes, of course, we must go on.” She takes a step forward.
He stops her and adds:

Title: It is for the best if you remain veiled as we make our iournev.

She nods, still mechanically: “Yes, yes, I see.” Askot swiftly

motions to his servant, gives him money and says:

186
Title: Try to send a telegram to General Smirnoff. Let him know
that I will be in Constantinople in just a couple of days.

The servant nods, the scene fades to white.

restaurant. An area of floor, upon which lies broken bot­

tles, shattered glass, but even empty and unbroken bottles,
wilted flowers, cigarette butts and ashes. And old, withered
laborer enters the scene with a broom and sweeps. Then
another laborer comes in with a dustpan. The men sweep
away. Suddenly, three or four pairs of legs are visible in the
shot: a pair of patent leather boots; a pair of dress pants and
court shoes; a pair of womens legs under a raised train. The
old laborers with the broom and dustpan pull them out of the
shot. Feet whiz by, the woman kicks away a bottle, legs dance
out of the frame. Silently and patiently, the old men continue
sweeping.

a lavatory or a corner of it. To the side, a semi-messy

centerpiece with a mirror, a light above the mirror. To the
side of the centerpiece, Karinski is slumped over with a blank
stare ahead. He lifts one of his hands mechanically and stares
at the bill he’s holding. He reads the total amount once more,
remains motionless, looks to the side.

cut to: lavatory. On a small shoe-shine stool, the res­

taurant’s large Angora cat is sitting and watching Karinski
intensely.

lavatory. Karinski shoos the cat away. Watches it until it’s

finally on its way, then he digs a bit in his other pocket. He
pulls out a piece of jewelry with pearls and diamonds (famil­
iar from the train cars). He looks at the piece of jewelry, he

187
 looks at the bill, then he suddenly heads toward the door and
exits the shot.

outside the lavatory. The hostess, still in her ermine fur

and pearls, is waiting outside the lavatory door, drowsy and
disheveled, when she gives a start and freshens up her face
until she appears “charming and refined” Karinski comes out,
stops in front of her, pulls himself together, shows her the bill.
The woman smiles: Of course, the bill!” Karinski abruptly
raises his other hand holding the jewelry and says curtly:
“Will you take this jewelry as security for the bill?” The host­
ess is not taken aback for a moment, but merely looks at the
jewelry, and smiles sympathetically: “Well, then, all right...
Yes, I see...What is there to say?...All right...Well, why not?”
And she takes the jewelry and makes a slight gesture with her
hand, the matter is settled. She is about to leave, but Karinski
stops her right away, grabs her tightly by the arm, glares at
her, almost savagely, and exclaims:

Title: Be careful with this! Do you understand? I will be back for it!

Then he swears to return and redeem it: “And it will still be

here, does the Lady understand?” He swears his life on it
that he will return. The hostess complies: “Well, why not, of
course”, and she leaves. Karinski begins to weep.

inside the restaurant. The old professor was the one

sweeping up, and he has been sweeping all the while. Now
he discovers something that has clearly been kicked to the
side. It is the small purse in which Marja had placed her
jewelry. The professor picks it up and shakes it. He pulls out
a small lace handkerchief and what looks like a small silk
cowl. The professor stands with the purse in one hand and

188
 the cowl in the other, looks pensive, shakes his head a little.
Fade to black.

Title: Soon even Karinski was among the many who sought salva­
tion in enlisting in a foreign army.

THE SCENE OPENS OVER A GREAT HALL IN A RUNDOWN

Muslim mosque captured from above. In the back of the
hall is a Russian flag and in front of it, on a small platform
is a table with a bible and a large document on it. Standing
behind the table is General Smirnoff, surrounded by older
officers. In front of the table is an officer who, with a raised
hand, takes an oath and signs his name on the document and
moves on. A new man, Karinski, comes forward, takes the
oath, signs. The hall is filled with officers, in civilian attire or
worn uniforms, who have just signed the document. Fade in
to:

close-up of a hand that has already signed: Alexander

Alexejevitsch Karinski, lieutenant of the Preobrazhensky
Imperial Guard. Now his hand writes notes in a column, such
as: “Wounded two times”, “Order of St. George”, “Medal of
Honor”, etc.

mosque hall. Karinski has stopped writing, looks up at the

older officers, leaves the table.

mosque hall, long shot. Karinski returns to his place.

The general picks up a telegram:

Title: According to this telegram. Askot Bey will arrive by tomor­

row.

189
 The general puts down the telegram, points to the document
and continues:

Title: Upon his arrival I will immediately present him this register
of Russian officers who are in Constantinople and ready for
combat.

mosque hall. The general, slightly trembling as he speaks,

holds the list in the air, proudly lifts his head and continues:

Title: And I believe we can proudly tell him that, despite all the
despicable rumors and all the degrading ordeals of exile, we
have always remained soldiers of glorv. faith, and honor!

mosque hall. Karinski among a group of officers. He has

pulled out a cigarette and is holding it in his hand. His lips
form a subtle, self-mocking smirk. He puts the cigarette in
his mouth, looks to the side, and meets:

mosque hall. Fjodors eyes. The usual weary and cynical

expression is on his face.

mosque hall. The general is still talking. The scene fades

to white.

panorama. A small caravan with camels, donkeys and

horses, which are pulling it through a desolate mountain
range. The shot dissolves to:

panorama. Medium long shot of Askot and Marja, riding a

large camel. They are sitting in a basket, over which stretches
a canopy or a canvas, shielding them from the sun. The basket
rocks gently; Marja has calmed down. In fact, she is almost

190
 cheerful; however, it’s hot underneath the tight veil, and she
wipes her brow. She is about to remove her veil but stops
herself, turns to Askot, glances at him and says with a gentle
grin:

Title: Will the master allow his slave to lift her veil for a moment?

panorama, close-up ofMarja. She says this with a smile,

does not wait for his response but rather takes off the veil and
breathes with relief.

panorama, cut to: Askot. He looks at her, and he is smit­

ten. He mutters:

Title: You are mistaken, Madame. I am the slave.

He makes a gesture:

Title: And you, mv Mistress.

and he points to Marja.

panorama, zoom-in on Marja. She becomes serious, a bit

uneasy, but to conceal this, she gently says with a smile:

Title: And yet it was you who purchased me.

and she mimics his gesture inversely.

panorama, marja and askot. Askot has now become

serious, too. He leans in toward Marja, looks her solemnly
in the eye and says:

191
Title: In the East, there is something else we purchase this wav...A
wife!

Marja gives a start at these words, looks at him. Restrained,

nearly reserved, he returns her glance and asks:

Title: Is the concept foreign to you?

For a moment, Marja is upset and looks ahead. After a brief

movement, Askot is leaning against her, speaking, whisper­
ing. Marja slowly lifts her veil and fastens it over her face. She
withdraws inside her basket.

panorama, long shot. The caravan is traveling along.

Title: It is Ramadan. Hie month of fast ing and celebration for Mus­
lims. Askot Bey is approaching Constantinople.

PICTURESQUE CITY GATE IN CONSTANTINOPLE. A Car­

riage with a few horses rides through the gate. The camera
follows. Askot and Marja in the carriage. In addition to the
driver, there is Askots servant.

Title: The city is preparing for the great nightly feast. Thousands of
sheep are led through the streets and squares to the slaugh­
tering block.

street. Woolly sheep are seen in the light of a buzzing street.

Decorated and dressed up, the sheep flow forward in a great
stream.

street. Sheep at a cross street. The road is narrow and

because the sheep are crossing, the heavy traffic must stop:

192
taxicabs, cars and pedestrians are all forced to wait as the
sheep pass.

street. Inside Askots carriage. Askot leans out and sees

other carriages behind him that have been forced to stop. He
brings this to Marjas attention.

street. Facing the sheep. We see back to back, head to head,

black and white bleating sheep.

street. Sheep in the foreground, trudging along. On the

other side of the sheep, among the horses and carriages, is
Karinski, trying to make his way through. He waits to cross
the street. Suddenly, he spots something.

street, zoom-in on Karinski with eyes wide open, starring

ahead.

street, cut to: the foreground, a gray stream of sheep

being pulled along. Behind them, a glimpse of Askots car­
riage and horses. Marjas veiled face is peeking out the side
of the carriage. Marja is curious, and she instinctively pulls
away her veil to get a better look.

street, cut to: a shepherd in a picturesque costume lead­

ing the flock, carrying a dressed up darling little lamb.

street, askot’s carriage. Marja keeps her eye on the

shepherd with the lamb. She smiles slightly.

street. Karinski, a cry escapes him, he forces his way

through.

193
 street, from behind. Karinski is seen running into the
flock.

street, among the sheep. Karinski is lying on the pave­

ment.

street, the flock. Startled, they scatter like waves to the

sides. Those standing around shout and struggle to drive the
sheep back onto the road.

street. Karinski among several sheep. He gets up, falls down

again.

street, long shot of the intersection. Someone shouts

and yells, “Where did he go?”

street. Marja and Askot in the carriage. Marja asks what

the matter is. Askot, cigarette in hand, replies that he doesn’t
know. He is utterly indifferent.

street. Some British officers stroll by. One of them becomes

suspicious and stops, looks.

street, close-up of a sympathetic and restrained British

officer.

Title: British military attache Sir William Carey Mr. X.

street. The officers. Carey points, speaks to the others, hur­

ries off screen, the officers follow him.

street view. Chaotic traffic, horses frightened by the sheep,

which are now running past all the carriages.

194
wide shot of street. Karinsld has gotten up again, rushes
to Marjas carriage, whose horses are already reared in terror.
He grabs hold of one of the horses, but its frightened and
dashes ahead. Karinsld, however, does not let got, but rather
is dragged along. The carriage rides out of the shot. A brief
glimpse of Askot and Marja.

street, medium close-up of Askot and Marja. She is

frightened, looks ahead.

street, long shot. Askots carriage dashes onward, drag­

ging Karinsld behind it.

street. Karinsld from the back, half-dragged, half-running;

he tries to raise his head to see into the carriage.

the carriage from the side. Alarmed, Marja gets up

halfway. Karinsld lets go, falls.

street, cut to: Marja, she lets out a scream.

street, cut to: Karinski. Tire wheel runs over his body.

street. Bystanders, Carey and the other Englishmen at the

front, they dash forward.

street, long shot of the carriage, which has stopped.

Karinsld is pulled up. The shot cuts to:

street, close-up of an unconscious Karinski, who is lifted

up.

195
 street, in the carriage. Marjarecognizes Karinski, cries
out: “Its Alexander!”

street, close-up of hands that turn Karinskis face over.

street, in the carriage. Marja is ready to run over to

him. Askot stops her and says:

Title: May I ask you to calm down, Madame. 1 will carry him in my
carriage.

street, carriage. Karinski is lifted up. Askot enters the

frame.

street, carriage, cut to: Marja in extreme distress and

anguish.

STREET. GROUP HUDDLED AROUND KARINSKI. They look

around to see where they can take him.

Askot says:

Title: Madame and I are truly sorry for what has happened.

Carey, who has taken charge, nods fleetingly and says

abruptly: “Great, we will put him in your carriage!” Karinski
is carried to the carriage at once.

street, by the carriage. Carey makes sure that Karinski

is lifted into the carriage. Askots servant assists them. Marja,
too, tries to help but is stopped by Askot.

street. Carey, staring at Marja.

196
street. Askot, orders the driver to drive at once.

street. Marja, looking timidly at Carey.

street, long shot. Carey approaches Marja with a busi­

ness card, hands it over to her as he says: “If you happen to
need further assistance, I am at your service.” Askot thanks
him, climbs into the carriage.

street, in the carriage. Marja can no longer restrain

herself. She flings herself over Karinski.

STREET. IN THE CARRIAGE. CUT TO: Askot, wllO shoiltS at

the coachman: “Drive!”

street, in the carriage, close-up of Marja and Karin­

ski. Marja cries and laments over him. Carey and others are
seen in the background, and the carriage takes off at the same
time. Karinski and Marja glide out of the shot. Carey looks
on, astonished. “What a peculiar thing to do. That Turkish
woman threw herself on the wounded man!” He turns to his
companions, says something to them, then they all look on
at the carriage.

street, extreme long shot. Askots carriage drives away.

street. Carey and an officer. They converse, suddenly decide

something, and rapidly exit the frame.

street, in the carriage. Marja is still lying next to Karin­

ski. Askots hand enters the frame, grabs her and pulls her
backwards, out of the frame.

197
 STREET. OPPOSITE END OF THE CARRIAGE. Marja is pulled
by Askot into the frame. He pushes her down into her seat. He
is pale. Furiously and violently, he squeezes her hand against
his chest and whimpers:

Title: Who is he that you caress him so?

Marja responds with only indistinct words. She moans and

tries to embrace Karinski again. Askot stops her and exclaims:

Title: It is my opinion that you may not touch another man. You
belong to me, haven’t you realized that?

Marja looks at Askot, and its as if she just realized how much
of a stranger he is to her. She bursts out:

Title: Are you mad? Do you think I am your property?

Askot laughs, lifts his head: the savagery of the Orient sud­
denly bursts forth. He shouts:

Title: Why not? I bought you, after all! Now I plan to keep you!

street. Carey and some officers get hold of a taxicab. Carey

instructs the driver and points. They hop into the car, which
drives away.

street. Askots carriage. Askot pulls Marja more forcefully to

him. Then he suddenly lets go of her. He looks like a wounded
animal, then says:

Title: Maria, my heart belongs to you. Don't trample over it!

198
 But Marja is utterly terrified. She looks around with fear in
her eyes, and finally looks back.

street or park (from Marjas point of view). The car with

Carey, who is pointing and urging the driver to drive faster.
The car speeds up.

street or park. In Askots carriage. Askot tries to get Marja

to calm down, but she cries: “I’m afraid of you. Let me go!”
She tears off her veil and waves it at the car following behind
them.

street or park, cut to: inside the car. Cary and his
friends understand the signal. They speed up.

street or park, long shot. The car eventually catches

up to Askots carriage.

STREET OR PARK. IN ASKOT’S CARRIAGE. Askot notices

that the car is getting closer, he quickly grasps the situation.
He pulls Marja down to her seat and mutters:

Title: You will regret this!

street or park, wide shot. Askots carriage. The car

swings into the frame, next to the carriage, which slows down.
Carey jumps out of the car, climbs onto the carriages foot­
board, orders the coachman to stop. The carriage stops.

street or park, medium close-up from the other side of

the carriage. Carey in the background, facing forward. Askot
and Marja in the foreground. Carey asks what the matter is.
Terrified, Marja mumbles something indistinct. Carey says:

199
 “Calm down, Madame, I will protect you!” then turns to
Askot Bey and continues:

Title: Tin a deputy of the checkpoint authorities, and 1 cannot per­

mit you to flee with a European woman against her will!

STREET OR PARK. IN THE CARRIAGE. CLOSE-UP of Askot,

who quickly restrains himself, smiles courteously and cleverly
and proceeds to deliver some kind of
explanation.

street or park, by the carriage. Carey, calmly nods:

“Good, I’m sure I can take care of this matter, you will see.”
But its clear that he is dead set on getting to the bottom of
things.

200
 A Tale from Constantinople
by

Mauritz Stiller and Ragnar Hylten-Cavallius

Based on the novel I livets virvlnr (Whirlpools of Life) by Vladimir Semitjov.

Part Two
Title: Thanks to Careys aggressive intervention, Maria has been
freed from Askot Bey’s clutches.

SOME KIND OF CELLAR OR SHABBY HUT: Marja is hovering

over Karinslci, who is reclining on an old armchair padded
with cushions. She looks at him tenderly, fluffs a pillow, fixes a
bandage, gives him another tender glance and exits the frame.

hut. a wondow without curtains: Carey is sitting

at a table. Marja enters the frame. She is exhausted after all
the outrageous events; she extends her hand to Carey and
says with sorrowful yet heartfelt gratitude: “How can I ever
thank you?” She squeezes his hand, his grasp lingers, but he
responds prudently and properly: “Oh, it was nothing.” He is
somewhat moved and rather embarrassed and lo deflect any
attention, he looks around the hut. Marja follows his gaze.

hut. cut to: a corner of the bare room with a Madonna icon
and a lamp. Hanging from the lamp, on an ordinary hanger is
a freshly pressed uniform with military decorations. Next to
it a crate with newspaper spread over it and fancy toiletries
on top.

hut. marja anc carey. Their eyes meet: her lips reveal
melancholy and a trace of facetiousness when she says:

Title: Poor Sascha! This isn’t exactly his bachelor flat in St. Peters­
burg!

A tear glistens in her eye, but then a macabre smile lights up

her face: “My God, the things we have to go through. And
thank God its all over.” In that moment, they hear something.
They turn their heads.

202
 hut. cut to: an old Greek woman in a dirty dressing gown
and slippers. She is with a child who is clutching her by the
skirt. She is holding a samovar and has a boot under her arm.
The child is holding two cups. They exit the frame.

hut. at the table. Marja clears the table and takes the
samovar; the old lady puts the boot next to the samovar. The
old woman scratches her head as she takes the cups from
the impatient child. Carey opens the window. He gives side-
glances to the old lady and the child. Carey wonders what the
boot is for. Marja informs him: “Oh, I know, poor people in
Russia use it as a pair of bellows... to puff on the coal in the
samovar.” Carey is intrigued, Marja suddenly pauses, puts
down the boot, they look at each other and inevitably laugh.
Marja stops them with a: “Shh, shh” and looks in Karinskis
direction, nods reassuringly at Carey and starts pouring the
tea. The scene dissolves to:

hut. a while later. Marja and Carey. They have finished

their tea. Carey flicks a cigarette butt, rises and thanks her. He
walks up to Marja and bids her farewell. With sorrowful flir­
tatiousness, she extends her hand, which he firmly shakes; he
looks at her affectionately and still holding her hand, he says:

Title: Countess, you need a distraction. Wednesday evening is the

conclusion of Ramadan. The lights and street life is unpar­
alleled. Allow me to show them to you. My steam yacht can
take us out to the Bosphorus.

hut. A glint of curiosity and a spark] of interest flash over

Marjas face. But she pulls her hand from Careys, points to
the bed, and says: “I cannot leave Alexander.” Carey looks in
the same direction.

203
 HUT. CUT TO: KARINSKY.

hut. marja anc carey. He says: “My, what a loyal nurse

you are!” Marja smiles and glances in Alexander’s direction.
Carey makes an encouraging gesture and says:

Title: When Count Karinski is fully recovered...and not until

then...he can join us on my yacht on the Bosphorus.

He squeezes her hand even firmer, salutes her and says:

Title: No objections! 1 will meet you here, Wednesday eveningjit
10 o’clock sharp!

He hurries to the door.

doorway of hut. Carey enters the frame, points to his

watch and calls: “Don’t forget, 10 o’clock!” and runs out. The
scene fades to white.

askot’s fancy hotelroom. Askot reclining on a sofa.

Next to him, his servant who has just served him coffee and
is now listening to Askot, who, pale with rage, confides to him
that Marja has escaped from his clutches. He is restrained,
but his eyes are glowing when he says: “They ripped her away
from me, those scoundrels!”

askot’s room, close-up of askot. He closes his eyes

and feebly clenches his fist.

askot’s room, long shot. Askot’s servant gets an idea.

He grins at Askot, creeps up to him and whispers consolingly,
as if to a child: “Sir, let them all drown.” Then Ibrahim, the
servant, gestures: “Strangle them and then.. .to the Bosphorus

204
Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ private collec­
tion)
with them!” Askot listens for a moment, then kicks Ibrahim—
who falls to the ground—and leaps up in a single bound and
exclaims: “Silence!” He looks at the desk, and lithely exits the
frame.

askot’s hotelroom: Askot walks up to the desk, opens a

drawer and pulls out the register of Russian officers.

close-up of the register that General Smirnoff showed

before. The list moves upwards and the camera focuses on the
officers’ names. His finger stops at Karinskis.

205
 askot’s hotelroom. close-up of askot who, in a fit
of rage, is about to tear up the list, but he stops himself, and
sneers. He suddenly hits on a solution and calls Ibrahim, who
enters the frame. He orders him:

Title: Go to General Smirnoff at once. I must speak with him imme­

diately!

Ibrahim dashes away. Askots eyes glow with a burning desire

for revenge; he is already pleased. The scene fades to white.

karinsky’s hut. long shot. Karinski is sitting in his seat

with his eyes closed. There is a small table next to the chair,
where Marja is turning on a lamp. Karinski awakens and jerks
his head.

karinsky’s hut. long shot, close-up of karinsky

in his chair. He opens his eyes. He has an obvious fever, for
his eyes are unnaturally glossy, beads of sweat cover his brow
and his hair is damp and disheveled. He stares ahead with a
frightened look in his eye.

hut. An initially hazy then sharper and more prominent

shadow of Marja’s head and shoulders appears, caused by
her body against the lamp. The shot pans away, fades to white.

hut. long shot. Karinski, reclining in his chair.

hut. karinsky. He is staring at her shadow. His dry lips and

piercing eyes make a ghastly impression. He suddenly calls
out: “Marja.”

206
 hut. marja in front of the lamp. She heeds his call and
hurries out of the shot.

hut. the bed. Karinski stares at the wall and follows her
shadow, which shrinks as Marja enters the frame and leans
over him. He is still staring at her shadow.

hut. Marjas shadow.

hut. bed. Marja whispers merrily and excitedly: “Sascha, my

dear, you are awake, what is the matter?” She is nothing but
tender to him, but he merely stares at her shadow. Suddenly,
he turns to her, looks at her suspiciously. Marja exclaims:
“What is wrong? Its me, Marja!” and lovingly leans over him.
His eyes widen, things are suddenly clear, and he recognizes
her, begins to sob uncontrollably and throws his head upon
her lap. She is startled, becomes twice as affectionate, kisses
and caresses him: “Sascha, my dear.” Finally, he raises his
head, turns desperately away from her, buries his face in his
pillow and exclaims:

Title: Maria, if you only knew!

hut. medium close-up. She asks: “What is it? Tell me!” Still
turned away from her and with his face buried in the pillow,
he starts ranting frantically, deliriously. She is able to make
out words such as:

Title: I sold vour jewelry... I gambled our money away.

In some kind of self-tormenting fit, he explains further. She

embraces him, for she is consumed by self-sacrificing compas­
sion. She rocks him back and forth like a baby. She whispers:

207
Title: Sascha, that doesn't matter...as long as I am with you, living
with you.

Suddenly, he gazes at her intently, then throws himself on the

floor and starts laughing uncontrollably: “Yes, of course, you
will stay with me, live with me here.” He points around the
room and adds:

Title: In this hut.

He exclaims: “No, no, never!” She musters all of her strength

to calm him down: “Yes, but Sascha, don’t make it out to
be worse than it is. Surely, I can work, work for the both of
us!” He practically cuts her off, stops himself, abruptly nods
in agreement and says with a curious smile: “Yes, of course,
that’s what they all say...Yes, yes, you can work.” Marja adds
fervently: “Of course I will work for us.” He continues:

Title: Yes, precisely, you can work. You are beautiful ! You can get
a job at a restaurant... as a waitress.

He describes this with a kind of inner visionary clarity, as if

he already saw her working; now he begins to describe it.

Title: You will certainly earn money. The guests will fight for the
chance to be served by a proper hostess.

He laughs, then becomes desperate again:

Title: But I, who is only good enough to be a soldier...! will sink to

new levels every day.

She cries frantically: “Sascha”, but like an impatient child, he

208
shakes his head: “No, let me explain...I can see it so clearly.”
He points straight ahead: “Don’t you see? Can’t you see it?”
The frame dissolves to:

AN ALTERNATING JUXTAPOSITION OF THE RESTAURANT

WITH THE WOMAN IN THE ERMINE FUR AND PEARLS,
the old professor, various characters seated at the tables; at
the forefront, the conducting general in the bear costume.
Tliis shot fades in to:

restaurant. Countess Lydia waiting a table, serving cham­

pagne to a lone stranger. The shot dissolves into:

restaurant. Countess Lydia is nowMarja: in the same posi­

tion, at the same table, serving the same man. The stranger
now looks cynical and lecherous. Marja takes some form of
a payment. The stranger gives her more money, puts it in her
hand, which he caresses. Then he strokes her arm, upwards.
Marja is frightened but tries to maintain her composure. She
looks to the side.

restaurant. Karinski, alone at a narrow table. Stone-faced,

he sees how Marja is being treated. Out of habit, he fiddles
with the military decoration at the cuff of his tailcoat.

restaurant. Marja and the stranger. His audacity is now

bolder, and he whispers something into her ear. She tries to
keep her distance, but he pulls her closer to him and kisses
her ear.

restaurant. Karinski in the same place. He takes some­

thing out of his pocket: a revolver. But he checks himself and
sticks it back in his pocket:

209
Title: But I do not dare intervene...for then you would lose your
job.

hut. Karinski with eyes wide-open: he waves his hand and

adds with a curious emphasis:

Title: And I become so miserable that one evening 1 ...

The title card dissolves to:

outside the restaurant. Karinski clinging to the exit,

waiting for someone. Marja comes out, wearing a fur coat;
she looks around hastily, walks up to Karinski and abruptly
throws him a few bills: “Take this, but quickly, and then...”
She waves anxiously, “leave at once. You cannot stay here!”
Karinski walks backwards out of the frame. In the same
moment, the same man from the hallucination comes out
of the restaurant. Marja smiles listlessly at him; they exit the
frame together.

outside the restaurant, close-up of Karinski. He

sticks the money in his pocket as he follows Marja and the
man with his eyes:

Title: And I do not run after you...What good would it do?

The shot dissolves to:

hut. Karinski and Marja. Marja is still standing next to

Karinski s chair. He whispers, as if in the midst of an awak­
ening:

210
Title: And you will end up just like me: dead but still alive. Spiteful,
you, the epitome of kindness!

He cries out as if suffering a smarting pain and sinks back

into the pillows. Marja buries her face in her hands. A short
pause. Karinski fumbles after her hand and pulls her closer to
him; cheek to cheek, they rock back and forth. He suddenly
stops himself, and a cry escapes him. He exclaims:

Title: If I could only be a soldier again!

hut. medium close-up. Marja looks at him with genuine

sympathy, caresses him, lakes his head, leans him against his
pillow, and whispers: “Relax, Sascha, everything will be good
again. You will see.” But Karinski is impatient; like a spoiled
child he rips off his bandage and shouts:

Title: And General Smirnoff who refuses to make any contact!

Marja picks up the bandage with patience, exits the frame.

room nest to the hut. Marja enters some kind of kitchen.

She has just pulled back a curtain hanging over the doorway.
A glimpse of Karinski in his chair can be seen behind the cur­
tain. Marja suddenly bursts into tears, falls into a chair with
her hands over her eyes, then simultaneously rises again and
'
closes the curtain between the rooms: he may not see her tears.
\
hut. Karinski searches for Marja with his eyes.

a door with an arch. Fjodor passes through an archway,

some stairs lead down to the door of the hut. He knocks on
the door.

211
 hut. Karinski turns his head, says: “Come in!”

the hut’s interior door. The door opens, Fjodor enters,

nods good afternoon, exits the frame.

hut. Karinski in his bed, raises his hand to Fjodor, who

enters the frame. Karinski grabs his hand and cries: “Have
you met with General Smirnoff?” Fjodor nods in affirma­
tion. Then Karinski asks: “Well, how did it go?” Fjodor
makes a frantic gesture, then abruptly grabs Karinski s hand
and says sternly:

Title: Do you promise to listen to me calmly?

Karinski stares at him. Fjodor s expression is hard and implac­

able when he says, stressing every syllable:

Title: I have just come directly from General Smirnoff s. Askot Bey
has called off all negotiations!

kitchen, marja. She has finished crying and is dabbing

at her eyes; she suddenly stops herself and listens to Fjodors
report. She hears Askot Beys name mentioned. Still holding
the freshly dampened bandage, she slinks over to the curtain
and listens in absolute silence.

hut. Karinski and Fjodor. Karinski mutters: “Therefore, that

too. Nothing is working for us.” Fjodor raises his hands and
says:

Title: This means that thousands of Russian officers will be back

where they started!

212
 He stops talking, looks at Karinski with a strange expiession
and slowly and gravely asks:

Thic: Do you actually know who this Askot Bey is?

He continues: “He is the same man who was with Marja Iva­
novna in the carriage!”

hut. close-up of Karinski, who is brooding, staring ahead.

Fade in to:

street, askot, sitting next to Marja in the carriage. The shot

dissolves to:

hut. close-up of karinsky’s face. He looks at the door,

through which Marja had exiled, and mutters: “I don t under­
stand.” Fjodor, with the same peculiar expression on his face,
inquires with an affected, gentle tone:

Title: Are you aware of the terms he set in order for the negotiations
to resume?

Karinski, uncertain and perplexed: “No, I do not know.” With

a look of cold detachment, Fjodor nonchalantly says:

Title: Well, he demands that Maria Ivanovna be returned to him.

kitchen. Marja, seen listening from behind. She wants to

burst into the room, but she stops herself.

hut. fjodor, who continues with a subtle gesture:

213
Title: And now Askot Bey is sitting in his room at the Pera Palace
Hotel, awaiting our response.

hut. Karinski and Fjodor. With incredible calm, Karinski

leans in to Fjodor: “Why, why something so outrageous?”
Fjodor returns Karinskis glance, shrugs his shoulders, flings
his hands about and exclaims:

Title: He claims to own all rights to her.

Karinski shakes his head in despair, as if he were caught in a

dream. Fjodor adds:

Title: Askot Bey is wealthy and distinguished. It is said that he is

irresistible to women.

Fjodor makes a gesture signaling: “Well then...so that’s how

it’s to be done?” His words drive Karinski mad. He grabs
Fjodor, shouts his name, shakes him, but Fjodor is stronger
than Karinski. He thrusts Karinski into the chair and says
forcibly:

Title: What do I have to do with this? All women are the same. Even
the most virtuous can fall from grace; the most chaste can sell
herself.

Karinski suddenly looks up at Fjodor, lets go of him. A look

of fatigued bitterness and self-contempt comes over him, then
he mutters:

Title: You are right, Fiodor, why should it not end like this, after all?

214
 kitchen, marja from behind. She pulls away the curtain
and goes inside.

marja in front of the curtain.

hut. Karinski and Fjodor give a start and stare at her.

hut. kitchen doorway. Marja closes her eyes for a

moment, then she looks them both in the eye. (She still has
the bandage in her hand).

hut. Fjodor and Karinski.

hut. entrance. Marja is still looking at them, walks slowly

out of the frame.

hut. karinsky’s chair. Marja approaches Karinski, who

is seen from behind. She looks at him.

hut. Fjodor, watches them with a look of compassion min­

gled with hot anticipation.

hut. karinsky and marja. Karinski, still with his back to

the camera. Marja is still looking at Karinski, then she shifts
her gaze at Fjodor.

HUT. CLOSE-UP OF FJODOR.

hut. marja. She turns her glance from Fjodor, puts down
the bandage, and says to Karinski:

Title: You are right, Alexander! Why should it not be so?

215
 She storms away from him toward the background. She takes
her fur and her veil, exits the frame.

hut. karinsky in the armchair. Fjodor in the fore­

ground. Fjodor dashes out of the frame.

hut. doorway. Marja is already ready to leave. Fjodor enters

the frame, stops her and asks: “Where are you going?” Marja
looks at Fjodor defiantly:

Title: Where am I going? Straight to Pera Palace.. .to save thousands

of Russian officers!

hut. medium shot of Marja, who points behind her. She

then looks at Fjodor, laughs—a low and malicious laugh—
and says as she sneers and flings her arms:

Title: Or out to the streets!

and she adds: “I absolutely don’t care.” Then she looks at

Karinski.

hut. cut to: Karinski.

hut. doorway. Marja. Her face is stony and severe. She says
to Fjodor:

Title: Just ask Count Karinski how to throw your life away.

She flings her coat over shoulders; her lips quiver as she adds:

Title: He has so eloquently just described it to me now.

216
 And suddenly she turns around, dashes out the doors and
slams them behind her.

hut. Karinski. He shouts: “Marja!”

court with the archway. Marja dashes through the

archway and disappears.

hut. Karinski s chair. Only now has Karinski become aware

of what has just happened. He throws off the blanket that was
covering him, leaps up and storms out of the frame.

hut. doorway. Karinski tries to run out. Fjodor grabs hold

of him, pulls him from the door, stops him and asks: “Where
do you think you are going?” Karinski: “I need to stop her!”
Fjodor throws the weak Karinski out of the frame.

hut. another angle. Karinski falls down at his chair, sits

down, looks desperately at Fjodor, who enters the frame and
approaches Karinski. Fjodor exclaims:

I itle: Oh, let her go. She would have walked out on you sooner or
later!

Fjodor makes a gesture: “I know women!” Karinski cries

out in a rage and tries to charge at Fjodor, but Fjodor forces
Karinski back in the chair and yells:

Title: And would you prefer to have Angora slip from your hands
for her sake?

He continues:

217
Title: She will end up with Askot Bey no matter what. You can count
on it!

Suddenly, Karinski becomes utterly still and sinks into his

chair.

hut. fjodor. Karinski s helplessness affects him; he sud­

denly goes up to him.

hut. fjodor approaches KARiNSKY. Before Karinski sur­

renders to his grief, Fjodor grabs Karinski by the neck. His
lips begin to quiver; he squeezes:

Title: No, Sascha, exile isn't exactly making angels out of us.

and in the same breath, he continues his train of thought:

Title: I am happy if I at least have food for the day!

He looks around and says: “I’m terribly hungry by the way!”

hut. Karinski looks up and points somewhere in the room:

“There’s certainly something in there. Have a look!” Fjodor,
a little embarrassed, exits the frame.

hut. Fjodor is standing in front of the curtains leading to

the kitchen, turns to Karinski, points in the direction of the
kitchen and asks if it is there.

hut. Karinski nods.

hut. Fjodor exits the shot.

218
 hut. karinsky now has something else to consider. He
looks at the walls, sees something.

hut. Full uniform with decorations intact, still hanging by

the icon.

hut. Karinskis face stiffens, takes on a firm expression. He

hears Fjodor coming, and he turns in his direction.

hut. Fjodor comes in from the kitchen, chewing on some­

thing.

hut. Karinski motions to him.

hut. Fjodor walks up to him somewhat surprised.

hut. Fjodor approaches Karinski, who stretches his hand out

to him and says gently:

Title: Now you must go, Fiodor!

Fjodor looks at him and says nothing. Karinski smiles: “You

don’t have to worry. Just go.” Then he motions him to leave.
Fjodor responds: “Well, as you wish. I am going!”

doorway to hut. Fjodor reaches the door, turns around,

raises his hand and says to Karinski:

Title: Remember, no nonsense!

hut. Karinski smiles at him: “You can relax.” He nods to him

until Fjodor is gone. Suddenly, his expression changes. He
gets up, pauses for a moment, then exits the shot.

219
 hut. long shot. Karinski goes up to the icon, where his
uniform is hanging. He makes the sign of the cross before
the icon, then inspects his uniform. He yanks it down with a
sudden jerk. The shot fades.

Title: Tonight Constantinople is bathed in light. Minarets aglow,

rockets crackle. Ramadan: the month of joy.

long shot. Streets and squares full of people enjoying vari­

ous entertainment. Fireworks. An illuminated mosque in the
background. The shot dissolves to a picturesque:

Street with fires, a bear dance, swarms of people dressed for a

celebration, (decorated with Allah’s monogram, for example).

Title: The European Hotel district in Pcra has also joined in the
public festivities.

An entire block decorated with flags. Festively-dressed people

all over. Someone is dancing on an open terrace and throwing
money down to young boys. Medium shot of the terrace.

terrace, medium-long shot. Europeans of various

types, officers, Frenchmen and Englishmen dining on the
terrace, from which they toss coins.

below the terrace. Little boys perform tricks and take

the money, not without gratitude.

hotel terrace. The public laughs and celebrates.

the golden horn. A dock covered with kayaks, people

getting in and out of boats, in the background are illuminated

220
 LI

r—-.r.
L.
Einar Hanson. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlie Hylten-Cavallius* private collec­
tion)
buildings reflecting against the water. Marja walks into the
shot, stops, and looks down into the water.

the golden horn. The water is sparkling.

the golden horn. Marja looks up, continues walking by.

shot from a lit up street. An illuminated mosque in

the background. People heading to shows and entertainment, i
etc.
(Lots of flags everywhere) (Triumphal arches, well lit).

221
 a narrow street. A string of jolly men wearing carnival
novelties come along, one with a fake nose, another carrying
firecrackers and a noisemaker. The camera follows from the
front. The festive men light some fireworks and throw one as
they walk arm in arm like a chain. A bareheaded woman, slov­
enly dressed, tries to lure them into a hotel. They carry on.

narrow street. From the side of the camera, a woman

enters the frame; she sneaks by timidly. It is Marja. The jovial
men see her, stop her; she tries to defend herself, but they
surround her. They begin dancing around her.

narrow street, close-up of Marja with the men dancing

around her. She asks to be let through, tries pushing her way
out.

narrow street, long shot. Marja is suddenly desper­

ate. She cries: “Let me go!” They are embarrassed, a polite
man approaches her, takes of his fake nose, bows and says:
“Madame, pardon the insolence of five cheerful fellows. We
meant absolutely no harm.” He raises his hand to his heart.

NARROW STREET. CLOSE-UP OF MARJA. She looks at the

man with a slightly fearful smile.

narrow street, long shot. The courteous man exclaims,

persuasively: “Oh, Madame, you are much too beautiful to be
upset with us any longer.”

Title: Can we not seal our reconciliation with a meal? What do you
say to the Pera Palace?

Marja trembles, stares at him, repeats mechanically:

222
Title: Pera Palace?

She raises her head, and exclaims: “Why not, let us go, as
she dashes forward, beckoning to them. With eyes filled with
desire, they follow her. Fade to black.

Thle: i_o:oo sharp, when Carey promised to come for Marja.

dooR to the hut from outside. Carey knocks on Karin-

skis door. He looks at his watch, knocks again, no one opens
the door. He exits the frame.

street with cars. Carey enters the frame discouraged,

gets into his car, and drives away.

street. Minarets and illuminated mosques.

hotel. In a large dining hall, a small compartment closed

off by a piece of drapery. Dancing couples sweep past and
out of the frame as the drapery is pulled to the side. Marja
and the five men are sitting around a dining table. Marja,
who has opened the drapery, comes out with her back to the
camera. She motions to the men inside: “Yes, I will be right
back”, and closes the curtain, then turns around. Her eyes
reveal desperation. She collapses for a moment, takes a step,
and looks around with a wild expression on her face.

hall with dancers and diners.

hall, marja. She is desperate and at a loss what to do. A

streamer whirls over her and catches her throat; the ribbon
holds, a man is seen holding the streamer as he enters the
frame. He is pulling the ribbon until it brings him to her:

223
 “Such a beautiful captive in my lasso” Marja gives him a cold
stare, tears the ribbon away, and runs out of the frame.

reception desk. Askot Bey, wearing a tailcoat and a silk-

lined jacket, asks the receptionist something. The receptionist
shakes his head. Askot asks for his key. The receptionist turns
around to the board.

reception desk, close-up of the wall. Standard com­

partment for room keys. Beside it, a board with labels of the
guests’ names and a small instrument with a flap bearing the
words “out” and “in.” A hand appears in the shot, takes Askots
key from the pigeonhole, then proceeds to the board.

close-up of the board. The hand holding the key stops

by the label: “Askot Bey 17,18,19.” The flap switched to “out”
is now switched to “in.” The hand exits the frame.

reception desk. Askot takes his key, thanks him, and exits
the shot.

hotel staircase. Askot proceeds up the stairs, sees some­

thing, pauses, and dashes up the stairs.

the top floor of hotel: A barrier at the main staircase.

To the side of a parlor is some kind of study with open arches
for windows and an arched frame over the entrance. In the
background is a ballroom from which Marja proceeds with
uncertain steps. She leans on the barrier. She abruptly looks
up, frightened.

top floor of hotel. Askot enters the shot, pauses, looks

at Marja with a faint smile.

224
top floor of hotel. Marja. She is paralyzed with fear at
the first sight of Askot.

top floor, marja and askot. Askot is standing in front

of Marja, raises his hand to his heart and asks: “Might you be
looking for me?” Marja does not answer. Her eyes are fixed
on his as if she were frozen in a trance.

top floor, another angle. Marja seen from the back.

Askot seen from the front, looking at her. He abruptly looks
behind himself toward the study, and holding her with his
gaze, he walks backwards into the room, as he suddenly and
authoritatively beckons to her. She follows him as if she were
sleepwalking.

study. Askot, shot from the back. The entrance to the study
in the background. Marja walks over the threshold; there is
a chair next to the drapery hanging over the door. She sinks
down into it. Askot walks toward her and gently touches her
with his index finger. She looks up at him with a detached
and cold expression.

study. Marjas upturned face.

study. Askot Bey. He says: “So, you have returned to me after

all.”

study, close-up of Marja. She turns her head slowly, as if

searching for help. Askots hand moves lower.

study, marja and askot. Askot leans over Marja and says
with an almost hypnotic intonation:

225
Title: You will stay with me. Isn’t that right?

She raises her head, looks at him—almost as if she does not

understand.

Askot repeats: “You have come back to me, isn’t that so??”
She barely listens to him; she passes her hand over her brow.
Askot takes her hand and says:

Title: It’s me. You know mv intentions. Don’t be afraid!

Marja looks up, as if understanding him for the first time,

shakes her head, and says, almost smiling:

Title: So you think anything can scare me?

He looms over her and speaks to her. She rises, suddenly

points at his face.

STUDY. CUT to: ASKOT.

study, cut to: marja, pointing straight ahead at him and

saying:

Title: Don’t you think I have seen those eyes before?

she continues vehemently:

Title: Don’t you think I know what such looks mean!

She covers her face, bursts out in scornful laughter, exits the
frame.

226
 F

STUDY. CUT TO: ASKOT.

study, a fireplace. Marja walks up to it, flings herself

against its edge, thumps her brow against her clenched hands
in a fit of rage. She pulls at her hair, has some kind of break­
down. She turns to Askot again, clutches at her heart and
cries:

"1 hie: Well then, come and take me. Do what you will with me.

She composes herself and with a heated gesture toward Askot,

she adds:

Title: You were absolutely right: I was and am your property!

Exhausted, she sits down on a nearby chair and buries her

face in her hands. Askot is nearly defeated by the severity of
this. He walks up to her, shakes his head, as if wanting to say:
“So absurd, so unnecessary.” He suddenly kneels down by the
chair and begins speaking to her, gently and persuasively. He
says:
ft
K
Title: What would have happened to you here in Constantinople?
f>
All alone and with no protection.

She looks up and he continues:

Title: Ask vour fellow countrywomen on the streets what has

become of them!

Marja sits up, whispers to herself: “Yes, of course, such a fate

would have been dreadful” (perhaps a fantasy shot). In that
moment, Marja turns her head; she hears something.

227
 study door. The three late-night revelers are suddenly in
the doorway and wave: “Oh, Madame, we have finally found
you!”

study. Askot leaps up from his kneeling position.

study doorway. The men suspect they have interrupted

an uncomfortable moment. They laugh, slap their knees, and
beckon to Marja: “Come, now. Don’t worry about him!”

study. Marja standing next to Askot. She abruptly puts her

arm around his shoulder, forces out a merry laugh, waves to
the men at the door with a nearly reckless glee, and cries:

Title: No, 1 have promised this dance to him.

study, long shot. The three revelers approach Marja and

virtually try dragging her with them. She clings to Askot.
The three men give up, head back to the door, wave and yell.
Marja waves back with a provocative, flirtatious farewell.
They leave.

study, close-up of Askot, pale and shaking in Marjas

embrace. Her hand slowly lets go of her grip. Her arms slip
from Askot s shoulders and release their embrace of Askot s
body.

study, close-up of Marjas face. She looks at him, then

turns her face away.

study, marja and askot. Askot raises both hands to her

and says in a low voice:

228
Title: Never again shall such provocative looks taint your face.

Askot nods in agreement with his own thoughts and adds,

leaning over Marja:

Title: And I know to wait...

study, close-up of Askot, who continues:

Title: Wait till that day when you willingly open your heart to mej

He stretches out his arms in a gesture that signals: look, I in

sacrificing myself for you.

study. Marja. She looks at him with a long and searching

glance, then shakes her head, closes her eyes, and whispers:

Title: I can t go on any longer. It will be as you wish.

Askot reflects for a moment and says:

Title: I shall prepare your room at once. Wait here in the meantime.

He repeats: “Wait here. Do you understand? It is for the best.

Marja nods mechanically: “I understand.” Askot Bey exits the
frame.

study. Marja, absolutely still.

STUDY. doorway. Askot, looks at her one final time.

CUT TO : the Russian restaurant. The general in his bear COS­

tume. Fjodor is present, speaking with the general, but the
229
 hostess orders the general to resume playing. Fjodor hurries
out.

street. Fjodor on his way to the hotel and:

street. Karinski in full uniform, in the thick of the crowd.

hotel corridor. Carey enters the hallway fatigued and

dejected, stops at a door, takes his key out and goes inside.

carey’s hotel room with a balcony overlooking the

Golden Horn. Inside, Carey flings off his coat, heads to the
open balcony door, pauses and stares ahead.

CUT TO: STAMBUL WITH ILLUMINATED MOSQUES, reflect­

ing against the Golden Horn.

carey’s balcony. Carey walks onto his balcony. He looks

around, stares out at the Golden Horn.

an elegant hotel room. Marja is standing with her back

to the camera, leaning against a chair. Behind her, turned to
the camera, is a hotel waiter in Montenegrin costume who
bows to her and opens the door behind Marja. Marja turns
around, her face is now visible. A sudden sense of dread over­
comes her. With terror-filled eyes, she looks behind her.

CUT TO: DOORS TO THE ROOM’S EXIT.

To the side: cut to: another door.
In front of that: cut to: balcony door.

marja’s hotel room. She suddenly runs out of the frame.

230
 marja’s hotel room. Marja clashes out to the balcony.

marja’s balcony. At the railing. Marja leans over, looks

ahead:

cut to: Dark treetops, farther off is water.

caret’s balcony. He flicks his cigarette, sees something.

marja’s balcony. Marja straightens herself up, turns slowly

toward the room, exits the frame.

Carey’s balcony. Carey is standing in the same place, star­

ing in amazement.

marja’s room. Marja flings herself on the sofa, buries her

face in her hands, she is imprisoned.

carry’s balcony. Carey goes back inside his room, looks

around, rings a bell.

marja’s room. Marja lifts her head up, listens, closes her
eyes again.

carey’s room. The Montenegrin waiter is present, bows.

Carey points and asks something to which the waiter replies:

Title: That is Countess Galevitsch’s room. She has just arrived.

carey’s room, carey asks one more question, mechani­

cally sticks his hand in his pocket, pulls out a bill.

231
 carey’s room, the waiter’s hand, into which Carey
places a bill.

carey’s room, the waiter. He smiles, almost impercep­

tibly, then he says:

Title: Yes, Sir, Askot Bey is staying in the rooms next door.

carey’s room. Carey’s motionless face; he nods: “Thank

you, you may leave!”

carey’s room, long shot. The waiter leaves, Carey

pauses.

reception desk: Karinski enters. He is in full uniform. He

is standing straight and firm, and a fire is burning in his eyes.
He approaches the receptionist and asks:

Title: Is Askot Bey in his room?

receptionist, looks toward the board.

cut to: the reception board.

reception desk. Karinski, mechanically looks at the board.

reception board. Askot Bey’s name with three room

numbers : 17, 18, 19, but now there is an additional card for
rooms 20 and 21 with the name: Countess Galevitsch.

reception desk, karinsky leans in and reads.

reception desk. Karinski and the receptionist, who

232
 repeats: “Yes, Sir, he is here” Karinski suddenly looks up at
him and says: “Of course, I shall go see him”, and exits the
frame. The reception watches him leave.

hotel corridor. Karinski sneaks into the hallway, reading

the numbers on the doors.

PAN SHOT OF THE NUMBERS 17, l8, 19.

hotel corridor. Karinski, standing, shifts his glance away

for a while, takes a step.

CLOSE-UP OF DOOR NUMBERS 20 and 21.

hotel corridor. Karinski rushes up to the door.

marja’s hotel room. Marja leaps up with a gasp.

corridor. Karinski bangs on the door and twists the door

handle.

marja’s room. Marja cries: “Who is it?”

hotel corridor. Karinski, shaking the door handle.

marja’s room. The doors are shaking violently, and the

door handle is being turned rapidly; then a hand enters the
shot, turns a key, the door swings open.

marja’s room. Marja retreats into the room. Karinski

enters the frame after her. Marja looks at him and mutters:

Title: You are ill. Why didn’t you stay home?

233
 marja’sroom. She finishes her words and tu
him. He fumbles after her arm; rns away from
; he mutters to her with a burn-
ing fever in his eyes:

Title: I will not leave without ^ou. I wont let von gr>l

Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski contin
ues
to plead to her—fervently, incessantly.

HOTEL CORRIDOR. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame

and disappear into Askots room.

marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

askot’s hotel room. Askot is slightly confused, asks

Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and
abruptly says, almost defiantly: ___
Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’
private collection)
Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing
us from continuing our negotiations. frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and
wonders what has happened.
Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his
shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed askot’s study, askot enters through a door, looks around.
in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.
He unseals it and reads it. cut to: askot’s parlor. Fjodor is still sitting and smok-
mg.
askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face as he
reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s study. Askot enters the room, contemplates for a
moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed
askot’s hotel room. Fjodor watching him. by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up
to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the
askot’s hotel room, long shot.
Askot asks Fjodor to key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts
wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the writing.
 marja’sroom. She finishes her words and tu
him. He fumbles after her arm; rns away from
; he mutters to her with a burn-
ing fever in his eyes:

Title: I will not leave without ^ou. I wont let von gr>l

Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski contin
ues
to plead to her—fervently, incessantly.

HOTEL CORRIDOR. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame

and disappear into Askots room.

marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

askot’s hotel room. Askot is slightly confused, asks

Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and
abruptly says, almost defiantly: ___
Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’
private collection)
Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing
us from continuing our negotiations. frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and
wonders what has happened.
Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his
shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed askot’s study, askot enters through a door, looks around.
in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.
He unseals it and reads it. cut to: askot’s parlor. Fjodor is still sitting and smok-
mg.
askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face as he
reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s study. Askot enters the room, contemplates for a
moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed
askot’s hotel room. Fjodor watching him. by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up
to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the
askot’s hotel room, long shot.
Askot asks Fjodor to key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts
wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the writing.
 marja’s room. She finishes her words and tu
him. He fumbles after he r arm; rns away from
he mutters to her with a burn-
ing fever in his eyes:

Tltle: Lwill not leave without vou. I won’t ]et vril1 ^

Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!”

Karinski continues
to plead to her—fervently, incessantly.

HOTEL corridor. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame

and disappear into Askot’s room.

marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

ASKOT’s hotel room. Askot is slightly confused, asks

Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and
abruptly says, almost defiantly:
Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius
private collection)
Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing
us from continuing our negotiations. frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and
wonders what has happened.
Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his
shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed askot’s study, askot enters through a door, looks around.
in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.”
He unseals it and reads it. cut to: askot’s parlor. Fjodor is still sitting and smok-
ing.
askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face as he
reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s study. Askot enters the room, contemplates for a
moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed
askot’s hotel room. Fjodor watching him. by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up
to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the
askot’s hotel room, long shot. Askot asks Fjodor to key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts
wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits t e writing.

I
 marja’s room. She finishes her words and tu
him. He fumbles after he r arm; rns away from
he mutters to her with a burn-
ing fever in his eyes:

Tltle: Lwill not leave without vou. I won’t ]et vril1 ^

Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!”

Karinski continues
to plead to her—fervently, incessantly.

HOTEL corridor. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame

and disappear into Askot’s room.

marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

ASKOT’s hotel room. Askot is slightly confused, asks

Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and
abruptly says, almost defiantly:
Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius
private collection)
Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing
us from continuing our negotiations. frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and
wonders what has happened.
Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his
shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed askot’s study, askot enters through a door, looks around.
in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.”
He unseals it and reads it. cut to: askot’s parlor. Fjodor is still sitting and smok-
ing.
askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face as he
reads the letter. He looks up. askot’s study. Askot enters the room, contemplates for a
moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed
askot’s hotel room. Fjodor watching him. by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up
to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the
askot’s hotel room, long shot. Askot asks Fjodor to key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts
wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits t e writing.

I
 marja’s room. She finishes her words and turns away from
him. He fumbles after her arm; he mutters to her with a burn­
ing fever in his eyes:

Title: I will not leave without you. 1 won’t let you go!

Marja shakes her head: “You are too late!” Karinski continues
to plead to her—fervently, incessantly.

hotel corridor. Askot Bey and Fjodor enter the frame

and disappear into Askot’s room.

marja’s hotel room: karinsky and marja.

askot’s hotel room. Askot is slightly confused, asks

Fjodor to sit down. Fjodor is standing in front of Askot and
abruptly says, almost defiantly:

Title: I need to hear it from you.. .whether something is preventing

us from continuing our negotiations.

Askot glares at him, gently replies, “No, not at all”, shrugs his
shoulders, and as he turns his head, he notices a letter placed
in his room. He picks it up with curiosity: “If you don’t mind.”
He unseals it and reads it.

askot’s hotel room, close-up of askot’s face as he

reads the letter. He looks up.

askot’s hotel room. Fjodor watching him.

askot’s hotel room, long shot. Askot asks Fjodor to

wait for a moment. He looks inside a smaller room, exits the

234
 ,v< y \j y
Em »

m ■V
few*
-■■■■■

Celebration in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (Tlic Hylten-Cavallius’

private collection)
frame. Fjodor watches him leave, pulls out a cigarette, and
wonders what has happened.

askot’s study, askot enters through a door, looks around.

cut to: askot’s parlor. Fjodor is still sitting and smok­

ing.

askot’s study. Askot enters the room, contemplates for a

moment, pulls out a key, looks at a door partially concealed
by a piece of drapery, suddenly changes his mind, walks up
to a small table, and turns on the lamp. He suddenly sets the
key and the letter down on the table. He takes out a pen, starts
writing.

235
 marja’s hotel room. Marja still has her back turned to
Karinski. Karinski, who has been pleading humbly up till
now, suddenly flares up and bursts out: “You are lovers, aren’t
you? Tell me!” He grabs her; she cries:

Title: Even if we were, was it not you who drove me into his arms?

Karinski raises hands with disapproval, but she continues,

pointing at his chest, his uniform, and says:

Title: And won’t you be the one to enjoy the fruits of my labor?

askot’s room. Askot, writing, pauses, picks up the note

and reads.

CLOSE-UP OF THE NOTE.

Title: Madame, might you be prepared to leave Constantinople this

afternoon with your humble servant? Askot Bey.

askot’s room, askot. He deliberates, pulls out an enve­

lope.

marja’s hotel room. Marja and Karinski. Marja has fin­

ished her rant. She somewhat collapses and says with a sneer:

Title: Alexander, now you see what exile has done to us.

marja’s hotel room. Karinski. He composes himself,

exclaims:

Title: Nevertheless, you will not stay here with him.

236
and he suddenly pulls out a revolver.

marja’s hotel room, cut to: a frightened Marja, who

lets out a shrill scream.

askot’s study. Askot jumps at the sound of Marja’s cry,

anxiously grabs the key, dashes out of the frame.

marja’s hotel room, cut to: Karinski, who has already

grabbed Marja in his arms and is now holding up the revolver.

askot’s study. A door, which has been covered by dra­

pery until now. Askot has hastily pulled away the curtain,
unlocks the door. Marja and Karinski are seen through the
doorway. Askot pauses in the doorway for a moment.

marja’s hotel room, marja and karinsky. Karinski

looks up, waves the revolver in the air, and armed, he exits
the frame.

carey’s hotel room. Carey at his desk in a kind of sunken

helplessness. He hears something, leaps up, listens intently,
considers making a call but stops himself. He rushes onto the
balcony, looks out into the night.

cut to: Fireworks against the night sky.

askot’s parlor. Fjodor jumps up and is seen running

through room after room to get to Marja.

marja’s hotel room, cut to: Fjodor entering the room

through the still opened door. He stares ahead.

237
 marja’s hotel room, cut to: askot bey, lying on the
floor.

marja’s hotel room, cut to: Fjodor, who shifts his

glance.

marja’s hotel room. Karinski and Marja. Karinski hold­

ing a revolver, raised to defend himself from his next foe.
Marja with her arms wrapped around Karinski.

marja’s hotel room, long shot. Fjodor rushes to Askot,

kneels down, and inspects him.

marja’s hotel room, close-up of Fjodor, who lifts his

head and mechanically says: “He is dead.”

marja’s hotel room. Marja and Karinski. Marja lets out

a half-chocked scream, clings closer to Karinski, who looks
at her. He suddenly breaks free and exits the frame. Marja is
left with her arms dangling and a frozen expression.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodor has stood up, Karinski enters

the frame, places a hand over his heart and says: “It was I who
shot him. I had to do it. Don’t you see? Regardless of what
happens to me after.” Karinski continues speaking.

carey’s hotel room. Carey is seen on his balcony, looking

at Marja’s balcony in vain. Suddenly, he runs into his room,
hesitates for a second, then leaves the room.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodor and Karinski. Karinski is

speaking more fervently:

238
Htle: Do what you will with me, Fiodor Petrovitsch.

He points to Askot: “He had to die!” Then he turns his head

suddenly and points to Marja, “But she...”

marja’s hotel room, cut to: Marja, shrunk up in a

chair.

marja’s hotel room, close-up of Fjodor looking at

Marja.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodor and Karinski, who repeats:

Title: She had to be saved.

He grabs Fjodor, looks him in the eye and continues:

Title: For you are mistaken. Fiodor. all women are not the same!”

marja’s hotel room, marja.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodorlooks at Karinski, breaks free,

looks around, turns to a table or a bed, grabs onto a curtain
or a piece of cloth and exits the frame.

marja’s hotel room, cut to: Askot on the floor. A pair

of hands enter the frame holding a piece of drapery or cloth,
which is slung over Askot.

marja’s hotel room, long shot. Karinski has uninten­

tionally neared Marja, Fjodor turns to them, looks at them.

239
 marja’s hotel room. Marja and Karinski. Almost
awkwardly, Karinski holds out is hand, fumbles after Marja’s
hand.

close-up of two hands that come together.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodor looks at them alternately.

marja’s hotel room. Karinski’s face. With humble ten­

derness, he looks at Marja. Shot dissolves to:

marja’s hotel room. Marja’s head has fallen to the side.

She closes her eyes.

marja’s hotel room. A shudder flushes over Fjodor’s face,

utterly tense and hard, it vanishes in the same moment. He
suddenly looks ten years older. He goes up to Karinski and
Marja. He stretches out his hands, as if to hug Karinski. He
suddenly motions something to them, points, walks in front
of them and out of the frame.

hotel corridor, cut to: Carey, who is looking around,

takes a few steps, doesn’t know if he should proceed.

marja’s hotel room, door from the inside. Fjodor

cracks the door open, sees that the coast is clear, tells Karinski:
“Leave now, both of you”, continues:

Title: Take Maria Ivanovna to Stambul...someplace safe.

Karinski and Marja enter the frame. Fjodor says: “Hurry!”,

and shoves them halfway out. Startled, Karinski asks: “And
you?” Fjodor replies:

240
Title: HI stay here a while.

Karinski protests: “Come with us”, but Fjodor shakes his

head: “You two first” In the same moment, he sees some­
thing, points and says “Be careful!” Karinski and Marja turn
their heads. Fjodor hastily pulls Karinski s grip away from the
door, closes it, and clings tightly to the door handle again.

hotel corridor. Carey is visible, walking forward. Fie

suddenly stops. Eyes wide open.

hotel corridor. Marja’s door from the outside. Karinski

and Marja. They are trying to restrain themselves.

marja’s room. Fjodor listening at the door.

hotel corridor. Marja and Karinski. Carey enters the

shot, feigns nonchalance, and bows:

Title: You deserted me at 10 O’clock, Countess.

Marja stares at him, does not understand. Carey continues:

Title: Did you completely forget about our moonlight tour of the
Bosphorus?

He goes on.

marja’s hotel room. Fjodor’s face, tensely waiting in sus­

pense.

hotel corridor. Karinski and Marja. Carey is seen from

behind, speaking with Marja: “and I reminded you plenty of

241

Title:
Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius pri­
vate collection)
times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm,
and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says:
Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer?
Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who
returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.”
He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the
contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they
exit the frame.
askot’s study. The door to Marjas room is still open. The
light suddenly goes out in Marja’s room. Fjodor is visible in
the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then
242
he doses the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down,
and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp.
askot’s study, close-up of Fjodor by the lamp, which he
is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that
Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marjas
room. He picks it up and reads it.
close-up of the letter. The government will not per-
mit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora.
The government is aware of everything and will be forced to
intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late.
No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined.
askot’s study. Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­
untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing.
Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand,
and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askot’s parlor.
Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askots
door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to
white.
the bosphorus. extreme long shot of an illuminated
steam yacht. Fade in to:
long shot of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone
at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance
to the side.
yacht, another part of the deck. Marja is sitting
motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting
and looking at her.

Title:
Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius pri­
vate collection)
times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm,
and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says:
Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer?
Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who
returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.”
He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the
contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they
exit the frame.
askot’s study. The door to Marjas room is still open. The
light suddenly goes out in Marja’s room. Fjodor is visible in
the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then
242
he doses the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down,
and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp.
askot’s study, close-up of Fjodor by the lamp, which he
is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that
Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marjas
room. He picks it up and reads it.
close-up of the letter. The government will not per-
mit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora.
The government is aware of everything and will be forced to
intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late.
No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined.
askot’s study. Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­
untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing.
Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand,
and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askot’s parlor.
Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askots
door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to
white.
the bosphorus. extreme long shot of an illuminated
steam yacht. Fade in to:
long shot of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone
at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance
to the side.
yacht, another part of the deck. Marja is sitting
motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting
and looking at her.
Street in Constantinople. Photo: Julius Jaenzon. (The Hylten-Cavallius’ pri­
vate collection)

times!” Karinski suddenly puts his hand up to Careys arm,

and Carey looks at him inquisitively. Karinski says:

Title: Is it too late to allow the Countess to accept your offer?

Carey turns his head to the side, looks at Karinski, who

returns his glance. Carey says calmly: “No, of course not.”
He looks at Marja, then back at Karinski and says: “On the
contrary, let us be off!” He motions them to follow him; they
exit the frame.

askot’s study. The door to Marja s room is still open. The

light suddenly goes out in Marjas room. Fjodor is visible in
the doorway, looks around, shuddering against his will; then

242
 he closes the door behind him, locks it, pulls the drape down,
and goes to the desk to turn off the lamp.

askot’s study, close-up ofFjodorby the lamp, which he

is about to turn off. In the same moment, he sees the letter that
Askot left behind when he heard the commotion in Marja’s
room. He picks it up and reads it.

Title: close-up of the letter. The government will not per­

mit a single Russian emigrant officer to depart for Angora.
The government is aware of everything and will be forced to
intervene at the first opportunity. Leave before it is too late.
No one can help these refugees. If you stay, you will be ruined.

askot’s study. Fjodor has read the letter, he looks invol­

untarily at the closed door as if to say: “This was your doing.
Lie there as you are!” He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hand,
and turns off the lamp. Now, the only light is in Askots parlor.
Fjodor is seen walking through the parlor; he stops at Askot’s
door, turns off the light, it is pitch-black. The scene fades to
white.

the bosphorus. extreme long shot of an illuminated

steam yacht. Fade in to:

long shot of the yacht’s deck and Karinski, standing alone

at the railing with his back to the camera. He shifts his glance
to the side.

YACHT. ANOTHER PART OF THE DECK. Marja is Sitting

motionless in her chair, looks out at the sea; Carey is sitting
and looking at her.

243
 deck. KARINSKY. He is observing them both; he looks again
at the sea, turns around abruptly, and picks up a pair of binoc­
ulars from a small table by the railing. He holds the binoculars
up to his eyes.

HOTEL. EXTREME LONG SHOT THROUGH THE BINOCU­

LARS. Illuminated and
darkened windows. The frame zooms in to hold six to seven
windows, which are dark. Suddenly, lights are turned on, one
room after the other.

deck. Karinski pulls the binoculars from his eyes, lays them
in front of him, pauses motionless for a moment, looks at
Carey and Marja, exits the frame.

deck. Carey and Marja. Karinski enters the shot, next to

Carey, who looks up at him. Karinski says, as he points to the
head of the boat.

Title: This yacht is incredibly fast, is it not?

Carey replies: “Of course, it can do so and so many knots.”

Karinski continues:

Title: So it should only take a few hours to let Maria Ivanovna see
the Dardanelles...

Carey peers at Karinski, who goes on:

Title: where you, as a diplomat, surely have unrestricted passage.

deck. Carey, who is looking intensely at Karinski, suddenly

rises and exits the frame.

244
 deck. Karinski. Carey enters the frame, looks Karinski in the
eye:

Title: If I were to make the journey now, would you like to come
along?

Karinski looks to the side.

deck. Marja is rising from her chair. She overhears the dis­
cussion and listens intently with fear and suspense.

deck. Karinski and Carey. Karinski shakes his head, and

replies:

Title: I would be most grateful if you would immediately let me

disembark at the Galata Bridge. Now, at once.

deck, marja, has stood up, her whole body is trembling.

deck. Carey and Karinski, who concludes:

Title: But I think that Maria Ivanovna ought to stay aboard and
attempt the voyage.

In the same moment, Marja bursts into the frame, grabs onto
Karinski, and releases an outpouring of words: “No, I can t
let you go back. Sir John, you have to help us. He has killed
Askot Bey. He is lying dead in my hotel room.” She sinks to
i
her knees and disappears from the frame.

deck, close-up of Careys face.

245
 deck. Marja on the deck. She raises her arm, points to Karin-
ski and cries:

Title: He did it to protect me!

deck. Careys face. He nods; he understands everything. He

contemplates intensely, and looks back at her.

deck, close-up of Marja on her knees with a tear-stained

face and pleading hands. The scene fades to white.

elegant club. Modern Turkish style. Carey and another

Englishman with his whiskey. An oriental-dressed servant
places soda on the table. Carey motions him to leave. Carey
watches him leave and resumes his tale:

Title: Yes, 1 knew who Askot Bey was, and it happened just as I
expected.

Carey shrugs his shoulders and continues:

Title: Everyone wisely kept silent: the occupying powers, the Turk­
ish authorities—who deep down were satisfied with the out­
come—the Russian officers, the hotel staff.

club. Carey and his companion, who adds:

Title: And yourself!

club. Carey nods and looks ahead. His companion says

something. Carey flings his arms up:

246
Title: Guilty, not guilty! They were poor exiles. Isn’t that punish­
ment enough?

The companion leans forward, places his hand on Careys arm

and says:

Title: Carey, old man, you must have been blinded bv love.

Carey turns his head, looks at his friend as though the thought
had never occurred to him, and says:

Title: So it was good that she left.

and he empties his glass. The scene fades to white.

thedeckof aship. Marja and Karinski by the rail. Marjas

hand is on the edge of the rail. Karinski slowly reaches for it
and whispers something to her. She lets him and turns her
head.

ship deck. Marja. She says:

Title: Do not ask anything more of me, Alexander.

and she makes a fatigued gesture and continues:

Title: My heart no longer has the strength to love.

ship deck, karinsky and marja. Karinski lets go of her

hand and whispers timidly:

Title: Where will you go now?

247
 ship deck, marja from the side. She smiles at him and
answers:

Title: I am a wanderer.

She points to the sea.

Title: The world is my home.

She turns again, facing the sea. The shot fades.

THE END

A: A v
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From Stillers notebook: ’’Camera, weather, departure fr. Berlin, Arrival

no film”. (Swedish Film Institute)

248
 AT any films never make it to tlic screen.
! ^_viLRarely, however, has an unfinished
work caused more longing and regret as in
the case of A Talefrom Constantinople, a 1924
feature involving the young Greta Garbo,
acclaimed Swedish director Mauritz Stiller
and a Berlin-based producer named David
Schratter.
Although never realised, this film has kept
haunting the imagination of historians,
biographers and novelists over the years,
thanks to its exotic setting bridging East
and West, political turmoil, quarrels over
intellectual property rights, an elusive lead­
ing lady and spectacular failure. For the first
time, this book presents the recently redis­
covered shooting script of the film, along­
side a detailed examination of its textual
genesis and production history.

Bo Florin is Associate Professor of Cinema ■

a
Studies at Stockholm University.

Patrick Vonderau is Professor of Media Stud­

Spr ;--.v
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ies at the University of Halle-Wittenberg. %
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Greta Garbo and Mauritz Stiller.

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