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1817
ARTES
SCIENTIA VERITAS
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THE AESTHETIC
STEPHANE MALL.
By
HASYE COOPERMAN, PH.C

THE KOFFERN PRE
NEW YORK CITY

Copyright, 1933 by
HASYE COOPERMAN

PRINTED
IN
U.S. A
I. INTRODUCTION
I INTRODUCTION
II TEXTS
III WAGNERISM
IV IGITUR
CONTENTS
VI CONCLUSION
·
V UN COUP DE DÉS
VII BIBLIOGRAPHY
Page
5
37
87
119
203
251
259
FOREWORD
TH
HIS book is part of a laborious study in the
problem of aesthetics (especially that of the
nineteenth century) which I had undertaken some six
years ago. Stéphane Mallarmé had for a long time
been to me a poet prince of France, and it was with
enthusiasm that I at first conceived his poetry to have
been influenced by Wagnerism; thereupon I under-
took the task of searching and explaining.
I wish to express my deep gratitude to Mr. N. B.
Minkoff whose significant and inspiring discussions.
of poetry and isms urged me onward.
May I acknowledge my earnest gratitude to Pro-
fessor L. Cons who so patiently read and discussed
the manuscript with me. Especially do I wish to
thank Professor G. L. Van Roosbroeck for his ever
encouraging criticism of my work, for his attitude
toward scholars and scholarship, and for his untiring
willingness to foster research.
The citations contained in this volume and rendered
into English are largely my own translations, unless
otherwise specified.
B..
206
IT
T is the purpose of this study to elucidate Stéphane Mallarmé's
"obscurity," or rather, what has been termed his obscur
ity,-by tracing the evolution of his text and of his images.
Stéphane Mallarmé's strangely remote symbols and metaphors
will be seen to be the result of the synthesizing, as well as of the
distorting (by means of a dramatic accentuation) of ultra-per-
sonal images. These had their origin in an emotionalization, coin-
ciding with seemingly objective theories, or with what the poet
believed to have been "unemotional reactions."
Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry was highly individual: lyric on
the one hand, and objective (in the sense of discipline) on the
other. This was due to a sensitiveness and a sensibility which
he possessed to a very great degree, and which called forth the
most ethereal, as well as the sharpest image-contours; it was due
also to a sort of emotional discipline, which was generally well-
sustained and rigorous. Everything existed for him as an incen-
tive for poetry; life itself, he believed, was there to be observed
as a potential content for the book. For was not art (and thus
the book) the highest instance?
The type of poetry which Mallarmé created is indeterminate,
unless its symbols and its images are interpreted and their origin
exposed; otherwise they seem merely to display undefined bíts
---733-
KO LA
of introspection. And the poems must be interpreted, bearing
in mind the especial significance and the implications which
certain words and images had for this poet. There were definite
associations and mental images which pursued Stéphane Mallarmé
with obstinacy; here faintly and in the background (when they
were remembered without being recalled under stress of neuro-
sis), and here again sharply and in the foreground (when they
incited a dramatically vivified moment). Or, sometimes, they
were even distorted when associations interfered. The dimmer
the associations grew, the vaguer the mental images, and the
more allusive; nuances thus created were varied and ethereal,
like gossamer tissues. Thus every image familiar to Stéphane
Mallarmé evolved from the faint to the fainter, until it was
almost unrecognizable, yet ever present, so that when the moment
came, the image was aroused, accentuated, dramatized and made
vivid once again.
In order to trace the evolution of images, it is necessary to
study the aesthetic approach, the ideology and the attitudes
which were Stéphane Mallarmé's, and to discover what influence
they had upon the form and the content of his poetry. This
study seems to establish that it was chiefly amid Wagnerian
principles that Stéphane Mallarmé dwelt; that these principles
exercised a definite influence upon the form in which he chose
to mold his verse. It was Wagner who spoke of the Perfect
Audience, and Stéphane Mallarmé wrote for the Ideal Reader.
Wagner conceived the art of the future to be an amalgam of all
the arts; that to him was the ideal form of art. To Mallarmé
poetry was imagistic music, alluding to the forms of all the other
arts. Stéphane Mallarmé understood Wagner's principles not
as the latter had set them down, but vaguely and abstractly; he
idealized them.
The technique and the content of this poet are also important,
-836-..-
if his obscurity is to be explained; these clarify the methods and
the approach (in actual practise.) of the poet. It is for this
reason that texts and their variations will be studied. They will
also serve to show how certain phrases and symbols were evolved
one from the other, becoming for the most part more and more
allusive in their evolution.
Hamlet, as the Romantics conceived him, the hero of doubt
and of madness, who was haunted by his fate, was a symbol
which pursued Stéphane Mallarmé throughout his works. Wher-
ever Hamlet was not mentioned, decorations, hangings, rooms,
situations were described which alluded to this hero. As these
associations dwelt with the poet, they grew more and more per-
sonal in their interpretations and their intentions; they became
vaguer and less perceptively Hamletian, so that their origin was
blurred, and they seemed to be the poet's very own experiences,
almost to have had their source with him.
I. Stéphane Mallarmé and Symbolism
Stéphane Mallarmé is still being referred to as "un artiste
incomplet, inférieur, qui n'est arrivé à s'exprimer";¹ yet it
cannot be denied that he was one of the innovators of a school
of poetry (symbolism), and that his influence is keenly to be
felt in the French poetry of today. That Stéphane Mallarmé's
poetry was and still is enjoyed only by the few may be attributed
to the obscure manner in which this poet expressed himself;
and this obscurity is due to the form and the content of his
symbolism, as also to the extraordinary mood in which he ob-
served his objects, himself included. The symbols were created
for an imaginative and ideal reader, who was to make every
ethereal thread tangible, real and full of meaning. Dr. Bonniot
1
Lanson, G., Histoire de la littérature francaise, Paris, 1903.
--6---
speaks of Stéphane Mallarmé's "need of evading each tangible
reality and of unifying his poetic vision," and again of the need
"of always effacing those images that are too concrete." Adolphe
Retté describes Mallarmé's poetry in this manner: "Anxious to
perpetuate the darkness in which his egoism was passionately
delighting, preoccupied with liberating as little as possible from
his thought, he accumulates allusions, nuances that are almost
imperceptible, and analogies that are rather doubtful." These
allusions, nuances and analogies are the symbols which are the
greater part and the obscure portion of his verse. And symbols
have their origin with the ultra-personal; although they have
become rarefied, objectified and impersonal.
2
The earliest of Stéphane Mallarmé's published poems are of
the Parnassian school; one feels behind this poetry the motto
of "art for art's sake," the strict attention paid to form, and the
desire of the author to reach a universal or an objective art, an
art that would seek its own expression. There was a plasticity
molded in this Parnassian verse. But Parnassianism did not prove
to be satisfying; there was need for a synthesis of the highly
individual with the universal; and that was the symbol. This
form gave the poet occasion to be personal, objective, and full of
nuances and allusions, such as might be the tendencies of his
every whim. Symbolism, where one object becomes so fused
with the properties of the other that their contours melt one
into the other, was a form that permitted greater artistic
refinement on the part of the poet, and deeper creative insight
on the part of the reader. It was a poet's poetry, and the reader
was to have been a poet. Symbolism had the power of suggest-
1
1
Bonniot, Dr. E., Le Genèse poétique de Mallarmé d'après ses correc-
tions, in La Revue de France, April 15, 1929.
2 Retté, Adolphe, Aspects III, le Décadent, Stéphane Mallarmé, in La
Plume, May 1-30, 1896.
-10-
ing; it did not state any realities, subjective or objective (accord-
ing to Rémy de Gourmont, symbolism is to poetry what idealism
is to philosophy); it was founded upon exaggerated memories,
registered and expressed by the artist, who did not portray
them, but implied them. In this wise, the symbols had a uni-
versal aspect, while the originalities and the prismatic refrac-
tions were individual.
M. Thibaudet attributes Mallarmé's duo-manner (personal and
impersonal) to the poet's taste for analogies. These are the foun-
dations for his symbols; and these, the critic maintains, followed
in two directions: "one, which was a dead-lock of difficult and
serious thought, a tendency toward this mystical exegesis where
so many rare concepts were fruitlessly wasted in Alexandrians;
the other, fantasy, a smile held back as often as it was
sketched, that gesture of a dancer, which could be found with
him, all that which, perhaps, his lively intelligence found for
him in the ballet, which served as an interminable pretext for
his dreams." This mysticism, this gesture and fantasy, even the
ballet movement suggested in Stéphane Mallarmé's verse, were
due to the especial form which this poet employed: the symbol.
And when the symbol became vaguer, or when it involved mental
images of an ultra-personal nature, it necessitated a stretch of
the imagination and a strain on the part of the reader. Thus
it was that Stéphane Mallarmé was termed obscure.
II. The Unusual, the Involved, and the Indefinite
Stéphane Mallarmé possessed an artistic refinement which, as
the years went by, grew more and more complex; rarer and rarer.
Fr. Rauhut, speaking of two periods into which he believes this
poet's work to fall, states that "To his predilection toward the
1
¹ Thibaudet, Albert, La Poésie de Stéphane Mallarmé, Paris, 1912.
P. 64.
-{11}.-
1
unusual word, a predilection toward the indefinite word is
added in the second period." ¹ Stéphane Mallarmé wished not one
of his allusions to be particular or concrete; he heaped abstractions
upon abstractions, not because he wished to be vague and mean-
ingless, but because he wished his symbols and images to be
all-inclusive, absorbing and suggesting every possible allusion,
bringing with them a definite revelation and a real meaning;
like a crystal, which is brilliant, refractive, full of many pris-
matic colors and exposing many surfaces. Dr. Bonniot, upon
discussing some of Stéphane Mallarmé's poems, says: "Here he
effects a retreat toward a greater abstraction, rejecting each
image that is marked by too great a particularization.'
2
Rémy de Gourmont, the great critic of the symbolists, explains
this tendency toward what has been termed "the indefinite,"
by explaining that Stéphane Mallarmé dealt with uncommon
connotations, or to use the former's terms, the poet dissociated
commonalities; and having been given a rarer meaning, these
ceased to be accessible or popular, and were fathomable only by
the few, who were open-minded and prepared. Rémy de Gour-
mont believed that "it was only, then, the pure and unalloyed
superiority of his intelligence that was derided on the pretext
that he was obscure . . . Clear minds are commonly those that
see but one thing at a time. When the brain is rich in sensations
and ideas, there is a constant eddy, and the smooth surface is
troubled at the moment of spouting.' This critic believed that
in order to delve deeper into the meaning of things and to break
the barriers set up by clichés and banalities, Stéphane Mallarmé
had to exert an intellectual strain forceful enough to penetrate
") 3
1
¹ Rauhut, Fr., Das Romantische und Musikalische in der Lyrik S.
Mallarmés, Marbury, a. d. Lahn, 1926.
* Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, op. cit.
8
Gourmont, Rémy de, La Culture des Idées, Stéphane Mallarmé et
l'Ideé de Décadence, Societé Mercure de France, 1900.
- 123.-
into the subconscious and to interpret it. Rémy de Gourmont
gloried in the so-called "obscurities" created by Stéphane
Mallarmé, stating that "The subconscious state is the state of
automatic cerebration in full freedom, while the intelligence,
which is activity, pursues its course at the extreme limit of
consciousness, a little below it and beyond its reach." And the
reader who could not fathom beyond the habitual and the ac-
cepted would find it indeed difficult! The harmony of the two
states of consciousness brings about, according to the great sym-
bolist critic, "a poetry full of doubts, of shifting shades and
ambiguous perfumes.”
1
Adolphe Retté explains that Stéphane Mallarmé purposed to be
indefinite in order to escape from the vulgar, or in order to
manifest an outstanding difference in his features. "His horror
of that which is not to his especial gratification has gone so far
that he has finished by inventing a personal syntax, and by
accepting obsolete words, with a view toward baffling the vulgar,
and the vulgar, according to him, includes a priori everyone." "
Another critic explains Stéphane Mallarmé's art: "His soul is
vainly trying to know herself among the elusive reflections of
fleeting images," or "His poems are marred by the obscurity
produced by the crowding of ornaments and their analogies so
new and so far-fetched that, ruled by the natural association of
ideas, we miss the connecting link between feeling and image.
Several of his poems remain indeed ambiguous and unsolved
riddles,—delicate traceries of words without any significance.
Yet, in most cases the veil of dazzling haze fades away at a
careful perusal, and the meaning appears." This critic does not
grasp that these delicate traceries and these so-termed ornaments
1
2
Retté, Adolphe, op. cit.
2.
2 Olivero, F., Stéphane Mallarmé, in Poet Lore, Boston, 1917, VIII,
v. 28.
- 13 13...-
were employed not decoratively, but because they added a mean-
ing to Stéphane Mallarmé's verse, each bit and each surface
bringing to light its own body of rays. The secret lies in the
careful study, the perusal; a casual reading will serve to lull the
significance of Stéphane Mallarmé's allusions, for there are no
usual descriptions, nor banally associated suggestions; this verse
is a result of analysis, study and vision. In the same essay the
above critic opines that the poet "strove to capture the most
elusive impressions, to isolate and to intensify them." This writer
terms the poet's utmost intellectual tension the result of conscious-
ness, which is none other than Rémy de Gourmont's principle
of dissociation. F. Olivero says: “ . . . his exquisite strains suc-
ceed in evoking those faint, delicate images which hover on the
verge of consciousness."
''
Stéphane Mallarmé srove to exclude from his poetry that which
was incidental and haphazard; not every gesture or symbol pro-
duced by the subconscious was (to him) pertinent material for
the definite goal of the poet; and since it was registered with
the subconscious (and thus came forth with a lack of artistic
refinement and without intellectual zeal), it was necessarily sub-
jective, and to be subjective meant to Stéphane Mallarmé to be
indefinite, for the particular could not be universally applicable.
What others termed definite Stéphane Mallarmé called particular
and indefinite: thus his obscurity.
III. Stéphane Mallarmé and Poetic Discipline
Critics have disagreed as to the artistic mastery possessed by
this poet; some have declared him the perfect master, while
others have accused him of being powerless. That depended,
of course, on the prism through which they were viewing his
verse: if his "obscurity" was fathomable for them, because they
were prepared to interpret it, he was a disciplined master; on
--14--
the other hand, if the critics were assured of the superficiality
of these gossamer threads, this poet was dubbed feeble and
obscure. A study of this poet's verse, however, will explain that
what was apparently without meaning was a crystal born of
a supersaturated scheme of ingredients.
M. Thibaudet, whose work stresses the obscurities of Stéphane
Mallarmé's verse, underlines one tendency: the vagueness of the
descriptions, the imperceptibility of the images, and the unusual
(and often the meaningless) value given to words. But this critic
does not seem to stress the origin and the mode of the poet's
creations; Stéphane Mallarmé did not wish to describe; he wished
to suggest, or to allude, and left it for the reader to create the
descriptions, if they were at all necessary for him. M. Thibaudet
accepts Stéphane Mallarmé's verse as if the poet had followed
a line of least effort toward mastering his materials. His “ob-
scurity," this critic believes, "comes from the fact that in his
phrase the pattern of logic is replaced by the lively play of
images, transposed and juxtaposed, owing partly to his poetic
impotence, set up and developed to a maximum, and to his
acuity of feelings. And since for the impressionist there is no
one lumination, but there exist illumined tones, Mallarmé's senti-
ment leads him to see that there does not exist a light, but lights;
and here and there these are to be found with him, as if by
experience of interferences; here the obscurity is caused by lights
that encounter each other." Yet Stéphane Mallarmé strove to
attain these "lights" by an acuity of logic, not of sentiments; or
by an intuitive power realized as the supreme synthesis of logic
and imaginative capacities. This poet thought that he was reach-
ing a "light," and not the interference of the many. For him his
goal was direct and defined.
1
1
¹ Thibaudet, Albert, La Poésie de Stéphane Mallarmé, Paris, 1912.
--> 15}3...
The technique and the aesthetic of this poet disclose to what
extent he knew the artifice of poetry, although he was essen-
tially spontaneous and his original material subjective. His will
forced him to analyze and to combine to an extent where the
natural and the ordinary could not enter; and in this wise, seeking
the essence of human reactions and will, he created that well-
known obscurity which, upon first examination, seems so fresh,
so unplanned, and to some, so helpless.
It is the opinion of Paul Valéry, who has pronounced Stéphane
Mallarmé his master, that this obscurity was arrived at step by
step, by an evolution of contemplation, by measuring and prob-
ing. In order to arrive at the summit, therefore, one must be
prepared to follow the path of these steps. Paul Valéry states:
"He substituted an artificial conception, minutely reasoned, and
reached through a specific kind of analysis, for a naive desire,
an instinctive or traditional activity, that is, for an activity hardly
reflected upon." It is interesting that where the first critic
stresses the play of the imagination and of sentiments, the latter
stresses the play of logic.
By the untraditional and the un-naive Paul Valéry understands
the same as Rémy de Gourmont means, when he speaks of dis-
sociated commonalities. Paul Valéry admires his master's work
as "a work profoundly meditated, the most voluntary, yet the
most conscious that has ever been, unbridling a quantity of
reflections." M. Valéry sums up the content of Stéphane
Mallarmé's poetry and the latter's attitude toward art, when he
says that to Mallarmé beauty is that which creates despair. To
M. Thibaudet this despair is synonymous with lack of mastery
and a helplessness in form; whereas to M. Valéry it means a
1
1
Valéry, Paul, Lettre sur Mallarmé, in preface to Mallarmé by Jean
Royère, Paris, 1927.
op. cit.
-->{{16}?...
profundity of content, mated to a perfection in form, inner as
well as outer.
IV. Stéphane Mallarmé and the Absolute
The technique of this poet was novel, because it was founded
upon themes that were at once ultra-personal and "objective;"
once a poem had been penned upon the white sheet, it was
viewed as if it were remote from the author, even from the
feelings that had created this work of art. The expression was
criticized by its own author as if it might have come from some
other spirit. This critical attitude brought scruples and despair
into the mind of the poet, only because he remained unsatisfied
until his form was perfection: thus the passionate will to attain
the absolute, the zenith of perfection. Albert Thibaudet explains:
"He surrendered to his cult of the absolute in the form of scru-
ples. As a poet he strove to express the fleeting, as a prose-writer
to note, as the Chinese cap of Villiers, silence, reticence, irony,-
as an impressionist he mistrusts the instantaneous impression,
thinking about the eternity of the Book; as a logician he mis-
trusts logic which distorts the impression, continuing it
One might sum up M. Thibaudet's attitude in these words:
"The truth is that impotence and scruples are two points of view
regarding the same state, the two sides, and if one wishes, the
twofold sense of his 'rarity."
1
1
"
Stéphane Mallarmé's cult of the absolute understood that the
expression had to attain a form of extension to be universal,
eternal and all-inclusive; that this expression had also to be
intensive, to fathom and present the one and eternal truth, the
kernel of the all. The undertaking was all but simple and facile:
thus despair and scruple; for had he not to discipline himself
Thibaudet, Albert, La Poésie de Stéphane Mallarmé, Paris, 1912, p. 17.
--17---
to perceive the subtle thread or the microscopic seed? Had he
not to study the many routes before ascertaining the one?
A study of the aesthetic and the technique of Stéphane
Mallarmé may serve as the introduction to all his work: prose
and poetry; for he looked upon his creations as steps toward
the absolute, toward which he was groping. The nuances of his
language-associations and the vagueness of his images are better
interpreted after one has discovered the technique of this poet
and learnt his æsthetics. Both of them were aimed at the abso-
lute: the objective and the perfected truth. M. Camille Mauclair
seeks to prove that Mallarmé's aesthetics, where the dream is the
perpetual content of art, touches upon "the division of the world
into two systems, one representative and symbolic, called material,
the other ideological, called spiritual. To him every phenomenon
was the symbol of a truth; and truth was to be found only in
permanency, that is, in the realm of abstractions, inaccessible to
the continual flux of matter. To the exterior world, entirely
made up of effects, there corresponded a world where causes
were symmetrically arranged; and the virtual center of these
causes was the Divinity." This critic seems best to explain the
poet's views upon poetry and the arts. Further on he interprets
Stéphane Mallarmé's manner of minutely weighing and measur
ing each expression (for the perfect was en route to the absolute)
"And, the musicality of expressions was to be weighed as much
as their meaning. The sonority of the word and the meaning
of the word being inseparable, as the origin of language teaches,
Mallarmé found it to be true that the tonalities of syllables had
been shaded and varied as much as possible by the choice of
vowels." This touches upon the studies which the poet made
1
Mauclair, Camille, Souvenirs sur Mallarmé et son Oeuvre. Nouvelle
Revue, Paris, 1898, v. 8.
1
-183.-
in connection with his poetic creations: language sounds in tech-
nique, and an allusion to the other arts in aesthetic.
A study of this poet's æsthetic helps to clarify the point of
view that Mallarmé never represented one fixed unit; that he
was always fluctuating; and that he evolved from one mode of
writing to another, in accordance with the theories that were
gripping him and according to the intensities of their abstraction,
from a more or less simple form (though this poet was never
too simple to begin with; his was a mind that witnessed more
than one image, or more than one emotion or thought at the
moment of reaction; and therefore it was able to formulate a
selective attitude) to a form that was so complicated that it
seemed to be comprehended and enjoyed only by the élite, those
who had followed so closely that they alone were able to unravel
the intricacies as they evolved.
Having reached the height of abstractions, which have the
power to include much and to suggest the most essential as well
as the most distant, Stéphane Mallarmé came to his cult of the
absolute. The absolute included that which was a conscious
product of art,-disciplined, excluding the casual, and aimed
at affixing truths. The absolute was space, ready to be gov-
erned, to be defined and to be related to objects; potential
limits, potential spheres, whose identities are gained and lost,
in accordance with their relation to the moment. To some this
roaming space was a void, for was it not indefinite and indeter-
minate? But it must be remembered that although it was not
ready defined, it was directed, and its relativeness suggested;
1 the reader was left to do was to extend the directions, or to
mply the relations, and all would seem determined.
•

M. Thibaudet would have it that "his poetry, like a flame of
alcohol, seemed to burn in the void without any visible matter,
-->{19 }?….-
1
and this absence of matter, before it became the principle of his
aesthetic, came upon the poet and tormented him with being his
infirmity." It is difficult to accept Stéphane Mallarmé's grop-
ings as an infirmity, for was not this will to reach, the every-
where and the nowhere self-inflicted?
But M. Valéry explains the intricacies at which Stéphane
Mallarmé arrived by opining that to assail the complications and
the obscurities is to assail the poet's originality, and he says that:
"We say that an author is original when we are ignorant regard-
ing the hidden changes, which have transformed his expressions;
we mean that the dependence of that which creates to that which
has been created is exceedingly complex and irregular.
> 2
Arthur Symons, the English critic, perhaps best answers the
problem: "He was always divided between an absolute aim at
the absolute, that is, the unattainable, and a too logical disdain
for the compromise by which, after all, literature is literature. . .
The word, chosen as he chooses it, is for him a liberating princi-
ple, by which the spirit is extracted from matter; it takes form,
perhaps assumes immortality." In his efforts to produce a
conscious and a higher form of art the poet went "from sensa-
tion to rhythm, and then a thought entered trying to find its own
consciousness." Logic, or thoughts, was the disciplining factor,
which limited the sensations, or established their relative values;
while the rhythm was the vehicle for these sensations.
Coupled with Stéphane Mallarmé's aim at the absolute is his
interest in the indefinite, or suggestibility. That which the critics
have called his reticence or his silence is born of his belief that
a mere gesture, an image, a word, or a sound, can transform the
meaning of an idea, transpose this idea, affix its importance else-
3
¹ Thibaudet, A., op cit., p. 14.
2
3
Valéry, Paul, op. cit.
Symons, Arthur, The Symbolist Movement in Literature, London, 1900.
-2013.-
where. And that is why Stéphane Mallarmé wished his poetry to
recall music; for does not music allude to more than it actually
describes? M. Poizat shows how the aesthetic of attaining the
absolute expression through high reason and musicality influenced
the technique of this poet: "When Mallarmé had suppressed all
those words which he judged not to be indispensable, when after
long and minute scrutiny he had found their place among others,
when he had fitted the body of a phrase into the following phrase,
by means of superposition very much like that of palimpsests, then
he was able to say to himself that this was truly a text. He ex-
pected that one would at least take as much pains to read him as
he had taken to write. And since he saw in this art of writing
the supreme manifestation of intelligence, he referred everything
to it.'
1
Although Stéphane Mallarmé was the father of French symbol-
ism, that school of poetry did not satisfy his needs; for he re-
sorted to abstract imagism, later on. The evolution of Stéphane
Mallarmé's technique and aesthetics describes his search of the
absolute; for he was forever haunted by the feeling of not being
able to express his notions (nuances of sentiment and of logic)
in powerful and exact terms; he was forever groping toward that
perfect form which would express the essence of spiritual life,
just as the kernel is related to physical life. His mind presented
a conflict of objective and universal expression versus an expres-
sion that was more immediate and more natural to him, however
super-refined; it was ultra-personal. It was, then, the personal
that he wished to deny himself, substituting for it the absolute.
This was often interpreted as "mysticism," and just as often, as
"irony"; for, explained the critics, "the fundamental contradic-
tion of the Ideal and the Real brings the poet, who is thinking
1
Poizat, A., Mallarmé, Revue de Paris, 1918, année 25, tome 4, pp. 171-
202.
-{21}-
them, to a two-fold paroxysm of mysticism and irony, and the
distance of these two poles, which are found in the Mallarméan
world, is such that it seems almost impossible for one and the
same man to pass, as he does, from a sort of aesthetic delirium
to a skeptic feeling involving human realities." It was through
discipline and conscious objectivity (observation and analysis)
that this poet could reach this delirium and this irony; both being
to Stéphane Mallarmé en route to the absolute.
Stéphane Mallarmé did have a holy regard for poetry; it was
for this reason that he wished to be keen and precise. "The work
of art which my master conceived was essentially the poet's
communication with God, with the intermediation of other men.
In a sense this statement is true, if God is defined as the concept
of the eternal, the true and the absolute. In a sense Stéphane
Mallarmé was a mystic poet; his search of the absolute
summoned a strenuous exertion of the mind to overpower its
own inspirations, its sentiments and personal prejudices.
But the term "mystic" has grown to be a sentimental and vague
concept, rather than a precise definition; the incomprehensible
has been termed mystic, as well as the superlatively simple and
childlike. It was Stéphane Mallarmé's cult of a conscious art and
an aim at the absolute that won for him the title of mystic;
whatever was obscure, because of the indolence and the lack of
preparation on the part of the reader, was rejected or was hailed
as "mysticism".
Dr. Bonniot refers to the "religious mysticism" in Stéphane
Mallarmé's early poetry, but that was due to the rhythm rathery
than to content or inner form. Yet A. Thibaudet speaks of his
mysticism only when he refers to the later poems, and not to the
earlier. Here mysticism is not interpreted as the spirit of the
1
2
Royère, Jean, Mallarmé, Paris, 1927.
Mauclair, Camille, Mallarmé, op. cit., La Nouvelle Revue.
22.
cadence in the poem, but rather as the strenuous efforts of the
poet; mysticism has here become synonymous with the mysteri-
ous, with obscurity. At about the time when Stéphane Mallarmé
was writing Igitur, his symbols and images had become rarer
and less tangible; in their effort to interpret these, the critics
(among them M. Thibaudet and Dr. Bonniot) stamped the poet
with the title of mystic, mystic standing for the unapproachable,
the inaccessible. It was not difficult to name the poet so, for he
was making every artistic effort to penetrate and discover the
great beyond; he spoke of the néant and of the absolute. It
might, however, have been less difficult, although more apparent,
to attribute these poetic steps to a super-sensitive imagination
and to an abstract and rarified emotionalism,—an emotionalism
filtered by the strain of the intellect. It would, furthermore,
have become necesary for the critics to fathom these vague
symbols, and to discover and explain their origin. It was less
difficult to view this poet as a static unit and to deny the
progress. There is little that borders upon the strictly religious,
or the ethical in this poet; his poetry might involve ecstacy,
subdued and objectified (as in Un Coup de Dés), but it always
presupposes an abstract system of aesthetic (which has been
called "mysticism").
The abstract aesthetic and the technique of this artist serve
to explain the obscurity of his writings. The unusual associations
and the employment of rare terms were the result of a will to
reach the absolute; by divesting all words, phrases and impres-
sions of their commonplace associations (which to him were.
casual associations and not premeditated) and by imposing
fresh and more perfect (absolute) meanings upon newly-com-
bined words and phrases the poet achieved his goal. "If this
obscurity is in effect contiguous with his thought," says Albert
Thibaudet, "it is, however, upon the obscurity of his words, of his
-23-
O
expression, that he founded his well-known doctrine; according
to which poetry, this power of suggestion, does not at all impose
that which is outward and completed, upon the reader, but bears
a sense that is born of his personal collaboration, of his sym-
pathetic sensibility, and of an effort which continues that of
the poet."¹ And this perfect reader, in sympathy with the poet,
is to resemble the latter so closely, as to be able to follow every
subtle trend of the imagination, how delicate the trend may be.
This will to reach the absolute also affected the "freshness"
of Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry. Yet one cannot maintain that
there is always a lack of spontaneity in Mallarmé's poetry, or in
his prose. It is often an artificial spontaneity,—a freshness that
is simulated, that seems to be present, because the ground-work
is fresh, or because the author has attained such skill that he
can produce the effect of inspiration, notwithstanding. Explain-
ing that a poem was the artist's manner of depicting a state of
crisis, this poet knew how to render his poems as if these were
"the evocation of a passing ecstasy, arrested in mid-flight."
And does not Stéphane Mallarmé's hero, Igitur, do so? Does
this hero not stop, at the point of fervor and abysmal dangers,
at the moment of greatest inspiration, to reflect and to measure?
And does not the captain (or the poet) in Un Coup de Dés
stand amid the flames on the burning deck, coolly deliberating,
realizing the impending catastrophe, yet wishing to view it
objectively, and not emotionally? This poet, as Igitur too, is the
hero or art! The hero of doubt and despair, overcome by fate
and the vanity of things, yet deliberating and meditating even
unto the end, the end which he knows must come. Mallarmé
was "a poet, much as Pascal was a man, always guarding the
freshness and the anguish of his state, without permitting him-
1
¹ Thibaudet, A., op. cit., p. 79.
-243-
self to consider it as a habit, or to exploit it as a routine of
He searched for the perfect, knowing the vanity of
his endeavor, yet never giving up. He willed to approach it, if
action.'
he could not reach it.
" 1
V. The Evolution of Stéphane Mallarmé's Aesthetic and Tech-
nique.
Having discussed the poetry of Stéphane Mallarmé as a fixed
unit, and having examined his art as if this poet had employed
the cliché, or should have set before him the same and general
standard of art and literature of his time, M. Thibaudet's study
does not carefully explain the individuality of Stéphane
Mallarmé's manner of writing. Stéphane Mallarmé might have
been an impressionist, or even a particular kind of impression-
ist (a symbolist), but to classify does not suggest all. How did
the poet arrive at symbolism, and later imagism, and in what
mode did the particular school of art manifest itself with him?
It is necessary to study in what manner the poet's abstract
aesthetic influenced his writing, and to determine how the poet
arrived at this aesthetic; it is also important to understand how
the technique of this artist evolved, and how it governed
Stéphane Mallarmé's prose and poetry. Technique and aesthetic
do not come upon the author all at once; they evolve, are modi-
fied and transformed; they may exert a forceful influence upon
the author's creative abilities, or they may not. M. Thibaudet
rather regards Mallarmé's theories and opinions as if they were
remote from his writings; somewhere they did meet, although
not always, and not always apparently. It is important to dis-
cover their evolution and influence as reflected in the poetry.
Dr. Bonniot believes that the earliest of Stéphane Mallarmé's
writings reveal a religious mysticism; that from this religious
fervor he arrived at the doctrine of pure poetry (art for art's
-25-
sake); and that his last words were influenced by a pragmatism
which was due to the poet's interest in the theatre. It seems,
however, difficult to agree that Stéphane Mallarmé ever was
pragmatic; not when one witnesses his almost ethereal abstrac-
tions. One would rather say that that which Dr. Bonniot terms
"religious mysticsm" was part of Stéphane Mallarmé's aesthetic
to the end, only that it was modified in accordance with the
new ideas, as they became part of the poet. Mallarmé's poetry
is neither always religious, nor pure, nor pragmatic; it is always
the combination of two extremes: lyric elements, which are
emotional and personal; and objective elements, which are
contemplated and impersonal.
M. Rauhut, touching upon the changes manifested in Stéphane
Mallarmé's poetic mood, speaks of two periods,—one in which
the poet was attracted to the unusual, and the other, when the
unusual merged into the indefinite. The divisions here are toc
general, for the former, the unusual, refers to Stéphane Mal-
larmé's personal predilection, which, it seems, never left him;
and the latter, the indefinite, refers to the quality of Stéphane
Mallarmé's later creations. How these two poles met, or how
they came about, is not explained by the critic.
M. Thibaudet believes that fundamentally Mallarmé's poetic
visions were construed upon analogies; that these impressions
were turned into symbols; and that, last, they were rarefied into
what M. Thibaudet terms "the power of suggestion,” far-off,
indefinite images.
These critics vaguely allude to the problem; yet they do not
view the effect of the evolution of ideas upon the changes of
inner poetic form, nor do they appreciate the significance.
Stéphane Mallarmé is perhaps the best example of a modern
poet possessing abstract qualities, evolving from the personal to
the unusual, from the ornamentally and decoratively unusual, to
-263....
the rare, from the rare to the indefinite, from the indefinite to
the personal, and from the personal to the abstract (which is
the ultra-personal). This poet accepted the ideas of the Par-
nassian school, of the symbolists and the impressionists, and
last, of the imagists. With imagism he combined the Wagnerian
principles concerning the art of the future: a synthetic creation
having a dramatic content (despair) and suggesting the theatre,
he dance, music, painting, sculpture, architecture, and poetry.
Stéphane Mallarmé's later poetry thus disentangled, becomes
hardly difficult to follow if one keeps steadily in mind • point
of vantage, that is, the æsthetic, plus the natural dilections
of the poet toward the abstract and allusive.
For the most part Stéphane Mallarmé's ideology did not
stubbornly influence the quality and the inner forms of his poetry;
it modified these; for the inner poetic tendencies could not live
up to pragmatic and rationalized creeds. He abstracted them, and
often the results were even diverse to his desires. It is queer
that the more pragmatic his ideas, the more abstract was his
poetry; for he divested the pragmatic notions of everything but
their abstractions. Thus Igitur, a sketch for a drama, and meant
for the general public, involves Wagnerian principles in their
farthest connotations; and Un Coup de Dés is a dramatic episode
founded upon the ballet-movement (also Wagnerian) and sug-
gesting all the other arts. Neither of these has been deciphered
by many, although Stéphane Mallarmé thought them destined for
"Das Volk", in accordance with Wagnerian theory.

The evolution of the form and the content of Stéphane
Mallarmé's poetry may be traced by examining typical texts
that contain successive changes. Of many of his poems and
prose-pieces there exist several versions, and these help to
establish the evolution of the poet's technique and to explain
his reasons for the changes involved; or better, to imagine the
-..->{27}3-.-
circumstances. They reveal an exact and indefatigable mind
that aimed to persevere until it would become absolutely satis-
fied with that which it had created, as the expression of its
spiritual experiences. And the precision that he imagined to be
possible and which he wished to attain, was a barrier, self-
inflicted; this impasse battled with the vagueness of his duo-
nature.

Stéphane Mallarmé was always experimenting with syno
mous values; some of the texts that have been changed sh
to what degree this poet sought to introduce rare words, to
place the more common words, to create fresh combination
and to be master of nuances that would be startling an
unusual. He was a stylist in every sense of the word: his pros
which exhibits a tonality and a rhythm that is distinct from any
that are employed by modern authors (he seems to be influenced
by the prose of the seventeenth century') was carefully corrected
and molded; some of the re-editions show that entire paragraphs
have been either inserted or discarded; that the punctuation,
which was of utmost importance to him, both in the prose and
the poetry (for he regarded punctuation as the clue to the
inner rhythm and the inner logic of the work), was examined
again and again, and in some places radically altered. Capital
letters, too, had a peculiar significance for him; a term in
extension was almost always capitalized. There are indications
that he changed the first letter of a word several times, from
small to capital, from capital to small, then back again, and
so on. Such changes were made even in Un Coup de Dés, the
poem which represents Stéphane Mallarmé's final attainment in
form.
Speaking of the changes made in Le Sonneur, a poem which
Francis Jammes, in Leçons Poétiques, compares Mallarmé to Racine;
his prose is also in a good measure somewhat in the style of M. Scève.
1.
•
+ C + x=
283-
first appeared in 1862, and which Dr. Bonniot believes to be
the first to be published by the author, the former explains the
changes of capital letters in the version of 1887 by inferring
that wherever the poet wished to stress the grandeur of the
word or the loftiness of its significance, he capitalized it. It
seems, however, not to hold true generally; capital letters were
employed in the earlier poems merely as one would employ
underlining for the sake of calling especial attention to the word;
in these earlier poems they appear not to have been used with too
great a care, somewhat with impulsive gusto, wherever there was
no better means for drawing attention. In the later poems the
capital letters at the beginnings of words were employed to
denote that this term was a symbol, somewhat as if the concept
were a personification; in both instances the effect was dramatic,
in the former more actual, while in the latter more abstract.
The most interesting fact about the corrected versions of his
work is that there seem to be more corrections of the prose than
of the poetry. There are few exceptions, but in general once a
poem was published, it was not altered much. This seems to
indicate that from the very beginning a poem was not considered
complete and ready for print until it had perfectly satisfied
him; prose, however, sometimes left his pen before it had been
perfected. This accounts also for the fact that some of Stéphane
Mallarmé's prose is easier and less styled than other. This poet
seems not to have had as high a regard for prose as an art, as
he had for poetry, especially lyric poetry (whatever changes
there were in the content or the form of his poetry, he remained
always lyric). Prose was to Stéphane Mallarmé a part of the
spoken language, and the spoken language, he believed, has been
unduly merged with the written. The written language belonged
to the realm of cerebral attainments, and these were acts of
religious faith. Lyric poetry was the perfect form of the written
-293-
• Con
language. And, explains Camille Mauclair, "Lyric poetry is the
only poetry worthy of the name, and every other poetry, descrip-
tive, narrative or oratoric, is a deviation from the prose."
" 1
VI. The Aesthetic of Stéphane Mallarmé.
The æsthetic of Stéphane Mallarmé was not an innovation;
at its last it was an adaptation of the doctrines of Richard
Wagner,-ideas borrowed and assimilated.
And his æsthetic creed is significant as the background for
his writings. Once one has discovered the æsthetic of Stéphane
Mallarmé and compared it with his work, it becomes apparent
that this poet met with conflicts which he sought to clarify in
his poetry and in his prose; which may account for the incon-
gruities, and for some of the obscure combinations of images
and thoughts. He himself was not very creative in the realm
of abstract thinking; his ideas were not pure ideas; they were
images arranged in the form of analogies. Nor did he group
his thoughts, for he let them flow into one another, stopping at
words, rather than at ideas, for even sounds could mislead him,
so sensitive was his imagination. Stéphane Mallarmé's thoughts
were emotional expressions, well-remembered and well-expressed;
-notions that were felt by him rather than thought, were pro-
jected through symbolism (word-picture, rather than strict
logic), and not through any strict scheme of philosophy.
His will to create an objective art, and his transcendental
philosophy were not new; poets had written about these much
before his time. What was important is that despite this in-
tellectual æsthetic which he accepted, Stéphane Mallarmé cre-
ated an art which often contradicted the principles he had set
himself, for not always could he discipline his imagination to
follow the rules which he had conceived. There were senti-
Mauclair, Camille, L'esthétique de Stéphane Mallarmé, La Grande
Revue, October-December, 1898.
-303-
(1
mentalities which he wished to fulfill, but which he was obliged
to oppose, because of his natural predilections; a good example
of that instance is that he considered, in accordance with Wag-
nerian theory, that it was the duty of art to create for the general
public (Das Volk), but Stéphane Mallarmé himself could never
attain such a creation, for his work was a super-refinement, an
individual art which was allusive, and whose intricacies had to
be interpreted through careful study and patient deliberation.
And will as he might, it was difficult to overcome the natural
clination toward elusiveness. "With no other author has
inciation become so marked a tendency toward the absolute
with this author: the detainer of so many radiant secrets is
an aristocrat who is disdainful of the general public; on the
trary, he proclaims the collaboration of this public as essential
the full realization of the poet, whose personal I vanishes
hen it has reached a state of transsubstantiation from man to
ro: thus the poet really becomes (a fate which ordinarily he
ght only aspire to)-the priest of Art." The general public,
en, was nothing that was immediate and tangible for Stéphane
allarmé; it was conceived as the other pole of expression, the
tant essence, very far removed, for whom the book was
epared.

1
But Mallarmé filled the gap by believing that certain of the
rts (as the dance) were especially suited to the comprehension
f the public, while others (music, for example) needed more
preparation and were therefore suited to the élite, who had re-
ceived the necessary foundation and could undertake the fathom-
ing of suggestions, however remote or involved. *
2
1
Royère, Jean, op. cit.
He did undertake to write and organize a dramatic sketch for a drama
meant for Das Volk; but the allusions and the images are far from
facile. This sketch is the Igitur.
-->{{ 31 } 3....
M. Thibaudet seems to believe that this poet carefully outlined
the arts in accordance with their difficulty to be understood, and
that he definitely conceived the degrees of the obscurity of his
own art by establishing degrees. "To write for everyone, to
write for the few, to write for but one person, to write only for
oneself, finally to pass into a full, pure, and perfect silence,-
those are the many degrees of the hierarchy which Mallarmé
conceived, at least in the actual inter-regnum." This classi-
fication seems to be too exact and too temperate, for Mallarmé
was more wont to go to extremes; from the ultra-personal, th
concise and the subjective, to the very impersonal, the abstra
and the objective; from the indefinite to the dramatic an
definite.
1

M. Camille Mauclair sums up Mallarmé's æsthetics when h
states: "Conceiving verse to be an expression of thought, inter
mediary between the spoken language and music, Mallarmé con
sidered this form of expression as the fundamental of the syn-
thetic work of art. That is, according to him, there were but
two valid arts: the book and the theatre; the one for the
general public, the other comprising the impressions of the pub
lic, and bringing these back to the individual. Verse was to
him the expression common to these two orders."
The idea of the theatre impressed itself greatly upon Stéphane
Mallarmé; with it he linked the dance (which gave movement
to dramatic elocution, as also the arts of painting, architecture,
and sculpture. Music and poetry were the supreme expressions
that were to add both silence and inner meaning to the
drama. Stéphane Mallarmé loved to believe that all the world
was a stage, meant to be expressed in the book, and by the book
1
7) 2
Thibaudet, A., op. cit., p. 47.
* Mauclair, Camille, L'esthétique de S. Mallarmé, La Grande Revue,
November, 1898.
-{32-
he meant verse (for prose was the spoken language, and not the
written). The book recorded that which the stage produced,
or could produce, but the book was less actual, more metaphoric,
and in a more concentrated form. And to Stéphane Mallarmé
verse was a concentrated drama, revealing the doubts and the
fate of the hero, against his background, depicted with scenic
allusions (thus architecure, painting and sculpture) and in-
cluding the gesture of language (or the silence of words hardly
uttered) and of movement (the dance). The music (rhythm
plus tonality) of verse was all-important, for music had the
great power of suggesting, and therefore permitted a greater
degree of concentration, thus deep silence.
Stéphane Mallarmé was the impractical Wagner, or the un-
pragmatic Wagner. Wagnerism was seen in his poetry to a great
degree; but it was indirect and transformed. "Carry the theories
of Mallarmé to a practical conclusion, multiply his powers in a
direct ratio, and you have Wagner. It is his failure not to be
Wagner," writes Arthur Symons."
It is the aim of this study to examine the theories of Richard
Wagner, and to study their relation to Stéphane Mallarmé and
his work; to ascertain to what degree Stéphane Mallarmé assimi-
lated Wagner's principles with his own, and how these influ-
enced the form of his poetry, that is, his æsthetic.
VII. Igitur and Un Coup de Dés
Igitur is a dramatic sketch meant to describe the spiritual
progress of a poet who turns into the hero of a pre-ordained
fate.
To Stéphane Mallarmé the perfect dramatic hero was Shakes-
peare's Hamlet: he was the personification of doubt, fate, despair,
1 Symons, A., The Symbolist Movement in Literature, London, 1900.
-{33}-
inner discipline, rich imaginative faculties, and the will to attain
the absolute by overcoming that which was pre-ordained. Hamlet
was ever in the mind of this poet, and thus it is that many of
the scenes remained fixed in his imagination, and were vivified
by the poet, so much so that Igitur is Hamlet, and the scenes
of the tragedy are abstractions of or allusions to Hamlet's sur-
roundings.
This work was the result of the poet's study of the theatre,
the art devoted to the general public. But it was turned into a
description of how the personal ego can, through the will of the
imagination, become an impersonal entity. It almost remains
to believe that Mallarmé considered this hero as someone tran-
scended from the public, abstracting the powers and visions of
the public.
The problem seems to come down to this: that in this gradual
removal of the personal entity, the hero was forced to penetrate
so carefully into the depths of his imaginative faculties that,
dwelling upon his subjective nature, he nurtured it; as a result,
when the time to remove this subjective ego had come, and the
hero wanted to resolve himself into an objective entity, this sub-
jective nature had become too deeply imbedded to be uprooted.
Thus the hero cannot sever himself from his race, his past, and
from his fate. Thus his own method has served as a barrier,-
the gap between the doctrines of the will and the import of
natural faculties has not be filled.
AL
Although Stéphane Mallarmé was a sentimental thinker, there
were intellectual paths that he willed to pursue, such as poetic
discipline and the conscious mastery of the form and content of
his art; and these endeavors required spiritual strength of the
highest order. But he was easily carried away by the sway of a
phrase or the sonority of a word (which helped to increase the
vagueness of his language, for he was willing to combine far-
fetched associations, and thus sacrifice the content, for the sake
-3473.-
of sonority). On the other hand, he often overcame these easy
persuasions. Dr. Bonniot, in disclosing the text of Igitur,
tells us that some of the scraps upon which Mallarmé wrote
his corrections contain a study of certain words which have been
placed together not because they are synonymous, but because
their sounds are alike, and the poet was considering their tone
values.
The sketch of Igitur also describes these incidents and casual-
ties which have their effect upon the hero, much as the incidental
tone values and remote memories affect the poet. Suddenly,
Igitur watches the flickering light and remembers something:
his race. And here he forgets what it is he is pursuing, for he
grows sentimental of a sudden, thinking of the past; and then
he checks himself, and sums up the past in a single word: race.
Suddenly the hangings quiver, and he thinks of something far-
removed, not directly concerned with his problem. But each
time he checks himself, and goes on with the task.
Un Coup de Dés organizes the solemnity of the rhythm in
Igitur, and gives it movement (ballet-rhythm). The content of
this poem, Stéphane Mallarmé's greatest experiment, is a repe-
tition of Igitur, although the images are become more stri-
king, more vivid, and some have even been added.
Merged with Mallarmé's Wagnerian principles regarding the
arts and poetry, and with his natural tendencies toward far-
off visions, one finds the poet's latest work to contain allusions
upon allusions; even images are not drawn; they are suggested.
The form and the content of each of the other arts are alluded
to, especially music, for this art has the power of suggesting
the form of the other arts; and the content, in images as little
concrete as possible. Due to Stéphane Mallarmé's eternal conflict
of content and form, the lines which he allowed his readers to
trace (symbolism) became more and more vague; they were
-35...
knitted to connotations which in turn had become highly per-
sonal; his symbolism became imagism, where each object seemed
to lose its very form, to become part of a dramatic, moving,
and ethereal vision, ethereal because the music contained was
faint and distant, though never quite too vague.
The best example of this last step in search of the perfect
and absolute form, where all the arts have become blended in
the one art, music, and this music has been sustained and organ-
ized through words, is his poem entitled Un Coup de Dés Jamais
'Abolira Un Hasard. This work is highly formulative; each
term alludes to several images or thoughts that have been pre-
viously expressed in other verse. In Igitur each term has a
rare connotation and is associated with an experience that is
peculiarly personal, and which has been highly exaggerated in
the mind of this super-sensitive poet.
Igitur and Un Coup de Dés are studied here, not as typical of
Stéphane Mallarmé's prose or poetry; they have been chosen
only because they serve best to explain the æsthetic principles
of this poet, and are examples of how Stéphane Mallarmé put
his doctrines to practise. They also reveal how the most obscure
and formulative of his poetry came to be born, and by what
process this poet turned narrative prose (although in the strict-
est sense Igitur is not prose) into poetry that was both lyric and
epic in nature. They are the epic of a hero that is abstract,
fighting his destiny, a fate not particular to him, but to all who
can understand his dreams and his strife; he is the abstract Hamlet.
Igitur and Un Coup de Dés are virtually the key to the writ-
ings and to the æsthetic creed of this poet. Igitur tells the tale of
the hero who creates art, a sort of Zarathustra; Un Coup de Dés
repeats the tale, but after the technique of Mallarmé this new
version has become both more allusive and more accentuated,
because it is intensified, dramatized.
-367-
II. TEXTS
This study has not undertaken to elucidate the life of
Stéphane Mallarmé. It has seemed wiser to isolate the abstract
problem of the æsthetic of this poet from all other inquiries,
the better to concentrate upon matters that are far more theoretic
than biographic. The problem here seems to be the poetry of
Stéphane Mallarmé, rather than the poet himself. It seems,
furthermore, that there was very little connection between this
poet's life and his poetry, for he was given to abstract all mate-
rials, and life to him was only a point of vantage for poetry.
His biography is perhaps introductory to his work, for he was
surrounded by facts, poets and isms that were of significance
to him; but the facts of his life are not closely interwoven with
his writings, as they might have been with some other poet,
whose aim might not have been the search of a new mode of
expression, or a key to æsthetics. Stéphane Mallarmé wished to
be objective, far-removed even from himself.
Stéphane Mallarmé was born in Paris on March 18, 1842.
His life seems to have been simple and to have passed not with
much event. He was a professor of English at a French college.
His letters and the memories of his friends are witness to the fact
that Stéphane Mallarmé considered his life as a teacher burden-
some and even boresome. The chief complaint was with the
-*{39 -
drudgery of the routine and the time he might otherwise have
given to writing. Apparently, too, his colleagues at work did
not appreciate his poetic gifts, so that he must not have found
himself in his true milieu. He passed part of the year in Paris,
and the rest of the year in a cottage close by the Seine. Of great
significance were his Tuesday evening receptions, where were
gathered the younger poets and artists of his day. An inter-
change of opinions regarding literature, the arts, philosophy,
was voiced at these evenings, and it was with great respect that
the guests listened to the opinions of Stéphane Mallarmé. M. Paul
Valéry, Dr. Bonniot, H. de Regnier, René Ghil, Camille Mau-
clair, Jean Royère, Camille Soula, Villiers de l'Isle Adam, were
among those who frequented the Tuesday evening receptions,
where the discussions were rich, spiritual and varied. Here
Stéphane Mallarmé explained his attitudes, and here many works
were first brought to light.
L'Après Midi d'un Faune was written in 1876; this and several
others of his verse and prose were known to a few people long
before the publication of Poésies Complètes in 1887, printed in
a facsimile of the poet's elegant handwriting. Pages followed
in 1891, and in 1893 Vers et Prose was published.
Stéphane Mallarmé died at Valvins, Fontainebleau, on Septem-
ber 9, 1898. To his last moments he was working on the
poem, in search of a new æsthetic: Un Coup de Dés. He had
devoted himself toward this abstract and obscure search from
the very start of his literary career (the MSS of Igitur testify
that he had begun to write these notes at about the years 1867
to 1870) and never abandoned it.
And perhaps because of this Stéphane Mallarmé was not an
abundant writer; for it taught him to be too critical of his own
-403-
capacities, and much time was spent in revising and reconsider-
ing already-created verse or prose.
Perhaps of greater significance than his factual biography is
the literary biography of Stéphane Mallarmé. Because of a desire
the more intensively to analyze the purely abstract and theoretic
problem of Stéphane Mallarmé's æsthetic, the scope of the prob-
lem has been narrowed down to the influences of Wagner's
theories and to the thematic sources of the Hamletian tragedy.
There are, however, more matters to be queried in connection
with this subject: and these are the influences upon Stéphane
Mallarmé's literary and aesthetic mentality. For, although he
lived a life that was removed and reserved, he was not un-
appreciative of the qualities that others exhibited: on the con-
trary, this poet showed marked interest and a sensitive influence
of all that surrounded him. He was impressed with the works
of art by Gaugin and by Puvis de Chavannes. He was not un-
mindful of the schools of literature that surrounded him: Par-
nassianism, Naturalism, Symbolism. It is not improbable that
tendencies of these would, under analysis, be found in his
own writings. Such names as Gautier, Banville, Coppée, Hér-
édia, Baudelaire, Zola, Verlaine, Laforgue, B. d'Aurevilly,
Rimbaud, Villiers de l'Isle Adam, actively surrounded him and
his epoch; also Gérard de Nerval. The especial interests which
Stéphane Mallarmé had for the works of Théodore de Banville
(who was in a way a forerunner of symbolism) and the closeness
to the allusive style of Arthur Rimbaud are significant data
for further study.
One might also be prompted to undertake the study of the
influences of English writers upon Stéphane Mallarmé, especi-
ally the lyric tones of Shelley.
There is, too, the question of Stéphane Mallarmé's influence
upon French, English and German poets of today. The best
-413-
examples of such influence are the works of Paul Valéry, Stefan
George, Rainer Maria Rilke and T. S. Eliot. These are perhaps
the outstanding names, but many more could be gathered as
the spiritual descendants of Mallarmé in foreign lands.
A study of the æsthetic and a study of the technique of
Stéphane Mallarmé seem, upon close analysis, to be one and
the same. For, in general accordance with his æsthetic prin-
ciples, he suggested images, rather than described them; and that
is the secret of his technique. Just as Igitur was vaguely
a retelling of the subject matter in Hamlet, and Un Coup de Dés
was a poetic formula that had been evolved from
Igitur, after a process of discarding, alluding (the ultra-
personal) and purifying, SO every poem
poem written
written by
Stéphane Mallarmé was the result of strict contemplation,—of
discarding narrative elements, suppressing descriptive passages,
and of driving off all explanatory phrases. All that remained
was the kernel of dramatic appeal. Mallarmé's very syntax, the
use of an inverted word-order, proves that the dramatic appeal
of the image was what he stressed; each sentence had a noun
that was the key to all, or an adjective that was to be emphasized.
This word-order he never changed; he used it in his earliest
poems as well as in his last. The poem was a network of sug-
gestions where one allusion referred to one or to other allusions,
the latter being nothing more than vapor having its source
in a volatilized distillation of ultra-personal and super-sensitive
images, or might one say mirages?
As proof of the fact that, though there were radical changes
made in some of the poems, their source-material always re-
mained the same (no matter how vague the allusions became in
the process of formulating), it is interesting to note that certain.
cue-words were retained, as well as the end-words (which were
part of the rhyme-scheme) that served as a frame-work in which
WILLFÖ
*42}
he hemmed his emotions. Though each altered version meant
becoming more and more distant to the original inspiration or
emotion, he retained certain words and certain combined phrases,
as if they were points of vantage, linkings, memories that he
forced to linger.
The changes made in the prose were far greater in number.
But it seems that they were strictly stylistic corrections, if one
might make such a distinction; for the changes made in his
poetry were intricate fabrications, deeper than questions of
style; they meant sometimes a complete reweaving of the pat-
tern, even an employment of new materials. With the changes
in poetry every altered version implied that the content was the
form, or that a change in the style of the verse was a change
in the total aspect of the verse. This may perhaps be attributed
to the fact that, in general, prose must be more explanatory,
hence, less concentrated and more specific.
The following are examples of poems that underwent radical
changes. The general ideas have remained much the same; the
sounds and the picture-patterns have been altered, having become
more direct (more moderated, yet more sharp), more abstract
and more restrained (abstracting a sentiment seems to make it
less centered about the ego and therefore more restrained). The
element of delay has made the inspiration less effusive and more
purely dramatic. Wherever he could make the image more
striking by doing so, he changed to a word of greater intension,
though he was more wont to seek the extension of a term.
In some of the poems only the essentials have remained, as
materials for further contemplation and allusions.
The changes made from one version to another in these poems
follow the same method as employed in the changes from the
Igitur to Un Coup de Dés. It is for this reason that they are
cited here; though the scheme by which the Igitur was evolved
→→→₤43 --
into Un Coup de Dés is more intricate and shall be discussed in
greater detail, the general approach of the poet was much the
same, though perhaps not upon as large a scale. From con-
crete material he evolved abstract images, and these he either
made more abstract and far removed; or more concise, if he
desired a suddenly vivid and dramatic gesture. Reworking his
materials, he removed the concrete so far from himself, that it
existed only as a symbol, as an abstract conception, or as a phe-
nomenon with potential life and potential significance. And to
these symbols he added a dramatic element, which implies elo-
cutionary gesture and ballet movement.
L'ARTISTE, March 15, 1862 (p 132)
Le Guignon
Au-dessus du bétail écoeurant des humains,
Bondissaient par instants les sauvages crinières
Des mendiants d'azur damnés dans nos chemins.
Un vent mêlé de cendre effarait leurs bannières
Où passe le divin gonflement de la mer,
Et creusait autour d'eux de sanglantes ornières.
La tète dans l'orage, ils défiaient l'enfer:
Ils voyageaient sans pain, sans bâton et sans urnes,
Mordant au citron d'or de l'idéal amer.
La plupart ont râlé dans les ravins nocturnes,
S'énivrant du bonheur de voir couler son sang:
La mort est un baiser sur ces fronts taciturnes.
S'ils pantèlent, c'est sous un ange très-puissant,
Qui rougit l'infini des éclairs de son glaive,
L'orgueil fait éclater leur coeur reconnaissant.
- C
44 3..-
Changes from the edition of 1862 to 1884.
1. damnés is changed to perdus; the latter is more indefinite
and less melodramatic than the former: perdus, by an ex-
tension of the term, infers damnés.
2. enfer is changed to Enfer; capital E makes the word more
emphatic; the change is rather insignificant here.
3. idéal is changed to Idéal; see note 2.
4. les is changed to des, making the noun even less definite.
5. bonheur is changed to plaisir; the latter word is more in-
tensive, therefore more direct, and must have seemed to be
more dramatic. It is perhaps more sensuous, too.
6. est is changed to fut to suit the inference of a moment's
fleeting.
7. ils pantèlent is changed to sont vaincus; while the former is
more descriptive, the latter is more extensive in meaning; the
reader is left to supply the image of their conquest,
without the somewhat over-dramatic pantèlent. The exten-
sion of the term vaincus can suggest to the creative reader
many images, which the poet must have perceived without
noting them. The change from soxs to par is in the manner
of the change from par brins to parmi in Le Sonneur (note
10).
8. l'infini is changed to horizon, giving us the poet's conception
of infinity, for isn't the horizon of infinite dimensions?
Horizon is more concise and more striking; it recalls the
gesture of which Igitur is expectant.
45.
Les Poètes Maudits, Paul Verlaine, 1884.
Le Guignon
Au dessus du bétail écoeurant des humains
Bondissaient par instants les sauvages crinières
Des mendieurs d'azur perdus dans nos chemins.
Un vent mêlé de cendre effarait leurs bannières
Où passe le divin gonflement de la mer
Et creusait autour d'eux de sanglantes ornières.
2. La tête dans l'orage ils défiaient l'Enfer,
Ils voyageaient sans pain, san batons et sans urnes,
3. Mordant au citron d'or de l'Idéal amer.
4. La plupart ont râlé dans des ravins nocturnes,
5. S'enivrant du plaisir de voir couler son sang.
6. La mort fut un baiser sur ces fronts taciturnes.
7. S'ils sont vaincus, c'est par un ange très puissant
8. Qui rougit l'horizon des éclairs de son glaive
L'orgueil fait éclater leur coeur reconnaissant.
Ils tettent la Douleur comme ils tétaient le Rêve
Et quand ils vont rhythmant leurs pleurs voluptueux
Le peuple s'agenouille et leur mère se lève.
Ceux-là sont consolés étant majestueux.
Mais ils ont sous les pieds des frères qu'on bafoue,
Dérisoires martyres d'un hasard tortueux.
Des pleurs aussi salés rongent leur pâle joue,
La servile pitié des races à l'oeil terne,
Mais vulgaire ou burlesque est le sort qui les roue.
Ils pouvaient faire aussi sonner comme un tambour
La servile pitié des races à l'oeil terne,
Egaux de Prométhée à qui manque un vautour!
-46-
Non. Vieux et fréquentant les déserts sans citerne
Ils marchent sous le fouet d'un squelette rageur,
Le GUIGNON, dont le rire édenté les prosterne.
S'ils vont, il grimpe en croupe et se fait voyageur,
Puis, le torrent franchi, les plonge en une mare
Et fait un fou crotté du superbe nageur.
Grâce à lui, si l'un chante en son buccin bizarre,
Des enfants nous tordront en un rire obstiné,
Qui, soufflant dans leurs mains, singeront sa fanfare.
Grâce à lui, s'ils s'en vont tenter un sein fané
Avec des fleurs par qui l'impureté s'allume,
Des limaces naîtront sur leur bouquet damné.
Et ce squellette nain coiffé d'un feutre à plume
Et botté dont l'aisselle a pour poils de longs vers
Est pour eux l'infini de l'humaine amertume.
Et si, rossés, ils ont provoqué le pervers,
Leur rapiére en grinçant suit le rayon de lune
Qui neige en sa carcasse et qui passe au travers.
Malheureux sans l'orgueil d'une austère infortune,
Dédaigneux de venger leurs os de coups de bec,
Ils convoitent la haine et n'ont que la rancune.
Ils sont l'amusement des racleurs de rebec,
Des femmes, des enfants et de la vieille engeance
Des loqueteux dansant quand le broc est à sec.
Les poètes savants leur prêchent la vengeance
Et ne sachant leur mal et les voyant brisés
Les disent impuissants et sans intelligence.
"Ils peuvent, sans quêter quelques soupirs gueusés,
"Comme un buffle se cabre aspirant la tempête,
-473-
"Savourer à présent leurs maux éternisés:
"Nous soûlerons d'encens les Torts qui tiennent tête
"Aux fauves séraphins du Mal! Ces baladins
"N'ont pas mis d'habit rouge et veulent qu'on s'arrête!"
Quand chacun a sur eux craché tous ses dédains,
Nus, ensoiffés de grand et priant le tonnerre,
Ces Hamlets abreuvés de malaises badins.
Vont ridiculement se pendre au reverbère.
Version définitive.
Le Guignon
1. Au dessus du bétail aburi des humains
2. Bondissaient en clartés les sauvages crinières
3. Des mendieurs d'azur le pied dans nos chemins.
4. Un noir vent sur leur marche éployé pour bannières
La flagellait de froid tel jusque dans la chair,
5. Qu'il y creusait aussi d'irritables ornières.
6. Toujours avec l'espoir de rencontrer la mer,
Ils voyageaient sans pain, sans bâtons et sans urnes,
7. Mordant au citron d'or de l'idéal amer.
8. La plupart râla dans les défilés nocturnes,
9. S'enivrant du bonheur de voir couler son sang,
10. O Mort le seul baiser aux bouches taciturnes!
11. Leur défaite, c'est par un ange très puissant
12. Debout à l'horizon dans le nu de son glaive:
13. Une pourpre se caille au sein reconnaissant.
14. Ils tettent la douleur comme ils tétaient le rêve
15. Et quand ils vont rythmant des pleurs voluptueux
-48-
Le peuple s'agenouille et leur mère se lève.
16. Ceux-là sont consolés, sûrs et majestueux;
17. Mais traînent à leurs pas cent frères qu'on bafoue,
18. Dérisoires martyrs de hasards tortueux.
19. Le sel pareil des pleurs ronge leur douce joue,
Ils mangent de la cendre avec le même amour,
20. Mais vulgaire ou bouffon le destin qui les roue.
21. Ils pouvaient exciter aussi comme un tambour
22. La servile pitié des races à voix ternes,
Egaux de Prométhée à qui manque vautour!
23. Non, vils et fréquentant les déserts sans citerne,
24. Ils courent sous le fouet d'un monarque rageur,
25. Le Guignon, dont le rire inouï les prosterne.
26. Amants, il saute en croupe à trois, le partageur!
27. Puis le torrent franchi, vous plonge en une mare
28. Et laisse un bloc boueux du blanc couple nageur.
29. Grâce à lui, si l'un souffle à son buccin bizarre,
Des enfants nous tordront en un rire obstiné
30. Qui, le poing à leur cul, singeront sa fanfare.
31. Grâce à lui, si l'une orne à point un sein fané
32. Par une rose qui nubile le rallume,
33. De la bave luira son bouquet damné.
Et ce squelette nain, coiffé d'un feutre à plume
Et botté, dont l'aisselle a pour poils vrais des vers,
Est pour eux l'infini de la vaste amertume.
34. Vexés ne vont-ils pas provoquer le pervers,
Leur rapière grinçant suit le rayon de lune
Qui neige en sa carcasse et qui passe au travers.
•011
>
*{49}**
35. Désolés sans l'orgueil qui sacre l'infortune,
36. Et tristes de venger leurs os de coups de bec,
37. Ils convoitent la haine, au lieu de la rancune.
Ils sont l'amusement des racleurs de rebec,
38. Des marmots, des putains et de la vieille engeance
Des loqueteux dansant quand le broc est à sec.
39. Les poètes bons pour l'aumône ou la vengeance,
40. Ne connaissant le mal de ces dieux effacés,
41. Les disent ennuyeux et sans intelligence.
42. "Ils peuvent fuir ayant de chaque exploit assez,
"Comme un vierge cheval écume de tempête
43. "Plutot que de partir en galops cuirassés.
44. "Nous soûlerons d'encens le vainqueur dans la fête:
45. "Mais eux, pourquoi n'endosser pas, ces baladins,
"D'écarlate baillon hurlant que l'on s'arrête!"
46. Quand en face tous leur ont craché les dédains,
47. Nuls et la barbe à mots bas priant le tonnerre,
48. Ces héros excédés de malaises badins
49. Vont ridiculement se pendre au réverbère.
Changes from the version of 1884 to the definite edition.
1. écoeurant is changed to aburi; the inference is ecoeurant et
aburi and the former adjective is to be implied by an ex-
tension of the latter, which is less definite.
2. par instants is changed to clartés; the second version recalls
ballet movement, the contrast of light and dark (thus
dramatic). En clartés implies par instants; the reader is to
assume: par instants et en clartés.
3. perdus is changed to le pied; the latter is the symbol of
50.
wandering, implying movement and dramatic force; wan-
dering implies perdus, by an extension of the term. While
the term is more vague, the image is more striking.
4. mêlé de cendre is changed to vent noir; noir implies de
cendre, and the reader is to imagine mêlé de cendre et noir.
By an extension of the image the wind has become the
very banners which are spread like eagle's wings, terrifying
them; the original description depicted the wind blowing
upon the banners, thus frightening them. The symbol of
the banners and the symbol of the wind have become
merged in one by an implication of their forces and an
abstraction of their qualities. This is one of those instances
where the poet, dwelling upon a symbol, drew the infinite
from the finite, until a new image was created, almost
entirely different from the original. Such instances are
frequent in Igitur and in Un Coup de Dés. Instead of où
passe le divin gonflement de la mer, which is somewhat
immaterial here, we have this more striking image of the
wind; the movement of this image makes it vivid and
concise; the change from effarait to éployé (these are re-
motely synonymous) completes the image.
5. sanglantes is changed to irritables; see notes 1 and 3.
6. This line is a combination of line 5 of the earlier version
plus an allusion to orage (l'espoir), but espoir is less defi-
nite; we are to infer: l'orage et l'espoir. From a direct
statement the poet has evolved an indirect statement;
défier l'Enfer and orage are indirect ways of saying espoir.
7. Idéal is changed to idéal; the capital letter having been
used merely for emphasis (instead of underscoring) and
not with any deep significance, it has been discarded.

8.
ont râlé is changed to râla for the sake of directness and
the emphasis of a thing past and done. Des ravins is
changed to défilés: the change here is almost melodra-
--- 51 }8----
matic; in a sense ravin is the opposite of défilé and in a
sense, if the term be extended, défilés might infer the
former. The association of ideas is interesting here, défilés
suggesting many interpretations.
9. plaisir is changed to bonheur; it is interesting to note that
the original poem contained the word bonheur and not
plaisir. The poet was probably measuring the extension of
the term; and since bonheur seems to be more vague and
indefinite, he accepted bonheur, for it might include
plaisir.
10. mort becomes capitalized, for here we have an abstract
word, turned into a symbol and sublimated, so that it has
become a personification; this also explains the change
from fronts to bouches, bouches representing the more
human and the less austere.
11. ils sont vaincus is changed to défaite, the latter being more
direct and therefore more stiking; for the same reason
par un ange is changed to par ange. On the whole the line
has become more chiseled.
12. The word debout in the new version changes the image
considerably; just as this poet conceived the silence of
words, he created images denoting the pause of motion,
which is essentially dramatic. Here the angel stands out in
high relief against the background (the horizon) due to
the arrested motion. des éclairs is changed to dans le nu,
the latter being more extensive in meaning; nu infers
whiteness and whiteness infers radiancy. The angel has
become a living symbol here, as also horizon, nu, glaive.
13. L'orgueil fait éclater leur coeur reconnaissant is changed
to une pourpre se caille au sein reconnaissant, making the
image very vague, yet denoting the same thing. The first
version in itself is quite banal and declarative. The change
from orgueil to pourpre is not new, for it has been found
-523-
in other poems as well; pourpre is the symbol of royalty,
majesty and pride. se caille indicates movement and a
vagueness that harmonizes with pourpre, which is so in-
definite. Sein in the place of coeur is probably used be-
cause the former is a term of greater extension, and also
because of the softer sounds. The second version implies
the first, by an extension of the meaning.
14. The change from Douleur to douleur, and from Rêve to
rêve denotes that in the first version these words were
used as symbols (personified) while in the newer version
they implied a state of being.
15. leurs pleurs is changed to des pleurs, making the noun less
definite.
16. étant majestueux is changed to sûrs et majestueux; sûrs is
suggested by majestueux and is almost unnecessary, but
again the pleasant sound of the word (as with sein) creates
a change and emphasis.
17. ont sous les pieds is changed to traînent à leurs pas; the
latter version is both less definite and more dramatic. The
change from des frères to cent frères is probably also due
to the pleasantness of the s sound (sein, sûrs); it has also
an elocutionary effect.
18.
d'un hasard is changed to de hasards, making martyrs less
definite; yet the earlier version seems to have been more
effective.
19. pleurs aussi salés is changed to sel pareil des pleurs and
is no more than a circumlocution, yet it has created a new
image. pâle is changed to douce, and the reader is to infer
pâle et douce, by an extension of the meaning of douce.
20. The changes from burlesque to buffon and from sort to
destin are hardly significant, except that the words buffon
-5333-
and destin are words which frequent the poet's vocabulary
(especially destin).
21. faire sonner is changed to exciter, and the reader is to
think: exciter et faire sonner, the latter being more usual and
easily understood when tambour is referred to.
22. l'oeil terne is changed to voix ternes. To Mallarmé the
voice seems to be more important than the eye, for it de-
notes the power of sound, elocution, drama, and even
through its silence, gesture.
23. vieux is changed to vils, implying vieux et vils; the latter
word is to suggest the former to the reader.
24. marchent is changed to courent, probably for the sake of
vivifying the image; the change in note 21 and this change
seem to indicate a state of neurosis, as in Igitur. The
change from squelette to monarque is meant to denote the
great strength of rageur, and both suggest death.
25. édenté is changed to inouï; the latter is vague and leaves
the reader to create the picture for himself.
26. S'ils vont is changed to amants, and the former is to be
suggested by the latter; the newer version is more forceful
and definite. The change from grimpe to saute is not
significant, except for the effect of the sound of s. The
change from voyageur to partageur is one of the many
instances where the extension of the term is to suggest a
former word and the reader is left to fill the gap, thus:
voyageur et partageur.
vous instead of les is meant to be more elocutionary, since
more direct. It denotes the gesture of pointing.
28. laisse is changed to fait to denote arrested motion (and
imply ballet-movement); un fou crotté is changed to un
bloc boueux, both referring to the despair of the hero and
implying a Hamlet crisis; the latter image infers the first
27.
-543-
and is much vaguer. superbe is changed to blanc, it being
left to the reader to create: superbe et blanc.
29. chante is changed to souffle, implying chante et souffle,
for an extension of the meaning of souffle implies chante.
30. For this reason soufflent is here omitted and a new image
is introduced.
31. s'ils en vont tenter un sein fané is changed to si l'une orne
à point un sein fané; the change from the plural to singu-
lar is for dramatic effect. The earlier version is too vague
to bring the striking effect which is desired; the reader is
to imagine: s'ils en vont tenter un sein fané et si l'une
orne à point un sein fané.
32. Here again the poet makes a change from an indefinite to
a specific, in order to increase the dramatic effect (des
fleurs becomes rose). l'impureté s'allume is changed to
qui nubile le rallume, substituting l'impureté for nubilité,
replacing a very vague term for one that is more definite,
yet not concrete: nubilité qui est l'impureté.
33. Des limaces naîtront sur leur bouquet damné is changed
to De la bave luira son bouquet damné. bave suggests
impureté of the previous line. The change from naîtront to
luira is for the sake of dramatic effect, and the word luira
is to suggest naîtront.
34. The change from rosses to vexés, which is a less powerful
word, is the key to the change of the entire line. Whereas
in the first version ils ont provoqués le pervers, in the
second they withhold from so doing, and thus we have a
description of the Hamlet-attitude: although he is inclined
to do so, he restrains himself.
35. Malheureux is changed to désolé, implying malheureux et
désolé. L'orgueil d'une austère infortune is changed to
-553-
l'orgueil qui sacre l'infortune; here the word sacre implies
the Hamlet-theme as described in Igitur, and the hero,
tormented by his fate, remembers his will and his pride.
sacre also introduces movement and gesture.
36. The rather harsh word dédaigneux is replaced by tristes,
softening the tone of the line considerably.
37. The next line is not radically changed, yet the newer
version is at once more harsh and more softened; whereas
in the first version the expression et n'ont que la rancune
(earlier version) was indeed over-emphatic.
38. Enfants is changed to marmots, and femmes is changed to
putains. It would not be far-fetched to imagine that in
the first version, considering the context, femmes and
enfants were meant to suggest putains and marmots; and
it remained for the reader to create the allusion.
39. leur prêchent is omitted in the new version, and is left to
be suggested by the context; in its stead the poet writes:
bons pour l'aumône, making the line more emphatic and
satiric.
40. leur mal of the earlier version is explained in the definite
version as le mal de ces dieux effacés. les voyant brisés is
not included in the definite version, and is to be inferred
by the context.
41. impuissants is changed to ennuyeux, the latter word em-
bodying a gesture, while the former is too vague to call
any picture to mind: ennuyeux et impuissants.
42.
savourer à présent leurs maux éternisés is replaced by one
word, fuir; this is one of the words that appears in Igitur
and in Un Coup de Dés, and it has many implications;
here the reader is to imagine the entire phrase by the in-
ference of fuir (and the phrase which follows, ayant de
-563...
chaque exploit assez). Un buffle becomes un vierge cheval
probably because the horse is a more graceful animal (the
dance is alluded to); se cabre aspirant la tempête is changed
to écume de tempête, rendering the image more direct and
more dramatic.
43. This new line is meant to fulfill the image of the prancing
colt and to add movement, thus dramatic action.
44. Les Torts becomes le vainqueur, implying le vainqueur qui
est les Torts; vainqueur also refers to qui tiennent tête.
Dans la fête is one of those vague images suggested by the
poet, but not described. It is also alluded to in Un Coup
de Dés.
45. Aux fauves séraphins du Mal (le vainqueur) which de-
scribed les Torts qui tiennent tête is omitted in the definite
version. pourquoi n'endosser pas d'écarlate haillon takes
the place of n'ont pas mis d'habit rouge, turning habit into
baillon and rouge into écarlate, for dramatic effect; also
the change from mis to endosser makes the image more
specific, hence more vivid. hurlant que l'on s'arrête takes
the place of et veulent qu'on s'arrête, hurlant introducing
movement, thus an element of the dance; the use of in
l'on softens the end of the line.
46.
tous ses dédains is changed to les dédains, les being more
direct and implying tout ses.
47. Nus implied spiritually lacking, and Nuls which replaces
it, implies almost the same thing: lacking, void; the sound
of softens the word. This is one of those instances where
for the sake of a sound, the poet was ready to stretch the
meaning of a word. ensoiffés de grand is omitted in the
definite version, and is to be imagined by the reader,
while la barbe à mots bas makes a vivid image of priant.
48. Hamlet and héro are synonymous, for Hamlet represented
-573-
Q+==
to this poet the sublime and universal hero. The word
abreuvés, which alludes to ensoiffés, is changed to excédés,
which is more descriptive of the Hamlet hero.
49. It is interesting to note that this last line refers to the
death of Gérard de Nerval (1855), whose madness led
him to commit suicide by hanging. The character of this
poet is thus analogized with Hamlet, the hero of conflicts,
madness, and death. It is of great significance that Sté-
phane Mallarmé was wont to use such terms as suicide, set-
ting sun, disaster, death, darkness, autumn, despair, van-
quished. And all were associated with Hamlet's conflict
and heroism.
L'ARTISTE, March 15, 1862.
Le Sonneur
Cependant que la cloche enivre sa voix claire
De l'air plein de rosée et jeune du matin,
Et fait à la faucheuse entonner, pour lui plaire,
Un angélus qui sent la lavande et le thym;
Le sonneur ensoufflé, qu'un cierge pâle éclaire,
Chevauchant tristement en geignant du latin,
Sur la pierre qui tend la corde séculaire,
N'entend descendre à lui qu'un tintement lointain.
Je suis cet homme. Hélas! dans mon ardeur peureuse,
J'ai beau broyer le câble à sonner l'idéal,
Depuis que le Mal trône en mon coeur lilial
La voix ne me vient plus que par bribes et creuse.
-Si bien qu'un jour, après avoir en vain tiré,
O Satan, j'ôterai la pierre et me pendrai!
-587-
Version intermédiaire inédite "dans le petit carnet de cuir où
Mallarmé avait recueilli ses premiers vers, montrés à Mendès
et à ses amis du Parnasse en 1864."
Cependant que la cloche enivrant sa voix claire
De l'air plein de rosée et jeune du matin
Invite la faucheuse à chanter pour lui plaire
Un Angélus qui sent la lavande et le thym.
(Quoted by Dr. E. Bonniot)
LE PARNASSE CONTEMPORAIN, 1866.
Le Sonneur
1. Cependant que la cloche éveille sa voix claire
A l'air pur et limpide et profond du matin
Et passe sur l'enfant qui jette pour lui plaire
3. Un angélus par brins de lavande et de thym.
2.
4. Le sonneur effleuré par l'oiseau qu'il éclaire
Chevauchant tristement en geignant du latin
Sur la pierre qui tend la corde séculaire,
N'entend descendre à lui qu'un tintement lointain.
5. Je suis cet homme. Hélas! de la nuit désireuse,
6. J'ai beau tirer le câble à sonner l'Idéal,
7. De froids Péchés s'ébat un plumage féal,
8. Et la voix ne me vient que par bribes et creuse!
Mais, un jour, fatigué d'avoir enfin tiré,
9.
10. O Satan, j'ôterai la pierre et me pendrai.
There are two changes that are noteworthy, made between
the edition of this poem in 1862 and 1864. et fait becomes in-
vite; entonner becomes à chanter. Both show a tendency toward
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greater specification; entonner is certainly more vague than
chanter, and the former implies the latter.
Changes from the edition of 1862 to that of 1866.
1.
énivre is changed to éveille; this is a simplification meant
to add dramatic force to the content. It is noteworthy
that the sounds are proximate, but that the newer word
is more suggestive (in sound) of chimes.
2. Et fait à la faucheuse entonner, is changed to Et passe sur
l'enfant qui jette. Passe instead of fait suggests the reaction.
of the child and the reader is left to imply et fait as soon
as he reads the words qui jette. The change from faucheuse
to enfant is rather surprising, unless one were to accept
that the poet himself realized how far-fetched was the
suggestion. The change from entonner to jetter is another
one of those instances where the poet sought to introduce
the quality of motion, which was to him more striking
and thus dramatic.
3. qui sent la lavande et le thym is changed to par brins de
lavande et de thym; the latter version alludes to the pass-
ing of the sound through the sprigs and calls forth another
image where motion is significant; and the more move-
ment the greater the force of the image; qui sent is too
vague to be dramatic.
4. ensoufflé is changed to effleuré; remotely both words are
synonymous; at any rate, the latter suggests the former,
and the poet meant the reader to draw this inference, how-
ever vague it may be. In the same manner, the mention
of the cierge pâle is omitted in the second version, but
can we not imagine it by the line that follows? The word
oiseau is new in the second version and the allusion is
quite remote, yet at the same time vivid.
5. mon ardeur peureuse is changed to de la nuit désireuse;
the latter version is more effective, although the implica-
tion of ardeur peureuse is still to be felt by the word
O
603.-
6. broyer le câble is changed to tirer le câble; the reader is
left to imagine (by aid of what follows) that the poet
means to pull with force, which is the same as broyer;
thus tirer et broyer. Note that Idéal has become capital-
ized, perhaps to emphasize it.
Hélas! This is an instance where the replacement of one
phrase by another leaves the reader to infer the discarded;
if the poet had been more wordy he would have said mon
ardeur peureuse de la nuit désireuse; but he let the word
nuit imply the omitted.
7. le mal trône is changed to de froids Péchés (note the
capital); here we have the passing from one vague phrase
to another, except that the latter is more dramatic. The
change from en mon coeur lilial to s'ébat un plumage féal
is a case where certain words recalled to this poet certain
associations which he left his reader to interpret; this
image is important in Igitur and Un Coup de Dés, and it
occurs in other of his poems. It is Poe's raven, the symbol
of doubt and fear and the dread of a coming catastrophe.
The movement implied by the word s'ébat adds to the
dramatic force of the image.
8.
9.
The use of the word Et and the change from me vient
plus que par to ne me vient que pas serve to introduce an
elocutionary effect.
Mais in the second version has the same effect as Et in
the line above. The words en vain have suggested two
changes: first, fatigué, which is almost synonymous, except
that it is more forceful; then the word enfin, which is
suggested by the similarity of sound (by a stretch of the
imagination their meaning is alike, too). Fatigué and enfin
both signify gesture.
10. See note 49, Le Guignon.
11.
The definite version of this poem is exactly the same as
the version of 1866 (last version, 1877) except that in
---61 3..-
line 4 par brins de lavande et de thym has been changed
to parmi la lavande et le thym. Dr. Bonniot accepts this
as a simplification and he holds the opinion that the
former image was "too real, useless". But it seems rather
that this is but one of the many instances where the poet
made a change of phrase, leaving the replaced phrase or
word to be inferred. Parmi without the allusion to les
brins, which the reader must imagine, if he is to create
the image in his mind, means very little; and Mallarmé,
the poet who saw even thoughts through images, could
not have meant to destroy the image.
("Le petit carnet de Mallarmé de 1864 contient la version initiale
de ce sonnet.")
Le Pitre Châtié
Pour ses yeux, pour nager dans ces lacs, dont les quais
Sont plantés de beaux cils qu'un matin bleu pénètre,
J'ai, Muse,—moi, ton pitre, enjambé la fenêtre
Et fui notre baraque où fument les guinquets.
Et d'herbes enivré, j'ai plongé comme un traître
Dans ces lacs défendus, et, quand tu m'appelais,
Baigné mes membres nus dans l'onde aux blancs galets,
Oubliant mon habit de pitre au tronc d'un hêtre.
Le soleil du matin séchait mon corps nouveau
Et je sentais fraîchir loin de la tyrannie
La neige des glaciers dans mon chair assainie,
Ne sachant pas, hélas! quand s'en allait sur l'eau
Le suif de mes cheveux et le fard de ma peau,
Muse, que cette crasse était tout le génie!
(quoted by Dr. E. Bonniot, La Revue de France, 15 Avril, 1929)
62}.
Version définitive.
Le Pitre Châtié
1. Yeux, lacs avec ma simple ivresse de renaître
2. Autre que l'histrion qui du geste évoquais
Comme plume la suie ignoble des quinquets,
J'ai troué dans le mur de toile une fenêtre.
3. De ma jambe et des bras limpide nageur traître,
A bonds multipliés, reniant le mauvais
4. Hamlet! c'est comme si dans l'onde j'innovais
Mille sépulcres pour y vierge disparaître.
5. Hilare or de cymbale à des poings irrité,
Tout à coup le soleil frappe la nudité
Qui pure s'exhala de ma fraîcheur de nacre,
6. Rance nuit de la peau quand sur mois vous passiez,
Ne sachant pas, ingrat! que c'était tout mon sacre,
Ce fard noyé dans l'eau perfide des glaciers.
This poem clearly indicates how the material in Igitur and
Un Coup de Dés recurs in Mallarmé's poems; one finds that
almost all the allusions and the images here are similar to those
in Igitur. Dr. Bonniot describes this poem as a composition "where
the poet is placed in the center of his dream, just as the spider
in the center of his web!" And this description corresponds to
Igitur where the hero places himself in the center of his dream
(which is his destiny) and where all that surrounds him is the
web of his dream,-haziness, abstractions, vague memories.
1.
Pour ses yeux is simplified and yeux remains. Pour nager
dans les lacs becomes, in the same way, lacs. Thus the
superfluity of the phrases is restrained and the poet arrives
directly at the word.
-633-
2. The image of the loved one's eyes is entirely omitted (dont
les quais sont plantés de beaux cils qu'un matin bleu
pénètre) and the poet leaves it to the reader to create the
picture of her eyes, having given the two suggestions:
yeux and lacs. Lines 2, 3, 4, of the second version refer
to the same abstract symbols as are found in Igitur:
histrion, plume, geste, quinquets, mur de toile. Here again
we have the Hamlet theme: the doubter has seen and con-
versed with death; he has seen his destiny. And as in the
Igitur and in Un Coup de Dés, the hero awaits a sublime
gesture which is to wake him from his revery and call
him to his duty (the absolute). This stanza is almost a
replica of passages to be found in Igitur.
3. Nageur in the second version alludes to les lacs and
especially to the definite image expressed in the first
version and inferred in the second; nageur replaces plongé,
for plongé without the image concretely told, might be
altogether too indefinite. Et d'herbes enivré is changed
to de ma jambe et des bras limpide; this is another instance
of a change meant to introduce the element of movement,
which in turn is to bring dramatic force to the image.
Dans les lacs défendus of the earlier version is omitted
in the second version, and the reader is left to feel those
words as a complement to the fifth line. Quand tu
m'appelais is replaced by à bonds multipliés; the former
phrase was perhaps too finite, too declarative, while the
new version describes, merely alludes to it. Reniant le
mauvais of the second version is added to bring dramatic
force, and is also associated with the Hamlet theme (note
the vagueness of the phrase): the hero's final gesture.
4. It is interesting that every concrete image of the first ver-
sion is turned into a gesture or a movement (abstraction of
the ballet rhythm) and vaguely recalls the definite image.
This process of change is true of the material that com-
prises the Igitur and Un Coup de Dés. baigné mes
membres nus dans l'onde aux blancs galets is in this wise
•*64-
turned into comme si dans l'onde j'innovais Mille sépul-
cres pour y virge disparaître. These gestures are also
described in Igitur. After he finds himself in the earlier
version oubliant mon habit de pitre au tronc d'un hêtre,
he believes that j'innovais mille sépulcres pour y vierge
disparaître. The reader is meant to assume in the later
version that the clown in that moment forgot his true (or
is it asumed?) garb. There is a similar moment in Igitur
where the hero (the poet) in a state of fervor forgets his
real self and lets himself disappear from his midst (becom-
ing an objective entity).
5. The concrete and rather banal image of the earlier version
is somewhat replaced and scattered by hilare or de cymbale
à des poings irrité; the reader is left to understand the com-
monplace that has been repressed by the line that follows:
le soleil frappe la nudité (frappe instead of séchait, to de-
note motion); and corps nouveau is alluded to by the intro-
duction of the word pure. The sound effects described
in line 9 refer to the moment when the clown suddenly
recalls who he is, for sounds remembered and gestures
evoked have the power to recall him back to himself (as
in Igitur). Je sentais fraichir . . . la neige des glaciers dans
mon chair assainie is changed to la nudité qui pure s'exhala
de ma fraîcheur de nacre; la neige des glaciers has been
replaced by nacre (nacre to the poet has the same white,
clean and cold qualities as snow and glaciers) and the
explanatory phrases of the first version have been dis-
carded; how much more direct, and how emphatic is the
symbol of nacre!
6. Glaciers of stanza three is retained in stanza four of the
newer version, as if to sum up the dramatic effect by
keeping it to the last. Le suif de mes cheveux et le fard
de ma peau is replaced by the one word sacre; the reader
is left to infer the former phrase, especially after he has
grasped the lament, the tinge of irony, and the words:
ce fard noyé (which symbolize the clown). Génie is
changed to sacre (when the term is extended the words.
59...
Ox
- are alike in meaning; le génie de sacre would be more
precise, but too wordy). eau perfide replaces crasse, per-
fide referring to crasse and eau to sacre. Here the bitter-
ness and the irony of the first version have become less
sharp in the second, due to the lesser definiteness; in
Igitür the same sentiments are even fainter, for the images
are much vaguer.
PARNASSE CONTEMPORAIN, 1866.
A Un Pauvre
Prends le sac, Mendiant. Longtemps tu cajolas
Ce vice te manquait-le songe d'être avare?
N'enfouis pas ton or pour qu'il te sonne un glas.
Evoque de l'Enfer un péché plus bizarre.
Tu peux ensanglanter les sales horizons
Par une aile de Rêve, ô mauvaise fanfare!
Au treillis apaisant les barreaux de prisons,
Sur l'azur enfantin d'une chair éclaircie,
Le tabac grimpe avec de sveltes feuillaisons.
Et l'opium puissant brise la pharmacie!
Robes et peau, veux-tu lacérer le satin
Et boire en la salive heureuse l'inertie,
Par les cafés princiers attendre le matin?
Les plafonds enrichis de nymphes et de voiles,
On jette, au mendiant de la vitre, un festin.
Et quand tu sors, vieux dieu, grelottant sous les toiles
D'emballage, l'aurore est un lac de vin d'or,
Et tu jures avoir le gosier plein d'étoiles!
-663--
Tu peux même, pour tout reprendre ce trésor,
Mettre une plume noire à ton feutre; à complies
Offrir un cierge au Saint en qui tu crois encor.
Version définitive.
ririni
Ne t'imagine pas que je dis des folies,
Que le diable ait ton corps si tu crèves de faim.
Je hais l'aumône utile et veux que tu m'oublies.
Et surtout, ne va pas, drôle, acheter du pain!
Prends ce sac, Mendiant! tu ne le cajolas,
2. Sénile nourrisson d'une tétine avare,
Aumône
3. Afin de pièce à pièce en égoutter ton glas.
∞
4. Tire du métal cher quelque péché bizarre
5. Et vaste comme nous, les poings pleins, le baisons
Souffles-y, qu'il se torde! une ardente fanfare.
6.
Eglise avec l'encens que toutes ces maisons
7. Sur les murs quand berceur d'une bleue éclaircie
8. Le tabac, sans parler, roule les oraisons.
Et l'opium puissant brise la pharmacie!
Robes et peau, veux-tu lacérer le satin
Et boire en la salive heureuse l'inertie,
Par les cafés princiers attendre le matin?
Les plafonds enrichis de nymphes et de voiles,
On jette, au mendiant de la vitre, un festin.
Et quand tu sors, vieux dieu, grelottant sous tes voiles
D'emballage, l'aurore est un lac de vin d'or
Et tu jures avoir au gosier les étoiles!
-673-
9.
10.
11.
به بابا
12.
13.
Faute de supputer l'éclat de ton trésor,
Tu peux du moins l'orner d'une plume, à complies
Servir un cierge au saint en qui tu crois encor.
Ne t'imagine pas que je dis des folies
La terre s'ouvre vieille à qui crève la faim.
Je hais une autre aumône et veux que tu m'oublies
Et surtout ne va pas, frère, acheter du pain.
The title of the poem has been changed from A UN PAUVRE
to AUMONE. The second version is vaguer and more abstract.
And the vaguer the noun, the more symbolic strength did it
carry. Aumône is a noun in extension, suggesting an outstretched
hand (movement).
1.
le is changed to ce; the force of the particularisation makes
the phrase more elocutionary, therefore dramatic. The
same is true of the change from longtemps tu cajolas to
tu ne le cajolas; the directness makes the tone commanding,
thus the gesture of pointing is more forceful.
2.
Ce vice te manquait is omitted in the second version, for it
must have seemed too declarative. Le songe d'être avare
is replaced by sénile nourrisson d'une tétine avare. Rather
than mention the dream she had, he describes the outer
effects of this dream, and the reader is left to say to him-
self: le songe d'être avare, so that he has before him a
concise image, which is sudden and dramatic, and which
is meant to imply what the poet has omitted.
3. N'enfouis pas ton or pour qu'il te sonne un glas is changed
to Afin de pièce à pièce en égoutter ton glas; here we have
a simplification to which movement has been added, so
that again we have the element of the dance giving the
image dramatic force. The movement implies sound.
4. Evoque de l'Enfer un péche bizarre is changed to Tire du
-89.--
métal cher quelque péché bizarre. L'Enfer must have been
too vague to have dramatic force, and was replaced by
métal cher which seems to infer l'Enfer; the inference is
far-fetched, but the vagueness is balanced by the word
péché and the ironic significance of cher. Both words
Enfer and métal are vague here, but métal seems to sym-
bolize something more vivid.
5. Horizons of the first version has been omitted; but the
word vaste (second version) seems to refer to it, and on
the whole the reader is left to picture for himself the
horizon without the mention of it; the horizon is the
background for the images. With this background in mind
une aile de rêve has become more forceful and changed
to les poings pleins; there is also a sublimation in the
change. Une aile de Rêve is also referred to when he says
souffles-y qu'il se torde! Here again we have an image
which recalls the æsthetic of motion (dance) and of elo-
cutionary force. These images are similar to those found
in Igitur and in Un Coup de Dés.
Mauvaise is changed to ardente; the implication is that
an ardente fanfare is a mauvaise fanfare, and mauvaise
was not pictorial enough, it seems; it remains for the
reader to extend the meaning of the word ardente to
mauvaise; often the substitution of a word does not mean
that it is to be entirely omitted; it is rather to be under-
stood and added.
6. treillis apaisant is changed to Eglise avec l'encens, while
the rest of the original image is retained with the
words toutes ces maisons (les barreaux de prisons). One
original image has been separated into two definite lines,
and these sublimated, so that instead of a picture we have
vague abstractions.
7.
azur enfantin is changed to les murs quand berceur, while
the allusion to azur is retained through the bleue éclaircie;
les murs gives the reader a concise picture of the land-
scape from which he is to create the word enfantin. Chair
!
*693.
has been omitted in the second version; was it because
it was too specific?
8. grimpe is changed to sans parler roule; the second version
is clearly an image bearing motion and added to that the
elocutionary silence of which this poet so often spoke;
to him this silence had a dramatic tension. The same is
true of the word oraisons, which vaguely, indeed very
vaguely, refers to sveltes feuillaisons; but this must have
been too specific a description, especially of the words.
sans parler roule, and it is therefore omitted, even if not
entirely.
9. pour tout reprendre ce trésor is changed to supputer
l'éclat de ton trésor; here, as in some of the above cases,
we have a change toward a greater concision, because of
the dramatic force the concision adds. It is to be remem-
bered that the Hamletian hero in Igitur and in Un Coup
de Dés also was given to calculation.
10. mettre une plume noire à ton feutre is changed to torner
d'une plume; here we have another case where the substi-
tution does not signify an absolute discarding; the reader
is meant to create his own picture of une plume noire à
ton feutre; even the noire seems superfluous (in every
one of his poems, also the Igitur and the Coup de Dés, the
plume is black). The plume is a symbol here, as it is in
his other poems, and its mere mention is to call to mind
a black, quivering image.
11. offrir is changed to servir; the second word implies the
gesture and the movement more than does the first; there-
fore the word to him has more force. The change from
Saint to saint with a small letter seems to be another one
of those instances where the earlier word was capitalized
in order to attain emphasis, in the place of underscoring;
but when the poet had learned to be more careful about
the use of capital letters, and these had begun to mean
one thing, the sublimation of a term, he returned to small
letters, wherever he detected the lack of exactness.
$ 70
-
12. Que le diable ait ton corps is changed to La terre s'ouvre
vieille; this is another instance where the newer version
is more concise, therefore more forceful, and where the
quality of motion added to the description brings a degree
of tenseness, vividness and the dramatic element.
13. l'aumône utile is changed to autre aumône; of course the
reader is to interpret the autre aumône as utile, but to say
it in those words exactly would to Mallarmé have de-
stroyed the power of suggestion which a poem was meant
to have.
14. drôle is changed to frère; while the poet meant drôle
frère, the one word frère, which has a touch of irony to
it, must have seemed more forceful; yet he left the reader
to imply that frère spoken to in such sentiments was a
drôle frère; this is another case of a replacement without
completely discarding the first word.
LE PARNASSE SATYRIQUE, 1878 (Tome II, NOUVEAU
PARNASSE, p. 264)
Un Négresse par le Démon Secouée
(Les lèvres roses)
Une négresse, par le démon secouée,
Veut goûter une triste enfant aux fruits nouveaux,
Criminelle innocente en sa robe trouée,
Et la goinfre s'apprête à de rusés travaux.
Sur son ventre elle allonge en bête ses tétines,
Heureuse d'être nue, et s'acharne à saisir
Ses deux pieds écartés en l'air dans ses bottines,
Dont l'indécente augmente son plaisir;
Puis, près de la chair blanche aux maigreurs de gazelle,
Qui tremble, sur le dos, comme en fol éléphant,
ܪ܂
71
71
Renversée, elle attend et s'admire avec zèle,
En riant de ses dents naïves à l'enfant;
Et, dans ses jambes quand la victime se couche,
Levant une peau noire ouverte sous le crin,
Avance le palais de cette infâme bouche
Pâle et rose comme un coquillage marin.
Version définitive.
1.
2.
Une Négresse par le Démon Secouée
Une négresse par le démon secouée
Veut goûter une enfant triste de fruits nouveaux
Et criminels aussi sous leur robe trouée,
3. Cette goinfre s'apprête à de rusés travaux:
4. A son ventre compare heureuses deux tétines
5. Et, si baut que la main ne le saura saisir,
Elle darde le choc obscur de ses bottines
Ainsi que quelque langue inhabile au plaisir.
6. Contre la nudité peureuse de gazelle
Qui tremble, sur le dos tel un fol éléphant
Renversée elle attend et s'admire avec zèle,
En riant de ses dents naïves à l'enfant;
Et, dans ses jambes où la victime se couche,
Levant une peau noire ouverte sous le crin,
7. Avance le palais de cette étrange bouche
Pâle et rose comme un coquillage marin.
Changes from the version of 1878 to the final edition.
1. triste enfant is changed to enfant triste; althuogh the
rhythm seems to be stronger in the earlier version, and
although the phrase in the earlier version is more usual,
the poet was ready to forego these for the sake of being
direct, for to be direct was to be more elocutionary.
72...
2.
3.
Innocente is omitted in the second version, but the word
aussi, added in the second version, implies although new
and although innocent . . . . In both versions the word
fruits implies the breasts of the negress; in the first version
the adjective criminelle is attributed to her, while in the
second version the noun fruits has become a symbol of
the negress, as also of her crime. The directness and the
symbolism add to the forcefulness of the image.
5.
The use of the word cette is meant to render the line more
forceful, for it is more elocutionary and more direct.
4.
Sur son ventre elle allonge en bête ses tétines is changed
to A son ventre compare heureuses deux tétines. In the
latter version the word tétines has become more symbolic
and a less subjective part of her; the image is here less
realistic, as if sublimated. Compare adds emphasis.
The next three lines have undergone a radical change,
although the end words and some of the cue words have
remained. But the images have become very different and
much vaguer. We are left to imagine heureuse d'être nue
by the implications of the last line of the stanza, and the
last stanza. And the glee at viewing her new boots is in
the second version not described by the concrete image
of her waving her feet in the air; instead, we are told
about le choc obscur and quelque langue inhabile.
6. Puis is omitted as a superfluous word, for the pause here.
destroys the steadiness of the architectural structure which
a poem is meant to be. La chair blanche aux maigreurs de
gazelle becomes la nudité peureuse de gazelle; the word
maigreurs is unnecessary, for gazelle itself implies lean-
ness; chair blanche is expressed in the one word nudité,
which is more direct, yet more abstract; and being ab-
stract, it has been imbued with quality (peureuse) as if
it were a personification, a living symbol.
-..-733-
7.
infâme is changed to étrange; the second word is more
indefinite and can therefore imply more qualities, among
which is infâme, so that the change from infâme to étrange
implies: étrange et infâme, which the reader is left to
imagine.
POETES MAUDITS, 1884.
Placet
J'ai longtemps rêvé d'être, ô Duchesse, l'Hébé
Qui rit sur votre tasse au baiser de tes lèvres.
Mais je suis un poète, un peu moins qu'un abbé,
Et n'ai point jusqu'ici figuré sur le Sèvres.
Puisque je ne suis pas ton bichon embarbé,
Ni tes bonbons, ni ton carmin, ni les jeux mièvres,
Et que sur moi, pourtant ton regard est tombé,
Blonde dont ces coiffeurs divins sont les orfèvres,
Nommez-nous . . . Vous de qui les souris framboisés
Sont un troupeau poudré d'agneaux apprivoisés
Qui vont broutant les coeurs et bêlant aux délires,
Nommez-nous . . . Et Boucher, sur un rose éventail,
Me peindra, flûte aux mains, endormant ce bercail,
Duchesse, nommez-moi berger de vos sourires.
Version définitive.
Placet Futile
1.
Princesse! à jalouser le destin d'une Hébé
2. Qui poind sur cette tasse au baiser de vos lèvres,
3. J'use mes feux mais n'ai rang discret que d'abbé
Et ne figurerai, même nu, sur le Sèvres.
- 7478.-
Comme je ne suis pas ton bichon embarbé,
4. Ni la pastille, ni du rouge, ni jeux mièvres
5.
Et que sur moi je sais ton regard clos tombé,
Blonde dont les coiffeurs divins sont des orfèvres!
6.
8.
7. Nommez nous . . . toi de qui tant de ris framboisés
Se joignent en troupeau d'agneaux apprivoisés
Chez tous broutant les voeux et bêlant aux délires
9.
10. Nommez nous pour qu'Amour ailé d'un éventail
11. M'y peigne, flûte aux doigts endormant ce bercail,
12. Princesse, nommez nous berger de vos sourires.
•
Changes made from the version of 1884 to the final edition.
1. Duchesse is change to Princesse; the latter is more extensive
in meaning. The change from rêve d'être to jalouser le
destin permits the poet to discard the word longtemps;
jalouser is also more intense, especially next to le destin,
which is to Mallarmé a symbol that he frequently uses
(also in Igitur) to denote a dream, a crisis, or an attain-
ment, so that he extends the meaning of the term to suit
the allusion.
2. rit is changed to poind, for the latter, when its meaning is
extended, implies the former, and it is more emphatic.
Irony and laughter are almost always associated with des-
tiny in Mallarmé's poems. Cette is also more forceful be-
cause it is more direct.
3. Je suis un poète is changed to j'use mes feux; un peu moins
que is changed to mais n'ai rang discret que. The earlier
phrases are simpler, more declarative and perhaps more
direct; but they are less poetically clothed (too forward).
The latter versions are vaguer and refer to the earlier
phrases. The changes, moreover, do not seem to be very
significant.
4. bonbons is changed to pastille; ton carmine to du rouge.
Here, too, the changes do not seem important, except that
the newer words are softer in sound.
- 75 -
5.
6.
The change from ces to les indicates a desire to make the
nouns as indefinite as possible; they are not fixed and
specific; they are abstract.
7. Ris is an exaggeration of souris and implies the latter.
8.
9.
10.
11.
pourtant is changed to je sais, which is more elocutionary.
Ton regard est tombé is changed to ton regard clos tombé;
clos is introduced to make the image more tense, thus
dramatic.
12.
sont en troupeau is changed to se joignent en troupeau,
creating a movement (the ballet), which implies a dra-
matic effect. The change from qui to chez tous is part of
the change above (8) and renders the image more vivid.
coeurs is changed to voeux; the latter noun is more ab-
stract and implies the former, if the meaning of the term
is extended. If the poet had been more wordy he might
have said les voeux des coeurs.
rose éventail is changed to Amour ailé d'un éventail; rose
is to be inferred by the reader. The new image suggests
motion and implies the dance as an element of poetry.
me peindra is changed to the present subjunctive, which
adds to the elocutionary and emphatic effect. Instead of
saying flûte aux mains (which is more usual) the second
version is flûte aux doigts; the commonality of the former
phrase did not force the reader's attention, while the speci-
fication of the fingers makes the image more striking and
calls a picture to mind (the finger-play upon the flute).
moi is changed to nous (also in line 12); nous is used
because it is more in style with the "clause de style" of the
"lettres royaux".
763-
010
Les Hommes d'Aujourd'hui, Verlaine, 1886.
Sonnet
Toujours plus souriant au désastre plus beau,
Soupirs de sang, or meurtrier, pâmoison, fête!
Une millième fois avec ardeur s'apprête
Mon solitaire amour à vaincre le tombeau
Quoi! de tout se coucher, pas même un cher lambeau
Ne reste, il est minuit, dans la main du poète
Excepté qu'un trésor trop folâtre de tête
Y verse sa lueur diffuse sans flambeau!
La tienne, si toujours frivole! C'est la tienne,
Seul gage qui des soirs évanouis retienne
Un peu de désolé combat en s'en coiffant
Avec grâce, quand sur les coussins tu la poses
Comme un casque guerrier d'impératrice enfant
Dont pour te figurer, il tomberait des roses.
Version définitive de 1887 (POESIES AUTOGRAPHIEES)
Sonnet
1. Victorieusement fui le suicide beau
2.
Tison de gloire, sang par écume, or, tempête!
3. O rire si là-bas une pourpre s'apprête
A ne tendre royal que mon absent tombeau
Quoi! de tout cet éclat pas même le lambeau
S'attarde, il est minuit, à l'ombre qui nous fête
Excepté qu'un trésor présomptueux de tête
Verse son caressé nonchaloir sans flambeau.
8. La tienne si toujours le délice! la tienne
9. Oui seule qui du ciel évanouis retienne
10. Un peu de puéril triomphe en t'en coiffant
11. Avec clarté quand sur les coussins tu la poses
Comme un casque guerrier d'impératrice enfant
Dont pour te figurer il tomberait des roses.
-773-
1. Although the lines 1, 3, and 4 have become completely
changed, they retain the end-words, somewhat as cues.
Toujours plus souriant is changed to victorieusement,
which is more direct, yet more vague, for the former
image is left to be inferred by the reader. Désastre is
changed to suicide in much the same manner, except
that in this change the newer word is perhaps more con-
cise; but the process of thought is the same: suicide
alludes to the disaster that caused it, and a suicide is a
disaster. In this change, more than in the former, the
directness of the word adds to the dramatic quality of the
image.
2. Soupirs de sang is changed to sang par écume; the pic-
torial effect of the latter phrase is dramatic. meurtrier is
replaced by tison de gloire, which is more dramatic, because
it is more picturesque. But then we have a change from
pamoison and fête to tempête, which alludes to the two
replaced words in the same manner as victorieusement
did (note 1).
3.
mon solitaire amour is replaced by une pourpre, which is
indeed very vague; this is another instance where the poet
expects the reader to associate a vague and indefinite word
or phrase with something that is particular and concise.
Une millième fois is omitted in the second version, for
is it not more tense to await the first visit? Vaincre is
changed to tendre royal; the royal alludes both to vaincre
and to une pourpre; here we have a change which is
rather an addition than a replacement: vaincre et tendre
royal. The words O rire and absent (tombeau) add a
gesture that is elocutionary; they recall the same expres-
sions met in Un Coup de Dés.
4. Ce coucher is changed to cet éclat, suggesting more move-
ment and color. Cher lambeau becomes lambeau without
the adjective, for the adverb même implies the adjective cher.
5. reste is changed to s'attarde; the latter verb is more quali-
fying, thus more vivid.
→→→ 78.-
Dans la main du poète is changed to à l'ombre qui nous
fête; this change is much the same as the introduction of
une pourpre (note 3), where the vagueness alludes to a
concise association. These lines recall lines in Igitur.
6. folâtre is changed to présomptueux; this change recalls
the change from disaster to suicide (note 1).
7. lueur diffuse is changed to caressé nonchaloir; the latter
version alludes to the former and the former seems to
describe the image more aptly. Here again we have a
change from an indefinite to a more indefinite, where the
second version contains a gesture. This image, too, is
repeated in Igitur and Un Coup de Dés, and had a particu-
lar significance for the poet; that is probably why it is
so vague.

8. frivole is changed to délice; an extension of the latter
term implies the former, thus not a replacement but an
addition.
9. Seul gage is changed to oui seule; oui is used for em-
phasis, and the reader is left to imagine gage. Des soirs
is changed to du ciel; darkness and night are to him
synonymous with skies (also note 8).
10. désolé combat is changed to puérile triomphe; the second
version introduces a tinge of irony; the change is much
in the manner of note 8.
11. Avec grâce is changed to Avec clarté; clarté is intro-
duced somewhat as délice (note 8).
Dr. Bonniot says of this poem: "This sonnet came as a
replica of Pitre Châtié, seen in a mirror, after twenty years of
profundity. The feminine obsession has lost its despotism. The
hero has emptied the philter-cup of Tristan or of Hernani; but
R
-79-
he does not die of it; he is entirely revived by the nostalgia of
pure Art, his raison d'être, so that although his impotence has
been overcome, despair makes him see his tomb." And
that is how Mallarmé arrived at many of his later poems (as
also Igitur and Un Coup de Dés); the source-materials vaguely
remained in his memory, together with their associated images
and sentiments; and as they lingered and grew more profoundly
his own through the years, they became more elusive and in-
definite, because of the familiarity, intimacy and remoteness.
LES TYPES DE PARIS
La Petite Marchande de Lavande
Ta paille azur de Lavandes,
Ne crois pas avec ce cil
Osé que tu me la vendes
Comme à l'hypocrite s'il
En décore le faience
Où chacun jamais n'est complet
Tapi dans sa défaillance
Au bleu sentiment se plaît:
Mieux entre une envahissante
Chevelure ici mets-là;
Que ce brin salubre y sente,
Zéphirine, Paméla,
Pour décerner à l'époux
Les prémices de tes poux.
80..
Version définitive.
Chansons Bas
La Marchandise d'herbes aromatiques
2.
1.
Ta paille azur de lavandes,
Ne crois pas avec ce cil
Osé que tu ne la vendes
Comme à l'hypocrite s'il
2. En tapisse la muraille
3.
4.
5.
De lieux les absolus lieux
Pour le ventre qui se raille
Renaître aux sentiments bleus.
Mieux entre une envahissante
Chevelure ici mets-là
Que le brin salubre y sente,
Zéphirine, Paméla
6. Ou conduise vers l'époux
Les prémices de tes poux.
1. Lavandes is changed to lavandes; this indicates that the
capitalized letter seemed not to have added to the signi-
ficance of the word; this is one of the cases where a
capital letter in an early version was used merely as an
underscoring, somewhat carelessly, too.
décore le faience is changed to tapisse la muraille; both
the verb and the noun have been replaced by words that
are more concise, because they call forth a greater picto-
rialness, and are majestic; the grandeur that has been added
because of the changes is architectural and at the same
time dramatic. This concision offers a ground-work for
the abstraction that follows.
3. Où chacun jamais n'est complet is changed to De lieux les
absolus lieux. The second version says exactly the same
-81-
as the first, except that the latter is vaguer; the first
version is more expository and the second is more elusive;
were it not for the pictorial effect of the second change
(note 2) this vague phrase would find no significance.
4. Tapis dans sa défaillance is changed to pour le ventre qui
se raille. Tapis must have suggested tapisse (note 2); it
is only ventre which has been newly introduced, yet le
ventre qui se raille is a substitute for défaillance, making
the image more concise and more dramatic. Défaillance
seems to have been too vague to be sufficiently striking.
The sound of aill suits the sentiment very well, and it has
been retained despite the change.
5.
se plaît is changed to renaître. If the poet had been less
direct, he might have said renaître et se plaire, which
would have been more declarative; but he left it to the
reader to infer that and to read into the word renaître
more than one meaning, even if the less obvious meanings
might be far-fetched.
6. Pour décerner is changed to ou conduise; here again we
have a change from a less concise word to one that appears
to be more concise; décerner does not infer the gesture of
bringing as does conduiser; it is too vague to infer move-
ment (the ballet) and drama.
To fully appreciate the evolution of Stéphane Mallarmé's
poetry, one should pass from the two early poems cited by Dr.
Bonniot' to the poetry in Un Coup de Dés. The contrast of
form and content from the earliest of his poetry to the latest
is indeed interesting: from the narrative and the concrete to the
dramatic and the allusive; from a primitive symbolism to an
1
Bonniot, Dr. E., Mallarmé et la Vie. La Revue de France, January,
February, 1930.
+82).
imagism of the rarest order, from subjective realities to objective
symbols.
Haine du Pauvre
Ta guenille nocturne étalant par ses trous
Les rousseurs de tes poils et de ta peau je l'aime
Vieux spectre, et c'est pourquoi je te jette vingt sous.
Ton front servile et bas n'a pas la fierté blême:
Tu comprends que le pauvre est le frère du chien
Et ne vas pas drapant ta lésine en poème.
Comme un chacal sortant de sa pierre, ô chrétien,
Tu rampes à plat ventre après qui je bafoue.
Vieux, combien par grimace? et par larme, combien?
Mets à nu ta vieillesse et que la gueuse joue,
Lèche, et de mes vingt sous chatouille la vertu.
A bas! les deux genoux!-la barbe dans la boue!
Que veut cette médaille idiote, ris-tu?
L'argent brille, le cuivre un jour se vert-de-grise,
Et je suis peu dévot et je suis fort têtu,
Choisis.-Jetée? Alors, voici, ma pièce prise.
Serre-la dans tes doigts et pense que tu l'as
Parce que j'en tiens trop, ou par simple méprise.
C'est le prix, si tu n'as pas peur, d'un coutetas.
(This poem, which was later called A Un Mendiant, and
still later, Aumône, was written in 1862; there is another
version extant, that of 1864, which is not radically different
from that of 1866, cited in this chapter and compared to the
definite version, as it appeared in Les Poésies. This version of
1862 seems to be the most verbose and declarative; the descrip-
tions are told rather than suggested.)
-83.-
(Dated 1861)
Galanterie Macabre
Dans un de ces faubourgs où vont des caravanes
De chiffonniers se battre et baiser galamment
Un vieux linge sentant la peau des courtisanes
Et lapider les chats dans l'amour s'ambîmant,
J'allais comme eux: mon âme errait et un ciel terne
Pareil à la lueur pleine de vague effroi
Que sur les murs blêmis ébauche leur lanterne
Dont le matin rougit la flamme, un jour de froid.
Et je vis un tableau funèbrement grotesque
Dont le rêve me hante encore, et que voici
Une femme, très jeune, une pauvresse, presque
En gésine, était morte en un bouge noirci.
-Sans sacrements et comme un chien,—dit sa voisine.
Un haillon noir y pend et pour larmes d'argent
Montre le mur blafard par ses trous: la lésine
Et l'encens rance vont dans ses plis voltigeant.
Trois chaises attendant la bière; un cierge, à terre,
Dont la cire a déjà pleuré plus d'un mort; puis
Un chandelier, laissant sous son argent austère
Rire le cuivre, et, sous la pluie, un brin de buis..
Voilà. Jusqu'ici, rien: il est permis qu'on meure
Pauvre, un jour qu'il fait sale,—— et qu'un enfant de choeur
Ouvre son parapluie, et, sans qu'un chien vous pleure,
Expédie au galop votre convoi moqueur.
Mais ce qui me fit à voir, ce fut la porte
Lui semblant trop étroite ou l'escalier trop bas,
Un croque-mort grimpant au taudis de la morte
Par la lucarne, avec une échelle, à grands pas.
→La Mort a des égards envers ceux qu'elle traque:
Elle enivre d'azur nos yeux, en les fermant;
-84...-
Puis passe un vieux frac noir et se coiffe d'un claque,
Et vient nous escroquer nos sous, courtoisement.-
Du premier échelon jusqu'au dernier, cet être
Ainsi que Roméo fantasquement volait,
Quand, par galanterie, au bord de la fenêtre
Il déposa sa pipe en tirant le volet.
Je détournai les yeux et m'en allai: la teinte
Où le ciel gris noyait mes songes, s'assombrit,
Et voici que la voix de ma pensée éteinte
Se réveilla, parlant comme le Démon rit.
Dans mon coeur où l'ennui pend ses drapeaux funèbres
Il est un sarcophage aussi, le souvenir.
Là, parmi des onguents pénétrant les ténèbres,
Dort Celle à qui Satan rira mon avenir.
Et le Vice, jaloux d'y fixer sa géhenne,
Veut la porter en terre et frappe au carreaux; mais
Tu peux attendre encor, cher croque-mort:-ma haine
Est là dont l'oeil vengeur l'emprisonne à jamais.
It is significant that the poet employed such words as chien,
mort, pauvre, vice, coeur, âme, haine, Satan in his earlier poems,
and these words almost never appear in his later poems, especi-
ally in Un Coup de Dés; for these specify an emotionalism
which was restrained later. Of the earlier words there are a few
which are retained by the poet, and they are such words as
ténèbres, rire, azur, such that contain movement (gesture)
and such that are abstract; even ciel which is itself abstract is
changed to horizon, for the latter denotes more movement and
has more dramatic appeal, while it retains the abstraction.
The above two poems should be compared with the page.
cited from Un Coup de Dés (Chapter V) or with Cantique de
-853-
Saint Jean (Chapter III); here are to be found images carved,
glowing, impersonal and intense! While the earlier poems are
declarative, personal and emotional, the later poems are formu-
lative and cerebral. The third stanza of Galanterie Macabre would
in a later version probably have been replaced only by key
words: pauvresse, morte (or noir).
+f{ 86 }*...
III. WAGNERISM
.
"Music is added once again to verse and forms,
since Wagner's time, Poetry."
Stéphane Mallarmé's quest for the absolute, as both his prose
and his poetry indicate, never implied a search for pure poetry;
the latter term, which denotes the exclusion of all the other
arts, and even their influences, would have suggested a poetry
created by word-play and limited in its scope; while to Stéphane
Mallarmé words were that substance, those resources, which
represented infinite powers of insinuating nuances; to com-
pletely discover these possibilities which the word had for him,
this was the purpose of his æsthetic explorations.
Like Richard Wagner, Stéphane Mallarmé frequently referred
to a combined form of the arts and made attempts to prove the
practicability and the advantages of such artistic endeavor, where
the created whole was the result of selecting the essence from
each of the arts; a body created by the harmonious union of
the measured and carefully considered materials. Like Richard
Wagner, Stéphane Mallarmé believed that the isolation of the
faculties of a given art meant a gap in the powers, the form,
and the pursuits of the artist.
Richard Wagner dreamed that poetry and music, both founded
upon abstract movement, and thus suggesting bodily rhythm,
would be united in the art of the future, the drama; the latter
was to be inspired and aided by all the arts for the purpose of
its own concretion, its spectacular effects, its loftiness, its con-
-*89-
cision and its embellishment. The Dramatic Aim was to domi-
nate all things else, for this united realm of the sister arts
broadened the sphere of the artist-man, until he became the
universal-human-being. Drama was to Richard Wagner the only
true artistic pursuit that could ever be completely realized. This
art, since it consciously re-enacted the instinctive deeds of the
hero (actual or assumed), in all its phases was noble and genu-
ine; also because it included every artistic power; it was born
of an associate demand and therefore could be most widely
appreciated.
It is interesting to note that Wagner did not consider the
drama as a confusion of the arts; indeed he had no sympathy
for an art that in itself was appreciated amid art-variety (as for
example, reading a romance written by Goethe in a picture
gallery, amidst statues, while a symphony was being played).
The drama was to be created by the spontaneous blending of
the art-forces. The task of the drama was to depict real actions,
render them intelligible to the general public by a supreme
emotional motivation; this emotional understanding could best
be attained through a perfected union of the arts.
In accordance with his theoretic system of æsthetic, the arts
were divided into two branches: first, those which drew their
inspiration and founded their special capacities upon man, his
sentiments, his notions, and his activities; second, those which
were constructed upon the gifts of nature more immediately and
more directly, their author being constrained to observe and to
imitate nature, all its aspects, extensive and intensive. To the
first class belonged the dance, music, poetry; in the second rank
he considered painting, architecture, sculpture.
The dance was the origin of all the arts, the most immature
of all artistic conceptions, the basis for the various forms in
art; for this, the concretest aspect of movement, expressed
-·* 90 }**·---
through the metaphor of bodily grace an exalted form of mim-
icry; the dance implied rhythm, and rhythm was a creation of
mind and lyricism; all art was primarily born of rhythm. But
the dance had a limited scope; it was dependent upon the human
body, and it was restricted because it could not to any great
degree attain a mode of impersonality, and because it could make
little or no inference to thoughts; moreover, the feelings that its
spectacle aroused could hardly become abstractions. The redemp-
tion of the dance was to be occasioned, then, through the drama,
-that complete art which was to bring about the return from
Understanding to Feeling. The dance was to subordinate its grace
whenever requisite, or even to impose certain of its qualities, when
it shall have become part of the drama. Its allegoric nature, the
facility with which it could become a pose, made of it a dramatic
art, an art readily saved in the art-work of the future. The banality
which it presented today would be wiped away in the future.
What Stéphane Mallarmé wrote about this art might well be
suited to Wagner's opinions of it:
"The ballet gives us very little; it is imaginative. When
a sign of beauty, scattered and general, becomes isolated
and is noticed, a flower, a wave, clouds, a jewel, etc., the
only way we have of knowing it is to juxtapose its aspect
with our spiritual nudity, so that this nudity might feel its
analogy and adapt it for its own self with a somewhat re-
fined confusion of its own, with this vanished form-only
occasioned by the rite, thus having expressed some Idea,-
does not the danseuse appear to be almost the very cause,
almost all humanity apt to lose itself in the flotation of
dreams?" (Divagations, p. 157)
Poetry (when Richard Wagner spoke of poetry he had in mind
the Greek festivals where the poetry was played) suggested
corporeal rhythm (the Greek chorus), but its swing was of a
---{16}**---
greater abstraction, like the pulse-beat of all the events of nature;
it portrayed a beauty that was less carnal than that of the dance;
its powers of thought and of emotions included apprehensions
and suggestions that were more exact, but also more extensive,
and its form as well as its content were both of a more uni-
versal, more objective nature. It had the power to impart
observations, thoughts, actions, through phantasy (phantasy im-
plied the harmony of Understanding and Feeling). The poetry
of today, Wagner believed, had ceased to reveal, it simply de-
scribed, and was more a result of reason than of the senses. It,
too, was awaiting its redemption in the form of the drama.
And just as poetry had made use of the drama as its step-
ping-stone, so too, music was endowed with the qualities of
poetry and thus arrived at a still higher plane. Poetry could
not reach the same abstraction as did music; for the purpose
of the former was to speak, to leave nothing unsaid, and toward
this end words served as the necessary medium; although words
were flexible and plastic and could create images and cadences,
they caused limitations which were barriers to absolute abstrac-
tion; a word might never be employed for its sonority or its
rhythm alone, it had always to be suited to the context. This
absolute abstraction (which in music was Feeling and Under-
standing in a happy proportion, that is, Feeling somewhat modi-
fied by Understanding) was, according to Richard Wagner,
effected only through music; this was therefore the realm of
highest art, the redeeming art which expressed that which poetry
described; even more, without having need to expound. What
all the other arts could only hint at, music could more certainly,
more directly, and more definitely reveal. Tone, the very heart
of man, was the summit where the motions of the dance and
the thoughts of poetry were united.
But if music was the most volatile and also the most formula-
-923-
}
tive of creations, it was an alluring art, but not vital enough.
Art, born of spontaneity and thus necessarily an immediate
act, could incite
incite contemplation; but, in an absolute
state, at should not contain it. The less absolute art showed
itself to be, the less did it impress itself upon the soul (not
the mind alone, or the sensations alone); concision, instan-
taneousness, startling and sparkling moments, were to be found
in the drama, which was in its nature most selective and which
depicted only the sharpest, the indispensable motives. The drama
was that creative art which depended most of all upon the
audience to build upon and to interpret the allusionism of
phrases, even unspoken or lulled; to catch the significance of
the slightest gesture. The drama was the art whose expressions
were nearest to the heart and the mind of the general public
(das Volk). In order to spread the culture of art, Richard
Wagner believed that its aristocracy must grow up from below;
if the common urgence for art was a provocation for every man
(whereby he seeks to understand nature) this process was to
be met through appealing to the common public. Toward such
an end poetry and music were to be united in the future, the
union being willed by the author himself, but not premeditated,
not artificial; one mode, either the poetry or the music, was to
be the spontaneous outcome of the other; the artifice of patching
and applying finished and prearranged parts, as in the case of
the opera, was even more deplorable to Richard Wagner, than
allowing a separate art to remain as it was.
"The poet who is fully alive to the inexhaustible, ex-
pressive power of Symphonic Melody, which with one
harmonic term can change the tone of its expression in
the thrillingest of manners, will be moved to meet its
finest, rarest nuances half-way; no longer will he be tor-
tured by the older, narrow form of Opera-melody into
93.-
furnishing a mere dry canvas, bare of content; rather
will he eavesdrop from the musician the secret hidden
from the latter's self, the secret that Melodic Form is
capable of infinitely richer evolution than the musician has
as yet deemed possible within the Symphony itself; and,
presaging this evolution, he will already strike the fetters
from his poem's freedom.
Thus, where the Symphonist still timidly groped back
to the original dance-form-never daring, even for his
expression, to quite transgress the bounds which held him
in communication with that form-the Poet now will cry
to him: "Launch without fear into the full flood of Music's
sea; hand in hand with me, you can never lose touch of
the thing most seizable of all by every human being; for
through me you stand on the solid ground of the Dramatic
Action, and that Action, at the moment of its scenic show,
is the most directly understandable of all poems. Stretch
boldly out your melody, that like a ceaseless river it may
pour throughout the world: in it say you what I keep
silent, since you alone can say it; and silent shall I utter
all, since my hand is that which guides you.
{
Of a verity the poet's greatness is mostly to be measured
by what he leaves unsaid, letting us breathe in silence to
ourselves the thing unspeakable; the musician is he who
brings this untold mystery to clarion tongue, and the im-
peccable form of his sounding silence is endless melody.”
1
""
Music was to employ its lyricism over and above the rhetoric
elements of poetry, and was to infuse the spoken language with
subtler nuances than mere words can bring forth. By the mutual
practise of giving and taking these two arts were to experience
absolute completion; and toward their immediate decoration
and elaboration the imitative arts were to be employed. These
were to signal more concisely the content of the drama proper,
were to arouse the imagination of the spectator and the listener,
¹ Richard Wagner's Prose Works, translated by W. Ashton Ellis; Vol.
3, p. 337. London, 1897.
-·· 16 ··--
prepare him for the less evident inferences, or the more ambigu-
ous formulæ; through these arts which imitated the movements
in nature alone (not the movements of man) the drama was to
reveal the outer aspect of an inner meaning, persuade the witness
to concentrate and follow by the creation of a suited and im-
pressive atmosphere, inspire him with great religious (social
religion) faith. The feeling of awe, aroused by the lofty and
mysterious atmosphere, was to fill the audience with an un-
limited appreciation for the miraculous event called art. Thus to
Richard Wagner the drama was to be the end of all expression,
an inner significance and an outward spectacle condensed and
unified.
"The chief motives of the dramatic action, having be-
come distinguishable melodic moments which fully materi-
alize their content, being molded into a continuous texture,
binding a whole art-work together, and, in the final result,
the orchestra so completely guiding our whole attention
away from itself as a means of expression, and directing
it to the object expressed .
""
Another argument presented by Richard Wagner for this art-
work of the future was that it could render the most powerful
presentation of a conflict, either the conflict of Understanding
and Feeling, or the strife between the individual and society
which engulfs him, or the struggle of duty and conscience. Art,
which arose from man's bewildered study of the phenomena of
nature and man against nature, was necessarily a description of a
conflict—and was not the drama, which in its very form (not
only in the content) outlined the contest, then the highest art,
since its arrow hit the target most surely?
To Richard Wagner art was nothing other than a bewildered
description of man's surroundings; for man was the expression
of nature, and art was the expression of man; art was grounded
*95}3.-
upon life itself, because all inspiration could be derived either
from nature or more directly, from man. Since the drama
represented only the essence of the romance, since it traced only
that which was absolutely requisite to its mission, it was the
directest approach to the theme of nature, therefore also a most
forceful revelation of the inexplicable or the implacable of life.
And because the drama left the individual in the audience to
develop and to mold much that had been left untold, it endowed
not only the author, but the consumer as well, with the powers
of artistic and creative imagination; at least it forced him to that
plane.
For a theatre of this sort Richard Wagner imagined an ideal
public, such that might not only follow the leit-motiv in the
dramatic action, but that could, of its own accord, construct the
past of a present event, and the present of a future and dreamed-
of prospect. This ideal public was to be so well prepared
spiritually that it could, without delay, follow the spontaneity
and analyze its content, when attracted by the form, should spec-
ulation become necessary. The theatre was to him a glorified
symbolization of the mass; it was the social life of art without
totally destroying the individualistic course incidental or proper
to art. Prayer and exaltation were thus to be attained through
art, this miraculous event born of man's emotionally-governed
intellectualism. Furthermore, there was beyond this realm, and
reached in a state of numb feelings and numbed thoughts,
sublimation, oblivion, an austerity so severe that it caused
complete negation, vacuity, absence. This néant to which
Mallarmé's critic, Thibaudet, refers as the negative degrees of
a mathematic calculation, was to Wagner (as well as to Mal-
larmé) a power that was ever capable of recalling the past
upon which it was founded, a state of non-existence that im-
plied being.
--f9673..-
With Richard Wagner the question of the theatre as a social
phenomenon appears to be not only a question of art, but a
question of ethic. Man's pride in life being his intellectual
capacity, and the latter the source of his egotism, feeling (pure
feeling) would break this pride, either when man was in bond
with his fellow-beings at the theatre, or in any other form of
religious practise; or when he had reached the stage of néant
and the un-national universal (the negative aspect of that same
egotism).
The people re-enact the deeds of their hero in the drama.
Their efforts of expression, though the crudest, are the most
genuine because they make no attempt to conceal the secrets
of their hearts. On the other hand, if art were allowed to
include the general masses in its realm, it did not have to speak
its secret; it might leave its secret unspoken, if it reached the
hearts of the people, through rhythm; for das Volk was a joint
poetic force that worshipped much that it did not comprehend.
Through phantasy the general public was to be given to under-
stand the meanings of its bewilderments. And here we have
the question of morals: through fellow-feeling man was to gain
knowledge and the feeling of uprightness toward his comrades,
when art had led him to approach the significance of uni-
versality.
Stéphane Mallarmé seems to have applied his genius to Rich-
ard Wagner's theories, though he modified those to suit his own
search, and often constructed new premises which were founded
upon Wagnerian principles; thus he often changed an intention
of the master by bringing his own interpretations to use. The poet
wrote with enthusiasm about Richard Wagner's theories, but it
is obvious that, though they strongly influenced him, he only
vaguely believed in them; that is, he drew from the well, but
could not satisfy his thirst with its offerings. Mallarmé's was a
-973-
mind that reasoned by abstract analogies: the world was a myth
to him, a fiction that existed so that art might be created; deeds
and visions were symbolic and were imbued with a spark of
something that was surely to happen in the future; their sig-
nificance was divine. Into Wagner's conception he read conse-
quent inductions or deductions-thus the world of art was to
him a book and not a theatre; but this book had the inherent
power of becoming a stage-production, concretely rendered. Be-
cause every event in nature and in human life was an eternal
occurrence meant to be revealed, interpreted through the subtle
effects of an artistic creation, art was at once a religious task
and a system of philosophy. And, since phenomena of life and
of nature were felt by and concerned all human beings, they
must have been meant to be interpreted through art for the
general public (das Volk), as well as for those whose intellect
was more refined (or even whose sense-apparatus was more
aristocratic); thus we have the theatre for the average audience
and poetry (to Mallarmé poetry was both verse and music) for
the rarer minds. Furthermore, just as Wagner imagined an ideal
public for his stage, so Stéphane Mallarmé was the poet who
wrote for a reader that could conform with and appreciate his
standard of perfection.
To Stéphane Mallarmé the drama, which was nothing but
Richard Wagner's proposed combination of poetry and music
plus the application of the three imitative arts, was meant to
embody all such modes that the general public could grasp,
that it could therefore appreciate, and from which the public
could infer truths: it was concrete, spectacular, immediate, im-
pressive; it aroused sentiments and thoughts too, without over-
taxing the individual's creative and imaginative faculties to a
point of spiritual weariness. The drama, as Mallarmé saw it,
aroused the imagination of the audience by appealing to all the
-98..
senses at once, by appealing to them directly (not abstractly as
did his own poetry); at the same time the drama never depended
upon the audience to complete or to supplement the presented
materials. Like the symbolism of the Catholic church, like the
symbolism of all ages, the drama was to awaken dreams and
visions in the soul of the witness because, while it brought some-
thing that was tangible into the mind, it played upon the inquisi-
tive instinct of man-"le mystère de ce qui suit.”
Wagner said that death was the last fulfillment of man's being
upon earth, that it was a complete renunciation of his egotism;
that drama was the noblest thing that man's intelligence had
invented, for it immortalized man when it celebrated his death
and reproduced his deeds. To Mallarmé, who noted the sig-
nificance of symbolism, the drama typified the soul and its
attributes, its vices and virtues, its joys and its lamentations, and
fixed its deeds more securely in the memory of the witnesses.
Since its function was of such a holiness, it did not only, as
Wagner believed, represent man and his death, but furthermore,
it conceived death as the symbol of eternity (all art did so
according to Mallarmé).
"La scène est le foyer évident des plaisirs pris en com-
mun, aussi et tout bien réfléchi, la majestueuse ouverture
sur le mystère dont on est au monde pour envisager la
grandeur . . .
(Divagations, p. 192).
""
"Un ensemble versifié convie à une idéale représenta-
tion: des motifs d'exaltation ou de songe s'y nouent entre
eux et se détachent, par une ordonnance et leur individual-
ité. Telle portion incline dans un rythme ou mouvement
de pensée, à quoi s'oppose tel contradictoire dessin."
(Divagations, p. 218)
"Symétrie, comme elle règne en tout édifice, le plus
vaporeux, de vision et de songes."
(Divagations, p. 218)
}
-66……
Poetry, which was the more artificial art, because it appealed
primarily to the understanding rather than to the sentiments,
was the less immediate and the subtler form of art, and was
created for the ideal public; in fact, to Mallarmé the reader was
more than a witness, for he was the potential poet, whose latent
powers were called forth, whose imagination was incited to
create what had been left unsaid by the poet himself. Because
he had to be constructive, the reader was not only a witness, an
interpreter, but a performer as well; he corresponded to what
Richard Wagner termed the poet and the performer in one.
To Wagner, as well as to Mallarmé, poetry was the conception
of a main idea, a sudden realization that this new idea was the
result of many notions that had arisen before it had been cul-
minated, and again the sudden revelation that this main motive
can be broken up into a number of lesser notions equal to each
other in significance and import, and well grouped; the ability
for such a complicated poetic act was lodged in the rarer mind.
The poet was he who consciously and conscientiously described
what he instinctively lived through.
Artistic creation was to Mallarmé an equilibrium reached in
the mind of the artist, momentary and two-winged like the two
sides of a scale, or the wings of a bird spread in flight,—the
identical weights of two fragments of a one and complete force
whose exterior seems to be broken, but whose essence is really
unsevered. (This image is repeated time and again by Mallarmé
when he alludes to art and to poetry).
And just as Wagner sought to employ all the other arts for
the one perfect creation of art, so Stéphane Mallarmé proposed
to exhibit and embody the qualities and the capacities of all the
other arts towards the perfection of his own. The book, which
to him was the symbol of life (to him life was lived for the sake
of the book, rather than that the book was the outcome of our
-100.
lives) was a structure meant to be construed as a piece of archi-
tecture was. Each poem of the book was to be as detailed and
as eventful, as eternally signficant, as the nuances of a monu-
mental work. The plasticity of a symbol was to correspond to
sculpture; the illusionism of a symbol was to correspond to paint-
ing. (The final end of poetry was to be music, because it
was music and not poetry that contained the most perfect ab-
straction. His formula for poetic creation was: music plus words
(words= dictum plus gesture) = poetry. In accordance with
this system he wrote poetry whose content was drama and whose
form was music, for dramatic content implied an employment
of gesture accompanied by words. Each of his poems was very
similar to a hymn or to a melody; one of his works, Un Coup
de Dés n'Abolira Jamais le Hasard, was meant to recall orches-
tration, a more complicated form of the musical score (see Chap-
ter 5).
Richard Wagner had introduced every art in the dramatization
of his music; Stéphane Mallarmé employed every art toward
the intensification of his verse. Mallarmé did not make use of
the other arts in their extension, but rather in their intention;
he wished his poetry to realize the qualities of the other arts
without actually placing the others before his reader. He desired
his poetry to assume the impression which the form of each of
the other arts could preserve, but without immediately and
actually practicing their respective modes. Just as the theatre
was to play upon all the senses at once and through concrete appli-
cations, so his poetry was to excite all the senses at once, only
abstractly, and governed by a harmony and a symmetry that may
be said to be mathematical.
"Susceptibilité en raison que le cri possède un écho-des
motifs de même jeu s'équilibreront, balancés, à distance,
ni le sublime incohérent de la mise en page romantique ni
-101 ›
-
cette unité artificielle, jadis, mesurée en bloc au livre. Tout
devient suspens, disposition fragmentaire avec alternance
et vis-à-vis, concourant au rythme total, lequel serait le
poème tu, aux blancs;"
(Divagations, p. 247)
"Quelque symétrie, parallèlement, qui, de la situation
des vers en la pièce se lie à l'authenticité de la pièce dans
le volume, vole, outre le volume, à plusieurs inscrivant,
eux, sur l'espace spirituel, le paraphe amplifié du génie,
anonyme et parfait comme une existence d'art.”
(Divagations, p. 247)
"L'oeuvre pure implique la disparition élocutoire du
poëte, qui cède l'initiative aux mots, par le heurt de leur
inégalité mobilisés, ils s'allument de reflets réciproques
comme une virtuelle traînée de feux sur des pierreries,
remplaçant la respiration perceptible en l'ancien souffle
lyrique ou la direction personnelle enthousiaste de la
phrase."
(Divagations, p. 246)
The purity and the objectivity of his verse did not denote the
absence of the other arts; it was the ambition of the poet to be
as far removed from the created image, or the created music, as
is possible; that, after having conceived and expressed his art,
he will have dismissed all traces of the poet; in this wise the
verse was to become a unit complete in itself, a pillar standing
alone without a support.
He considered that the outward aspect of the poem was of
great significance: the placing of the lines on the page, the black
and white spaces, the margins—all these were to appeal to the
eye, just as the sonority of words is meant to attract the ear.
He carried this view to a far limit, when he experimented with
the black and white spaces in Un Coup de Dés. Here he
attempted to have the impression of the images and
མ་པ
102..
the sounds correspond to the impression of the lay of the page;
the scheme of the arrangement is as significant to the content as
are even the words themselves, especially that there are no
punctuation marks, and one must learn to interpret and inflect
in accordance with the spacings and the typography.
The book as a whole was to be an architectural structure;
again the sequence and the divisions of the book were to be
carefully considered. The poem was to be either as plastic as a
piece of sculpture, or to imply this quality. It was to be as spec-
tacular as a painting, and its images as symmetrically balanced as a
painting. The poem was to be as graceful as the sway of a
feminine body moving in the dance. Its rhythm was also to
recall music; its hushed phrases were to be as suggestive as are
the motives of music. But these qualities of the other arts were
merely to be offered through suggestion; the reader was to infer
them. On the whole, a poem was to produce sensations by al-
lusionism, these allusions having been born of concrete thoughts,
which have been universalized, perhaps sentimentalized and then
reformed, and all traces of their origin removed; thus a senti-
ment was to discover its pure thought, or the reverse, a pure
thought was to be the remembrance of some feeling far removed
and vague. When in turn these thoughts became abstractions so
indefinite and so full of newer and vaguer fractions (newer
possibilities and newer inferences) that they had completely
lost even the words that used to express them, when they had
been imbued with a silence ready to burst forth and reveal its
inner self, poetry was on the road to music. Then, since music
was the art that could express everything through suggestion,
since it was the beyond of words and visions, it was the aim
of poetry to reach the realm of music. Each individual image
of the poetry was to be carefully drawn and its implication was
to be precise, but the canvas became vague when the combina-
103 -
tions of the images and the inferences, when the successiveness
of the pure thoughts were not made obvious; or else, the bril-
liancy of the isolated image overpowered the reader to such an
extent that he could not undertake to draw the total sum.
Mallarmé's ideal and silent reader had to be in perfect har-
mony with the poet, in order to understand the allusions and
sense the sequence of the reveries. The more the author com-
bined and inferred, the greater was the synthetic whole, and
the firmer and more concentrated was the pattern of events.
Stéphane Mallarmé did not disclose the many traces that might
help his reader in interpreting the content of a poem; he left
only the isolated and absolute pattern; he relied upon the poetic
nature of his reader to imagine all that had been cleansed from
the poem, all the words and phrases that had either been entirely
omitted or else substituted by a single word, more vague in its
meaning; or else, he even substituted an entire sentence by a
mark of punctuation, a dash, a broken line, even an omitted
period. Wagner had called music the bond between a present
and an absent emotion; Mallarmé, when he conceived that the
end of poetry was music, seems to have believed that the task
of poetry was to create the bond; he desired his audience to
sense the latency of the visions presented, to view the created
aspect, even if it appeared to be fragmentary and incomplete;
for absence was a potential present and the present could easily
be assigned to something past or almost past. The only thing
that really seemed to him to exist forever was the future, for it
was consistently and inevitably being burdened, and its seeds
were incessantly sown by the efforts of art. Future took flight
starting from the present, and when it had carried its wings to
a pinnacle of thin air, when it had soared above reality and
entered into a state of the néant, the future became a being of
non-existence, and like Mallarmé's Igitur, was frenzied when it
-1043-
beheld its meaningless (though at the same time significant)
past, when it felt the call of tradition; when it realized that it
was itself the power that held the key to its own existence, its
life, its creative awakening. Igitur was the poet, imbued with a
silence that was not a void, though at times it might even dis-
play a compendium of chaoticism; his silence bore a full and
endless capacity for significant musical phrases. The néant which
Igitur represents was born of a weary soul, was fatigued by its
responsible and ever-alert demands, its semi-mathematic and
semi-romantic pilgrimages; it exhausted its energy and its in-
tellect by the excessive tasks with which it burdened its soul, and
by the awakening of an emotionalism that it had once voluntarily
made invisible, suppressed, but which had always remained in
the background in a state of latency.
To Stéphane Mallarmé, for whom everything in the world
existed for the sake of the book, the mental instrument par
excellence which was to symbolize all events and make the
fiction of this universe more real and more acutely understood,
the book was the basis for theatrical presentation; the stage
was the means of making the book accessible to the people who
could comprehend only concrete aspects of fiction, content pre-
sented in a form easily conveyed and readily narrated. Theatre,
this fusion of the ode and the ballet, coupled with music, was to
take the isolated and the intensive strokes of the poet's pen and
spectacularize the outlines. The theatre was the poetry of the
masses (das Volk).
"Tout, la polyphonie magnifique instrumentale, le vivant
geste ou les voix des personnages et de dieux, au surplus
un excès apporté à la décoration matérielle, nous le con-
siderons, dans le triomphe du génie, avec Wagner, éblouis
par une telle cohésion, ou un art, qui aujourd'hui devient
la poésie."
(Divagations, p. 217)
---{105 }3*.-
Mallarmé applied the same definition of poetry to the theatre,
except that the theatre was not imbued with abstractions or vague
allusions.
Like Wagner, he believed that art, the defense of a frenzy
created through the burdens of a tradition, complicated by a
rich and powerful imagination, was a religion founded upon the
wonders of nature and of man; all ideas and sentiments ex-
posed by art were nothing but an expression of this wonderment.
Or, in other words, art submitted a scheme for glimpsing into
the absolute, into the pure and isolated truths. Its rhythm was
an abstract imitation of the cadence of bodily movement; the
beyond of this same movement (the other end of the pilgrim-
age) was music, thought made so ethereal that it contained
only rhythm and was bereft of anything concrete or tangible; in
other words, its form became its content; while the content grew
in extension, its form grew in extension, though both had been
invested with the intense qualities of the other arts they con-
tained. Music was the last stepping-stone toward reaching the
néant (Wagner's nirvana and Mallarmé's nihility, or the being
of non-existence), and silence was another form of rhythm, a
nihility which the poet was to seek to attain through the con-
centration of the verse-content, through allusionism, like the
gesture that only recalls a dictum, but never utters it.
Graphically then, the theory of Stéphane Mallarmé regarding
art might be represented thus:
1
O
106

Life
(Natur
mex
1
}
silence-
Drama
Music
speech
1
gesture
SAAPUIKIOS
BOOK
(Poetry)
suggestion
To Stéphane Mallarmé music was the most objective art be-
cause it had the capacity for being at once the least personal and
the most suggestive. In art in general, rhythm was that which
was most objective, being the result of attempting to suit the
content to the form, the result of deliberation; since both the
form and the content of music were rhythm and only rhythm,
music was his ideal art. It was a language full of silence, full
of movements and gestures; it was born of the emotional in-
tellect (the spirit that, though it was deliberating, mathematical
and measuring, never lost sight of the sentiments that were the
undercurrent of the system of thought; Wagner referred to an
emotionalized understanding, believing that the artificiality that
accompanied civilization had outrooted pure emotionalism and
left pure and dry intellectualism; he therefore dreamt of the
synthesis of the two extremes: emotional understanding) and
was at once the most and the least spontaneous of arts. Just as
poetry was the intermediary between the spoken language and
music, so music was the stepping-stone from the last breath to
nihility.
Although he believed that art was a revery, a rhapsody of
man describing nature, the gesture of human arms raised in
stupefaction, he viewed its ultimate goal as the complete isola-
tion of the author from all that surrounds him, that which has
given him food for impression,-such complete isolation that
he can of his own accord view his reflection in the mirror of
his
very life and that of his ancestors; that he can by this analysis
of knowledge thus gained, methodically organize his self, even
the expression of this self. All revelations that come to the poet,
then, are reached through an ecstasy of the intellect, rather than
of the emotions, through a religious fervor intensified by mind
rather than governed by feeling. Instead of worshipping the
wonders of nature and man, his art seemed to strive toward in-
-1083-
|_ JUN
venting and disclosing as many possible combinations and alli-
ances as are conceivable; he did not only worship words, he
strove to dissociate, to associate, and to reassociate them; he was
interested in the alchemy of words.
The enigma of some of Stéphane Mallarmé's verse is perhaps
due not to the implied confusion of the arts (as his theories
might point out), not to the fact that he attempted to blend all
the qualities of all the other arts, but to two other causes. The
incessant flow of analogies which founded new ideas and new
symbols, brought forth a richness which even his logic or his
form could not organize. His presentation could therefore not
be simple, since the complications that arose through the simul-
taneous advent of several notions or images at once, through
the remoteness of these notions to each other (though they were
perhaps only apparently remote, for they arose in the same
mind almost at the same time and they were, even if vaguely,
related to the same general matter) were enough to overpower
a mind as keen as his. Added to that, since he himself was not
foreign to the notions that he set down, for they frequented his
mind, since he was so accustomed to them, they were easily
penetrable and seemed to need very little, if any, explanation;
certain images and thoughts had become such an integral and
inseparable part of his mind through their obstinacy and their
lack of retreat, that they were evident to him. But they were
for the most part evident to him alone, for they required a
certain apperceptive mass, a definite basis; they had followed
a certain path, been modified after a definite pattern, which
only the poet knew. His ambiguity perhaps also arose from the
fact that Mallarmé did not choose to use words in their usual
sense (just as he did not choose to describe notions in their
usual sense; just as he seemed not to find need for explain-
ing the origin and the reason for the unusual notions), nor
-109-
A
phrases or word-combinations; he was intrigued by the possibil-
ity of attaching new meanings to usual words, of discovering
obsolete terms and applying them to present usage; he substi-
tuted a term in extension for a term in intention very often,
for that made the contents vaguer, more removed, more inclusive.
Thus he constructed new word-associations, severed old and tra-
ditional combinations, discovered almost startling effects by some
of the rather far-fetched allusions. And since the musical aspect
of a poem was so important to the poet, he studied the sonority
of the words to be used in the composition and often found it
advantageous to substitute a word remote in its meaning in
relation to the context, an image less directly described, because
he had found that word whose sound was more in harmony
with the tone-quality of the line; even if the new word was
not correct as far as its application to the context, one might then
read into it a newer meaning which would be more suitable to
the purpose, for no two words are ever so remote in their sig-
nificance that they cannot, by implication, become related. There
is, perhaps, still another factor underlying Mallarmé's reputa-
tion as a difficult author: he was firmly convinced that the
written language must differ vastly from the spoken language,
for the latter could not afford to be subtle, artificial; its pur-
pose was practical, exacting. He wished not to leave the slight-
est possibility that he had not attained a height that soared far
above the spoken language. An examination of his verse shows
that there is hardly a prose line in their patterns, that he has
removed all explanatory or narrative passages. Poetry is gen-
erally made relatively accessible when, between the more difficult
lines, one can feel the padding in of exposition, the repetition of a
theme, the looser description of an episode, which the poet is
eager for the reader not to fail to grasp; these are pauses that
serve as resting places for the strained mind that is following,
-·- 110 ---
or endeavoring to follow, the artist. But when the poet leaves
his compact descriptions isolated from the rest, when he offers
little or no moments of relaxation to the reader, the impatience
grows. The very process of marvelling at the creative powers
of the artist, of viewing with amazement the puzzling zig-
zag of thoughts and the fragile and transparent images, wearies
a mind; when the reader does not pause to catch his breath, and
is not permitted to divert from the strain of attaching a signifi-
cance to the remotest sounds, a barrier has been created; he is
indolent and will not follow. Mallarmé's verse is so formula-
tive, so absolutely and strictly tense, and free from any material
that is ordinary or evident, that the reader is given little oppor-
tunity to compose himself. Thus the reader is never sure that
he has really and completely solved the enigma presented to
him, and is restless because of the lack of satisfaction derived:
had he reached Mallarmé's emotional conceptions, had he under-
stood and explained everything to himself, had he followed the
descriptions, the allusions, had he filled in the correct implica-
tions, the correct sequence?
Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry was created for the ideal reader,
for him who could express his own individuality as he read the
verse, who could infer all the gaps, understand every omission;
but even with this ideal reader restlessness must have occurred.
But Mallarmé's purpose was to exhibit an obscurity that was
imbued with meaning, with rich sense-impressions, and this pur-
pose he attained.
percevoir parmi l'obscure sublimité telle ébauche
de quelqu'un des poèmes immanents à l'humanité ou leur
originel état, d'autant plus compréhensible que tu et que
pour en déterminer la vaste ligne le compositeur éprouva
cette facilité de suspendre jusqu'à la tentation de s'ex-
pliquer."
(Divagations, p. 248)
*
•
111
111
"Le vers qui de plusieurs vocables refait un mot total,
neuf, étranger à la langue et comme incantatoire, achève
cet isolement de la parole;"
(Divagations, p. 251)
Symbolism, which Mallarmé employed to so great an extent,
was born of analogy and was dramatic because it was allusive;
just as the use of attributes was an exaggerated form of descrip-
tions, so too, the use of symbols seems to be an exaggeration of
analogies. Symbolism only alluded to the sentiments, because
its form of exaggeration was due to an emotionalizing of im-
pressions that were gained; thus it gave rise to poetry. It typified
the acts of the soul by attributing them to inanimate objects;
it made the inanimate objects animate by comparing them with
human events and imbuing them with deep signifiance. The
symbol and the image were what he emphasized, and he directed
the mind to them syntaxically and artificially by an inverted
word order.
1
"Symbols, then, have a divine origin; it may be added
that from the human point of view this form of teaching
answers to one of the least disputable cravings of the hu-
man mind. Man feels a certain enjoyment in giving proof
of his intelligence, in guessing the riddle thus presented
to him, and likewise in preserving the hidden truth summed
up in visible formula, a perdurable form"
"Thus in all ages, men have taken inanimate objects of
animals and plants, to typify the soul and its attributes,
its joys and sorrows, its virtues and vices; thought has been
materialized to fix it more securely in the memory, to
make it less fugitive, more near to us, more real, more
tangible."
Poetry was derived from gesture and dictum, or presented the
Huysmans, La Cathédrale, Paris, 1898.
- 112 3.-
conflict between the real and the dream. Symbolism seemed
best able to give rise to the miracle named art; it conceived
the conflict; it revealed those quantities on the negative and on
the positive sides of the scale. Mallarmé's allusionism was best
rendered by the employment of symbols, for the comparisons
made were only inferred, implied, never actually made. The
extensions of the terms he used corresponded to the exaggera-
tions permissible in symbolism.
Imagination created intuitively, by inner reflection and under-
standing, and was grounded upon sensibility (the preparation
for spontaneity); its sudden outbursts brought nuances to the
surface; and inspiration resulted in effects both casual and
foreseen. Mallarmé sought what was almost impossible, he
sought artistic creation that would be entirely the product of
will; he sought then, to annul the casual content and the acci
dental or incidental forms of his art. Symbolism seemed best
able to yield the desired results, for it was more direct than any
other form of art; the subjectiveness which brought it about
was both individual and universal; it could be detached from
the author and still remain as valuable. Art was that artifice
which was destined to elevate the natural; its fiction, the very
outcome of life, was the most ideal, the most delicate fabric,
like a lace pattern, subtle and thin, through which were reflected
and refracted the shadows and the rays of light. That poet
was persecuted by his own form of expression, who created the
obstacles to his form in order that he might render a pattern
at once more compact and more fine. Symbolic form also im-
plied a dramatic content, for it was an expression of the tensest
impressions, a result of selecting only the most startling events.
Richard Wagner had defined the drama as that form of art
that displayed the universal-human-being, that made deeds in-
telligible through its emotional motivation; that condensed the
蓝
​- 113 3-
significant action and brought around a central point, that im-
parted to the audience what its author had beheld (and only
that part of the matter that was indispensable to the subject).
Stéphane Mallarmé applied this definition to his symbolism of
poetry, or rather, symbolism answered the need for the dramatic
content. It became the nucleus of the cell, it resulted from the
selection of the strokes in high relief set off against the back-
ground of minor events. Like the drama, symbolism made room
for allusions, for it merely mentioned, only suggested, and left
the rest to the imagination of the audience. But the poet did not
prepare his witnesses, as the drama did its audience; he sought
to render the allusionism as absolute as possible, to name as
little as possible, so that even his symbolism was rarely an ex-
pression of symbols, for a symbol would mean the actual naming
of the objects. Mallarmé's symbolizing was the intellectualizing
of sense-impressions of the subtlest order.
To Mallarmé perfected poetry meant a conscious and willed
play of wit (the artificial); this was to purify, ripen, modify
each word and phrase (the expressions of his images) until
only the essential, the nudest and the least garnished description
was employed. His reader then, was to create his own present
and his own past for the scene that the author had beheld and
had imparted only fragmentarily to the reader; the poet had
created a vision, then, of some future aspect which implied that
it must have started somewhere, just as Igitur suddenly sensed
the meaning of the frenzy that talked to him about the future,
though the life of his ancestors and his present life were
all but obliterated from his memory. Whereas other poets
prepare their readers for the materials presented, Mallarmé
relied upon Wagner's principle that in the future the poet
and the performer would be one; his work was constructed
for the supposed self-preparation of the witness, the emotional,
114.
as well as the intellectual, readiness to follow. Wagner's explan-
ation of the dramatic suited his own predilection for high re-
lief, strictness of lines and images, concision, compactness, net-
teté. Besides, as for content of his poetry, the drama inferred
that a conflict was imparted; this conflict referred to the despair of
the hero, who, like Hamlet, is driven by taunting wishes, by
unfulfilled promises, by contradicting passions; who cannot find
his true self, until at last chance turns the situation and causes
him to determine upon the promised deeds; this was Stéphane
Mallarmé's ever-recurring theme. Through his works the poet
vaguely described himself as Hamlet (whose counterpart, in the
feminine role, was Hérodiade). One can, furthermore, realize
Mallarmé's inclination toward the dramatic tension of poetry
through the fact that he was a great admirer of both Edgar
Allan Poe's compositions and those of Baudelaire. Mallarmé's
description of poetry was that it was the addition of speech to
gesture (plus music); since the more perfect poetry replaced
the speech by music, and tended to isolate the speech as much
as possible, he stressed the gesture; and was gesture not that
which is dramatic?
Although the matter of strict form was closely allied with
that of content, as far as Mallarmé was concerned, it may per-
haps not have been so, as far as the two other poets whom he
admired were concerned. In the case of Mallarmé the tendency
toward the dramatic content resulted in a greater and more
methodic selectiveness of form, and in verse that was more con-
centrated; quite the contrary might have been true of either Poe
or Baudelaire; they might have written in a style comparatively
loose, all the more because the dramatic situation had impressed
itself upon them to so great an extent that it governed the ex-
pression. It is most probable that Mallarmé was attracted rather
to the content of these poets than to their form. If the line can
-••{ 115 }……..
be drawn between a subjective and an objective poet, Poe repre-
sented the former and Mallarmé the latter. Baudelaire's dandy-
istic gestures were also of that intense calibre that exhibits dra-
matic qualities; his realm was dramatic lyricism of a short and
gripping cadence; he effected impressiveness through instanta-
neousness. Stéphane Mallarmé was, indeed, more ethereal, a
Shelley, and he loved the dramatic, the fervent, the emphatic,
the allusive; he admired the isolation, even the repetition, of
what is momentaneous and infinitely significant; he always re-
ferred to a source of latent drama which flowed through the lines
of a poem. If the form of his verse had been of a less con-
strained quality, the looseness might have revealed this tendency
to a more obvious degree. His very love of analogy, his sym-
bolism, arose from the tendency to intensify and to select. He
employed emotionalism, or dramaticism, which was wilfully and
strenuously hemmed in by his form. The Cantique de Saint Jean
best illustrates this tendency.
CANTIQUE DE SAINT JEAN
Le soleil que sa halte
Surnaturelle exalte
Aussitôt redescend
Incandescent
Je sens comme aux vertèbres
S'éployer des ténèbres
Toutes dans un frisson
A l'unisson
Et ma tête surgie
Solitaire vigie
Dans les vols triomphaux
De cette faux
(The sun whom her super-
natural halt extols once more
redescends incandescent)
(I feel the darkness spreading
through my spine, all shiver-
ing in unison)
(And my head, uprisen in
solitary vigil, amid the tri-
umphal flights of this scythe)
--- 116.-
Comme rupture franche
Plutôt refoule ou tranche
Les anciens désaccords
Avec le corps
Qu'elle de jeûnes ivre
S'opiniâtre à suivre
En quelque bond hagard
Son pur regard
Là-haut où la froidure
Eternelle n'endure
Que vous le surpassiez
Tous ô glaciers
Mais selon un baptême
Illuminée au même
Principe qui m'élut
Penche un salut.
(As a bold rupture rather
drives back or cuts the old
discordances of the body)
(Let it, drunk with fasting,
deliberately follow its pure
view, leaping haggardly)
(Up on high, where the eter-
nal cold does not endure that
you surpass it, oh, all you
glaciers)
(But as by a baptism illumin-
ed by the same principles
which chose me, a salvation is
bestowed.
There is hardly anything concrete or tangible in this poem, hard-
ly a definite description, yet the effect is beyond doubt forceful.
There are seven distinct images in the poem, each far removed
from the other, each chiselled on a new block. There is no pad-
ding to these, no narrative, no explanation, other than the fact
that the poem is included in the Hérodiade series; and this leads
one to believe that it is the conclusion of the series, the moral-
izing and ethical discussion (if it may be called a discussion) of
the complete series. The verse is so compact one cannot find a
prose passage in the entire poem. Though each of the stanzas
is only distantly related, is independent, there is a complete
unity formed after one has seen the images. There is no evi-
dent effort made to hold the separate images together; this
-48「117}3-
task is left to the reader, who, incidentally, is also meant to
supply the punctuation as well. The dramatic element, the high
relief drawings of the head, the sun, the sky, the succession of
exteriorities concerning an event, are made real and vivid, be-
cause the symbolism has exaggerated the significant strokes, has
imbued the images with universal interpretation. Thus the poet
attains the reservation and the preservation of the integrities of
the thoughts implied.
"A quoi bon la merveille de transposer un fait de nature
en sa presque disparition vibratoire selon le jeu de la pa-
role, cependant; si ce n'est pour qu'en émane, sans la gêne
d'un proche ou concret rappel, la notion pure."
(Divagations, p. 250)
This poem also illustrates the principle of blending the quali
ties of all the other arts into a poem: music, painting, sculp-
ture, the dance (movement).
494
-··{ 118 }**…-
".
IV. IGITUR
addressed to the understanding of the reader, whose
very intelligence dramatizes events."
Igitur, the sketch of a vague plot, constructed upon the
tensest moments of the life of the hero, though it is in its
outer form a narrative, is actually a drama whose scenes are
only hinted at; Igitur gives the reader the outlines of a drama.
Dr. Bonniot, in his preface to Igitur, ou la Folie d'Elbehnon,
declares that the first drafts for this dramatic sketch probably
date from the years 1867 to 1870, and were written while
Mallarmé was at Avignon. The problem of form and con-
tent, and of the influence of the theatre upon form and con-
tent, seems never to have left the poet; and he pondered
over it at this early date. Nor does he seem to have ever
been satisfied with the solution of the problem, as presented
in Igitur, for he prepared Un Coup de Dés for press, while
the sketch of Igitur was left by him unprepared for publica-
tion. The following note, jotted down by Stéphane Mallarmé,
as he pondered upon the æsthetic of the drama, the hero, con-
flict and mystery, is but an instance of how he weighed the
matter.
"Le Drame est en le mystère
de l'équation suivante
que théâtre
est
1
le développement du héros ou héros
le résumé du théâtre
Bonniot, Dr. E., Préface in Igitur ou la Folie d'Elbehnon. Editions
de la Nouvelle Revue Francaise, 1925.
--*{ 121 }*---
comme Idée et hymne
d'où Théâtre = idée
héros = hymne
et cela forme un tout
Drame ou Mystère
rentrant l'un en l'autre
aussi."
>> 1
This drama is the myth of a life, determined to conquer
and to build upon the foundations laid by destiny, and trans-
ferred to the hero through the traditions of a racial strain.
Stéphane Mallarmé is said to have written this prose work at
the same time that he conceived the plan for Hérodiade, which
fact indicates that the poet was then deliberating upon theories
regarding dramatic content and form, and was in search of
that material which could be molded with perfect harmony
into the form. It is obvious that the materials chosen by him
represented problems of conflict,—a strife against fate, un-
known, yet predestined. Both Igitur and Hérodiade exhibit
attempts at putting æsthetic theories to practise.
My
All that has remained of the plan for Hérodiade is the
dialogue between the young girl and her nurse (to which is
appended the poem, Cantique de Saint Jean), though there
is every indication that Mallarmé had originally intended to con-
struct a monumental work founded upon this fragment. This
work was probably meant to be a poetic drama, colossal in
its aspects and representative of Mallarmé's principles of the
theatre, under the influence of the æsthetic theories of Richard
Wagner.
Likewise, all that is to be found of Igitur are the few drafts.
which the poet left, in an incomplete and jotted form, although
¹ Op. cit., p. 25.
* 122}-
he was in all probability dreaming of a finished tragedy of great
significance.
Hérodiade, like Igitur, is haunted by fears, by her very re-
flection seen in the spring; her loneliness and her listlessness, as
with Igitur, are a burden due to the lamentable fate of which
she has become the victim. With Hérodiade it is the perfec-
tion of the body (physical beauty) that has brought her to
solitude and agitation, while with Igitur it is the perfection of
his intellect (spiritual beauty) that brings him to madness. She
awaits a final act, after a speech shall have been uttered and a
gesture made; this final deed is to reveal the mystery of her
being, is to disclose her newer self, and to reflect the future
Hérodiade.
"I await a thing unknown; or perhaps, ignoring the
mystery and your cries, you utter the supreme and bruised
sobs of childhood, feeling amid its reveries, and separate
one from the other, its cold, polished stones."
(Hérodiade)
The above are the last words of Hérodiade, and her final atti-
tude. Like Igitur, Hérodiade questions the mystery of her fu-
ture; it haunts her, and it seems to cast its shadow every which
way. The sketch of Igitur ends in much the same tone, except
that Igitur has not wished to find the future; he has dreamt of
the absolute!
"Then (his intellect forming itself with the Absolute,
through the absolute chance of this fact) he says to all
of this tumult: certainly, an act does exist there—it is
my duty to proclaim it: this madness exists. You were
right (sounds of madness) to manifest it: do not think.
that I am going to thrust you back into nihility.”
(Igitur)
-123.-
The images in Hérodiade are easily identified with those of
the sketch of Igitur. The shadows cast by her flowing tresses, the
horror of her seclusion within the castle walls, the madness that
is brought upon her as she thinks of the ancestral path and her
awaited destiny, her languishing head, the mirror in which
Hérodiade views herself, the black-book, the portals that hang
within her chamber, these are equally described in Igitur; some
are in the foreground, while others are removed and in the back-
ground.
C
Igitur, like Hérodiade, is the hero of will,-a conscience that
can bring about the desired effects, when the latter have become
part of his inner being, when his determination has included
every thought as part of the fatal procession of the hero's life.
Igitur describes a search for the absolute against the play of
all that is either incidental or accidental; it tells of the mental
preparation of a spirit that has chosen to yield only to the final
deed, the act, or the gesture, which has to disclose a future in
perfect harmony with the past (of which he has been told) and
with the present (of which he knows, because he has experi-
enced it). He undergoes a slow and obscure process of pre-
paration, so that he might be in perfect readiness to annul any
casual and relatively impertinent event. The hero wishes to
secure a stronghold, a consciousness that will capacitate him to
view and criticize every step of his alter ego, that will give him
the freedom to regard his other self without prejudice. He wants
to know the wherefore of all that has come and must come, that
he may say: thus (igitur).
It is significant that this sketch refers to all the other arts,
both in its content and in its form. All that the hero witnesses
is brought before him through an implication of each of the
other arts (to the reader this is the content); all that the reader
himself observes is brought before him through the complica-
124.
tion or the allusion to the other arts (to the reader this is form).
Thus there is reference made to the speech uttered by the hero,
to the movements of his frame amid the shadowy surroundings,
to the sway, to the graceful lines of the elements that are fur-
nishings for his abode, to the heaviness or the lightness of the
objects placed in his chamber, or those which he finds upon
the stairs which he descends, and those at the tombstone. There
is a vague description of a tomb and of a castle (architecture),
an allusion to colors and to visions (painting), to the heart-
beats of the hero and to the rhythm of his movements as he
leaves the room, as he descends the stairs, or as he comes upon
the tombstone of his ancestors (music and the dance).
It is also significant that the pulse of the hero is the sound
that guides him; it is the intuitive force that dictates the course
he is to pursue. Though it is probably the result of emotions,
his loud heart-beat causes him to perform acts of which he is
absolutely conscious, because through the sound of his own
heart-beats he never fails to realize the presence of his alter ego,
which he is seeking to criticize, and perhaps also to detach
from himself. Thus the senses (sound) are the guide for the
intellect.
Though his preparation has been gradual and complete, Igitur
witnesses an end that is instantaneous, so that he has finally
failed in his pursuit to arrive at an event willed by himself, and
not by his fate. This instantaneousness might correspond to the
climax of the drama and to the catastrophe that follows along
a decline. In the scarce notes of Mallarmé regarding Igitur the
author describes the drama as an account of a mystery; it is
this mystery that has overpowered Igitur, the hero.
The theme of the Igitur is the omnipotence of a power that
is at once individual and impersonal. This recalls Richard Wag-
ner's discussion of the artist of the future, who is to be he who
--- 125 }3..--
·
knows how to renounce his ego, who consciously re-enacts what
his hero has instinctively done before him or after him (here
we have the artist and the hero in one), who has become the
universal-human-being after he has repudiated his subjective
self. One might even arrive at the insinuation that Igitur, the
sketch, contains the sum of Stéphane Mallarmé's poetic creed;
for is not Igitur, the hero, the artist in search of perfect ex-
pression, or the absolute mode? Does not Igitur fall into a
moment of despair, when he witnesses that his very goal is
pursuing him, that it has overpowered him, though he has so
consciously and so obstinately measured its path, its values, and
the ultimate gain that it would bring to his race and to him-
self? His exaltation and his reveries, his very madness, are
a will to govern intellectually that which has been born of the
emotions and registered by the senses. This creative hero, who
has realized the responsibility of his task (for he is to reveal
a past, a present, and a future of a race), and who has learned
of the folly of his undertaking (for there are so many obstruc-
tions in the path of perfect consciousness, and there are hazards
and casual events whose significance must be determined, in
order that they be either brushed aside, or included in the
course) becomes lost in frenzy. The law of chance, which he has
sought to annul, believing that, since factors were after all de-
termined by some outer force, since there was an absolute
sequence of events, perhaps he might be the governing-force of
this event which he is awaiting,—this law has, in the end, over-
come his ambitions. Or was this, as in the case of Hamlet, a
madness affected in order to escape the animosity of all that he
was seeking to expose and to vanquish, in order to attain his end?
Igitur is a present hero constructed upon his traditional past
and imbued with the cognizance of all his future aspects. His
conscious progress, built upon notions, sensations, and intui-
...126...
ܚ
tions (which are here of great importance) seeks to prove
Stéphane Mallarmé's conviction that all phenomena which take
root with and which emanate from the intellect must reintegrate.
The poet's introduction to the sketch communicates to the reader
the hero's intelligence that, from the simple fact that Igitur can
occasion a shadow by blowing at the candlelight, something
great may be inferred; and Igitur desires to accomplish the in-
ference. A sense-impression, then, has stirred him on; and the
intellect guides the aroused sentiments and the desires, to arrive
at the proposed and final gesture. Igitur shall seek to discover
the absolute, which seems to him to be beyond immortality, the
absolute being that alone which exists beyond the realms of
chance, and which is never governed by the whims of destiny.
And since this absolute is more powerful than immortality (for
the latter is but relative), this immortality, Igitur shall seek to
prove, is only an illusion created by man's knowledge that an
advance of any sort must imply progress, or proficiency, and
that this progress may be prolonged indefinitely, ad infinitum;
that this is immortality. But Igitur shall suggest that the in-
finite course may, by the will of the intellect, come to a stand-
still (the infinite, since it depends upon its precedents and its
antecedents, like the links in a chain, cannot be absolute, be-
cause none of its parts has the capacity for remaining inde-
pendent and standing alone; the infinite, for these reasons, also
invites hazard and chance; chance events, then, become reduced
to an infinity of successions); the will to view this stand-still,
in order to bring, to conform with one's desires, and to create
new features, the reflection of this pure apparition (pure, since
it is cut off from all that has, until this moment of stand-still,
surrounded it) and the revelation made by its sudden and bril-
liant rays,—this shall be the absolute sought by Igitur.
C
-·· 127 -
The argument of this undramatized drama is more detailed
than the introduction, though the facts submitted are still hazy.
The time shall be midnight, the author tells us; the place,—the
graves where the ashes of Igitur's ancestors lie. Igitur shall pro-
ject his ego until it shall have reached a point of neutrality
with neither feelings nor mind of his own to disturb the objec-
tivity of his reflections. His superior individualty shall have
the power of determining the absence of bias (subjectivity), by
the suppression of his own personality. In this wise Igitur shall
be in readiness to await the prediction and the gesture (wherein,
he declares, infinity is lodged). He shall hear the sounds of his
own heart, as it beats, and this shall be a warning of all that is
personal, all premonitions and sentiments. Furthermore, hav-
ing denied the past by projecting his self beyond time and
beyond place, Igitur shall become a new being with the capacity
to discover those emotions and those notions that are fallacious.
Thus shall the hero attain a madness blessed with usefulness,
and from which a pure idea, divested of all sense-impressions
and all sentiments, shall be extracted. Infinity shall face the
absolute. Nothing shall remain but breath, which is to him the
end of speech and gesture. The candle-light having been blown
out, all shall be extinguished, and breath shall be proven to be
the only absolute, for it is the only entity that can be prolonged
and projected; it can reenter its own self and still remain fixed
and unchanged.
The argument of the sketch outlines four scenes and four
episodes in the life of the hero. Each place is an abstraction:
there are no definite limits, nor actual descriptions. There are
comments added regarding the details of the tense moments
in the life of the hero; but these, too, are vague.
The first act occurs at midnight. The presence of the hour
has been continued by the will of Igitur, who has decided upon
128.
the significance of the midnight hour. The latter has not been
able to disappear, as it always does, into the mirror; nor has
it buried itself in the tapestries of the chamber. This, then, is
the hour created by Igitur, since it was he himself that refused
to allow it to pass into other realms. The present remains
arrested in the trembling of the mysterious furnishings in the
room; these quiverings are the thoughts of the hero, projected
(his breath) upon his surroundings; they rise and fall like
billows. This is what the hero has always dreamed of,-a
narcotism issued from the immobility of an hour that should
be declining, and that is nevertheless forced to be still present.
The hour then vanishes within itself, thus remaining pure and
resuming its sterility. It rests upon the pallor of an open book.
The silence and the emptiness of the shadows, after the hour
has re-entered itself, recall an old saying, which Igitur had him-
self once proffered; he wonders whether his prediction, then,
is after all to come true. He remembers: I am the hour that is
to render me pure. The saying absolves the midnight, and again
an old, old, idea, which he had once had in a dream, which
had been chimeric, grows forth from its very agony and recog-
nizes its outer aspect: its own gesture. The idea disappears
together with the shut text and the shadows of the night. The
night is itself obscurity, its splendor being caused by the glass,
-a diamond scintillating upon the face of the clock. All that
is survived of the night is its own shadow, empty and heavy.
Igitur's echo whispers that this shadow is to be metamorphosed
into eternity, which is not the absolute.
The second act occurs upon the stairs. The shadow of the
night has become part of the general obscurity; it perceives,
though only doubtfully, that the time-piece, which had previ-
ously caused it to be brilliant, is about to reach its end, too.
Sounds are heard from the direction of the clock; they fall into
-129-
the past. But the host of the night perceives that there is some-
thing about the shadow and the clock that he cannot understand;
he seeks to determine the significance of the vision of the
panels (which he sees always in his mind's eye, never in actu-
ality) whose decline is incessantly interrupted. Their movement
is suspended, and this causes him to remain dizzy for a long
time. Igitur questions the meaning of the advent of a creature
(which is known to him as the host of the night), whose flight
is forever indefinite, and which flaps its wings, as it is suddenly
awakened from deep slumber; is this fluttering bird an omen
that every flight must come to a moment of cessation, until it
shall again be awakened? This bird seems, to Igitur, to have
carefully gathered all the dust of its ancestors (so that it has
not denied its past, or its traditions), in order the better to
view its background, and to gain a greater reflection of itself
in the mirror of time, thus better to admire its plumage.
The hero now remembers the total past, the mass of shadows
left behind; he begins to doubt the purity of his path, and it
occurs to him that the sound of the flapping wings might only
have been the prolongation of the noise, which was made by
himself, as he shuts the door of the sepulchre, where his an-
cestors are buried. Igitur cannot tell whether this is, then, the
echo of his racial past, summoning him to heed it. He notices
that the plumage is concealed behind the panels; he wonders,
whether, when the bird has left, the sounds of the wings shall
cease; but they are still heard, and Igitur realizes that notions
deduced by the simultaneousness of events are false. Then
where and when shall he perceive the reality of things? Igitur
fears that he is mad; he begins to explore the falsehood of his
presumptions: the splendor was certainly present; the partitions
and the panels were certainly there; where had the shadow come
from, and why did it persist in haunting him?
-..-1303.-
Igiture speculates: his ego is certainly the sum of a tradition
and an unexplored future. He gathers that, perhaps, for the
present, time has fallen into a heavy sleep, and this must have
created a void through which the sounds of his own heart-
beats are re-echoed. But this very sound constrains his thoughts,
and the brilliancy caused by the absence of the shadows taunts
him. Because of this he finds that he cannot enter an anterior
and uncreated shadow, and strip himself of all that is ambigu-
ous, of all that his present guise has imposed upon him. Indeed,
Igitur perceives two openings of the panels; two equivalent
and symmetrical portions of the dream have been opened for
him, and he cannot decide which is the better gap to enter.
Igitur is tormented by the fact that, since the two appear to be
so alike, his choice must result from a play of chance, not from
grave deliberation; how then can one be sure of attaining the
absolute, unless one has pursued both courses at once? The first
suddenly resembles the spiral upon which he has descended, and
he reflects that the frightened creature, before it had decided
upon its course, had also fluttered about in dismay. Igitur fur-
ther reflects:
“Was not this scanned beat the sound of the progress of
my person, which now continues the sound upon the
spiral, and this contact,—the uncertain touch of its duality?”
(Igitur, p. 49)
The bird, in its flight, had brushed past Igitur, and he had
noticed its passage. He wills to forget this host of the night,
this dark creature, and he thinks that in this way he will be able
to sever the duality of his consciousness; Igitur decides that he
has only been viewing his alter ego in progress, and not a
stranger. Thereupon Igitur opens the door of the sepulchre,
in order that he might find the complete explanation of his
dreams. And Igitur departs.
-131 -
"The hour has struck when I must depart; the purity of
the looking-glass will be established, without this person,
this vision of my self-but it shall carry off the light!—
the night. On the vacant furnishings, the Dream has, in
this glass vial, agonized purity, which contains the sub-
stance of Nihility."
(Igitur, p. 51)
The third act submits the plan of Igitur's life, which is an
account of utter weariness, nervous tension, and uncertainty.
"I have always lived with my soul fixed upon the clock.
Assuredly, I have done everything so that the time, which
the clock struck, would remain present in the room, and
would become for me my provendor and my life,—I have
made my curtains thicker, and since, in order not to doubt
my very self, I was always obliged to sit facing this look-
ing-glass, I have preciously gathered together the atoms of
time, to the last bit, in the garnishments, which were in-
cessantly made thicker. The clock often did me much
good."
(Igitur, p. 53)
Thus Igitur has proof that his race has projected him beyond
time. But the sensation of finity is still with him, and he cannot
overcome it; this wearies him; he feels that the only reality that
is pure, is his expectations; and the accomplishments of the
future are to him real. He vaguely apprehends that he is to exist
eternally (which does not, he knows, necessarily imply in the
absolute), and this torments him, for eternity includes chance,
and chance includes imperfection. Igitur is obliged to look into
the mirror, which is to him horrible and void; it reflects his
inner self,—a vague being that is about to disappear. Igitur then
fixes the clock; he opens the furnishings, that they might reveal
their secrets to him( their memories of the silence, and the im-
pressions of human beings that had been with them before
-1323-
· Ő GOND
Igitur's time). By severing himself from that which is indefinite,
he again assures himself that he really exists. He views the look-
ing-glass growing empty, and all things seem to disappear within
it (or to enter it?). Igitur covers his eyes, so as not to be over-
awed by the sight; but the sensation of the finity of things grips
him, and he is thus forced to beg a vague face in the mirror to
remain present with him. Igitur is impressed by the sensation
that the expiration of the room and all that it has contained are a
symbol of eternity. Then, gazing into the mirror once more,
Igitur observes that the horrid personage that has remained with
him is, little by little, absorbing all,—feelings, shudderings, sad-
ness, and chimeras of unsteady tapestries; this being, by feeding
itself upon the symbols of the past events, attains its purity and
detaches itself from the glass. The curtains and the draperies of
the room succumb; their last attitudes, before they are destroyed
completely, are severe, and they project their durable lines into
the atmosphere, which is nihility. Thus they fall into a mode
that they shall have to maintain forever.
The last act of the drama is the final proof that the play of
chance versus the predestined end of man contains an absurdity;
this absurdity always must remain in a latent state, so that the
implication is not forceful, since it is not extant. Igitur reflects
upon this truth and upon the madness to which it has brought
him, but he concludes that the weariness was necessary, that his
folly was useful, for chance has proven to him that it is vain to
admit the absoluteness of events. He remembers that his race
was pure; that this has made his purity absolute. Igitur decides
that, for this very reason, he can act, and feel secure that his
act will fix infinity. He has determined to create the last gesture,
-the last deed shall be built upon a hazard! And thereupon
Igitur shakes the dice. This represents his last movement before
going to join his ancestors.
- 133 }………-
"He shuts the book-blows out the candle-light, with
his breath which contains chance: and, crossing his arms,
he lies down upon the ashes of his ancestors."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"The personage, who, believing in the existence of an
only absolute, imagines throughout that he is in a dream.
(he acts from the point of view of the absolute) finds the
act useless, for chance does and does not exist. He reduces
chance to infinity-, which, he says, must exist somewhere."
(Igitur, p. 62)
The epilogue describes the last gesture of the hero: he has
drunk the drop of nihility, leaving behind him an empty flask.
This flask is all that has remained of the castle in which Igitur,
the hero, abided.
The comments at the end of the narrative form another half
of the book. They are meant to clarify the significance of the
factors of the drama: the host of the night, the flask that has
been emptied, the two gaps that appear to be in perfect symmetry
and in perfect harmony, the silence that pervades the chamber
of Igitur, and the shadows. These notations are an attempt to
settle all ambiguity of the events and the persons in the drama.
Igitur again explains his pursuit: an endeavor to sever himself
from the amalgam that he was once, and that he was meant to
be; an attempt to gain the power of nihility, which is beyond
the absolute. He has uttered the speech, made his final gesture
(the cast of dice), and he thus concludes that the act does and
must exist, which shall release him from the past, and shall cast
him into the future (which is equal to the dream of which his
ancestors have spoken).
It might at first seem far-fetched to lead to the conclusion that
the story of Igitur was meant to represent the heroic act of perfect
and objective artistic creation; that this madness was occasioned
by the disturbance of form versus content in art. But to Stéphane
--134)……
Mallarmé life existed for the book, and not the book for life;
in other words, his attitude might imply that the fiction is to be
explored before the facts, and that, if his hero was interested in
disclosing perfect sequence, he was to introduce his discovery
into art first, and later into life. The constant references to the
importance of that which has been occasioned by chance (which
seems to be part of an outer manifestation) and the visions of
the hangings in the chamber of time (in the castle, which is
purity) whose shadows and whose external splendor weary the
mind of Igitur,-these suggestions lead to the inference that
Igitur, the artist, was seeking a constant. This would, then, be
analogous with Igitur's dream, which, once conceived, cannot
be altered, but which takes different turns, when chance sends
to the mind of the hero newer bases of comparison, new recol-
lections, fears, implications and subtilities. This dream, which
might correspond to the content of art, becomes thus altered by
the manner in which it is organized and reflected upon. Though
it is essentially fixed and defined (the content of art is constant,
while the form is variable), it needs must undergo certain
changes, because there is always a conflict between the form and
the content; some of the aspects become more mature, others are
substituted to suit the expression; a more concentrated form will
perhaps even wipe away those that are either too indirect, or
unnecessary. These changes, though they might seem to alter
the significance or the goal of the content, make it more potent
than it was in its primary state; for the conflict has made the
author realize the import of each of the changes, and thus the
conscious evaluation of the content. Though the process of these
improvements seems to spring from chance contingencies, such
that influence the subconscious current of thought, the ultimate
end becomes steadily fixed in the forefront of consciousness.
The proffered speech and the final gesture remain alert in the mind
{
135.
of the poet; not even the most fanciful whim, the cleverest
obstruction, or the finest delusion, can disturb the narcotism of
the pure dream, when the author seeks to fulfill his determina-
tion. The pressure of that which he has seen prepares him for
the one definite content, so that his will-power and his conscious
speculations are able to annul the hazard that the form might
chance to bring.
Or, it might be inferred that the musicality and the sounds
included in a poem are the chance effects that play an important
role in the sum-total of the poem; though accidental, and often
incidental as well, they comprise both the outer and the inner
aspects of a poem (just as the heart-beats of Igitur guided him
in his progress). As one reads the sketch of Igitur over and
again, one is impressed by the quality of the tones employed,
and by the undulating rhythms. There is a corresponding rhythm
for each new mood, and for every movement made by Igitur.
Certain sounds have also been selected to suit certain desired
effects, so that impressions are not only and foremostly conveyed
through thought, but through the senses; there are, for example,
passages where the sounds of eur and s and e are frequently
employed to bring about the prolongation of a mood, or to pre-
pare the reader for the pause that the hero is to make, before
arriving at a decisive act.
In the preface to Igitur there is an interesting facsimile from
the manuscript of Stéphane Mallarmé, which proves that the poet
sought to study the effects of music upon the drama. Words that
are only remotely synonymous, and that therefore have only the
slightest possibility for being used in each other's stead, were
examined by the poet for their tone-quality. The word that was
harsher to the ear seems often to have been replaced by another,
of softer quality, even if one had to stretch one's imagination
very far, to understand the new association of words: echo and
18
1363.
ego, which are not equivalents, yet might be interchanged;
l'heure and le beurt; choc and chote; chûte and choc. These
few examples indicate that very often the ambiguity of the lines
contained in Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry might have been caused
by the substitution of words, whose meanings were hardly alike;
but the author thought the tone-quality of the one to be more
effective, or more sonorous, than the quality of the other, that is,
the substitution was occasioned by sense-associations. And one
can always stretch a fertile imagination to believe that the new
and far-fetched expressions represent the required concept; espe
cially when the sound of one word has suggested another, it
becomes profitable to force the substitution, more so, when the
author has himself dwelt so long upon the given expression,
that every word can be easily associated in his mind with the
desired effect.
In the fourth division of the sketch the history of Igitur is
alluded to with these words:
"Le Cornet est la Corne de licorne-d'unicorne.”
(Igitur, p. 59)
The allusion is indeed very remote, and one vaguely determines
that this sentence is a description of the cast of dice, which was
the final gesture in the life of the hero, and the completion of
events eternally linked. However, there are many images con-
veyed by the mere sonority of the words; they also impress the
reader as a prediction, a dictum proffered by Igitur, to explain
all foregoing events and the spontaneous climax, which he met.
Thus a formulative sentence has been constructed by the chance
discovery that four words of similar sounds, accidentally united
in but one phrase, can form an implication that is full of splendor
and profundity. Yet that is not a new device; before free-verse
and prose-poetry, rhyme-schemes have always been a source of
new discoveries in the interpretation of words, for when the
-·*137 }3*--
author found that the word best suited to the rhyme conveyed
an unforeseen image or notion, he included the unintended, suit-
ing it to the context. Since the imaginative power of Stéphane
Mallarmé was rich, his images were, from the very start, com-
plicated and not at all isolated, and simultaneous currents of
thought probably influenced the central aspect; when, added to
that, novel and further complications arose, when he was carried
away by the impress of a sound, the chance involutions resulted
in inferences and implications that seem far-fetched at times;
sonority lead him away from his foreseen constant, which is the
content.
... the attempt to communicate a heightened matter in
such a way as to produce a corresponding impression on
the Feeling, and this by very means of an expression differ-
ing from that of every day. This every day expression,
however, was the organ of communication between the
Understanding on the one part and the Understanding on
the other; through an expression different from this,
through a heightened one, the communicator wanted, in a
sense, to avoid the Understanding, i. e., to address himself
to that which differs from the Understanding, namely to
the Feeling. This he sought to attain by rousing the physi-
cal organ of speech reception-which took up the Under-
standing's message in a quite indifferent un-conscious-to a
consciousness of its functions, in as much as he sought to
evoke in it a purely sensuous pleasure in the Expression
itself.
"1
**
"Only when the whole power of man's Feeling is com-
pletely stirred to interest in an object conveyed to it through
a recipient sense, does that object win the force to expand
its concentrated essence again, in such a way as to bring
the Understanding an infinitely enriched and sapid food.
But as every communication is aimed at a mutual under-
standing, so also the poet's aim at last makes only for a
1
¹ Richard Wagner's Prose Works, translated by W. Ashton Ellis; Vol.
2, p. 246. London, 1897
--138}..-
communication to the Understanding: to reach this positive
understanding, however, he does not assume it in advance,
in the quarter to which he addresses himself, but in a sense
he wishes to get it first begotten by a comprehension of
his aim; and the bearing-organ for this begettal, is, so to
say, Man's Feeling-power. This Feeling-power, however,
is not a consenting party to that birth, until it has been set
into the highest state of agitation through the thing re-
ceived, and thus acquires the force for bearing."
>>1
This force, then, is the sensuous power which acts as a stimulus
to the intellect.
The Igitur is supposed to have been written in about the
years 1867 to 1870. It is significant that several of the prose-
poems, and some of his essays, too, have reference to the same
images that are described in this sketch; also some of the poems
written during this period. This fact is perhaps the best proof
that Stéphane Mallarmé was incessantly retouching the form of
whatever content he had perceived, in order to perfect it, in
order to intellectually conceive what he had through the senses
perceived, and to rarefy the perception; he was seeking a mode
of expression which was to be absolute, and this search was never
terminated. The repetitions of the images in several compositions
at one and the same time are hardly accidental; moreover, it is
quite clear that they are purposeful, like the act of resifting
grains over and again through the same sieve, or through differ-
ent sieves, so that by the obstinate repetition of the act and the
careful selection of finer and still finer sieves, the grains shall
have become absolutely cleansed. It may be said that there are
very few images with Mallarmé that are not often repeated;
here and there they have been modified, or they have undergone
a striking change.
1. Op. cit. p. 246.
-139.-
This narrative, or this rather abstract and uncompleted drama,
becomes the vehicle that seems to carry the sum of the poet's
thoughts and his images, especially his metaphoric conceptions.
It was in turn rendered even more abstruse when it was formu-
lated under the influence of his theories of orchestration in
poetry, in the poem Un Coup de Dés n'abolira jamais le hasard.
There are indications that the author had been persistently re-
touching Igitur, that he considered it of great importance (al-
though conceived at such an early date in his literary career);
the fact that some of its phrases and images were included in
many of his pieces shows that it was probably always in the fore-
front. The orchestral poem, which was the culmination of all
his theories regarding poetry, employs the same content as Igitur.
Igitur, the artistic creator, whose progress of willed exploits are
meant to describe or to outline the author's conflict with and
against the hazard of chance events, with no other weapon than
the possession of a strict consciousness and an iron will to per-
ceive! It becomes quite obvious that all the images that Stéphane
Mallarmé ever made use of, either in his verse or in his prose,
have become either more intensive, or more extensive, in this
prose-piece; but fundamentally they are repetitions. One has but
to examine some of his other works: Le phénomène futur,
Frisson d'hiver, Le démon de l'analogie, Réminiscence, La
déclaration foraine, Le nénuphar blanc, parts of Conflit, to
realize how manifest the Igitur images must have been with him;
even in some of his essays there are allusions made to similar
emblems, or to the same comparisons, or use is even made of
the very same terms. Indeed, and it is not to be wondered at,
in the prose-poems the representations are spread over a wide
horizon, on the one extreme; or on the other, only suggested.
The details of symbol are only described whenever it is felt that
the definite symbol is the key-note to the entire piece; otherwise
-140
the descriptions are finely alluded to, like the lace frill on the
throat of the poet in Un Coup de Dés; it presents a contrast
to the velvet and black cap, which is firm and does not flutter;
it casts shadows that recall the past, and describe the hazards to
be met. In the poems of Stéphane Mallarmé, where he seems to
have been less descriptive, less narrative, where the images are
all allusive and outlined in a lace pattern, the semblance of con-
tent and images to those found in Igitur is not as marked; it is,
nevertheless, felt when one studies the significance of certain
symbols that are almost distorted (in comparison with those that
are fully described elsewhere), especially in those poems written
at the same time, as: Salut, Le Guignon, Le Pitre Châtié, Les
Fenêtres, Angoisse, Las de l'amer repos, Le Sonneur, L'Azur.
Hérodiade may of course be included among the number of
poems that reveal the similarity of images and content; its
affinity to Igitur has already been discussed in some measure;
some of the following citations from the prose of Mallarmé
may be compared with fragments of Hérodiade as well as
with passages from Igitur, which fact is but another proof
that Igitur and Hérodiade must have been conceived at the
same period.
"O miroir!
Eau froide par l'ennui dans ton cadre gelée
Que de fois et pendant les heures, désolée
Des songes et cherchant mes souvenirs qui sont
Comme des feuilles sous ta glace au trou profond,
Je m'apparus en toi comme une ombre lointaine,"
(Hérodiade)
"J'aimerais
Etre à qui le destin réserve vos secrets.”
(Hérodiade)
*141*.-
t
gardez-vous la splendeur ignorée
Et le mystère vain de votre être?”
(Hérodiade)
"Nuit blanche de glaçons et de neige cruelle!"
(Hérodiade)
"Et tout, autour de moi, vit dans l'idolâtrie
D'un miroir qui reflète en son calme dormant
Hérodiade au clair regard de diamant."
(Hérodiade)
"Et ta glace de Venise, profonde comme une froide fon-
taine, en un rivage de guivres dédorées, qui s'y est miré?"
(Divagations, p. 9)
“Aucun cri, de choeurs par la déchirure, ni tirade loin,
le drame requérant l'heure sainte des quinquets, je sou-
haitais de parler avec un môme trop vacillant pour figurer
parmi sa race, au bonnet de nuit taillé comme le chaperon
de Dante;"
(Divagations, p. 25)
Is not his the same black cap worn by the hero in Un Coup
de Dés and hardly referred to in Igitur? And does not this
passage refer to the race and the tradition which Igitur, the
hero, follows? This entire piece recalls the midnight hour when
Igitur reflects upon "the past and the future, when he wills to
test the hazard," as he regards the glass of the time-piece. The
image of the glass, with its scintillating coldness, is repeated
very often in Hérodiade, although no mention is made of the
clock, the face of which is this glass.
There are lines which describe the moments in the life of
Igitur, when he is obliged to make a decision, to choose be-
tween the two gaps that are symmetrical and apparently equal.
This "hantise de l'existence" is again to be found in Divagations.
-... 142}3..-
•
comme symétriquement s'ordonnent des verres d'il-
lumination peu à peu éclairés en guirlandes et attributs, je
décidai, la solitude manquée, de m'enfoncer même avec
bravoure en ce déchaînement exprès et haïssable de tout
ce que j'avais naguères fui dans une gracieuse compagnie:"
(Divagations, p. 28)
Co
And a very close resemblance is exhibited in the following
citation, which discusses the significance of the last gesture, and
describes the brushing aside of wings:
"J'avais beaucoup ramé, d'un grand geste net assoupi, les
yeux au dedans fixés sur l'entier oubli d'aller, comme le
rire de l'heure coulait alentour. Tant d'immobilité pare-
ssait que frôlé d'un bruit inerte où fila jusqu'à moitié la
yole, je ne vérifiai l'arrêt qu'à l'étincellement stable d'initi-
ales sur les avirons mis à nu; ce qui me rappela à mon
identité mondaine.
"Qu'arrivait-il, où étais-je?
(Divagations, p. 35)
Further on this same prose-poem refers to the heart-beats of
the hero who becomes conscious of his own emotionalism and
who therefore finds himself guided by the sounds of his pulse.
Or are these the sounds of the host of the night, as he brushes
by, flapping his wings? Other paragraphs in this poem speak
of the poet (or is he the winged creature?) with the delicate
lace frills and the black cap.
"Quand un imperceptible bruit me fit douter si l'habi-
tante du bord hantait mon loisir, ou inespérément le bassin.
Le pas cessa, pourquoi?
Subtil secret des pieds qui vont, viennent, conduisent
l'esprit où le veut la chère ombre enfouie en de la batiste
et les dentelles d'une jupe affluant sur le sol comme pour
circonvenir du talon à l'orteil, dans une flottaison, cette
-→ 143 }**…-
initiative par quoi la marche s'ouvre, tout au bas et les
plis rejetés en traîne, une échappée, de sa double flèche
savante."
(Divagations, p. 37)
The following line from Divagations recalls the shadows and
the light that torment both Igitur and Hérodiade:
"De singulières ombres pendent aux vitres usées."
(Divagations, p. 9)
And there are citations that describe the castle, the chamber,
the guiding stars, the attempts and the chance:
"Longtemps, voici du temps-je croyais que s'exempta
mon idée d'aucun accident même vrai; préférant aux ha-
sards, puiser, dans son principe, jaillissement.
Un goût, pour une maison abandonnée, lequel paraîtrait
favorable à cette disposition, amène à me dédire: tant le
contentement pareil, chaque année verdissant l'escalier de
pierres extérieur, sauf celle-ci, à pousser contre les murailles
un volet hivernal puis raccorder comme si pas d'interrup-
tion, l'oeillade d'à présent au spectacle immobilisé autre-
fois. Gage de retours fidèles, mais voilà que ce battement,
vermoulu, scande un vacarme, refrains, altercations, en-
dessous.
"
(Divagations, p. 47)
"Impossible de l'annuler, mentalement . . .
(Divagations, p. 51)
... je dois comprendre le mystère et juger le devoir. ."
(Divagations, p. 54)
"Les constellations s'initient à briller: comme je vou-
drais que parmi l'obscurité qui court sur l'aveugle trou-
peau, aussi des points de clarté, telle pensée tout à l'heure,
se fixassent, malgré ces yeux scellés ne les distinguant pas
-••{ 144 }3……-
-pour le fait, pour l'exactitude, pour qu'il soit dit."
(Divigations, p. 55)
Throughout the works of Stéphane Mallarmé there are numer-
ous allusions to the head-dress of the hero. This metaphor
appears in Igitur and in Un Coup de Dés, as well as in Hérodi-
ade. It seems to be one of the most impressive of the poet's
images, and one to which he attached a great deal of signifi-
cance, for it symbolized each change in the mood or the men-
tality of the hero. But it seems that these images of head-dress
grew less defined in his mind as the years past, for they suggested
new symbols that were fresher and better suited to a new con-
tent; the former images seem to have grown vague and indis-
tinguishable, but their significance was still present, and so they
were never completely obliterated. The author often alluded
to them (which was no more than alludng to an allusion), as
if he were to take it for granted that his reader, as well as him-
self, had been carefully following through all the flights, all the
landings, and all disclosures and enclosures, as if it had been his
reader that had been carving and ripening the images, and so
might detect the origin of any of the allusions made.
It is evident that a mere word was mentioned as a signal for
bringing to the mind a complete pattern, or an entire back-
ground, to such an extent did he rely upon the reader's intimacy
with the materials and the reader's familiarity with illustrations
and analogies already employed. Like Igitur who was merely
seeking an abode for his furnishings, and a dwelling-place of
such perfect accord with his self that it might even replace
Igitur's ego, so this poet was re-forming his furnishings until
they shall have become absolute and independent.
But the expression of the notions and the images in Igitur
seems not to have fulfilled his desire to absolutely and directly
--·-145 }3-·---
explain a content that might sum up everything; the manu-
script of the Igitur was not published until after his death, al-
though it had been finally arranged and corrected by his own
hand. The very same narrative is employed in Un Coup des Dés,
a poem that experiments with an orchestral form where themes
are repeated, where the size and quality of type vary, and where
there is no punctuation to guide the reader. This poem is vir-
tually the key to all the images of Stéphane Mallarmé, as well as
to his æsthetic theories and his philosophy. With Igitur and Un
Coup de Dés one has concrete examples of the poet's doctrines
of the drama, the ideal public, verse and music: the art of the
future. Igitur is not as compactly written and is more expository
and narrative, while Un Coup de Dés is a poetic composition
that is formulative, complex, and perhaps artificial, for it is
schemed. Both works contain the elements that he believed to be
essential: spectacular visions, musical phrases, tense moments,
conflict, allusionism, plasticity, architecural structure, and the
rhthym of the dance.
Since the dramatic quality of the work of art implied a strug-
gle in the soul of the hero, and a contest with his fate (which
is caused by chance phenomena and is no more than a strife
with a dream that seems inevitably not to come true) it sug-
gested to Stéphane Mallarmé a Hamletian hero of whom any art
might sing. Igitur's very madness suffers an easy comparison
with that of Hamlet; the will to overcome the taunting shad-
ows, the desire to become the master over destiny, the con-
fusion and the weariness of the overwrought mind, are condi-
tions that befall Hamlet as well as Igitur. The pattern of
Shakespeare's Hamlet is, however, drawn upon a more definite
and more realistic canvas; the reader knows of the exact prob-
lems that confront Hamlet, whether specific or universal, and
of the doubts present in his mind; if there are generalizations
-..-1463..-
that are met with, they are deduced by the reader himself, after
query. But Stéphane Mallarmé produced a sketch that is so
abstract (the terms and the descriptions of this drama are all
in extension) that the reader virtually has no occasion for de-
ducing a material that is not abstract and general, or of inducing
a material of greater abstraction. There is nothing concretely
presented before the reader. Here one is again confronted with
the same attitude toward the ideal reader (a poet himself) whose
preparation is to be so perfect that the reader would not need a
review of the specific elements, before comprehending the nar-
rative. One notion or image is to recall an entire and complicated
pattern; one word or one sound is to recall a name, which in
its turn is to describe a symbol, or a situation, or an attitude of
mind.
The very images in Igitur are emblematic of those that occur
in Shakespeare's play: the portals, the room, the castle, the plat-
form at midnight, the visitor in the night, the shipwreck and
the grave. The similarity is traceable because the significance of
each of the images is almost in every instance parallelled with
its interpretation in Igitur. There are, however, three instances
where the images of Igitur seem not to trace their origin to
Hamlet, for they seem to have been inspired by poems written
by Stéphane Mallarmé's favorite authors. Such are the refer-
ences made to the plumed host of the night (although it is
not altogether unlike the midnight visitor in Hamlet) who an-
nounces his presence by the flapping of his wings; to the time-
piece which is at once the hero's mirror and the embodiment
of all his perceptions and his efforts; and to the empty flask
at sea.
The first allusion, that of the black and feathered creature, re-
calls the raven in Edgar Allan Poe's poem by that name.
It is the raven, which, in either case, comes as a fore-
-147.
20
boding that death is inevitable, and that the end shall not be
avoided. The tidings that this creature brings to the poet, and
the impress of the rhythm of the oft-repeated words, horrify
the poet until he falls into madness. The raven has perched
himself upon the panel of the door, at the midnght hour, and
his ceaseless rapping and tapping awaken the poet from his
musings. The sound made as he brushes past the curtains,
and the shadows of the fluttering curtains, are also symbols
of a sad warning.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and
weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten
lore,
While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of something gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
door.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
before.
Open here I flung the shutter, when with many a flirt
and flutter
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of
yore.
Not the least obeissance made he; not an instant stopped
or stayed he.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the
Nightly shore.
Be that a word of parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked up-
starting,
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian
shore!
--148.-
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul
has spoken!
(The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe)
The above citations may easily be compared with the following
from the sketch of Igitur:
.. then, beyond doubt, it must be from there that the
beats have been heard, whose total and forever-naked
sound fell into the past.
On the other hand, if the equivocation had ceased, a
motion of the other, obdurate and more earnestly marked
by a double blow, which does not any more, or does not
even yet, reach its notion, and whose actual touch, such as
must take place, confusedly fills the equivocation, or its
cessations: as if the total downfall which had been the
unique slam of the doors of the tomb were not irre-
trievably thus stifling the host;"
te
(Igitur, p. 43)
".. the flapping of the absurd wings of some frightened
host of the night, struck in his heavy sleep by the splen-
dor, and now prolonging his indefinite flight
""
(Igitur, p. 44)
and facing them in front and in back, the doubtful
opening not at all driven back by the prolongaton of the
sounds from the panels, where the plumage had fled, and
divided by the explored equivocaton, the perfect symmetry
of foreseen deductions demented his reality."
(Igitur, p. 46)
LE
•
"Finally then, it is not the hairy belly of a host in-
ferior to myself whose glimmer has offended the doubt,
and who has saved himself by fluttering, but it is the
velvet breast of a superior race, which the light ruffles. . "
(Igitur, p. 49)
- 149 }….-
... it was the scanning of my own rhythm whose remi-
niscence had returned to me, prolonged by the sound in
the corridor of time, by the door of my sepulchre, and by
the hallucination; and just as if it had really been shut,
just so must it now be opened, so that my dream might
be explained . . .
"""
(Igitur, p. 50)
ee
९९
. . the horrible phantom, little by little absorbing that
which had remained of feelings and of sadness in the
looking-glass, feeding his horror upon the supreme shud-
dering of chimeras, and upon the tremor of the tapes-
tries . . .
(Igitur, p. 56)
""
r
".. and the shadow heard no more than the regular beat,
which seemed forever to flee, like the prolonged fluttering
of some host of the night, aroused from his heavy
sleep...
""
**
' . . of a winged host of the night .
(Igitur, p. 70)
""
(Igitur, p. 75)
And just as Edgar Allan Poe refers to the tidings of the bird
as to "that lie thy soul has spoken," so Stéphane Mallarmé refers
to the "falsehood" revealed by the shadows that flutter, and to the
scanned beat of the nightly visitor.
Since the vision of the nocturnal visitor has become blended
with the ghost that visits Hamlet, and with the second self of
the hero, when the latter becomes conscious of every movement
and of every reaction; since, too, it is an allusion built upon
another allusion, it is less marked and less vividly outlined in
Igitur. The ghost in Hamlet is almost a real person, and his
movements and purposes are clearly defined: his time will end
at a certain moment, and he knows when. The ghost seems to
150..
be fulfilling his own mission and he has explanations to offer.
But the black and plumed creature in Poe's poems is a messen-
ger of fate and a symbol of a warning that has not quite clearly
been defined. The visitor that comes to Igitur at midnight is a
blending of the two characters: the ghost of Hamlet, and the
raven of the poem by the same name. The ghost tells his lis-
tener:
"My hour is almost come
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames.
Must render up myself."
For he is aware of his origin and of his destination. The quali-
ties of the fluttering and flapping creature in Igitur have a sim-
ilarity with Hamlet's ghost: both have become the embodiment
of the traditions that govern the past, the emblem of all that
is happening in the present, and the symbol of the future as
well. The outer aspect, however, of the bird in Igitur is like that
of the raven in Poe's poem, and the images that describe the
creature in Igitur seem nearer to the passages in the poem. The
dramatic quality of the black creature that flaps its wings to
the rhythm of the hero's heart-beats, and that casts dark shadows
as it moves, must have been more attractive to Stéphane Mal-
larmé, than the stiff body of the ghost, walking with firm gait.
The image of the time-piece, an allusion which seems also to
have been suggested by another poet, seems to be primarily
Baudelairian, although it might have been suggested to Mal-
larmé by Poe's story, entitled, The Pit and the Pendulum. Baude-
laire's poem L'Horloge, describes the sinister effects of a clock
whose never-ceasing hands revolve on and on, and whose duty
it is to mark time, time being the abyss that swallows up every
deed and every thought; it is implacable and does not allow
any human being to forget its powerful nature.
···151}…….-
"Horloge! dieu sinistre, effrayant, impassible,
Dont le doigt nous menace et nous dit: Souviens-toi!
Les vibrantes Douleurs dans ton coeur plein d'effroi
Se planteront bientôt comme dans une cible;
Le Plaisir vaporeux fuira vers l'horizon
Ainsi qu'une sylphide au fond de la coulisse;
Chaque instant te dévore un morceau du délice
A chaque homme accordé pour toute sa saison.
Trois mille six cents fois par heure, la Seconde
Chuchote: Souviens-toi!-Rapide, avec sa voix
D'insecte, Maintenant dit: Je suis Autrefois,
Et j'ai pompé ta vie avec ma trompe immonde!
Remember! Souviens-toi! prodigue! Esto memor!
(Mon gosier de métal parle toutes les langues.)
Les minutes, mortel folâtre, sont des gangues
Qu'il ne faut pas lâcher sans en extraire l'or!
Souviens-toi! que le Temps est un joueur avide
Qui gagne sans tricher, à tout coup! c'est la loi.
Le jour décroît; la nuit augmente, souviens-toi!
Le gouffre a toujours soif; la clepsydre se vide.
Tantôt sonnera l'heure où le divin Hasard,
Où l'auguste Vertu, ton épouse encore vierge,
Où le Repentir même (oh! la dernière auberge!),
Où tout te dira: Meurs, vieux lâche! il est trop tard!"
(L'Horloge, by Charles Baudelaire)
With Stéphane Mallarmé this symbol of the time-piece suggests
even more than it has described for Baudelaire; each of its
details brings to mind another significance. Its pendulum sug-
gests shadows that flutter; its face hints at the nightly visitor;
its glass suggests a diamond scintillating like a star in the dark
night, and it possesses a number of faces, ever changing. In
-->{152 }….-
Igitur the clock has been imbued with the power of expiring
within itself, of enclosing all that has passed before it, within
its frame, and of reducing itself to nought. The clock is the
power that records all: the hero's mind, the shadows, the fleet-
ing creature, the heart-beats, the shadows, the past, the future,
the arrested hour, infinity, and chance. The time-piece is that
which reflects Igitur's spirit.
"Beyond doubt the presence of Midnight persists. The
hour has not disappeared through a mirror, has not buried
itself in the tapestries, thus bringing forth furnishings by
its vacant sonority. I recall that its gold was about to
feign, although absent, a jewel void of revery, rich and
useless survival, only that upon the marine and starry
complexity of a goldsmith's art, the infinite hazard of
conjunctions could be read."
(Igitur, p. 39)
... the pure fire of the diamond on the clock..
(Igitur, p. 42)
""
"The shadow having disappeared into obscurity, the
Night was left with a doubtful perception of the time-
piece which was about to reach its end and expire within
itself, but as for that which glitters and moves, withdraw-
ing within itself and reaching its end, it sees for itself who
it is that still carries it away .
""
(Igitur, p. 42)
"It presents itself in the same way, in one or the other
faces of the glittering and secular partitions, only keeping
from it, in one hand, the opal splendor of its science, and
in the other its mass, the mass of its nights, now shut...
(Igitur, p. 47)
""
The image of the time-piece carries with it allusions of a
mirror, a vial, of the pulse-beats of the hero who has become
-1533
conscious of his every step and of the two symmetrical panels.
It is interesting to note that the images in this narrative-drama
are not clearly defined, and suggest each other, one merging
into the other, as if blended.
"The hour has struck when I must depart; the purity
of the looking-glass will be established without this person,
this vision of myself—but it shall carry off the light!—the
night. On the vacant furnishings the Dream has, in this
glass vial, agonized purity, purity which includes the sub-
stance of Nihility."
(Igitur, p. 51)
"I have always lived with my soul fixed upon the clock.
Assuredly, I have done everything so that the time which
the clock struck would remain present in the room, and
would become for me my provendor and my life,-I have
made all my curtains thicker and, since, in order not to
doubt my very self, I was always obliged to sit facing this
looking-glass, I have preciously gathered together the atoms
of time, to the last bit, in the garnishments that were in-
cessantly made thicker. The clock often did me much
good."
(Igitur, p. 53)
... and when he believes that he has become himself
once again, he fixes the clock with his soul, the clock whose
hour was disappearing through the looking-glass, or is
about to vanish within the curtains
१९
•
"
(Igitur, p. 55)
"And when I reopened my eyes, I saw at the bottom of
the mirror the horrid personage, the horrible phantom,
little by little absorbing that which had remained of feel-
ing and of sadness in the looking-glass . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 56)
·*154}..-
The third image, that of the flask at sea, recalls the description
of a vial at sea in Alfred de Vigny's poem, Bouteille à la Mer.
This poet muses over the significance of the flask, as it is car-
ried by the waves; though it is empty it reveals that some life
must have been lost somewhere at sea, and a shipwreck might
have occurred. How long ago, or how great the disaster, no one
can tell. To Stéphane Mallarmé this flask is the symbol of nihil-
ity, nirvana, or the result of a vast sum of cognizance; this void
that seems to bear no meaning at all of a sudden explores a
history, reveals an entire dream, or confronts one with a sum
of probabilities. Is it not the emblem of some unrealized dream,
of an unforeseen play of fate, or of the shattered ship that had
never reached the shore of its determination? Then it is chance,
and the gesture that was able to overcome the will. And this
flask must contain the beyond, the secret of its presence and
the key to the past, which has occasioned the emptiness of the
unknown future.
Since the image of the vial is less definite in Igitur, for it
is so closely related to other images that it seems to have lost
its specific identity, the actual description of the flask, or of that
which surrounds it, is almost lacking in the sketch of Igitur;
whereas in the poem by Alfred de Vigny it forms the most im-
pressive part of the picture. Here the flask at sea is the symbol
of scientific knowledge and discovery, the symbol of experience
and of philosophy. It is ever and always alone; it is tossed
about over the waves; it never reaches shore; and though it is
perceived by man, its mystery is never completely discovered.
The description of this flask at sea (in the poem by de Vigny)
is vivid and dramatic: the reader sees before him the captain of
the ship that has met with disaster, and witnesses the captain's
last moments, as he flings the vial into the sea,—a last token
of remembrance and a farewell-sign to future mariners. (This
-*155**-
scene is almost identical with the image of the captain in Un
Coup de Dés, although it is missing in Igitur; in Un Coup de Dés
the captain paces the deck of his ship, trying in vain to recall
all strategic maneouvres that have been resorted to in the past,
making the last attempt to "smite the sounding furrow").
In Igitur the image of the flask at sea is less narrative in form,
and not as vivid or dramatic. The reader suddenly discovers it;
there is no past recounted, nor is there any description of how
man has discovered it. One is not even told about what it might
disclose. The reader perceives that this is the vial that is absorb-
ing all mysteries, and that this is the vessel which contains not only
the sum of human experiences, or of scientific truth, or of
philosophy, but the beyond of all knowledge. It is ever and
always alone, and here its loneliness is more complete, for it
has never been discovered by anyone but Igitur; what will
become of it in the hereafter no one can tell, not even the hero.
Igitur had the fortune to sense its existence after he had per-
ceived that the looking-glass was absorbing all that remained of
himself and of the room, even of the horrible visitor and his
alter ego; the flask seems not to have been predicted by the black-
book, nor was it mentioned in the tradition handed down to
Igitur by his race.
Although it is the symbol of the flask that must have been
suggested to Mallarmé, it is interesting to note hat there are
other images as well that are analogous with some found in
Igitur.
"Il croise les bras dans un calme profond.
Il ouvre une bouteille et la choisit très forte,
Tandis que son vaisseau que le courant emporte
Tourne en un cercle étroit comme un vol de milan.
-156.-
Des constellations des hautes latitudes.
Son naivire est coulé, sa vie est révolue,
!! lance la Bouteille à la mer, et salue
Les jours de l'avenir qui pour lui sont venus.
Il sourit en songeant que ce fragile verre
Portera sa pensée et son nom jusqu'au port,
Que d'une île inconnue il agrandit la terre,
Qu'il marque un nouvel astre et le confie au sort,
Que Dieu bien permettre à des eaux insensées
De perdre des vaisseaux, mais non pas des pensées,
Et qu'avec un flacon il a vaincu la¯mort.
Et la Bouteille y roule en son vaste berceau.
Seule dans l'Océan, la frèle passagère
N'a pas pour se guider une brise légère;
Mais elle vient de l'arche et porte le rameau.
Les courants l'emportaient, les glaçons la retiennent
Et la couvrant des plis d'un épais manteau blanc.
Les noirs chevaux de mer la heurtent, puis reviennent,
Le flairer avec crainte, et passent en soufflant.
Elle attend que l'été, changeant ses destinées,
Vienne ouvrir le rampart des glaces obstinées,
Et vers la ligne ardente elle monte en roulant.
Un jour, tout était calme, et la mer Pacifique,
Par ses vagues d'azur, d'or et de diamant,
Renvoyait ses splendeurs au soleil du tropique.
Un navire y passait majestueusement;
Il a vu la bouteille au gens de mer sacrée:
Seule dans l'Océan, seule toujours! Perdue
Comme un point invisible en un mouvant désert,
L'aventurière passe errant dans l'étendue,
Et voit tel cap secret qui n'est pas découvert.
Tremblante voyageuse à flotter condamner,
-157}--
Quel est cet élixir! noir et mystérieux.
Quel est cet élixir! Pêcheur, c'est la science,
C'est l'élixir divin que doivent les esprits,
Trésor de la pensée et de l'expérience;
Souvenir éternel! gloire à la décourverte"
(La Bouteille à la Mer, by A. de Vigny)
There is still another image in Igitur, which might have
been suggested by Mallarmé's reading of the poem by Alfred
de Vigny; it is the description of Igitur, as he lies down upon
the ashes of his ancestors, having sought to annihilate chance
and to govern destiny with his intellect. He is not calm, but
he has decided to rest his spirit; he enters a profound and
prolonged sleep.
"Quand il est san gouvernail et partant san ressource,
Il se croise les bras dans un calme profond."
(La Bouteille à la Mer)
"He shuts the book-blows out the candle-light with his
breath which contains chance; and crossing his arms, he
lies down upon the ashes of his ancestors.
Crossing his arms—the Absolute has disappeared within
the purity of his race (for it should indeed be so while
the sound has ceased)—"
(Igitur, p. 61)
both the constellations and the sea remaining in
exteriority . .
>>
(Igitur, p. 39)
The following are images referring to the flask at sea, which
may be compared with de Vigny's descriptions:
་་
-1583-
"On the vacant furnishings the Dream has, in this glass
vial, agonized purity, purity which includes the substance
of Nihility . .
(Igitur, p. 51)
seeing himself enclosed within a rarefaction, an
absence of atmosphere.
""
er
(Igitur, p. 55)
"Upon the ashes of the stars, those which have remained
part of the family, was the poor personage lain, having
drunk the drop of nihility now missing from the sea.
(the empty flask, madness, is that all that is left of the
castle?) Nihility having departed, the castle of purity is
left."
re
•
a flask contains the substance of Nihility
(Igitur, p. 63)
"
"How the personage who has harmed the purity takes
this flask which foretold of him and amalgamates it with
himself, later on; and how he puts it simply away into
his bosom, when he goes to absolve himself of move-
ment
""
•
(Igitur, p. 68)
(Igitur, p. 68)
"All this since they had first come upon the castle, beyond
doubt, in a shipwreck . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 80)
It is significant that these three examples of images taken from
sources other than his immediate own are generalized by the
poet, are blended with others and made more abstract, so that
they have been given an emotional content with philosophic
denotation. Though on the whole their description is merely
alluded to, there are passages where these descriptions have be-
come intensified as well. The extension of a term having passed
-159.-
all its boundaries, the images construed begin to denote or to
imitate so many sudden and fresher allusions that the exten-
sion of the specific word seems at once not to have hindered
its intensive description. This is peculiar to Stéphane Mallarmé,
for he sought the limitless, or what he termed the absolute. Thus
there are the many versions of a poem or prose-piece, which
are proof of the postulate that he did not remain content until
he had pursued his imaginative course to its furthest extension,
to its boundless implication, stopping at the same time to take
note of every significant intensive application of the employed
term, or of the combination of terms. One might interpret this
quality of mind as a power of abstraction so keen, so alert and
so ethereal, that, like Emerson, and like Wagner perhaps too,
he divined that all things when viewed abstractly, were part of
the great and consecrated system of the universe-a sort of
Pantheism. What his imagination had created he amplified and
filtered, or he regarnished by the artifice of intellectual pursuit.
If the subconscious had delivered to him some manifestation of
a state of revery, if the combinations that it proposed were acci-
dental or incidental, he considered that he might at least con-
sciously remold the created form or the content; the latter
process included to a great extent the production of an outer
form, for the inner must have come simultaneously with the
content (though both might be filtered, it would be impossible
to re-create them), for the content must be revealed to us in
some primary form, and this primary form was inspired by the
same source, or almost the same source, as the initial content.
This will to repolish the form and the content that have been
revealed during the first moments of inspiration was a cult of the
intellectual process of analyzing the suitability of every sign, or
every symbol, and of scrutinizing and testing. Only after such
careful investigation did the author allow himself to consider
-1603.-
A JUGA
that his work was finished; and even after that, one is not cer-
tain that there were no lingering doubts in his mind; more-
over, these doubts made of him his own harshest critic.
Igitur, considered from the point of view of such a cult, re-
alized the two extremes: associations that are immediate and
therefore narrower in scope, and such that seem to be all-inclu-
sive, since they are of an indefinite calibre. Interpretations of
notions included in Igitur seem therefore to be manifold and
often contradictory; even the hero is not always himself: at
once sensible, aware of his undertakings and of his import, and
then impulsive, and easily influenced by a momentary whim.
The symbols that are employed are not as directly formulative
and as concentrated as one might expect from an exacting author;
their imaginative nature has been infused with numberless allu-
sions, so that the form is not firm, and they are not readily
conceivable; they are not emblems; they are rather endless pat-
terns moving upon an ethereal surface. If it was Mallarmé's goal
to reach a text that would be direct and definite, one might say
that the goal was not reached, for there is an obvious contradic-
tion; the purity of the expression has become marred by the
desire to saturate a phrase, or even a word, with not one perfect
and suitable notion, but with as many as the individual might
choose to discover. Thus the absolute seems to be diametrically
opposed to the pure. The raven suggested in Poe's poem has
become the second ego of a duality whose heart beats to the
rhythm of the flapping and fluttering of wings; it has become
the prediction of a projected ego and the embodiment of a final
gesture created by impulse; its wings are also the two shadowy
and symmetrical gaps in the wall, they are the furnishings that
shudder in the chamber of the hero. Its body is that of the
superior race to which Igitur belongs, the race of the artists; its
journey is the flight of a wearied mind, a mind that has been
-·*191 3.-
deliberating, doubting, and determining, a mind that has sought
to nullify its emotion. This bird is even the symbol of eternity,
for it suggests the clock whose rhythm is identical with the
regular beat of the flapping wings, and the pulse-beats of the
hero; the wings of the creature suggest the two black panels of
the clock. In Un Coup de Dés this same creature clearly
becomes the poet with the black mantle about him, with a plume
or a quill, which describes the ways of fate, and a white and
quivering lace-frill about the poet's neck (the lace is the arach-
nean thread mentioned in Igitur) and a black cap; the frill about
his neck is made of spider's-web, so that is fineness allows
shadows to be cast and the light to pierce through. These de-
tails of the description, including the silence of the creature who
remains unmoved by all questions, the black velvet and the glooms
that spread horror at night, can be traced to the details in the
poem by the American author.
To Baudelaire's time-piece Mallarmé has given more faces than
one; here too, there are less descriptions and narrations than
in the original source; the image is created rather by alluding
to the effects in a very abstract manner, than by actually relating
to qualities. The time-piece has become the second self of
Igitur and the mirror of his being; it teaches him to watch, to
count his steps and to listen to the rhythm that denotes the
passing of time; it, too, casts the sinister shadows that spread
blackness through the gleam in the paths of the hero's fate; it
is also the "pure fire of the diamond" and the "jewel of the
eternal Night"; it is the midnight hour, nothing more than a
present moment, anxiously awaited and prolonged by the will
of Igitur whose idea it is that he can in this way annihilate
chance with an implacable determination that can seal the doors
of the room and the furnishings; it is his own heart that beats
without end and loudly, and which strikes the significant hour.
162162
..
De Vigny's symbol of the vial describes the discovery of a
forgotten fate and an unknown past; it reveals that some acci-
dent had caused a wreck at sea and that some human being must
have met with a sudden and unforseen calamity (and at the
last moments have realized the end and the future); it has the
power of suggesting thought, but it cannot give rise to actions.
To Mallarmé the vial at sea became the symbol of the beyond,
nothingness, a void; it was not even thought, for it hemmed
in all knowledge that the traditional past of the race had
given to Igitur together with all hopes and illusions that his
determination had created for him; it contained the vanity of
vanities, the hopelessness of a present conviction built upon a
prejudiced past (since the race had followed one definite path)
and a dream of the future (which Igitur already feels and knows
is vanity). But who can tell whither all the elements that the
vial had enclosed within itself have gone and will go? Perhaps
they have gone only to return to the next of Igitur's race and
to confront the new philosopher or the new poet with their
substantial truths? Or does the nothingness of the vial signify
that there is room for newer ideas and notions?
The other images in Igitur which are treated in the same
allusive manner and are merely suggested, seem to have their
original source in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Even the notion that
is only vaguely suggested in Igitur, that form is created by the
conflicting threads of the content, a pattern necessarily created
because the material must be organized in order to be duly com-
prehended, must have been influenced by Hamlet; for in
the Shakespearean drama there is an insinuation that the method
implies the act, and the deed itself chooses its course; that the
content is created by its form, and the form is nothing other
than content.
-163.
The situations with which Hamlet is confronted, (the scenes
of his actions, the conflicts that taunt him and disturb his
otherwise natural course, and the destiny that the Gods have
chosen for him) are close parallels of scenes in the Igitur, also
in Un Coup de Dés, which is Igitur in poetic form. The very
theme of Igitur is expressed in Hamlet. '
1
Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very
substance of the ambition is merely the shadow of
a dream.
Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.
Ham.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Ham.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
Ham. Purpose is but the slave to memory,
Of violent birth but poor validity:
Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their deeds none of our own.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, does temperately keep time
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have uttered: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will reword; which madness
Would gambol from.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
'It is interesting to note that Jules Laforgue, at a later date, also used
the theme of Hamlet in his work.
-164.
Undoubtedly, Igitur as compared with Hamlet is without plot;
its sketch is, moreover, built about one character, and cannot
therefore entail the many complications and entanglements of a
plot having several persons, involved in the situation that is de-
picted. In Igitur the reader is left to observe and to fill in all
omissions that are suggested; to imagine the persons that sur-
round Igitur, or that have influenced his thoughts or his deeds
(in the note after the sketch proper there is mention made of
Igitur's mother). The actual character-study of the hero is more
directly achieved in Igitur, for here there are no digressing fea-
tures, and the reader is constantly upon the path followed by
Igitur himself. Though the details presented in Hamlet stimu-
late many conjectures (when the nature of the events studied in
the play are generalized), they are more specific, but not impress-
ive, or not more profound. The obscure quality of the hero's
path in Igitur tends to create a source of endless abstractions
centered about the one problem confronting both Igitur and
Hamlet: does a chance phenomenon accomplish the deed that
has been determined by the man of will, or is the final resolve
carried through by the strength of the intellect, overcoming all
hazards? The shadows of the persons that surround Hamlet in
the Shakespearean drama are vaguely imprinted in Igitur; but it
is their qualities that are felt to be present or their influence,
rather than their actual selves. The scenes of the drama are vir-
tually unchanged in Igitur, except that Mallarmé has blended
some of them together so that the reader is confronted with a
compendium rather than with a succession of scenes; the reader
witnesses more than one place at the same time, or one place
suggests the other; thus there is the castle, the platform, the
room in the castle, the portals in the queen's chamber, a plain;
or the reader observes the stars at night (midnight); or hears
that the ship at sea has been wrecked by the conquering enemy.
-1653-
In the drama of Hamlet the features that characterize these places
are distinct and realistic; in Igitur, as with almost every descrip-
tion that Mallarmé applies to his content, the places wherein
Igitur moves and acts assume the same impression upon the
hero and the reader as the scenes in Hamlet, but they have
become of a somewhat allegoric nature, like the settings em-
ployed in a myth; they are never apart from the hero, for Mal-
larmé has made them a perfect abode for the thoughts and the
conflicts of the hero, so perfect that they are to be identified
with his soul.
The very progress of the hero's life in Hamlet, or the suc-
cession of conflicts that are met, is paralleled in Igitur: the
ghost's revelation; the duties that he exacts from Hamlet who
is the descendant of this race, and whose duty it is to follow
the tradition and discover the future that has been predicted
for him; the hero's feigned madness; his real frenzy; the plans
that he has organized in order to disclose the truth of which
he has known for a long time; his departure; the chance event
that occasions his return; the visit to the churchyard; the fatal
act; the poisonings; Hamlet's end. These are analogous with the
five acts in the sketch of Igitur: 1. Midnight. 2. The staircase
(he leaves the room and is lost upon the stairs). 3. The cast of
dice (at the tombstone). 4. Slumber upon the ashes after the
candle-light has been blown out. (There are five acts in the
dramatic sketch, but actually Igitur commits only four deeds;
one of the acts is merely a survey of Igitur's life).
The following are passages from Shakespeare's Hamlet, which
may be compared with those of Igitur and subsequently with
quotations from Un Coup de Dés, for the latter is nothing more
than the plot (if it may be called a plot) of Igitur, chiselled in
high-relief, so that the tense moments are even more accentu-
ated and more dramatic in Un Coup de Dés than in Igitur:
--- 166 ..
The Stars.
Hor.
Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is
southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Ham.
Ham.
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the mist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 1)
९९
... that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me
a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the
air, like you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this
majestical roof fretted with golden fire
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
•
Whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them
stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers?
•
"I recall that its gold was about to feign, although absent,
a jewel void of revery, rich and useless survival; only that
upon the marine and starry complexity of a goldsmith's
art, the infinite hazard of conjunctions could be read."
(Igitur, p. 39)
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 1)
and recognizes itself in its throng of apparitions con-
ceived under the star made pearly by their nebulous knowl-
edge, held in a hand, and under the golden sparkle of the
heraldic clasp of their mass
"
(Igitur, p. 45)
-·· 167 3.-
"Upon the ashes of the stars, those which have remained
part of the family, was the poor personage lain, having
drunk the drop of nihility now missing from the sea.'
(Igitur, p. 63)
"
Death, The Grave.
Queen. Do not for ever with thy veiled lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Ham.
And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
"I, your own sepulchre, but which, its shadow surviving,
shall be metamorphosed into eternity."
"I should like to reenter my uncreated and anterior
shadow ...
"
(Igitur, p. 48)
(Igitur, p. 42)
"... before going to rejoin the ashes, the atoms of his
ancestors."
(Igitur, p. 61)
་་
. . . a glimmer which had appeared in its mirage, de-
void of ashes, was the pure light and it was going to dis-
appear this time into the bosom of the shadow which, hav-
ing been completed and having returned from the corridor
of time, was now perfect and eternal.”
(Igitur, p. 72)
"Going to play in the tombs despite his mother's warnings."
(Heading of a note added to Igitur, p. 79)
→→ 891 }*~
१९
•
sees the act which severs him from death.”
finally he arrives where he should arrive at, and
Determination, Ambition.
King. But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow; but to persevere
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubborness; 'tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Ham.
Ham. The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
Ham.
(Igitur, p. 79)
Ham. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more
offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put
them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to
act them in.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
and blest are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well comingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
-169 }..
Ham. Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
tt
graves, ashes (neither sentiment nor intellect)
(Igitur, p. 37)
"This time no more doubt whatsoever; certitude is re-
flected in the evidence."
(Igitur, p. 46)
I should like to reenter my uncreated and anterior
shadow and by means of thought strip the disguise whịch
necessity has imposed upon me, of inhabiting the heart
of this race (which I hear beating within me), the only
remains of ambiguity."
(Igitur, p. 48)
that I might release my dream from this attire..."
(Igitur, p. 49)
Could force his soul so to his own conceit?
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
neutrality.
C
""
"Assuredly, I have done everything so that the time which
the clock struck would be present in the room and would
become for me my provendor and my life,—
"}
(Igitur, p. 53)
"Such then, on the whole, is Igitur, since his Idea had
been completed:-the past comprised of his race that
weighs down upon him with a sensation of finity, the
hour of the time-piece precipitating this weariness into
dull and suffocating time, and his awaiting the accomplish-
ment of the future, forming pure time . . . . . and, when
out of all this weariness, with time, he reorganizes him-
self ...
>>
(Igitur, p. 54)
170...
"He severs himself from time indefinite and behold, he
exists!"
(Igitur, p. 55)
"I alone, I alone am going to know Nihility. You, you go
back to your amalgam.”
(Igitur, p. 80)
The Race, Tradition, Ancestors: Fate.
Laer. And now no soul nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Ham. As, in their birth-wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot chose his origin-
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
Ham. Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All sows of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)
Ham. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)
P. King. But what we do determine oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory,
Of violent birth, but poor validity;
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
King. Our wills and fates do so contrary run
That our devices still are overthrown;
GD
…• 171 }……
Ham.
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reason and my blood
And let all sleep?
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 4)
"When the breath of his ancestors wanted to blow out
the candle-light (because of which, perhaps, the obscure
figures continue to exist)—he said: "Not yet!"
(Igitur, p. 35)
Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event,
A thought which, quarter'd hath but one part wis-
dom
And ever three parts coward, I do not know
Why yet I live to say "This thing's to do'
Sith I have cause and will and strength and means
To do't.
"Igitur, while yet a child, reads his duty to his ancestors."
(Igitur, p. 36)
"Nothing will remain of you-Infinity finally eludes the
family that has suffered by it."
"
(Igitur, p. 38)
splendor, which lives, alone, in the bosom of its
attainment, plunged into shadow, resumes its sterility upon
the pallor of an open book which the table presents,--
ordinary page and decoration of the Night . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 40)
•
. . . but the familiar and continual friction of a superior
age of which many and many a genius had been careful
-172 }…….-
to gather all its secular dust within the sepulchre, in order
to admire a self which is its very own.
(Igitur, p. 45)
**
by the shutting of the sepulchral door . . .
(Igitur, p. 46)
"While in front and in back, explored by infinity, the
darkness of all my reunited apparitions...
(Igitur, p. 47)
"I should like to reenter my uncreated and anterior shadow,
and by means of thought strip the disguise which neces-
sity has imposed upon me, of inhabiting the heart of this
race (which I hear beating within me)-the only remains
of ambiguity."
(Igitur, p. 48)
"Listen my race, before you blow out the candle-light, to
the account which I have to give you of myself—thus:
neurosis, weariness (or the absolute!).
I have always lived with my soul fixed upon the clock
and, since in order not to doubt my very self,
I was obliged to sit facing this looking-glass, I have pre-
ciously gathered together the atoms of time, to the last
bit, in the garnishments that were incessantly made thicker.
The clock often did me much good.
(Indeed, Igitur had been projected by his
race, beyond time).
Such, then, on the whole, is Igitur, since his idea has
been completed:-the past comprised of his race that
weighs down upon him with a sensation of finity, the hour
of this time-piece precipitating this weariness into dull
and suffocating time, and his awaiting the accomplish-
ment of the future, forming pure time, or weariness, ren-
··*{ 173 }***-
dered instable by the ideational malady; this weariness, not
having the power of being, soon becomes disintegrated
into its elements,"
(Igitur, p. 53)
then he opens the furnishings, that they may shed
their mystery, the unknown,-their silence, human impres-
sions and faculties; and when he believes that he has
become himself once more, he fixes the clock with his
soul ...
"t
"?
(Igitur, p. 55)
"All of himself that is so is so because his race has been
pure: it has elevated his purity to the Absolute, to be it,
and to remain with but the one Idea which itself borders
upon Necessity,—but that Infinity is finally fixed."
(Igitur, p. 60)
a personage, supreme incarnation of this race, who
feels within himself, due to absurdity, the existence of the
Absolute."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"He shuts the book, blows out the candle-light with his
breath which contains chance; and crossing his arms, he
lies down upon the ashes of his ancestors.”
(Igitur, p. 61)
"Immemorable race whose pondering time has fallen ex-
cessive into the past and which has lived thus, depending
much upon chance, only in the future."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"The hour has struck-beyond doubt as predicted by the
book . .
...
"
(Igitur, p. 67)
Anxious to regather each bit of dust therefrom, so
that, having arrived at the juncture of its future and its
…..174)…-
past, become identical, the night viewed itself in each and
every shadow that appeared to be pure, with the burden
of their fate and the glitter purified by their conscious-
ness."
(Igitur, p. 74)
"(... does he not descend the flight of stairs on horse-
back, and into all that is obscure,—into all that belongs to
himself and which he ignores,-corridors forgotten since
infancy?)."
(Igitur, p. 79)
"I must die, and since this flask contains the nihility set
aside by my race up to my time (this old sedative that the
race has not taken; those immemorial ancestors saved that
alone from the shipwreck) I do not want to know Nihil-
ity, before I have rendered to my own that for which they
have engendered me . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 80)
you, you go back to your amalgam."
Midnight: The Predicted Hour.
Ham.
Hor. In the dead vast and middle of the night,
(Igitur, p. 80)
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father
Armed at point exactly cap-ape
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slowly and stately by them:
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
would the night were come!
Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelms them to men's
eyes.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.
Mar. No, it is struck.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
*175 )……-
Ham. 'Tis now the witching time of night,
When churchyard yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot
cast."
blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
"Midnight strikes-Midnight when the dice must be
(Igitur, p. 37)
"Beyond doubt the presence of Midnight persists. The
hour has not disappeared through a mirror, has not buried
itself ..
>>
(Igitur, p. 39)
"Revealer of the midnight, he has never thus indicated
a similar conjuncture, for this is the unique hour when he
might have created . . .
(Igitur, p. 39)
"Such is the pure dream of a Midnight, vanished within
itself ...
""
(Igitur, p. 40)
"The hour has struck when I must depart."
(Igitur, p. 51)
"He throws the dice; the cast is accomplished,-twelve,
time,- (Midnight)
(Igitur, p. 80)
The Hoary Head; The Shadow That Returns.
Laer. For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3)
-176.-
Ham.
but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corpse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous;
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
First Play.
for lo! his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head,
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
First Play. run barefoot up and down, threatening the
flames
With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
Where late the diadem stood,
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Orph. (sings)
"
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll:
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5)
"When the breath of his ancestors wanted to blow out
the candle-light (because of which, perhaps, the obscure
figures continue to exist) he said: "Not yet! . .
(Igitur, p. 35)
""
the pure fire of the diamond on the clock, sole sur-
vival and jewel of the eternal Night, the hour is formu-
lated in this echo at the threshold of the panels
(Igitur, p. 42)
.. but as for that which glitters and moves, with-
drawing within itself and reaching its end, it sees for it-
-1773-
self who it is that still carries it . . .
(Igitur, p. 43)
"Listen my race, before you blow out the candle-light,
to the account which I have to give you of my life—
(Igitur, p. 53)
"I begged a vague face to remain, which was completely
disappearing into the confused looking-glass
(Igitur, p. 56)
... the importunate vision of the personage who
harmed the purity of the chimeric looking-glass
>>
(Igitur, p. 67)
"t
tt
a glimmer which had appeared in its mirage, devoid
of ashes, was the pure light and it was going to disappear
this time into the bosom of the shadow which, having been
completed and returned from the corridor of time, was
now perfect and eternel
""
(Igitur, p. 72)
"The shadow disappeared within the future darkness,
stayed there perceiving a scheme of balance, expiring, even
while it sensed its own self; but the shadow saw itself
stifled and expiring within that which still shines as it
plunges into the shadow.
>>
•
Ghost.
(Igitur, p. 73)
The Nocturnal Host, The Visitor: His Second Self.
Ham. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
But I have that within which passeth show.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
-178.-
Ghost.
Must render up myself.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)
I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain time to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)
Queen. Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Ghost. Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy blunted purpose.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now; out at the portal!
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
"Revealer of the midnight, he has never thus indicated a
similar conjecture, for this is the unique hour, when he
might have created . . .
>>
(Igitur, p. 39)
"Adieu, night which I was, I your own sepulchre, but
which, by its shadow, surviving, shall be metamorphosed
into Eternity."
(Igitur, p. 42)
"On the one hand, if the equivocation had ceased, a
motion of the other, obdurate, more earnestly marked by
a double blow, which does not any more, or does not yet,
- ❤
179 …-
reach its notion, and whose actual touch, such as must
take place, confusedly fills the equivocation, or its cessation:
as if the total downfall, which had been the unique slam
of the doors of the tomb, were not irretrievably thus sti-
fling the host forever . . .
(Igitur, p. 43)
. . when the blow shall have expired, and these become
confused, nothing more would be heard at all, than the
flapping of the absurd wings of some frightened host of
the night, struck in his heavy sleep by the splendor, and
now prolonging his indefinite flight. For, to the gasping
which had touched upon this place, it was no last doubt
about itself which, by chance, while passing, had stirred
his wings ...
"
(Igitur, p. 44)
.. having again fallen into a heavy and ponderous sleep
(at the time when the sound was first heard) in the void
from which I hear the pulse-beats of my own heart..
"
(Igitur, p. 47)
"... from the panels, where the plumage had fled."
(Igitur, p. 46)
"
"
my fright, which had taken the lead in the form of
a bird, is certainly far . . .
>>
tt
(Igitur, p. 49).
"Was not this scanned beat the sound of the progress of
my person, which now continues the sound upon the spiral,
and this contact, the uncertain touch of its duality?”
(Igitur, p. 49)
... now too, that the duality is forever severed, and that
I do not any more hear even the sound of his progress, com-
ing from him, I am going to forget him, to dissolve my very
self in me;"
(Igitur, p. 50)
*180}
• 200
"The hour has struck when I must depart, the purity of
the looking-glass shall be established, without this person,
this vision of my self . . .
(Igitur, p. 51)
"And when I reopened my eyes, I saw at the bottom of
the mirror, the horrid personage, the horrible phantom,
little by little absorbing that which remained of feelings
and of sadness in the looking-glass, feeding his horror
upon the supreme shuddering of chimeras and upon the
quiver of the tapestries, and molding himself while rarefy-
ing the looking-glass, until he attained an unheard-of pur-
ity,—until he detached himself permanently from the abso-
lutely pure glass, as if frozen in its coldness,—until finally,
their monsters having succumbed to their convulsive links,
the furnishings died in an isolated and severe attitude, pro-
jecting their durable lines into the absence of the atmos-
phere, the monsters curdled in their last effort, and the
curtains ceasing to be restless, fell in an attitude which
they shall have to maintain forever."
(Igitur, p. 56)
"the hour has struck,-beyond doubt as predicted by the
book,-where the importunate vision of the personage
who harmed the purity of the chimeric looking-glass . . .
(Igitur, p. 67)
... and the shadow heard nothing more than a regular
beat which seemed forever to flee, like the prolonged flut-
tering of some host of the night, aroused from his heavy
sleep..
(Igitur, p. 70)
"For the sound which it heard was once more distinct and
exactly the same as it had been previously, indicating a
similar progression."
(Igitur, p. 71)
-·*181 }3………
... there the shadow had heard the sound of its own
heart-beats, which explains how the sounds had become
distinct; the shadow had itself scanned its own rhythm . . . '
(Igitur, p. 71)
"}
་་
and was troubled only by the air of the evasive
hovering of a host of the night, frightened in his heavy
sleep, who disappeared in this indefinite expanse.”
(Igitur, p. 71)
"
belonged to the spirits of the sort which were
superior to the hosts, which the night had imagined, simi-
lar perhaps, to those of its own shadows which appeared
in the panels, anxious to regather each bit of dust there-
from, so that, having arrived at the juncture of its future
and its past, become identical, the night viewed itself in
each and every shadow that seemed to be pure.
>>
(Igitur, p. 74)
. the Night recognized the personage of old who
had appeared before it every night..
Pol.
The Storm, The Shipwreck and the Abyss (The Castle)
Oph. Do not
•
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3)
Hor.
""
(Igitur, p. 76)
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3)
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
And draw you into madness? think of it:
182
© Lam
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
Ros.
First Play. But, as we often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
The bold wind speechless and the orb below
As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region .
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
The cease of majesty
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near with it: it is a massy wheel,
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 3)
Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier:
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 3)
Hor. (reads)
Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a
compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded
them: on the instant they got clear of our ship; so
I alone became their prisoner."
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 6)
"Useless, the completed furnishings which will be
heaped into darkness, like draperies, already grown heavy
in a form permanent and everlasting.
(Igitur, p. 41)
as if the total downfall which had been the unique
slam of the doors of the tomb were not irretrievably thus
stifling the host; and in the incertitude, sprung probably
from the affirmative course, prolonged by the reminiscence
""
-183}}-

-
of the sepulchral void of the blow wherein the splendor
becomes lost, a vision of the interrupted downfall of the
panels presents itself, as if it were its very self, which, en-
dowed with the suspended movement, turned it about upon
itself through the dizzy and consequent spiral .
>>
(Igitur, p. 44)
the sound made by the shuttings of the sepulchral
door whose entrance into the pit brings to mind the
""
door ..
(Igitur, p. 46)
as lateral partitions, the double opposition of the
panels...
"
•
(Igitur, p. 46)
"In truth, in this disquieting and beautiful symmetry of
the construction of my dream, which of the two openings
should I follow, for there is no more future represented
by either of them."
(Igitur, p. 48)
prolonged by the sound in the corridor of time,
by the door of my sepulchre and by the hallucination; and
just as if it had really been shut, just so must it now be
opened, so that my dream might be explained."
(Igitur, p. 50)
re
**
•
... all the furnishings closed and full of their secret.”
(Igitur, p. 54)
projecting their durable lines into the absence of
the atmosphere, the monsters curdled in their last effort,
and the curtains ceasing to be restless, fell in an attitude
which they shall have to maintain forever.”
•
(Igitur, p. 57)
"Nihility having departed, the castle of purity is left."
(Igitur, p. 63)
-184.
tt
. . . and smitten with doubt, the shadow felt oppressed
by a fleeting distinctness, as if by the continuation of the
idea coming from the panels which, although shut, were
indeed still open .
(Igitur, p. 69)
so that these shadows of the two sides infinitely
multiplied would appear like pure shadows, each carrying
the burden of his fate, and the pure splendor of his con-
""
sciousness..
(Igitur, p. 70)
two massive, shadowy gaps which must necessarily
have been the reverse of these shadows...
""
**
(Igitur, p. 70)
but through which of the two gaps should the
shadow pass? In both divisions sink, corresponding to
an infinity of apparitions, although differentiated
*
... the very shadow having become its own sepulchre,
whose panels found themselves reopened without a
sound.
"
(Igitur, p. 72)
... the secure permanence of the panels, still parallelly
opened, and at the same time closing upon them, as in a
dizzy spiral."
(Igitur, p. 73)
these two obscure and identical densities were cer-
tainly darkness which has lived upon these shadows and
come to their state of darkness,-only infinitely dissevered
by the gait of the funereal gem of all these shadows ...
(Igitur, p. 74)
"
•
(Igitur, p. 71)
•
**
.. the Night wanted, in turn, to plunge once more into
darkness, toward its unique sepulchre . . . . and instructed
185...
now concerning the architecture of the darkness, the night
was happy to perceive the same movement and the same
crumpling. This crumpling came from the corridor to which
the sound had fled .~.
(Igitur, p. 75)
a vision of panels, at once open and shut, presents
itself, suspended in the downfall, as if it had been itself
which, endowed with their movement, were to turn again
upon itself in the consequent and dizzy spiral.”
(Igitur, p. 77)
११
tt
those immemorial ancestors have saved that alone
from the shipwreck . . .
>>
>>
(Igitur, p. 80)
"All this since they had first come upon the castle, be-
yond doubt in a shipwreck―second wrecking of some high
ambition."
(Igitur, p. 80)
The Chance, the Hazard.
P. King. Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
Queen.
Ay me, what act
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Ham. Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death and danger dare,
while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
-1863-
›0 400
Go to their graves like beds.
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 4)
Ham. Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach
us
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will,-
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special provi-
dence in the fall of a sparrow.
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
Ham. You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
Hor. Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,
Of death put on by cunning and forced cause,
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
Fall'n on the inventor's heads:
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
"... will deduce a proof of something great (not stars?
chance annulled?) from this simple fact that he can occa-
sion the shadow by blowing at the light . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 35)
"This must have taken place in the combinations of the In-
finite face to face with the Absolute.”
(Igitur, p. 38)
"Infinity comes from chance which you have denied .
(Igitur, p. 37)
**
"In truth, in this disquieting and beautiful symmetry of the
construction of my dream, which of the two openings
-187-
Q.
should I follow, for there is no more future represented by
either of them.'
(Igitur, p. 48)
"Must I still fear chance, that old enemy that divided me
into darkness and into created time, both thus pacified by
a similar sleep? and is not that the end of time, that which
brought the end of darkness, itself annulled?”
(Igitur, p. 48)
""
"On the vacant furnishings the Dream has, in this glass
vial, agonized purity, which contains the substance of
Nihility."
(Igitur, p. 51)
"He severs himself from time indefinite and behold,
he exists! And now this time, time is not going, as of
old, to stop itself and to shiver in grey upon the massive
ebonies whose chimeras have been closing their lips with
an overwhelming sensation of finity
(Igitur, p. 55)
·
. to their convulsive links, the furnishings died in
an isolated and severe attitude, projecting their durable
lines into the absence of atmosphere, the monsters curdled
in their last effort, and the curtains ceasing to be restless,
fell in an attitude which they shall have to maintain for-
ever."
(Igitur, p. 56)
"Brief in such an act wherein the chance is a sport, it is
always chance that attains its idea when it affirms or denies
itself. Confronted with its existence, this refutation and
affirmation become stranded. It contains the Absurd-im-
plies it--but in a latent state, and impedes its existence:
that which permits infinity to be."
(Igitur, p. 59)
-188.-
and the Act (whatever may be the power that has
guided it) having denied chance, he thus concludes that
the idea was necessary.
**
Thus he concludes that it is certain folly to admit it
absolutely; but at the same time he can say that, by the
very fact of this folly, chance having been annihilated,
this madness was necessary. What for? (no one knows,
for it has been isolated from humanity).”
(Igitur, p. 60)
"Igitur simply shakes the dice,-movement, before going
to rejoin the ashes, atoms of his ancestors: This movement,
belonging to him, is discharged.
""
(Igitur, p. 61)
"He shuts the book, blows out the candle-light and with
his breath which contains chance
(Igitur, p. 61)
and which has lived thus, depending upon chance,
only in the future.—This chance, annihilated by the aid of
an anachronism . . .
"
•
(Igitur, p. 61)
"The personage who, believing in the existence of an only
Absolute, imagines throughout that he is in a dream (he
acts from the point of view of the Absolute), finds the
act useless, for chance does and does not exist; he reduces
chance to Infinity, which, he says, must exist somewhere."
(Igitur, p. 62)
*
only because chance has been denied by the black-
book ..
(Igitur, p. 67)
"Such is the reverse gait of the notion whose ascension
he has not known, being adolescent and having arrived
at the absolute
(Igitur, p. 79)
-1893.
"He throws the dice; the cast is accomplished."
(Igitur, p. 80)
The Madness; Igitur's Folly.
Hor. Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
And draw you into madness?
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
Pol.
Ham. I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is
southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Pol.
Pol.
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 1)
Pol.
I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
Mad call I it: for, to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
A happiness that often madness hits on, which
reason and sanity could not so prosperously be de-
livered of.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
King. Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
But, with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
-190-
King. Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range. . .
Ham.
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunacies.
Ham.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 3)
Sense, sure you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thralled
But it reserved some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Ham. Since frost itself as actively does burn
And reason panders will.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
That I have uttered: bring me to the test . . .
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
1913.
Ham. That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft.
Ham. If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
"Dead for a long time, an old idea matures, with such
splendor of chimera, where the dream was in agony and
was recognizing itself by the immemorial and vacant ges-
ture with which it invited itself to terminate the antagonism
of this polar dream, to render itself, both with the chimeric
splendor and the shut text, to the Chaos of the aborted
shadow and of the dictum which is to absolve the Mid-
night."
(Igitur, p. 41)
"
And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it, then? is madness: if't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
"
... through the dizzy and consequent spiral
. . the perfect symmetry of foreseen deduction de-
mented his reality . . . it was his very consciousness for
which the very absurdity had to serve instead . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 46)
""
(Igitur, p. 44)
the perfect symmetry of foreseen deductions de-
too bright; this splendor reveals a desire for evasion;"
(Igitur, p. 48)
-O
-··· 192 }?………-
... the account which I have to give you of my life—
thus: neurosis, weariness (or the Absolute!)
(Igitur, p. 53)
and, when with all this weariness, with time, he re-
organizes himself, seeing how horribly void is the looking-
glass, seeing himself enclosed within a rarefaction, an ab-
sence of atmosphere, and seeing how the furnishings con-
tort their chimeras in the void, and how the curtains
shudder invisibly, restless; then he opens the furnishings,
that they may shed their mystery, the unknown,—their
memories, their silence, human faculties and impressions;
and when he believes that he has become himself once
again, he fixes the clock with his soul . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 55)
"t
"Thus his I manifests itself by recovering from the Mad-
ness: admits the Act and wilfully recovers the Idea, as
Idea..."
(Igitur, p. 59)
"Thus he conceives that it is certainly folly to admit it
absolutely; but at the same time he can say that, by the
very fact of this folly, chance having been annihilated,
this madness was necessary. What for? (no one knows, for
it has been isolated from humanity.)
(Igitur, p. 60)
"One understands the significance of his ambiguity."
(Igitur, p. 61)
... (the empty flask, madness, is that all that is left of
the castle?)
re
(Igitur, p. 63)
"But it soon realized that it was within its very self that
the glimmer of its perception sank, as if stifling, and it
retreated within itself."
(Igitur, p. 69)
having arrived at the juncture of its future and its
past, become identical, it viewed itself in each and every
"
•
-193-
¿
"
shadow that appeared to be pure . . .
(Igitur, p. 74)
... the absurd act which testifies to the emptiness of
their madness ...
""
(Igitur, p. 80)
"Do not blow at the candle-light just because I have
called it the emptiness of your madness! silence, none of
that dementia which you want expressly to disclose."
(Igitur, p. 80)
he says to all this tumult: certainly an act does
exist there; it is my duty to proclaim it: this madness
exists. You were right (sounds of madness) to manifest
it . . . '
""
(Igitur, p. 81)
(It is also significant that the title of this drama is: Igitur,
or Elbehnon's Madness.)
**
The Mirror; A Play Within a Play.
Ham. you would pluck out the heart of my mystery;
you would send me from the lowest note to the
top of my compass .
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
Ham. You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4)
• •
In Hamlet the mirror that the hero sets before the culprits is
the playlet that is given at court and which they witness; the
actors then reveal the truth concerning the past deeds of the
king and queen. In Igitur the mirror has become the time-piece
-·· 194 )….--
that reveals the truth about the past; it is also Igitur's conscious-
ness and the fear that has overcome him, as he predicts the future
and discloses the past of his race.
Ham. for anything so overdone is from the purpose of
playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature;
to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own
image, and the very age and body of the time his
form and pressure.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
"The hour has not disappeared through a mirror, has not
buried itself in the tapestries
"
(Igitur, p. 39)
. . whereas the virtual glimmer, produced by its own
apparition in the mirroring of obsurity, scintillates the pure
fire of the diamond on the clock . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 42)
"
so that the shadow be reflected in its very self, and
recognize itself in its throng of apparitions . . .
(Igitur, p. 45)
"In truth, in this disquieting and beautiful symmetry
of the construction of my dream, which of the two open-
ings should I follow, for there is no more future repre-
sented by either of them. Are they not both my reflection,
forever equivalent?"
(Igitur, p. 48)
"The hour has struck when I must depart, the purity of
the looking-glass will be established...
"""
"
in order not to doubt my very self, I was always
obliged to sit facing this looking-glass.
(Igitur, p. 53)
(Igitur, p. 51)
-195-
•
and Igitur, as if taunted by the torment of existing
eternally, which he vaguely apprehends, looking for him-
self in the mirror which has grown weary and seeing that
he is vague... seeing how horribly void is the looking-
glass, seeing himself enclosed within a rarefaction. .
(Igitur, p. 54)
"
१९
•
"
I begged a vague face to remain, which was com-
pletely disappearing into the confused looking-glass .
(Igitur, p. 56)
"And when I reopened my eyes, I saw at the bottom of
the mirror the horrid personage, the horrible phantom,
little by little absorbing that which had remained of feel-
ings and of sadness in the looking-glass, feeding his hor-
ror upon the supreme shudderings of the chimeras and
upon the tremor of the tapestries, and molding himself
while rarefying the looking-glass, until he attained an un-
heard-of purity;"
(Igitur, p. 56)
.. the importunate vision of the personage who
harmed the purity of the chimeric looking-glass in which
I appeared by favor of the light . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 67)
k
Speech and Gesture.
King. The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Hor. Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slowly and stately by them: thrice he walked
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him.
""
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
-▷
196
Hor. But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up its head and did address itself to mo-
tion,
Like as it would speak;
But even then the morning cock grew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanished from our sight.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
Mar.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4)
Ham. I heard them speak a speech once but it was never
acted;
or, if it was, not above once;
One speech in it I chiefly loved .
Ham. for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of
the time:
•
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Ham. ...
suit the action to the word, the word to the
action;
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
"He declaims the prediction and makes the gesture."
(Igitur, p. 37)
•
the breath has remained,—the end of speech and
gesture in one
""
(Igitur, p. 38)
"Must end in Infinity. Simply speech and gesture. As for
that which I will tell you, it is in order to explain my life."
(Igitur, p. 38)
-197 --
"Revealer of the midnight, he has never thus indicated a
similar conjuncture, for this is the unique hour which he
might have created:"
(Igitur, p. 39)
except that there still subsists the silence of an old
saying proffered by him, in which this Midnight, come back,
calls forth its finite and empty shadow with these words: I
was the hour which was to make me pure."
(Igitur, p. 41)
"
the hour is formulated in this echo at the thresh-
old of the panels, opened by this act of the Night."
(Igitur, p. 42)
and was recognizing itself by the immemorial and
vacant gesture with which it invited itself, to terminate
the antagonism of this polar dream, to render itself both
with the chimeric splendor and the shut text, to the Chaos
of the aborted shadow and of the dictum which is to absolve
the Midnight.'
Ce
""
(Igitur, p. 41)
"I proffer the speech in order to thrust it back into its
emptiness.
""
(Igitur, p. 80)
Futility of Ambitions and of Dreams: The Cast of Dice;
The End.
Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count
myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I
have bad dreams.
Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very
substance of the ambition is merely the shadow of
a dream.
Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.
-- 198 -
Ros. Truly, I hold ambition of so airy and light a qual-
ity that it is but a shadow's shadow.
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Ham. Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit, And for nothing!
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Ham. To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them, To die: To sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary like,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
--- 199 --
Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
Ham. Why, let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play;
For some must watch, while some must sleep;
So runs the world away.
(Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2)
Ham. But let it be. Horatio, I am dead;
Thou livest; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.
Things standing thus unknown shall live behind
me!
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2)
"Igitur simply shakes the dice,-movement, before going
to rejoin the ashes, atoms of his ancestors; this movement
belonging to him is discharged. One understands the sig-
nificance of his ambiguity."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"He shuts the book, blows out the candle-light with his
breath which contains chance; and, crossing his arms, he
lies down upon the ashes of his ancestors.”
(Igitur, p. 61)
"Crossing his arms, the Absolute has disappeared with-
in the purity of his race (for it should indeed be so while
the sound has ceased)"
(Igitur, p. 61)
"Immemorable race whose ponderous time has fallen ex-
cessive into the past and which has lived, thus, depending
much upon chance, only in the future.-This chance, an-
200...
nihilated by the aid of an anachronism, a personage,
supreme incarnation of this race, who feels within him-
self, due to the absurdity, the existence of the Absolute,
has, alone, forgotten the human speech in the black-book,
and the thought in a luminary body, the one announcing
this refutation of chance, and the other brightening the
dream of which he is a part. The personage who, be-
lieving in the existence of an only Absolute, imagines
throughout that he is in a dream (he acts from the point of
view of the Absolute) finds the act useless, for chance does
and does not exist; he reduces chance to Infinity which,
he says, must exist somewhere.”
(Igitur, p. 61)
"Upon the ashes of the stars, those which have remained.
part of the family, was the poor personage lain, having
drunk the drop of nihility now missing from the sea. (The
empty flask having departed, the castle of purity is left).”
(Igitur, p. 63)
"How the personage who has harmed this purity, takes
this flask which foretold of him, amalgamates it with
himself, later on: and how he puts it simply away into
his bosom, when he goes to absolve himself of the
movement."
(Igitur, p. 68)
"He says: I cannot do this seriously: but the evil that I
suffer makes life fearful. At the bottom of this perverse
and unconscious confusion of things which isolated his
absolute, he feels the absence of his ego represented by the
existence of Nihility in substance. I must die, and since
this flask contains the nihility set aside by my race up to
my time (this old sedative that the race has not taken;
for those immemorial ancestors have saved that alone from
the shipwreck). I do not want to know Nihility before I
have rendered to my own that for which they have en-
gendered me, the absurd act which testifies to the empti-
-2013-
ness of their madness. (The in-accomplishment would
have followed me and only momentarily taints my Abso-
lutism.)
All this since they had first come upon the castle, beyond
doubt in a shipwreck, second wrecking of some high
ambition."
(Igitur, p. 79)
"He throws the dice, the cast is accomplished, twelve, time,
(Midnight)—he who created finds his elements once
more,—the blocks, the dice ..
Then (his intellect forming itself with the Absolute,
through the absolute chance of this fact) he says to all
of this tumult: certainly an act does exist there; it is my
duty to proclaim it; this madness exists. You were right
(sounds of madness) to manifest it: do not think that I
am going to thrust you back into nihility."
(Igitur, p. 80)
There is a vagueness caused by the fact that, though Igitur is
the only character in the plot and the hero about whom all the
movements are centered, he seems not to be the only raconteur.
The dualism of his personality permits two characters to be
moving and speaking at one and the same time; also, the fact
that his room, or the castle, is identified with the hero, makes
it possible for the presence of other characters, than Igitur him-
self, to be felt. The indefiniteness of the use of pronouns (I, he,
it, we) sometimes occasions a confusion in the mind of the read-
er, for although deeds or thoughts of the hero are represented
as occuring at one and the same time, it is impossible to speak
of them all at once, and the reader is obliged to assemble, dis-
sociate, and reassociate upon suggestion.
-202-
V. UN COUP DE DES JAMAIS N'ABOLIRA LE HASARD
chance having been annihilated, this madness was neces-
sary. What for? (no one knows, for it has been isolated from
humanity)
99
??
•
Un Coup de Dés Jamais n'Abolira le Hasard is the perfect
expression of Stéphane Mallarmé's experimentation with form
and his search for the absolute, which was ultimately, as in this
poem, to make amends, not only upon the organization of an
artistic creation, but upon its very content. This composition,
being the pinnacle of all of Stéphane Mallarmé's discoveries
concerning form, and perhaps the most disciplined and artifici-
ally rendered of all his works, thus summarizes the theories of
this poet. M. Paul Valéry describes his last moments with Sté-
phane Mallarmé: the latter was still working on Un Coup de Dés
and was still actively in search of a perfect and synthetic
abstract form.
If there is any truth in the theory of objective creation of art,
if that which Mallarmé named: a mind wilfully neutral and
severed from its own emotions, from its ideas and its psycho-
logic background (like Igitur's mind); if such an artistic in-
tellect can exist (and Mallarmé thought that it does) it was
especially through the composition of this poem that the poet
sought to ascertain his conjectures. This poem undoubtedly
appeals primarily to the intellect; its appeal to the emotions is
secondary. Once one has fathomed the labyrinth and has grasped
the illusions and the allusions (and in order to arrive at the
solution one must supply marks of punctuation, add ifs, buts,
ands, thuses, therefores and other such "insignificant words" that
the author has not found important enough, and for which he
has relied upon the reader to satisfy his own fancies and whims
of logic), once one has withstood the fatigue of working the
brain in order to perform the necessary links, the senses are most
-205-
impressively and profoundly stirred. After strife with apparently
enigmatic combinations of adjectives and their nouns, nouns and
their synonyms, and adverbs and their verbs, the intellectual
gratification exceeds the enjoyment that one might otherwise feel
after reading a poem whose form and whose content are more
usual, for one has virtually journeyed across a field of creation
and thus arrived at a summit where impression has become
expression and expression, impression (like a viscious circle), as
with the author himself. The result is flattering and startling to the
patient reader, for there are sudden realizations of images, created
not only by the unusual associations of words, but by the mere
suggestion of these possible combinations, whose separate ele-
ments have not been knotted together by the author himself.
This ability to perceive the novel and to construct allusions that
are only potentially present is what Mallarmé ascribed to the
ideal reader, who was to be creative and therefore aristocratic.
The "device" of intellectual pursuit before and after sensuous
cognizance (or does one process follow the other so immediately
that they are almost simultaneous?) is not altogether new; other
poets, centuries before, tended toward the very channel; but it
had been infrequent. The more usual manifestation is that
wherein the senses are appealed to first and foremost, so that the
mind is in readiness to react only after the emotions have been
aroused. The reversal of the process, such as is employed by
both the reader and the author of this poem, seems to accomplish
one very positive result; the impressions gained are lasting,
even more lasting than they would ordinarily be; for the in-
tellectual pursuit that gave rise to them caused them to remain
fixed and not fleeting; they were occasioned by a thoroughness
forced upon the reader.
If to Stéphane Mallarmé art was a religion, the cult that was
-206-
O&
to find its end in nihility, if it was to him a thing ordained by
the steady Northern star, like destiny, there exists an apparent
contradiction in the search for the absolute. He seems to have
evolved from one conviction to the other; at first art was to him
a spontaneous outburst, born only of the senses, an ordained
creation sparkling in its fixed orbit, like the constellation that
remains in its same form and surroundings all the time; then
he began a search for an absolute that was to be determined by
discipling the ego of the creative artist, explaining at the same
time that "a cast of dice can never annul the chance." If then,
a mere chance event could annul the positive elements of a
constructive will-power, if a casualty (in Igitur and in Un Coup
de Dés it is a shipwreck) could imperil the absolute qualities
of an expression upon which the intellect has labored with
patience and with scrutiny, why then devote so much energy
toward attaining an end that was improbable, since the least
chance might annul it? Again, the very attainment could not
be an absolute, for it too might be due to a phenomenon that
was accidental, or incidental,-something sudden and uncalcu-
lated. Critics have discussed Mallarmé, the mystic; this term is
evidently meant to convey that aspect of his work that reveals
an indefatigable spirit, a mind always visited by doubt, yet
willing to study without end, and to make attempt after attempt,
so that the remotest possibility of attaining the perfect and
suitable expression shall not have been left unemployed. He
possessed an obstinate spirit, such as prevailed in his hero,
Igitur, which did not allow him to give up the search, even
after he had denounced it as conflicting with the inevitable.
This poem, too, which must have been meticulously and
minutely planned, underwent some changes even at the last
-207 13.-
(when it was republished)' for it was a study meant to ex-
emplify his theories of the art of the future: a perfected, com-
pact association of images, outlining the conflicts of the hero;
and for that degree of abstraction every word had to be exactly
placed, and an exacting meaning inferred thereof. This atti-
tude of remaining unsatisfied with a work, and of endlessly
weighing and measuring the materials contained, of carving them
patiently and of tirelessly disciplining their form, created a state
of cerebral exaltation; the mysticism spoken of in connection
with Stéphane Mallarmé was perhaps no more than an enjoyment
gained by confronting the mind with as many obstacles as were
conceivable, and by purposefully perceiving conflicts, so that
the artistic creation might be the result of firmness and of
solidity,―ready to meet the difficulties it might have imposed
upon it as a field of impression or expression. This "cerebral
exaltation," which, according to Victor Cousin, and to Stéphane
Mallarmé perhaps as well, gives rise to intuitive knowledge
(which is no more than a strain exerted upon the senses and
the imagination), occasions the highest possible form of human
understanding. Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry, then, was the result
of intuition, the sudden revelation after an indefatigable prepara-
1
¹ The greater number of changes made in Un Coup de Dés (from one
published version to another) consists of a replacement of the same word,
rather than the employment of a synonym in its stead. Other changes
made, such as the use of a capitalized word instead of a small-letter
word, or vice versa (and such changes effect a new impression) are
more usually found with Mallarmé. The changes made in this poem
do not prove to be as interesting, nor as significant, as those which he
made in other compositions, for in the latter the poet experimented with
synonyms, while in Un Coup de Dés there were already certain words
fixed and formulated in his mind as a result of forethought and experi-
mentation. It is apparent, too, from the versions seen of some of his
poems, that the more unusual and the less evident were synonymous
values, the more attractive they were for him; and that is why so many
of the words employed in Un Coup de Dés need interpretation.
-208-
tion; it was a visionary force with which the poet was en-
dowed; and that is what is known as the mysticism of Stéphane
Mallarmé: a sort of super-imagination, or super-imagism.
It was with the aid of such a power that he sought to gain
the farthest bounds of intelligence, but did not this depend-
ence upon a force external to oneself (and the words external,
detached and objective, are not always synonymous) contradict
the absolute which he desired to establish upon a height that
was to him distant, but at once secure and attainable? The
clarity gained by this theoretic neutrality of the perfect and
artistic ego, and the logic produced by this projection of the
self so that duality may be attained, seems to be a neatness that
is not only illusory, but delusive, too. There is a certain formu-
lative quality that is accomplished in this manner, so that the
images presented are become defined and stand out in high
relief; but might that not be caused by the keenness with which
the senses perceive the images, having dwelt upon them for so
long a time? Cerebral exaltation, this frenzy of which Mallarmé
speaks in the Igitur, seems to be the same intellectualized emo-
tionalism of which Richard Wagner spoke. Mysticism seems to
be nothing more than the spirit of a powerful imagination; it has
learnt to widen the expanse of the ego's horizon by projecting
the emotions, and by calling the primary experience subjective,
and the imagined experience or that which is attributed to reflec-
tion (universal, and not specific),—objective.
C
Toward the end of this poem, however, just as toward the end
of Igitur, the poet does admit the futility of the artist's dream,
of the vague desire which had haunted him: chance, he tells us,
cannot and shall not be vanquished. All that which the limi-
tations of the human mind can ever hope to realize, he tells us,
is the overcoming of as many chance phenomena whose grip
is weaker than is man's; beyond that all is vanity. The sole
-209..
exception to that which is unsteady and dependent upon hazards is
the constellation, the star that is far North; it is a polar end,
it remains fixed, decisive, but alas!-cold and lost to man.
The unusual form of this poem reveals a mathematical mind
that has labored with lyricism, which is naturally ethereal.
Although the sentimental and romantic phrases have been en-
tirely wiped aside (such outbursts are generally subjected by the
poet to an intellectual discipline), and although he is essentially
lyric, his verse infrequently reveals anything but formulative and
strictly-conceived images and rhythm, whose subtility and sensi-
tiveness are warm and glowing, and which overcome one's sensi-
bility; they must be felt, even if not immediately or not directly.
One senses to what degree of strictness the author must have
meditated upon the form which was to reveal the content of the
composition, and reveal it to perfection and with exactitude.
However, there are places where one wonders whether or not the
author was himself not carried away by the sound of a word, or
by the rhythm of a particular phrase; and this is quite significant,
for this cool and calculating poet must himself have lost control
of the reins once or twice, and have allowed the words to suggest
each other and thus create their own text, as it were, without
the poet's disciplining their associations.
The typography and the intervals of black and white comprise
the most important features of the outer form of this poem.
This is the only case where the visual element is not only ab-
stract (as in all of Mallarmé's poetry); it is concrete and im-
mediate. The reason for this concretion is twofold: first, that
the aesthetic appeal of a composition depends upon the primary
attraction that it will have for the reader's eye, or, in other
words, upon the pictorial view of the composition (in this
manner the eye, as well as the ear, is given the power to guide
the reader in his understanding of what is before him; it dic-
---210……
tates to him the proper time for pausing and the tempo with
which he is to read, as well as the accenting of phrases or words.
The new form of poetry, according to Mallarmé, was to help
the reader not only to remember the words and the phrases, but
the picture of the printing on the page); and second, perhaps of
greater significance, the heaviness or the fineness of the type
employed was to correspond to the instrumentation of a musical
score, the type and the placement of the various types being
interpreted as the symbols on a page of music, keys for perfect
modes of expression: rests, repetitions, accents, a fast tempo, a slow
movement, a lively beat, a sadder and drawn-out cadence, a
main motive, a secondary phrase, minor melodies, parallel
phrases, etc. Thus the visual element was to express musical
content and form, for was not the end of poetry music, just as
the end of music was silence and nihility? This composition,
Un Coup de Dés, was to prove the principle that music added
to verse is poetry; and that the words contained should allude as
well to the other arts, containing besides music and rhythm
imagism, plasticity, and balance.
The first appearance of this poem was made in the magazine,
Cosmopolis, and it was decidedly impressive. It is said that, in
order to make the publication of this composition as pictorial as
possible, Mallarmé made a study of printing and typography.
Considering that the magazine in which the poem was published
had to conform with a set size of page, the results are remark-
able, due to the arrangements of the lines and the words on each
page, in accordance with the spoken sentence. But it seems that
the author, who was impressed with the significance of the
visual aspect of the page, did not remain content. Since the
arrangement of the black and white spaces was the only key for
the reader, with which to interpret the descriptions and the
exposition (for there is no punctuation employed in this work)
-211 -
the boldness and the fineness of the type had to be exaggerated
and striking; in the new edition of this poem, in 1914 (posthu-
mously published), the size of the pages and the heaviness or the
delicacy of the lines (to be exact, these are frequently no more
than figures or specks) are produced in a more exaggerated
proportion; the black lines are spread across a very extensive
surface, and the illusion created by the vast white spaces is that
of letters that have been carved in high-relief, or even of letters
that have been illumined; or the white spaces recall his own
image described in this poem, where the "whitened, steady, curious
abyss" is forced to "take wing."
The content of the poem may be summed up as the comedy of
the human intellect, or the vanity of the human mind. Man,
throughout life, seeks to annul the powers of chance phenomena,
and to deny their very existence; he does so by determining
that his will shall overcome every obstacle obstructing his path,
whether this obstruction is an accidental or an incidental event,
or not. Man makes an intrepid and courageous attempt to reach
his goal by creating eternal circumstances that cannot be shaken;
he tests the authority of his will. But devastation comes after
he casts his dice, a whim that overcomes him, having grown
desperate in his seemingly endless strife. The storm, an event
totally unforseen, overtakes him; he finds himself in a ship-
wreck (the castle in which he has lived and dreamed is at once
turned into a ship) and perceives underneath him the infernal
abyss where shadowy walls and transparent wings dwell; the
latter lead him to the inference that he is to take flight anew,
and that this event is perhaps only one of those events that are
to conduct him toward the attainment of his end. But this cap-
tain is too proud; he is unwilling to leave the scene of the
disaster, for he remembers that upon past occasions he, or his
ancestors, did not give up so readily, but depended upon such
O
212
calculations that had been traditionally established,-numbers,
conjecture, mighty fists; these are his legacy, and their memory
permits him to build his hopes upon probabilities. His victory
is but a dream that tempts him to go on fighting the lightning
and the gulf that surrounds him. The captain grows mad, but
his frenzy, which is only the result of a superconsciousness cre-
ated to annul all conflicts, is not powerful enough, and cannot
refute the firm truth that an unforseen phenomenon does and
can exist; and the dream vanishes. But once again a notion
awakens desire and vigor in him; it is the idea that the flask
at sea, which he has suddenly perceived rolling over the foams,
contains the breath of eternity; he argues that this is eternity
come to vanquish such chance phenomena as the winds and the
tide. From this simple insinuation, then, he gathers his wit
and his courage; but his last experience grips him, and he sud-
denly realizes that he is attempting to control a nought, a mist,—
something that has no substance, and cannot therefore be op-
posed. His reason fails him once more, and he is forced into a
state of dizziness; his forehead becomes a white and luminous
surface, like a scintillating star that conceals the agony of a
mind that was sensitive, delicate, subtile and thorough. His im-
patience gives rise to laughter; he strikes a blow, but hits against
nothing: vanity once again!
Of a sudden this captain becomes the poet; irony has left him,
and he has turned his dream into a study of that which has been
destined and fixed. He reads the stars and the mystic numbers,
thus reconciling himself to the fact that the recent incident did
and had to exist. The protesting soul that was his when he
first grappled with fate has become mute, silent and submissive.
He admits that he has lost the game, and though it was at first
difficult to perceive the folly of casting dice, even under eternal
circumstances, (he deliberates upon the recent events) he de-
-213-
duces a system of irony from the simple insinuations that he
reads in the sky and in the gulf. His black quill, with a rhythm
that is sinister and delirious, describes the shadows of the oscil-
lating ship and the winged sails; it helps him in this wise to
reflect less passionately upon the scenes by fixing the circumstances
in his mind, and by permitting himself to review them as if they
were occasions in the life of another. (This recalls the objectivity
of Igiturs' reflection as his second ego perceives the past and the
tradition of his race.) The allusions and illusions in his mind.
become fainter and fainter; reality has dissolved itself into revery.
But the repeated and obstinate surveyance, even if it is abstract
and distant in view of the recovered reality, ripens rebellion
and antagonizes the heart of the poet, for is he not equally
aroused by the spectacle before his eyes as by the memory of
that which took place? However, his vigor had begun to decline
even before this new idea had come upon him, and this cres-
cendo does not leave him bold enough to hold a strife with the
enigmatic; and as an outlet to a new breath of energy his mind
and his will are alert (not his fists, as in the past); he thinks
powerful thoughts and he comes to the conclusion that human
suppositions are fallacious, for chance must overrule every calcu-
lation; that the mystery of the numbers in the sky cannot be de-
ciphered even by the poetic intellect which possesses intuitive
understanding. . . . "Si c'était le nombre, ce serait le hasard."
The final account, including the chance events and the hazards
that are met, is fixed. And that which confuses the poet is that
each thought, in itself, emits a cast of dice.
The effect of the images and the account of the events are,
after the poem has been studied and the rhythm correctly accen-
tuated, beyond doubt theatrical. The dramatic content of this
composition is realized in the two significant scenes of the poem:
one, the shipwreck, which seems to be the climax of the drama;
--214.-
and two, the room in the castle of the poet, which seems to be
the anti-climax, or the dénoûment.
This poem exemplifies Richard Wagner's "art of the future,"
except that it is far more abstract than Wagner had dreamed of,
for it is certainly not a stage-drama. The images are imposing
and spectacular, so that their tenseness is keenly felt by the
reader; such descriptions (although they should hardly be named
descriptions, being so allusive) as that of the fathomless gulf
and the dark shadows that are cast in and about it, or that of the
captain on the burning ship, as he paces the deck and attempts
to thrust off the flame, or of the poet dressed in black velvet,
a cap upon his head, a lace frill about his neck, and the quivering
plume in his hand,—such descriptions are not told in words;
they are carved in high relief against a marble background, and
are vivified as much by the reader's play of the imagination,
as by the author himself (for the reader must interpret the
formulæ before he can enjoy the images). The rapidity of the
action, the spontaneous suggestion of certain of the thoughts or
deeds of the hero, and the many allusions, contained especially
in the prologue and epilogue of the poem, conform with Rich-
ard Wagner's ideas of the drama; there is, however, one excep-
tion to this generalization, and that is, that Stéphane Mallarmé
employed the book to perform the same functions as the stage.
The book affords to be more vague, for whatever the stage could
not present before its audiences, the book could give to its
readers, by stimulating them to imagine the actions and the sur-
roundings; by heaping allusions upon allusions; the stage might
allude and might construct illusions to stir the imagination, but
it was still hemmed within the bounds of concretion.
All the arts are not alluded to because of the content of the
composition, but they have been introduced into the outer form
of the poem. This poem exhibits the theory that poetry is a
-2153-
blending of all the arts into a word-picture, music added; and
that the association of the integral qualities of all the arts in one
does not necessarily create a confusion of the arts, but a har-
monious and impressive whole. In his prose-works Stéphane
Mallarmé always spoke of the book as an architectural structure:
the book was to be a monument as lofty and as impressive as an
architectural composition. The organization of this work explains
concretely what the poet meant by this comparison: the book of
Un Coup de Dés, published posthumously by the Nouvelle
Revue Française, in 1914, is of an unusually large and impres-
sive format (a thin backbone, and the book is about 15 by 12);
the pages are of a rather thick paper, and the lines of print
stand out vividly against the whiteness of the sheet. Perhaps
the most singularly impressive factor is the differences in the
types that are employed: against the white surface the heavy type
seems to be carved, or the thin italics are spread like spider-
webs, threads that are parenthetic between the heavier lines.
The architecural qualities of the various images that this
poem contains are as significant, if not more; for, in order to
create a background for the dramatic content, it was necessary to
introduce the other arts (those that imitate nature, and those
that express man's experience more directly), according to Rich-
ard Wagner, and according to Stéphane Mallarmé as well. The
images of the ship at sea, whose sails are spreading their wings
and taking flight; of the castle, which is no more than suggested;
and of the room wherein the poet muses at midnight, are in
outline form, and constructed as if against a background, in
relief, defined rather than painted. The symmetry of the wings,
which occasions balanced and equal shadows, and equivalent
gaps (described in greater detail in Igitur) recalls the symmetry
of any architecture that has a body and two wings. Or the sug-
gestion that this ship is a castle, a towering form against the
-·-2163.-
background of a dark sky, recalls the impressiveness of an
architectural structure; even the more allusive description of the
room in which the poet moves his trembling plume (one recalls
that there are shadows about, and that there were doors in the
room) possesses the qualities of an architectural study.
The sculptural images in Un Coup de Dés are rendered by
means of the plastic outline of the captain's figure, as he stands
at the rail, while the conflagration is at its height. One remem-
bers this captain, especially in the position where he attempts
to push off the flames with his fist, the hand clenched and the
arms forward. Then too, there are details depicted which are
meant to reveal the person of this plastic figure: a scintillating
forehead (fixing notions), prominent, luminous, bewildered; a
proud and stalwart body convinced of its vigor and relying upon
its strength; a hand that grasps the stars, an arm that is mighty,
a fist whose clench is steady and courageous, faltering only in
that moment when the mind controls the flesh and determines
that strength (physical) shall not vanquish in battle.
There is in the poem another image referring to the same
captain. It is the descripttion of the poet who sits in his black
mantle, in his room at midnight, for the poet and the captain
are one and the same, the both calculating against the odds that
they have met. However, this later image hardly impresses the
reader as having sculpturesque qualities; there is something non-
plastic about the image of the poet; one feels that he is rather
a painted portrait, than a molded image. The white lace-frill
against the black cloak and the quivering plume from the cap
upon his head suggest a study in oils. The figure of the poet
strikes one as being a pattern formed against the background of
a dark canvas, shadows falling upon the figure and about him;
this image rather lacks the third dimension; it is relief.
The third application of a visual art, that of painting, includes
!
-217-
form and symmetry, as also color-scheme. The most frequent
images in the poem are those wherein one senses the painter's
brush, and the most frequent quality of these is the constrast
met. Perhaps this factor of contrast is that which renders the
imagism so spectacular and impressive, and makes the scene
more vivid and more tense: a dark sea, with a roaring and
brilliant fire opposing it; a black gulf that reveals the white-
ness of trembling sails (or are they not wings?); a dark night
embroidered with stars, which glitter like an endless chain inter-
woven with shadows and glimmering lights; a hoary head and
a troubled brow, scintillating like a constellation in the darkness
of the night, and there are dark shadows that surround the head
and make it dizzy; a black figure about whose neck a white frill
subtly emits and transmits the light, and upon whose head rests
a cap with a plume in it'; a plume that trembles upon the white-
ness of an open page, marking shadows as it moves (fixing, too,
the path of the poet's dream).
The most prominent and attractive of the visual aspects of
this composition, Un Coup de Dés, a feature which is not at all
abstract, is, of course, that of the typography; although it has
already been discussed as part of the architectural quality of the
poem, it is more strictly related to the musical qualities of Un
Coup de Dés, though perhaps not more directly. In retrospect
the visual elements of a poem seem to be most significant; one
recalls the descriptions or the images of a given poem more
specifically and more vitally than one remembers the particular
effects of the musical sway of a poem, although that might have
been the vehicle, for both the rhythm and the sonority of a
poem seem to introduce the material to the reader long before
'The allusion to the poet seems definitely to refer to the picture of
Dante: "au bonnet de nuit taillé comme le chaperon de Dante." (Diva-
gations, p. 25)
-218-
› 0 0 0
one has actually and minutely grasped the significance of the
various rationalized impressions, or interpreted the meaning of
attractive associations and grasped the implications of fragile
allusions. The sway of a phrase and the sound of a word or
combination of words repeated at proper intervals have fixed
themselves in the memory of the reader, like a melody suddenly
remembered and suddenly created, or oft repeated. Thus rhythm
and sonority create analogies and fix new impressions to which a
sense is later added, but it is the sense and the picture that re-
main fixed. Stéphane Mallarmé best explains this problem in
one of his prose-pieces:
"Des paroles inconnues chantèrent-elles sur vos lèvres,
lambeaux maudits d'une phrase absurde?
Je sortis de mon appartement avec la sensation propre
d'une aile glissant sur les cordes d'un instrument, traînante
et légère, que remplaça une voix prononçant les mots sur
un ton descendant: "La Pénultième est morte", de façon que
La Pénultième
finit le vers et
Est morte
se détacha
de la suspension fatidique plus inutilement en le vide de
signification."
(Divagations, p. 12)
Indeed, there is every probability that even Stéphane Mallarmé,
the disciplined poet, was sometimes overcome by the sway of
an alliterative association, or by the regular beat of the word,
whose syllables fell into the general metre; that the attractiveness
of the sonority or of the rhythm was sometimes more forceful
than mathematical or logical exactitudes. This probably occurred
in the composition of the fifth, sixth and seventh pages (edition
-{219 }3-
of 1890), for here the metre is more easily scanned and the
alliteration of words is more marked; the flow of words seems
to be more easy and less complicated, and this is made possible
because these pages are virtually a repetition of the first few
pages of the composition, and an extension of the descriptions
that were presented to the reader in the earlier part of the nar-
rative. The fact that he was now merely recalling previous
scenes, which had themselves been quite vague in their presenta-
tion, gave the poet an opportunity for being still more indefinite,
and here his terms are become less strict. Having allowed him-
self to be carried away by a sound, he imagined that there also
existed a proximity of interpretation in those words that had
arrived in his mind by virtue of their musical effect.
The musical aspect of Un Coup de Dés is an attempt at or-
chestration through the employment of the pictorial. There are
five or six themes in the poem (or in the music of the poem, the
music corresponding as well to the phrases of thought) and
each sort of type is employed for the production of a stronger or
a weaker phrase, or a strain; in this way the title of the poem,
which is the central and most forceful theme, and which might
correspond to the main motive in a symphony, is set in the largest
and boldest type and is scattered from one end of the poem
to the other; the words are: Un Coup de Dés Jamais n'Abolira
le Hasard, and their blackness is so impressive that even while
one is reading the words of the thinnest type (and those phrases
that are parenthetic are set off in italics) one still bears in mind
the motto: Un coup de dés jamais n'abolira le hasard. The words
do not escape the reader even for a moment; even after the
poem has been read to the end, one still remains scanning the
rhythm of these words, which is analogous to enjoying the in-
tricacies and lesser melodies in a symphonic composition, but
bearing in mind all the while the leading phrase.
*220*……-
Because the music of the poem was to guide the reader and
tell him where to stop and where to accentuate the theme, the
logic of the phrases in this poetic composition was to be com-
prehended without the aid of puctuation. It is even probable
that punctuation could not have been employed here, for, being
carried away by the music, there are many unfinished and run-on
sentences in the poem. It is interesting to note that in his earlier
prose and poetry this same poet employed quite an elaborate
punctuation, and in some cases where a work was republished
more than once, he reexamined the punctuation and made several
changes each time, so important the matter must have seemed
to him. But having for a long time given himself to the probing
of the sense of words and to the music of poetry, he discovered
that the creative reader might be guided by this sense and this
music, without the use of punctuation. The use of an elaborate
system of type and the conviction that the music was the best
key to the logic of the composition (some of his later poems
were published with little or no punctuation) must have been
the solution which he accepted.
Due to the complication of the various themes that are pre-
sented at one and the same time, and are differentiated merely
by their typography, the logic of this poem is perhaps more in-
volved than any other poem by Stéphane Mallarmé. One has
actually to bear in mind a few themes at one and the same time,
the one more subdued and more remote, and the other harsher
in its tonal effect, or more concrete. In the last analysis the course
of related tempos, of parallel themes and parenthetic thoughts,
is no more than the otherwise use of commas, periods, paren-
theses, dashes and colons. The study of the white and black
spaces is none other than punctuation (or its evasion) and an
effort to make of logic a vivid, musical and pictorial experience.
The principle with which Stéphane Mallarmé was experimen-
-221-
ting in this composition involves the actual hearing and seeing
of the poem; it becomes important, therefore, that one view its
outlay and read it aloud, before one can truly appreciate its form
and its content as well (for here the form seems to be nothing
more than the content). According to Richard Wagner this spon-
taneous mating of form and content, or the simultaneous birth
of form and content, creates a harmony that is so perfect that
the content becomes the integral part of the form, and vice versa;
this is the principle, then, that Stéphane Mallarmé was practis-
ing here.
As one reads the poem, one even imagines that the various
qualities of type, which correspond to the different motives of the
composition, denote the use of different musical instruments,
or voice, each instrument or voice corresponding to its designated
theme. The phrases, one lively and the other slow, or moderate,
or quick, are blended together and make a final and complete
whole, so that they are perhaps not felt separately, unless one
analyzes the composition.
The poem might also be called the Grecian chorus of which
Richard Wagner spoke so highly in his discussions of the drama.
That the Greek chorus is the origin of the modern drama (i. e.
the chorus and the narrative in conjunction with the chorus) is
a well-known fact; that it was the ideal form of art, being a
drama which combined music, poetry, the dance, and the imitative
arts, of this Richard Wagner was convinced. There are certain
pages of Un Coup de Dés (especially pp. five and six) where
the movements of the previous pages are merely repeated, except
that this repetition makes the description more vague and the
narrative less complete; these pages present music whose sway is
somewhat exaggerated, easy, and suggests a dance-rhythm; it is
these pages that seem indirectly to introduce the elements of the
Greek chorus.
$ 222
222.
Each scene in the poem is presented with a different tempo,
as if it had been the purpose of the author to mark the definite
acts of a play, their beginnings and their end, by increasing or
decreasing the tempo; this is especially true of the manner in
which the prologue and the epilogue (if such they might be
named) are set apart from the rest of the text. Igitur, which
must have been the original sketch for this drama, reveals the
elements of a drama more specifically and more clearly, for it is
divided into five definite scenes or acts, with a prologue and an
epilogue; it exhibits to a more definite degree, strife and a climax.
Both works, Un Coup de Dés and Igitur, are a study of conflict;
the Hamletian theme is contained in them, representing an action
against an implacable fate,—a movement, a last word, a gesture,
an end, futility,-the sum of all things.
The use of music in any form of art, according to Richard
Wagner, always involved abstraction of bodily rhythm, the ballet
sway. The dance, then, was the underlying feature of any artistic
production, if the latter was at all musical. The allusion to bal-
let-movement might manifest itself in a twofold manner: either
by the description of the hero's action (as if he were painted
against a background and described curves and angles, as he moved
against this background), or of his surroundings, as they were
moved and removed by fate; or by the sway of the lines of verse.
In this poem by Stéphane Mallarmé the applications of archi-
tectural and sculptural qualities, and the qualities of painting, are
also an application of the qualities of the dance, for with these
there is always movement involved. The description of the cap-
tain of the ship as he stands on deck, thrusting his fist against
the skies, or as he paces the deck, viewing the sudden burst of
flame; of the hero arranging his hair; of his face as it becomes
contorted, or of the abysmal folds, of the overturned ship, of
the guiding stars that wander (with the exception of the one
223.
0+
fixed constellation),—these descriptions correspond to the move-
ments of the dance, for every gesture is abstractly the dance. They
are perhaps more concrete than is the usual form of the dance,
for every description is specific.
More significant is the rhythm of the lines; their sway is
suited to the action of this narrative; wherever the emotional
quality of the scene is changed, with it there is a change of
cadence. And this changes at once the pictorial aspect of the
composition, so that not only the ear, but the eye as well, is
guided by the sway of the black and white spaces,-a sharp turn,
a repeated swing, a leap, or a more solemn gait . . .
It becomes difficult to discuss the poetry of Un Coup de Dés
apart from the application of the other arts; it is neither a sep-
arate nor a pure mode of expression, but rather the total pro-
duced by the effect of blending all the arts in one: the dance,
music, painting, sculpture, architecture, plus words. The words
are added for a more complete effect of the amalgam, for they
help the reader discover the music and reflect upon the mean-
ing of events, as they come upon him. The words have become
nothing other than a common medium for all the arts. One
might produce a silent drama through the employment of sculp-
ture or of painting, or of music, but according to Richard Wagner,
as soon as one chooses to combine all the arts in one and one
wishes also to enlighten the audience concerning the undercurrent
of rationalization, words must necessarily become the common
medium, for they symbolize thought and association; they bring
the audience more directly to the action. But to Richard Wagner
the use of words in the drama (the ideal art) was of utmost
importance for still another reason: it clarified and simplified
the presentation for the general public (das Volk), and it was
that which directly associated emotions and the intellect (emo-
tionalized intellectualism); while Stéphane Mallarmé hardly
--224-
considered the matter of the general public, for his words were
to him the more direct medium, which he employed to a degree
that was almost as abstract as music itself.
The citation of one page of Un Coup de Dés might perhaps
best explain the principle concerning the form and the content
of this poem:
ancestralement à n'ouvrir pas la main
leg en la disparition
ayant
crispée
par delà l'inutile tête
à quelqu'un
de contrées nulles
ambigu
l'ultérieur démon immémorial
induit
le vieillard vers cette conjonction suprême avec la probabilité
celui
son ombre puérile
caressée et polie et rendue et lavée
assouplie par les ondes et soustraite
aux durs os perdus entre les ais
né
dont
N'ABOLIRA
la mer tentant par l'aïeul ou lui contre la mer
une chance oiseuse
fiançailles
le voile d'illusion rejailli leur hantise
ainsi que le fantôme d'un geste
chancellera
s'affalera
d'un ébat
folie
-225-
Not only is the punctuation omitted, but the conventional
grammatic construction of completed sentences has been denied.
The music of the phrases was meant to fill in every gap, and its
accent to interpret the sense of the words and phrases. There are
several parenthetic comments whose allusions are meant to flash
through the mind and present an image of deep intent.
Although not all of the scenes from the sketch, Igitur, have
been repeated in the poem, Un Coup de Dés, the actions have
been paralleled; especially has the main theme remained the same.
However, in Igitur, the main thought underlying the events that
are depicted is not as sharply defined, for the less concentrated
and less formulative nature of this sketch does not serve to accen-
tuate the main thought. On the other hand, the poem has
omitted the detailed descriptions that are to be found in Igitur,
although it refers to the same surroundings and the same scenes
of action; only those images that are of intrinsic necessity to the
realization of the main motive are retained; the others have not
entirely been omitted, for they are alluded to (but they are
extremely vague and far-fetched, since they are allusions built
upon other allusions). The cast of dice, the main event, occurs
in both works, as also the determined hero and the madness that
overtakes him; but the corridor, for example, and the room of
time, with its shadowy hangings and furnishings have become in
the poem the ship that is wrecked and the gulf beneath the
wreckage. The graves and the tombstones of the hero's ancestors
are not mentioned in the poem; the only allusion to the fact that
the tradition of the race has influenced the hero is the phrase
which refers to the manner in which the captain's ancestors used
to deliberate upon disaster and calculate their steps; this tradi-
tional knowledge is referred to as the legacy of the hero. There
-2269.
is another allusion to his ancestors (in the poem): of a sudden
his head becomes hoary and his face contorted, bringing to mind
the destiny with which his race was always met, and the horror
of this realization. The picture of the stars and their warning,
which symbolizes eternal and chance events, has remained almost
the same, even to the hand that clasps the fire, this golden mass at
midnight; of course, in the poem the description is shorter,
therefore more formulative and more striking.
On the whole, since the poem is more concentrated than the
sketch, the images in Un Coup de Dés are more distinct and more
striking. The rhetoric lyricism of the poem, as contrasted with
the narrative nature of Igitur, is very effective; the poem reads
like an epic,—forceful, vivid, and with mighty gestures.
There are also some allusions in Un Coup de Dés that
are not employed in Igitur, but refer directly to the
theme of Shakespeare's Hamlet. They are, however, there;
such is the image of the contorted face of the hero,
who finds himself sinking in the abyss, or the description
of the hero's ironic laughter, as he is nearing his end; or even
the black mantle of the poet, although it might also have been
suggested by the black coat of feathers of The Raven (this image
might even refer to the costume worn by Dante, as explained
only partially in one of Mallarmé's prose-poems, Réminiscence).
There is also an allusion made to the betrothal which was to
have taken place, but which misfortune and the hero's madness
had made impossible.
The following are quotations from Un Coup de Dés with
comparisons from Igitur. Wherever the quotation from the poem
seems to be more directly related to a quotation from Hamlet,
and seems not to have been referred to in Igitur, the parallel
passage from Hamlet will be cited; otherwise Chapter IV should
be consulted for comparisons.
-227-
The Stars, Night, Darkness and Light.
a starry issue, the number might exist other than in an
hallucination dishevelled with agony."
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
"in the latitudes of obscurity, where each reality dissolves
itself, except perhaps for the extreme latitude where the
place fuses with the beyond, indifferent to its own interests
and distinguished in general by its very obliqueness, through
such a declivity of fires toward that which must be the
Septontrion and which is far North,-a constellation cold
with oblivion and with disuse, but not so that it cannot
enumerate upon some vacant and superior surface the suc
cessive blow of an account total in its formation, watching,
doubting, rolling, brilliant and meditating, before stopping
at some last point, which is to anoint it.
(Un Coup de Dés)

•
only that upon the marine and starry complexity of a
goldsmith's art, the infinite hazard of conjunctions could be
read...
(Igitur, p. 39)
*
... and recognizes itself in the throng of apparitions
conceived under the star made pearly by their nebulous
knowledge, held in a hand, and under the golden sparkle
of the heraldic clasp of their mass .
""
(Igitur, p. 45)
both the constellations and the sea remaining in ex-
teriority
(Igitur, p. 39)
""
"Upon the ashes of the stars, those which have remained
part of the family, was the poor personage lain .
""
(Igitur, p. 63)
""
"
scintillates the pure fire of the diamond on the
clock,-sole survivor and jewel of the eternal Night."
(Igitur, p. 42)
"
•
... will deduce a proof of something great (not stars?
chance annulled?)"
(Igitur, p. 35)
228.
the glimmer which had appeared in its mirage, devoid
of ashes, was the pure light, and it was going to disappear
this time in the bosom of the shadow ...
""
(Igitur, p. 72)
"
"The shadow disappeared within the future darkness,
stayed there perceiving a scheme of balance expiring even
while it sensed its own self; but the shadow saw itself
stifled and expiring within that which still shines as it
plunges into the shadow."
(Igitur, p. 73)
the Night wanted in turn to plunge once more into
the darkness, toward its unique sepulchre .
"
(Igitur, p. 75)
"
Ancestors, Fate and Infinity: the Abyss.
"
"The master, excepting old calculations, wherein the ma-
noeuvre forgotten with age, sprang up, inferring
(Un Coup de Dés)
•
.. not to open the shrivelled hand . . . a legacy
someone ambiguous. a demon having countries of no
force... leads the old man into the supreme conjunction
with probability...
(Un Coup de Dés)
"
should even the whitened, steady, furious abyss, un-
der an inclination, desperately plan to take wing...
(Un Coup de Dés)
"
the sea tempting by means of the ancestor, or the
ancestor against the sea
*
...
(Un Coup de Dés)
as one taunts a fate and the winds ...
(Un Coup de Dés)
-229-
"... mist which imposed a landmark upon infinity...
(Un Coup de Dés)
"When the breath of his ancestors wanted to blow out
the candle-light (because of which the obscure figures prob-
ably continue to exist)-he said: not yet!"
(Igitur, p. 35)
"Nothing will remain of you-Infinity finally eludes the
family which has suffered by it...
(Igitur, p. 38)
while in front and in back is the falsehood explored
by infinity; the darkness of all my reunited apparitions. .'
(Igitur, p. 47)
"
"Listen my race, before you blow out the candle-
light, to the account which I have to give you of my life—
thus: neurosis, weariness (or the absolute!)
(Igitur, p. 53)
"... the past, comprised of his race that weighs down
upon him with a sensation of finity
(Igitur, p. 54)
... then he opens the furnishings that they may shed
their mystery, the unknown,-their memories, their silence,
the sum of human faculties and impressions.
(Igitur, p. 55)
"
"All of him that is so, is so because his race has been
pure ..
(Igitur, p. 60)
"Immemorial race, whose ponderous time has fallen
excessive into the past, and which has lived thus depending
much upon chance, only in the future
(Igitur, p. 61)
230..
a personage, supreme incarnation of this race,-
who feels within himself, due to absurdity, the existence of
the Absolute. ...
(Igitur, p. 62)
I must die, and since this flask contains the nihility
set aside by my race, up to my time (this old sedative that
the race has not taken; those immemorial ancestors saved
that alone from the shipwreck), I do not want to know
Nihility, before I have rendered to my own that for which
they have engendered me
"
(Igitur, p. 80)
""
"
Death and the Shadow that Returns: Duality.
a corpse removed by the arm from the secret which
it withholds.
front
"
tides
•
(Un Coup de Dés)
like one usurped, the captain drops with yielding
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
. . . the lucid and signorial egret of dizziness on the in-
visible forehead scintillates, then conceals a delicate and
obscure stature . .
•
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
rather than play like a hoary maniac the game of
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
... the shadow, buried in the transparency of this alter-
nate veil, resumes its very interior, to the point of adapt-
ing, at the unfolding, its gaping profundity to the extent of
the shell of a structure . . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
"When the breath of his ancestors wanted to blow out the
-231-
candle-light (because of which, perhaps, the obscure figures
continue to exist)—he said, not yet!"
(Igitur, p. 35)
.. from this simple fact that he can occasion the shadow
by blowing at the light."
(Igitur, p. 35)
. . in which this Midnight, come back, calls forth its
finite and empty shadow
(Igitur, p. 41)
"The shadow having disappeared into obscurity
but as for that which glitters and moves, withdrawing with-
in itself and reaching its end, it sees for itself who it is that
still carries it ...
(Igitur, p. 43)
I begged a vague face to remain, which was com-
pletely disappearing into the confused looking-glass.”
(Igitur, p. 56)
the importunate vision of the personage who harmed
the purity of the chimeric looking-glass . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 67)
"... the glimmer which had appeared in its mirage, de-
void of ashes, was the pure light, and it was going to dis-
appea, this time in the bosom of the shadow which, having
been completed and having returned from the corridor of
time, was now perfect and eternal . . . "
(Igitur, p. 72)
"The shadow disappeared within the future darkness,
stayed there perceiving a scheme of balance, expiring even
while it sensed its own self; but the shadow saw itself
stifled and expiring within that which still shines as it
plunges into the shadow."
(Igitur, p. 73)
-232.
"And when I reopened my eyes, I saw at the bottom of
the mirror, the horrid personage, the horrible phantom,
little by little absorbing that which had remained of feel-
ings and of sadness in the looking-glass, feeding his horror
upon the supreme shudderings of chimeras and upon the
tremor of the tapestries, and moulding himself while rare-
fying the looking-glass, until he attained an unheard-of-
purity, until he detached himself, permanently, from the
absolutely pure glass, as if frozen in its coldness,—until
finally, their monsters having succumbed to their convulsive
links, the furnishings died in an isolated and severe atti-
tude, projecting their durable lines into the absence of at-
mosphere, the monsters curdled in their last effort and the
curtains ceasing to be restless, fell in an attitude which they
shall have to maintain forever."
(Igitur, p. 56)
(Although Igitur seems to have rendered the vision of the
hoary head and the dizzy forehead in a decidedly abstract manner,
it seems that Stéphane Mallarmé found that it was after all neces-
sary to make the image more concrete, in order that it might be-
come more forceful. The description in Un Coup de Dés is there-
fore nearer to the passage in Hamlet (see Chapter IV).
The Nocturnal Host, The Shadow that Returns.
"As if a simple insinuation ironically twisted with
silence, or the mystery precipitated, hurled in some nearby
whirlwind of hilarity and of horror, flutters about the gulf
without scattering itself, nor fleeing, and lulls its virgin
clue; as a solitary quill, bewildered, except that a midnight
cap meets it and plucks it and immobilizes itself upon the
velvet crumpled by a sombre enslavement."
(Un Coup de Dés)
"This crumpling came from the corridor to which the
sound had fled, to disappear forever, not as that of a
-233-
winged host of the night, whose light has touched the
hairy belly, but as the very reflection of the velvet upon
the bust of a superior spirit, and there was no other arach-
nean cloth than the lace upon the bust, and, as for the
movement which had produced this light touch . . .
(Igitur, p. 75)
"1
that this evasion had been the sound of the creature
whose spreading flight had seemed to be continued . . .
(Igitur, p. 75)
"
"Was not this scanned beat the sound of the progress of
my person which now continues the sound upon the spiral,
and this contact, the uncertain touch of its duality?"
(Igitur, p. 49)
the flapping of absurd wings of some frightened host
of the night, struck in his heavy sleep
(Igitur, p. 44)
like the prolonged fluttering of some host of the
night, aroused from his heavy sleep.'
"
(Igitur, p. 70)
and was recognizing itself by the immemorial and
vacant gesture with which it invited itself, to terminate
the antagonism of this polar dream, to render itself both
with the chimeric splendor and the shut text, to the chaos
of the aborted shadow and of the dictum which is to ab-
solve the Midnight."
""
""
The Storm, The Shipwreck, The Abyss (The Castle)
even when hurled under eternal circumstances from
under a shipwreck, should even the whitened, steady, furi-
ous abyss, under an inclination desperately plan to take
wing, its own having beforehand, through wrongly spread-
ing the flight, fallen back upon the gushings, cutting the
•
(Igitur, p. 41)
-234-
"J
bounds to a level . . . its gaping profundity to the extent
of a structure leaning toward one or the other bank . . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
. . in order to hurl it into the tempest to twist its sharp
divisions and pass proudly . . .
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
... the mystery precipitated, hurled in some nearby whirl-
wind of hilarity and of horror flutters around the gulf . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
་་
It
"Useless, the completed furnishings which were heaped
into darkness like draperies already grown heavy in a form
permanent and everlasting."
>>
through the neutrality identified with the gulf . . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
(Igitur, p. 41)
as if the total downfall which had been the unique
slam of the doors of the tomb, were not irretrievably thus
stifling the host; and in the incertitude, sprung probably
from the affirmative course, prolonged by the reminiscence
of the sepulchral void of the blow wherein splendor be-
comes lost, a vision of the interrupted downfall of the
panels presents itself, as if it were its very self, which, en-
dowed with the suspended movement, turned it about upon
itself through the dizzy and consequent spiral .
(Igitur, p. 44)
*
"
the sound made by the shutting of the sepulchral
door whose entrance into the pit brings to mind the
door ...
**
=
•
>>
(Igitur, p. 46)
. . . lateral partitions, the double opposition of the pan-
els...
(Igitur, p. 46)
-235}..-
"In truth, in this disquieting and beautiful symmetry of
the construction of my dream, which of the two openings
should I follow, for there is no more future represented
by either of them.”
(Igitur, p. 48)
prolonged by the sound in the corridor of time by
the door of my sepulchre, and by the hallucination; and
just as if it had really been shut, just so must it now be
opened, so that my dream might be explained."
(Igitur, p. 50)
4
•
૨
. . . the monsters curdled in their last effort, and the
curtains ceasing to be restless, fell in an attitude which
they shall have to maintain forever . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 57)
projecting their durable lines into the absence of
the atmosphere, the monsters curdled in their last effort. .'
**
(Igitur, p. 57)
44
. . . all the furnishings closed, and full of their secret . ."
(Igitur, p. 54)
"Nihility having departed, the castle of purity is left.”
(Igitur, p. 63)
""
and smitten with doubt, the shadow felt oppressed
by a fleeting distinctness, as if by the continuation of the
idea coming from the panels which, although shut, were
indeed still open
(Igitur, p. 69)
"... so that these shadows of the two sides infinitely
multiplied, would appear like pure shadows, each carrying
the burden of his fate and the pure splendor of his con-
sciousness."
(Igitur, p. 70)
•
O
99
-IO
*236.-
. . two massive and shadowy gaps which must neces-
sarily have been the reverse of these shadows.
(Igitur, p. 70)
but through which of the two gaps should the
shadow pass? in both divisions sink, corresponding to an
infinity of apparitions, although differentiated
(Igitur, p. 71)
•
. . . the very shadow having become its own sepulchre
whose panels found themselves reopened without a sound."
(Igitur, p. 72)
**
these two obscure and identical densities were cer-
tainly darkness which has lived upon these shadows and
come to their state of darkness,-only infinitely dissevered
by the gait of the funereal gems of all these shadows."
(Igitur, p. 74)
··
.. the Night wanted, in turn, to plunge once more
into darkness, toward a unique sepulchre...
(Igitur, p. 75)
and instructed now concerning the architecture of
the darkness the night was happy to perceive the same
movement and the same crumpling. This crumpling came
from the corridor to which the sound had fled ...
(Igitur, p. 75)
•
a vision of panels, at once open and shut, presents
itself, suspended in their downfall, as if it had been itself
which, endowed with their movement, were to turn again
upon itself on the consequent and dizzy spiral;"
(Igitur, p. 77)
these immemorial ancestors have saved that alone
from the shipwreck."
(Igitur, p. 80)
-2379.-
The Chance, The Hazard, Futility of Dreams (The Cast of Dice)
"A cast of dice, even when hurled under eternal circum-
""
stances...
ܫܘܥܝܠ
"All this since they had first come upon the castle, beyond
doubt in a shipwreck-second wrecking of some high
ambition."
(Igitur, p. 80)
F
(Un Coup de Dés)
the shadow buried in the transparency by this alter-
nate veil...'
(Un Coup de Dés)
a shipwreck comes direct from man; without a ship
""
nothing matters; wherein is vanity (Un Coup de Dés)
.
this supreme conjunction with the probability
(Un Coup de Dés)
... born of a sport . . . an indolent chance .
(Un Coup de Dés)
madness will not annul (the chance)
(Un Coup de Dés)
... but as indifferent as the hazard...
'... the time for striking with impatient, final and forked
squams, a rock . . . false manner suddenly evaporated into
mist, which imposed a landmark upon infinity.
(Un Coup de Dés)
each thought emits a cast of dice
""
""
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
"
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
238...
tt
as far as this place fuses with the beyond.
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
an account total in its formation,-watching, doubt-
ing, rolling, brilliant and meditating, before stopping at
some last point that anoints it.”
(Un Coup de Dés)
. . . will deduce a proof of something great (not stars?
chance annulled?) from this simple fact that he can occa-
sion the shadow by blowing at the light...
""
(Igitur, p. 35)
"This must have taken place in the combinations of the
Infinite face to face with the Absolute.”
(Igitur, p. 38)
"Infinity comes from chance which you have denied
(Igitur, p. 37)
11
"In truth, in this disquieting and beautiful symmetry of
the construction of my dream, which of the two openings
should I follow, for there is no more future represented
by either of them."
(Igitur, p. 48)
"Must I still fear chance, that old, old enemy that divided
me into darkness and into created time, both thus pacified
by a similar sleep? and is not that the end of time, that
which brought the end of darkness, itself annulled?"
(Igitur, p. 48)
"On the vacant furnishings the Dream has, in this glass
vial, agonized purity which contains the substance of Ni-
hility."
(Igitur, p. 51)
"He severs himself from time indefinite and behold, he
exists! And now this time, time is not going, as of old,
239.
to stop itself and to shiver in grey, upon the massive ebo-
nies whose chimeras have been closing their lips with an
overwhelming sensation of finity
""
(Igitur, p. 55)
te
. . . their convulsive links, the furnishings died in an
isolated and severe attitude, projecting their durable lines
into the absence of atmosphere, the monsters curdled in
their last effort, and the curtains ceasing to be restless, fell
in an attitude which they shall have to maintain forever.”
(Igitur, p. 56)
"Brief in such an act wherein the chance is a sport, it is
always chance that attains its Idea when it affirms or denies
itself. Confronted with its existence, this refutation and
affirmation become stranded. It contains the Absurd-im-
plies it--but in a latent state, and impedes its existence-
that which permits infinity to be."
(Igitur, p. 59)
and the Act (whatever may be the power that has
guided it) having denied chance, he thus concludes that
the idea was necessary.”
(Igitur, p. 60)
"Igitur simply shakes the dice,—movement before going to
rejoin the ashes, atoms of his ancestors: this movement, be-
longing to him, is discharged..
""
(Igitur, p. 61)
"He shuts the book, blows out the candle-light with his
breath which contains chance . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 61)
and which has lived thus, depending upon chance
only in the future. This chance, annihilated by the aid of
an anachronism . . .
(Igitur, p. 61)
**
"}
-240-
"The personage who, believing in the existence of an only
Absolute, imagines throughout that he is in a dream (he
acts from the point of view of the Absolute) finds the act
useless, for chance does and does not exist-he reduces
chance to Infinity, which, he says, must exist somewhere."
(Igitur, p. 62)
only because chance has been denied by the black-
book ...
"
#t
(Igitur, p. 67)
"Such is the reverse gait of the notion whose ascension he
has not known, being adolescent and having arrived at the
absolute ..
(Igitur, p. 79)
"He throws the dice; the cast is accomplished."
(Igitur, p. 80)
The Frenzy, Igitur's Madness
"... the whitened, steady, furious abyss...
re
.. rather than play like a hoary maniac, the game
named tides...
"}
(Un Coup de Dés)
.. His small, virile reason, through thunder, careworn,
expiating and pubescent, mute.
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
×
(Un Coup de Dés)
.. an hallucination dishevelled with agony
(Un Coup de Dés)
..the rhythmic pen falls, suspended from the sinister,
to bury itself within original foams whence, not long ago,
delirium sprang up to a withered height .
**
(Un Coup de Dés)
-241-
will falter, will be overhauled,-madness will not
annul ...
"
•
(Un Coup de Dés)
"Dead for a long time, an old idea matures, with such
splendor of chimera, where the dream was in agony and
was recognizing itself by the immemorial and vacant gesture
with which it invited itself to terminate the antagonism
of this polar dream, to render itself both with the chimeric
splendor and the shut text, to the Chaos of the aborted
shadow and of the dictum which is to absolve-the Mid-
night."
(Igitur, p. 41)
... through the dizzy and consequent spiral...
(Igitur, p. 44)
""
.. it was his very consciousness for which the very ab-
surdity had to serve instead . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 46)
the perfect symmetry of foreseen deductions de-
mented his reality...
*
•
19
**
(Igitur, p. 46)
this perfection of my certitude constrains me: all
is too bright; this splendor reveals a desire for evasion;"
(Igitur, p. 49)
... the account which I have to give you of my life—
thus: neurosis, weariness (or the Absolute!)
(Igitur, p. 53)
and, when with all this weariness, with time, he
reorganizes himself; seeing how horribly void is the look-
ing-glass, seeing himself enclosed within a rarefaction, an
absence of atmosphere, and seeing how the furnishings
contort their chimeras in the void, and how the curtains
¨*:242}-
shudder invisibly, restlessly; then he opens the furnishings,
that they may shed their mystery, the unknown,—their
memories, their silence, human faculties and impressions;
and when he believes that he has become himself once
again, he fixes the clock with his soul . . .
""
(Igitur, p. 55)
"Thus his I manifests itself by recovering from the Mad-
ness: admits the Act and wilfully recovers the Idea as
Idea..
(Igitur, p. 59)
"Thus he conceives that it is certainly folly to admit it
absolutely; but at the same time he can say that, by the
very fact of this folly, chance having been annihilated,
this madness was necessary. What for? (no one knows,
for it has been isolated from humanity.)"
(Igitur, p. 60)
"One understands the significance of his ambiguity."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"But it soon realized that it was within its very self that
the glimmer of its perception sank, as if stifled, and it re-
treated within itself.”
(Igitur, p. 69)
". . . having arrived at the juncture of its future and its
past, become identical, it viewed itself in each and every
shadow that seemed to be pure . . .
"
(Igitur, p. 74)
. the absurd act which testifies to the emptiness of
their madness
>>
(Igitur, p. 80)
"Do not blow out the candle-light just because I have called
it the emptiness of your madness! Silence, none of that
dementia which you want expressly to disclose."
(Igitur, p. 80)
- 243 )…-
"
he says to all this tumult: certainly an act does exist
there; it is my duty to proclaim it: this madness exists.
You were right (sounds of madness) to manifest it . . .
(Igitur, p. 81)
(It is also important to note that although the title of the dra-
matic sketch was Igitur, or Elbehnon's Madness, the title of the
poem is: A Cast of Dice Will Never Annul Chance; while the
theme of the two pieces remains the same, the title for the poem
is more indirectly associated with the theme than is the title for
the sketch.)
Speech and Gesture.
**
་་
... so that the phantom of a gesture will falter...
(Un Coup de Dés)
to twist its sharp divisions and pass proudly.
(Un Coup de Dés)
"
... combs himself in lordly fashion
... mute, laughter. . . '
. .
(Un Coup de Dés)
(Un Coup de Dés)
stirs and blends within the fist which used to clasp
it, as one taunts a fate and the winds.
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
"1
a simple insinuation of irony twisted in dead silence
or precipitated, hurled . . .
"
(Un Coup de Dés)
... The breath has remained,-the end of speech and
gesture in one ..
"
(Igitur, p. 38)
* 244 }.-
"Must end in Infinity. Simply speech and gesture. As for
that which I tell you, it is in order to explain my life."
(Igitur, p. 38)
"Revealer of the Midnight, he has never thus indicated a
similar conjunture, for this is the unique hour which he
might have created."
(Igitur, p. 39)
except that there still subsists the silence of an old
saying proffered by him, in which this Midnight, come
back, calls forth its finite and empty shadow with these
words: I was the hour which was to make me pure."
(Igitur, p. 41)
the hour is formulated in this echo at the threshold
of the panels, opened by this act of the Night."
(Igitur, p. 42)
.. and was recognizing itself by the immemorial and
vacant gesture with which it invited itself to terminate the
antagonism of this polar dream, to render itself both with
the chimeric splendor and the shut text, to the chaos of the
aborted shadow and of the dictum which is to absolve the
Midnight...'
(Igitur, p. 41)
"And in the meantime there is nothing more than shad-
ows and silence."
(Igitur, p. 68)
(Although the poem includes many passages that imply the
above statement, there is no such direct saying in Un Coup de
Dés. The poem creates the mood of shadows and silence, with-
out actually describing these.)
by the movement which was the only remains of this
(Igitur, p. 73)
sound.
""
~245.-
"I proffer the speech in order to thrust it back into the
emptiness."
(Igitur, p. 80)
Futility, The End.
... his puerile shadow caressed and polished and washed,
rendered flexible by the waves and withdrawn on the strong
bones lost between the planks, born of a sport .
(Un Coup de Dés)
"
Nothing of this immemorable crisis, or else it was
the accomplished event in view of each result, not at all
human, that would take place; an ordinary elevation upsets
the absence, an inferior rippling, somewhat as if it might
disperse the void act which otherwise, through its false-
hood, might have founded the perdition in the latitudes of
the obscure, where each reality dissolves itself ...
""
(Un Coup de Dés)
"He shuts the book, blows out the candle-light with his
breath which contains chance; and, crossing his arms, he
lies down upon the ashes of his ancestors.
Crossing his arms,-the Absolute has disappeared within
the purity of his race (for it should indeed be so, while
the sound has ceased).
Immemorable race whose ponderous time has fallen ex-
cessive into the past and which has lived, thus, depending
much upon chance, only in the future. This chance, an-
nihilated by the aid of an anachronism, a personage, su-
preme incarnation of this race,-who feels within himself,
due to the absurdity, the existence of the Absolute, has,
alone, forgotten the human speech in the black-book, and
the thought in a luminar body, the one announcing this
refutation of chance, and the other brightening the dream
P
-246-
of which he is a part. The personage, who, believing in
the existence of an only Absolute, imagines throughout
that he is in a dream (he acts from the point of view of
the Absolute) finds the act useless, for chance does and
does not exist; he reduces chance to Infinity which, he says,
must exist somewhere."
(Igitur, p. 61)
"Upon the ashes of the stars, those which have re-
mained part of the family, was the poor personage lain,
having drunk the drop of nihility missing from the sea.
(the empty flask, madness, is that all that is left of the
castle?) Nihility having departed, the castle of purity is
left."
(Igitur, p. 63)
"How the personage who has harmed this purity takes
this flask which foretold of him and amalgamates it with
himself, later on; and how he puts it simply away into his
bosom, when he goes to absolve himself of the move-
ment."
(Igitur, p. 68)
"He says: I cannot do this seriously: but the evil that I
suffer makes life fearful. At the bottom of this perverse
and unconscious confusion of things which isolated his
absolute, he feels the absence of his ego represented by the
existence of Nihility in substance. I must die, and since
this flask contains the nihility set aside by my race up to
my time (this old sedative that the race has not taken; for
those immemorable ancestors have saved that alone from
the shipwreck) I do not want to know Nihility before I
have rendered to my own that for which they have en-
gendered me, the absurd act which testifies to the empti-
ness of their madness. (The in-accomplishment would have
followed me and only momentarily taints my absolutism).
M
All this since they had first come upon the castle, be-
-2473-
yond doubt, in a shipwreck,-second wrecking of some
high ambition.
He throws the dice, the cast is accomplished; twelve,
time, (Midnight)—he who creates finds his elements once
more, the blocks, the dice...
Then (his intellect forming itself with the Absolute,
through the absolute chance of this fact) he says to all of
this tumult: certainly an act does exist there; it is my duty
to proclaim it; this madness exists. You were right (sounds
of madness) to manifest it: do not think that I am going
to thrust you back into nihility.”
(Igitur, p. 79)
The following are passages which appear in the poem and
correspond to quotations from Hamlet (to which they seem to
allude); they are not mentioned in Igitur.
a delicate, obscure stature standing in its mermaid
torsion . .
Queen.
"
•
Ham.
(Un Coup de Dés)
Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
(Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 7)
pubescent . . . mute. . . laughter."
(Un Coup de Dés)
the humorous man shall end his part in
peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose
lungs are tickle o'er the sere;
(Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2)
.. a betrothal whose illusionary veil retransgresses their
intimacy . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
1
-248.
King. With mirth in funeral and with dirge in mar-
riage.'
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)
>>
Queen. I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet
maid,
And not have strewed thy grave.
(Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 1)
There are also certain passages in the poem which are almost
verbally repeated from Igitur; these are few in number, since
the author tends more toward allusions than repetitions. It is
also significant that such passages that are almost identical with
quotations from Igitur seem not to have been suggested by Ham-
let as directly as the others; they refer to the same content or the
same theme as in Hamlet, but their mode of expression is by far
different:
"A cast of dice, even when hurled under eternal circum-
"
stances
་་
(Un Coup de Dés)
... the shadow buried in the transparency by this alter-
nate veil, resumes in its very interior, to the point of
adapting at the unfolding, its gaping profundity.
(Un Coup de Dés)
... within the fist which used to clasp it . .
(Un Coup de Dés)
1
-·* 249 }*•.-
VI. CONCLUSION
-251 3.--
- 252
In one of his articles, Dr. Edmond Bonniot, among those who
have better interpreted the genesis of Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry,
seeks to prove that this imagist, whose "feet were peculiarly
anchored to the earth", lived "real life intensively".
But Dr. Bonniot's statement at once contradicts his intention;
"this man," he says, "who has been for a long time, and still is,
represented as an abstractor of quintessences, lived real life in-
tensively. . . . . only that he spiritualized and ennobled its acrity
through a propitious and unexpected confusion of his senti-
ments." And the intensity of this propitious and unexpected
confusion proves what Dr. Bonniot sought here to disprove,
that this poet dwelt amidst symbols, abstract and cosmic images.
His visions were far-removed from life, and were the result of a
dramatized conflict, whose hero was Stéphane Mallarmé (as Igitur
or Hamlet); they were intimate and repeated designations, funda-
mentally sentiments that had gripped him; but they must have
become far-off and universal, for at the moment of greatest suf-
fering this poet viewed himself as a symbol of cosmic sugges-
tiveness, destined to strain his spirit for an infinite interpreta-
tion of things. He never lost track of a single origin, a single
contour, a stroke, a flush, or a fragrance; no matter how vague
a reaction had become, it was still an intimate manifestation of
some phenomenon in his world of abstractions.
This tendency to "spiritualize and ennoble" defines his sym.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Mallarmé et la Vie, La Revue de France, X,
January, February, 1930.
1
-253-
bolism. That is what Mallarmé meant when he spoke of attain-
ing "universal values" and "perceiving infinity". No doubt, his
endeavor had a sentimental basis, not a mathematical one,
but it represented a will to detach phenomena from human ac-
tion and real life; to associate them merely with contemplation.
It is, moreover, peculiar to Mallarmé that he associated vision
and memory with sentiment in such a rare, unreal, and inhuman
pattern; at once artificial and keenly real, due to their intense
volatility. For his suggestions were due to such multiple associ-
ations, that, for the reader, the poetic spirit could not be divulged.
The language was unique, because every image was personal, and
being personal and hyperbolic, it evolved through so many
phases and sentimental reactions, that it must have become new,
newer and still newer; it was difficult to view an origin that had
fleeted by and never been retained as concretion or fact.
Being peculiarly personal is one of the definitions of symbol-
ism. Perhaps Stéphane Mallarmé is the perfect example of an
imagist-symbolist, by virtue of his technique; he cherished and
followed closely each image, until it was supersaturated, and
until it issued a precipitate of manifold significance, while it
itself became a perfect and separate unit, potent enough to re-
veal an experience peculiar to the individual, and to communicate
a significance peculiar to the universe.
The chief content of Mallarmé's works is to be associated with
Hamlet, the hero of destiny, with whom this poet identified
himself. Destiny,—religious, ethical, æsthetic, spiritual, and uni-
versal,—was the problem, which, like Hamlet, troubled his
spirit. Many of the images which Mallarmé described were
originally associated with circumstances surrounding the life of
Shakespeare's hero. But having lived them so long, so intimately
and so intensively, the poet abstracted them until they retained
a peculiarly new and personal form; each furnishing of the Ham-
•2543-
let dwelling was abstracted into a significant symbol. Even the
conflicts which tormented Hamlet's mind occupied Mallarmé's,
but they had become more intensified, more abstract and cosmic.
The conflict of suicide, to be or not to be, to accept or
not to accept,—was with Mallarmé turned into a yearning, a
dream of infinity, of being blended with everything, and of be-
coming master of his own destiny (through spiritual force).
Hamlet was the hero of doubt; so was Stéphane Mallarmé.
Hamlet was hysterical and suffered from a neurosis, which he
attempted to curb by means of cerebral powers; Stéphane Mal-
larmé perceived himself to be alike that.
Igitur was the text that revealed the thought-content of Sté-
phane Mallarmé's works (as did Un Coup de Dés, which con-
centrated the same). Igitur and Un Coup de Dés brought forth
this poet's attitudes, and his form supreme. Hérodiade, accord-
ing to Dr. Bonniot, was the mate to Igitur. She was "the be-
loved woman, the eternal Hérodiade, who completed the duality
of Igitur, just as Hamlet does with Ophelia.
"This monologue,
which was to have been part of a longer dramatic poem, is the
counterpart of Igitur, in that the latter shows the force of care-
brality, while Hérodiade shows that of physical beauty. However,
it is doubtful whether Stéphane Mallarmé was occupied with
the Hérodiade problem as keenly as he was with the problem
in Igitur, for he meant to project the latter into a Wagnerian
drama; he was interested in its completion up to the end, while
there are not many signs that he spent as much time with the
poem of Hérodiade. Stéphane Mallarmé said of the Hérodiade
fragment: "As for the monologue, the why and the wherefore of
the crisis indicated by this piece, I confess that I arrested it in my
'Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, La Genèse poétique de Mallarmé, La Revue de
France, April 15, 1929.
- 255.
youth. I produce this motive, as it appeared then, forcing myself
to treat it in the same spirit."
" &
Hérodiade is probably the result of a first attempt at combin-
ing theatre with poetry; it is more concrete than Igitur, more
narrative, descriptive, and less vague. Igitur was created to re-
place, or to project, the hero-crisis of beauty, by a crisis of
spirit; both heroes possess a degree of imagination, cruel deter-
mination and neurosis.
Mallarmé was in constant search of a perfect form, as the
above-mentioned works show. To him the perfect art was a syn-
thesis of music, poetry, painting, and the dance, dramatized in the
abstract, with the aid of architecture and sculpture; the thought-
content was merely to be suggested through rhythm and move-
ment. Had he possessed a mind less abstract, he would have been
a perfect Wagnerite; as it were he turned Wagnerism into sym-
bolism. Symbols were built upon an intensification of sense-
reactions, and each art elaborated upon a specific quality of sense-
reaction. Poetry, the art of perfect symbolism, for it added
words to music, did not specialize; it synthesized and inferred
the qualities of all the arts.
Mallarmé was a Wagnerite whose spiritual makeup forced
him to be oblivious of "Das Volk," although he mentioned it;
He inferred Wagnerism, but did not accept it in finite terms.
He forgot about the public, because he himself could not create
for it; he wrote for an abstract reader, for an Igitur, duplicated
by his mind's eye.
The school of symbolism not only discovered new modes of
writing and a significant approach toward art, but it brought to
light a master, the equal of which French poetry has perhaps
not seen to this day. The productions of the symbolist school,
* Op. cit.
-256-
and of the schools that evolved from it, have paved the way
toward a reestimation of Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry. Of late,
poets and critics are paying such high tribute to Stéphane Mal-
larmé that a revaluation of his works has necessarily been occa-
sioned. Mr. Edmund Wilson introduces his book on symbolism
(Axel's Castle) with a study of Mallarmé. Others, such as Paul
Valéry and T. S. Eliot, have recognized Stéphane Mal-
larmé as
a master-poet. The fact remains that, although
such men as John Donne, Gongora, El Greco, Rimbaud
and Stéphane Mallarmé have of late been rediscovered and re-
estimated, they are still appreciated only by the few, because
consciously or unconsciously, they created either for themselves
only, or for an ideal witness; their hermetic state was almost self-
inflicted, and the seal remained for a long time unbroken.
This study has attempted to ascertain that the descriptions
and the associations to be found in Stéphane Mallarmé's poetry
originated in plastic images, which had an emotional source;
that these images grew vaguer in the poet's search for an art
that was suggestive and allusive, rather than descriptive. The
vagueness was then allied with movement and gesture; and the
musicality became more studied, as the poet became interested in
the art of the theatre. His poetry, in its emotionalism, had al-
ways had a dramatic vividness, but the dramatic appeal and ac-
centuation became more apparent with the influence of Wag-
nerian principles. The poet's attitude toward his own art was
a controlled study and a disciplined consciousness of inner values.
The dramatic appeal which Stéphane Mallarmé added to his verse
did not tend to make the verse more actual or more understand-
able; for he had to synthesize this quality with elusiveness, sug-
gestibility and restraint of the highest order. Restraint signified
a purification resulting from the efforts of the intellect to filter
off all that was emotional and superfluous.
•
-257-
Richard Wagner's theories and principles have been studied
here, and it has been proven that some of the former's attitudes
had a direct influence upon the aesthetic, as also upon the tech-
nique, of Stéphane Mallarmé's verse. The art of the future to
Wagner was the theatre; to Stéphane Mallarmé it was the book,
which was to record the theatre; therefore the written word was
to have dramatic content, movement, gesture, painting and mu-
sic (the arts implied in the theatre).
Igitur has been studied here as the sketch which employs Wag-
nerian principles; the theme of the sketch is the Hamlet hero,
Igitur. Hamlet was the hero of despair and fate, who interested
Stéphane Mallarmé a great deal, and who was to be found in
much of his poetry; a comparison has therefore been drawn
between the themes and images in Shakespeare's Hamlet and
Mallarmé's Igitur; the similarity of the surroundings and of the
situations of both heroes has been proven.
From this abstract sketch Stéphane Mallarmé evolved a dra-
matic and epic poem, Un Coup de Dés, where images were vivi-
fied and accentuated. The rhythm was intensified and the form
sharpened through a concentration; the sketch became a rare-
fied and disciplined poem. This poem illustrates every Wag-
nerian principle, which Stéphane Mallarmé held, as also the man-
ner in which these principles were employed: vaguely, abstractly,
and by suggestions, rather than in their actuality.
-258-
-
259 -
2603-
THE WORKS
of
STÉPHANE Mallarmé
Album de Vers et de Prose, édition originale, première série,
no. 10 de la Collection, Poètes et Prosateurs, Anthologie
Contemporaine des Ecrivains français et belges, Bruxelles,
Paris, Librairie nouvelle, Libraire universelle, 1887-1888.
L'Après-midi d'un Faune, Eglogue, édition définitive, Paris, à la
Revue Indépendante, 1887 (wrongly dated 1882).
L'Après-midi d'un Faune, Eglogue, avec Frontispice, Fleurons et
Cul-de-lampe, Paris, Derenne, 1876.
L'Après-midi d'un Faune, Eglogue, nouvelle édition, avec Frontis-
pice, Ex-libris, Fleuron et Cul-de-Lampe par Manet, Paris,
Vanier, 1887.
Autobiographie, édition originale, les Manuscrits des Maîtres,
Lettre à Verlaine, Avant-dire du Dr. Bonniot, Paris, Albert
Messein, 1924.
Contes Indiens, édition originale, avec un Avant-dire de Dr.
Bonniot, Paris, L. Carteret, 1927.
Un Coup de Dés, Cosmopolis, 1897.
Un Coup de Dés jamais n'abolira le Hasard, édition originale,
Poème, édition de la Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 1914.
La Dernière Mode, Gazette du Monde et de la Famille, Directeur:
Marasquin, Paris, no. 1: September, 1876. (Bi-mensuelle:
presque entièrement redigée par Stéphane Mallarmé sous
divers pseudonymes).
Les Dieux antiques, édition originale, par S. Mallarmé, Professeur
au Lycée Fontanes, Nouvelle Mythologie illustrée d'après
George W. Cox et les Travaux de la Science moderne, à
l'Usage des Lycées, Pensionnats, Ecoles, et des Gens du
Monde, Ouvrage orné de 260 Vignettes, sans date. (Paris,
Rothschild, 1880 ? ).
-261-
Les Dieux Antiques, par S. Mallarmé, Professeur au Lycée Fon-
tanes, Nouvelle Mythologie, d'après George W. Cox et les
Travaux de la Science moderne, à l'Usage des Lycées,
Pensionnats, Ecoles, et des Gens du Monde, Paris, Librairie
Gallimard, Editions de la Nouvelle Revue Française, 1925.
Diptyque, avec Notes de Dr. E. Bonniot, la Nouvelle Revue
Française, January, 1929.
Divagations, Edition originale, Paris, Bibliothèque Charpentier,
Fasquelle, 1897.
Dix-neuf lettres de Stéphane Mallarmé à Emile Zola avec une
introduction de Léon Deffoux, un commentaire de Jean
Royère, Paris, J. Bernard, 1929.
L'Etoile des Fées, Mme. W. C. Ephinstone Hope, traduction de
l'anglais par Stéphane Mallarmé, Illustrations de M. John
Laurent, Paris, G. Charpentier, 1881.
Igitur, ou la Folie d'Elbehnon, avec un portárit gravé sur bois
par George Aubert, d'après le tableau d'Edouard Manet, avec
une préface de Dr. Edmond Bonniot, Librairie Gallimard,
Editions de la Nouvelle Revue Française, 1925.
Lettre autobiographe à Verlaine, publiée dans les Manuscrits des
Maîtres, Paris, Messein, 1924.
Lettre à Verlaine, November 16, 1885, L'Intermédiaire des
Chercheurs et Curieux, September 10, 1906.
Lettre inédite de Mallarmé à Paul Verlaine, au lendemain de la
publication des "Poètes Maudits," Les Nouvelles Littéraires,
October 13, 1923.
Lettres à Francois Coppée, publiées par J. Morval, Revue des
Deux Mondes, October 1, 1923.
Lettres inédites à Aubanel et Mistral, précédées par Mallarmé à
Tournon, par Gabriel Faure, Paris, 1924.
Madrigaux, édition originale, Images de Raoul Dufy, Editions de
la Sirène, Paris, 1920.
La Musique et les Lettres, édition originale, Oxford, Cambridge,
Paris, Librairie académique, Didier, Perrin et Cie, 1895.
Studies in European Literature, Taylorian lecture, pp. 131-
48, Oxford, 1900.
Ouverture ancienne d'Hérodiade, la Nouvelle Revue Française,
November, 1926.
-262 ...
Pages, édition originale, avec un Frontispice à l'eau-forte par
Renoir, Bruxelles, Edmond Deman, 1891.
Petite Philologie, à l'usage des classes et du monde, Les mots
anglais par M. Mallarmé, professeur au Lycée Fontanes,
Paris, chez Truchy, Leroy frères successeurs, Paris, sans date
(1878).
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, deuxième édition originale,
Frontispice de F. Rops, Bruxelles, Edmond Deman, 1899.
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, édition complète ne varietur,
contenant plusieurs poèmes inédits et les variantes: 100
exemplaires, par souscription, Paris, Fasquelle, 1926.
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, photo-litographiées du manu-
scrit définitif à 40 exemplaires numérotés, plus 7 exemplaires
non mis en vente, et une épreuve justificative de la radiation
des planches, avec un ex-libris gravé par F. Rops, Paris,
édition de la Revue Indépendante, 1887.
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, troisième édition originale,
édition complète contenant plusieurs poèmes inédits et un
portrait. Editions la Nouvelle Revue Française, Paris, 1913.
Réimprimé 1914, 1925.
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, Gallimard, Paris, 1930.
Les Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé, Eaux-Fortes Originales de
Henri Matisse, edition limited to 125 copies. Albert Skira,
Lausanne, Switzerland, 1932.

Le Tombeau de Charles Baudelaire, Ouvrage publié avec la col-
laboration de Stéphane Mallarmé, Michel Abadie, etc., etc.,
précédé d'une étude sur les textes de "Fleurs du Mal".
Commentaire et variantes. Frontispice de F. Rops, Biblio-
thèque artistique et littéraire de la Plume, Paris, 1896.
Les Types de Paris (en collaboration) texte de M. Mallarmé,
A, Daudet, J. Richepin, E. Zola, E. de Goncourt, A. Proust,
J. H. Rosny, G. Geoffroy, etc. etc. Illustrations de J. F.
Rafaelli, Paris, Plon, sans date.
Vers de Circonstance, édition originale, avec un quatrain auto-
graphe. "Le jour ou je suis né," "Tu m'as fort étonné,
'Anniversaire de l'auteur," "A sa Fille," Paris, Editions de
la Nouvelle Revue Française, 1920.
Vers et Prose, Morceaux choisis, avec un portrait par James
#
-263-
Whistler, Paris, Libraire académique Didier, Perrin et Cie.,
1893. Réimprimé 1912, 1925, 1928.
Villiers de l'Isle Adam, avec un portrait gravé par Marcellin Des-
boutin, Paris, Floury, 1897.
Villiers de l'Isle Adam, édition originale, Conférence par Sté-
phane Mallarmé, Paris, Librairie de l'Art Indépendante,
1890.
Villiers de l'Isle Adam, Les Miens I, avec un portrait gravé par
Marcellin Desboutin, Bruxelles, Paul Lacomlez, 1892.
PREFACES
Avant-dire, Léopold Dauphin, Raisins Bleus et gris, Poésies,
Paris, Vanier, 1897.
F. A. Cazals, Iconographies de certains poètes présents. Album I.
-Laurent Tailhade. Paris, Bibliothèque de la Plume, 1894.
René Ghil, Traité du verbe, Paris, Giraud, 1886.
Charles Guérin, Le Sang des Crépuscles, Paris, Edition du Mer-
cure de France, 1895 (Préface de Mallarmé aux exemplaires
de luxe).
Berthe Morisot (Madame Eugène Manet), avec un portrait photo-
graphe, d'après Edouard Manet. Exposition de son œuvre,
March 15-21, 1896, chez Durand-Ruel, Imprimerie de l'Art,
E. Moreau et Cie., Paris.
Vatheck, réimprimé sur l'original français de Beckford, Paris,
chez l'auteur, 1876.
Vatheck de Beckford, Paris, Labitte, Librairie de la Bibliothèque
Nationale, 1876. Vanier, 1880. Didier, Perrin et Cie.,
1895.
TRANSLATIONS
Le Corbeau, The Raven, Poème par Edgar Poe, Traduction fran-
çaise de Stéphane Mallarmé, avec Illustrations par Edouard
Manet, Paris, Richard Lesclide, 1875.
Les Poèmes d'Edgar Poe, Traduction de Stéphane Mallarmé,
édition originale, avec un portrait et fleuron par Edouard
Manet, Bruxelles, Deman, 1888. (Printed only in 100
copies).
-264-
Les Poèmes d'Edgar Poe, Traduction de Stéphane Mallarmé,
Paris, Vanier, 1888. (Cette édition fut désavouée par
Mallarmé, qui reconnut comme seule, conforme au texte la
traduction publiée par Deman).
Les Poèmes d'Edgar Poe, Traduction de Stéphane Mallarmé,
Paris, G. Crès et Cie., 1926.
Les Poèmes d'Edgar Poe, Traduction de Stéphane Mallarmé,
cinquième édition, Paris, Gallimard, 1928.
Les Poèmes d'Edgar Poe, Traduction en prose de Stéphane Mal-
larmé, avec un portrait et illustrations par Edouard Manet,
Paris, L. Vanier, 1889.
Le Ten O'clock de M. Whistler, Traduction française de Stéphane
Mallarmé, Londres, Paris, Librairie de la Revue Indépen-
dante, 1888.
Le Ten O'clock, Whistler, James Abbott McNeill, Traduction
française de Stéphane Mallarmé, Paris, Vanier, 1888.
LETTERS AND AUTOGRAPHED MANUSCRIPTS
(Cf. Revue d'Histoire littéraire de la France)
L'Après-midi d'un Faune, 1876, Exemplaire offert à Mme. Al-
fred Nadier, Montjou. (Vente P. P. 581, 582, 583) Cf.
R. H. L. F. 1929.
Carte à Charles Morice, Paris, 1896 (Catalogue Kra, no. 9,
Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F. 1925.
Carte de Correspondance à M. Léon Dierx, Lettre se composant
de quartre vers (Catalogue Cornnan, no. 164) Cf. R. H. L. F.
1927.
Deux Lettres à Anatole France, sans date (Il l'invite a venir
"rouler quelques cigarettes avec Catulle et Dierx" etc.)
(Vente Kra, June 1, 1926, Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H.
L. F., 1926.
Deux Lettres à M. Collignon, 1875 (Vente Kra, April 2, 1928)
Cf. R. H. L. F. 1928.
Deux Lettres Mss. à Mme Méry Laurent (Vente P. P. no. 581,
582, 583) Cf. R. H. L. F. 1929.
Deux Lettres à "mon cher Poète" (Marius André) 1888. Re-
265.
merciements pour l'envoi de Vers (Vente Kra June 1,
Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F. 1926.
Deux Lettres autographes sig. à Anatole France. (Vente Lemasle,
June 2, 1927) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1930.
Douze Lettres de Mallarmé (Vente Giraud-Badin, June 10,
1929) Cf R. H. L. F. 1930.
Lettre à Armand Gouzien, Paris. Lettre datée de la Rue de
Moscou, 29. (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925, Edouard Champion)
Cf. R. H. L. F. 1925.
Lettre à Catulle Mendès, Paris, 1893. (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925,
Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F. 1925.
Lettre à Emile Verhaeren, Paris, 1888 (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925,
Edouard Champion) Cf R. H. L. F., 1925.
Lettre à Gustave Guiches, 1887. Lettre de remerciements pour
l'envoi de l'Ennemi (Vente Kra, April 2, 1928) Cf. R. H.
L. F., 1928.
Lettre à M. Rachet, Paris, July 6, 1887 (Catalogue 197, Lemasle,
Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Lettre à O'Sanghuessy, contenant un article. Article sur le thé-
âtre et la littérature. Note sur Psautier de Coppée, sur Les
Mères ennemies de Catulle Mendès, sur le Gardien du Seuil
d'Emile Marras. (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925. Edouard
Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Lettre à Paul Verlaine, December 20, 1866. Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1924.
Lettre à un ami, June 18, 1888 (Vente Lesmasle 16-1, Edouard
Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1926.
Lettre à un ami, Paris, 1888 (Catalogue Kra, no. 9, Edouard
Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Lettre autographe (il s'agit du "Toaste funèbre"), sans date.
(Catalogue Blaizot, 246). Cf. R. H. L. F., 1928.
Lettre autographe, sig., January 12, 1887. (Catalogue Lemasle,
212) Cf. R. H. L. F.,1930.
Lettre autographe sig., à un ami; Sens, July 7, 1862 (Pièce dans
laquelle il cherche à le consoler de la mort de sa fiancée
(Vente Charavay, December 20, 1927). Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1930.
→
266....
Lettre autographe sig., à Verhaeren, Paris, 1888. (Catalogue Kra,
24). Cf. R. H. L. F., 1931.
Lettre Besançon, December 20, 1886, à Paul Verlaine (probable-
ment la première que Mallarmé ait écrite à Verlaine)
(Vente S. Kra, April 15, 1924, Edouard Champion) Cf.
R. H. L. F., 1924.
Lettre sur une carte-correspondance recto et verso. Lettre adressée
à Guy de Maupassant ? relative à la maladie de Villiers de
l'Isle Adam (Catalogue 241, Blaizot, Edouard Champion)
Cf. R. H. L. F., 1926.
Lettres autographes sig. (à Calixte Rochel); Vulainer, April 11,
1890. (Il le félicite sur une plaquette qu'il venait de
publier) (Vente Charavay, June 8, 1929) Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1930.
Lettres à Villiers de l'Isle Adam écrites a Besançon (Vente An-
drieux, June 4, Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1926.
Les Loisirs de la Poste, Manuscrit. Poésies comprenant vingt-
sept quatrains. (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925, Edouard Cham-
pion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Manuscrit original préfacé par Mallarmé lui-même, pour
l'édition à Bruxelles, chez Deman en 1899 (avec frontispice
de Rops) Manuscrit comprenant deux pages d'indications
pour l'impression et pagination, etc. (Vente Kra, April 15,
1924, Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1924.
Morceaux choisis, Paris, Perrin, 1893. Edition originale. On y a
joint une lettre autographe de Mallarmé, signée, à Jules
Roumier, Vente Andrieux, October 24, 1931. Cf. R. H. L.
F., 1931.
La Musique et les Lettres, Oxford, Cambridge, Manuscrit auto-
graphe de la conférence prononcée par Mallarmé à Oxford,
March 1, 1894, et celui-même qui servit à sa lecture. Nom-
breuses corrections et ratures. (Vente Giraud-Badin, June
10, 1929) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1930.
Pages, Bruxelles, Deman, 1891 (Vente Kra, June 9, 1925, Edou-
ard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Pages, Manuscrit et épreuves avec corrections autographes. Les
Pages sont précédées de cinq feuillets MSS. autographes:
-267-
le Tiroir de Lacque (Vente André Gide, Edouard Cham-
pion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1925.
Plaisir sacré. Manuscrit autographe (Ecrite vers 1884) (Vente
Kra, April 15, 1924, Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1924.
Quatres Lettres autographes sig. 1869-70. Missives à un ami in-
time. (Catalogue Au Lys Rouge, 18) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1930.
Recueil d'environ cent quinze lettres et cartes à son éditeur S.
Deman, à Bruxelles (Catalogue Kra, 25) Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1931.
Reminiscence, Manuscrit autographe (Poème en prose) (Vente
Kra, April 15, 1924. Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1924.
Sonnet autographe. Sonnet écrit au crayon et intitulé "Sonnet”.
(Catalogue Blaizot, 250) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1928.
Sonnet (sur le rythme de la Renaissance anglaise) paru dans
Poésies, Deman, 1899, une variante inédite (Vente Kra,
June 1, Edouard Champion) Cf. R. H. L. F., 1926.
Trois lettres autographes, sig. Lettres relatives à des vers
publiés par Mallarmé dans le Parnasse Contemporain et dans
l'Epreuve. (Catalogue au Lys Rouge, 181) Cf. R. H. L. F.,
1930.
Trois lettres autographes sig. Lettres relatives à des vers
publiés par Mallarmé dans le Parnasse Contemporain et dans
l'Epreuve. (Vente Andrieux, l'ebruary 14-22, 1928. Cf. R.
H. L. F., 1928.
!
-268-
CRITICISM
Adam, Paul, Stéphane Mallarmé, Le Journal, September 19, 1898.
Agathon, Revue des Idées, Revue encyclopédique, 1896, vol. VI,
p. 189.
Alberti, Konrad, La Jeune France, Entretiens politiques et lit-
téraires, 1893, vol. VI, p. 15.
Anonyme, Stéphane Mallarmé, Professeur d'anglais, Intermédi-
aire des Chercheurs et des Curieux, September 10, 1906.
Anthologie de la Nouvelle Poésie Française, Paris, Kra, 1924.
pp. 87-92.
Anthologie de la Poésie Symboliste, trois Entretiens sur la Période
Symboliste, Paris, 1908.
Aubry, G. J., Banville, Mallarmé et leurs Amis anglais, Le
Figaro, June 2, 1923.
Bacourt, Pierre de & J. W. Cunliffe, French Literature During
the Last Half-Century (The Symbolist Movement, pp. 251-
285; 302-304), New York, Macmillan Co., 1923.
Barat, E., Le Style poétique et la Révolution romantique, Paris,
Hachette, 1904.
Barre, André, Le Symbolisme, Essai historique sur le Mouve-
ment poétique en France de 1885 à 1900, Paris, Souve et
Cie., 1911.
Barrès, Maurice, Quelques Tâches d'encre: Charles Baudelaire,
Stéphane Mallarmé, Paul Verlaine, Le Gaulois, June 15,
1919.
Beaujon, G., L'école symboliste, Bale, Baste Schwabe, 1900.
Beaumier, André, Les Parnassiens et les Symbolistes, Mercure de
France, February, 1901.
Beaumier, André, La Poésie Nouvelle, Paris, Mercure de France,
1902.
Bec., G., Stéphane Mallarmé, Echo de Paris, September 10, 1898.
Bellot, Etienne, Notes sur le Symbolisme, Paris, Linard, 1909.
-269-
Bernard, Jean Marc, L'Echec de Mallarmé, La Revue Critique des
Idées et des Livres, April 25, 1913 (vol. 21, pp. 144-158).
Bernard, Jean Marc, Stéphane Mallarmé et l'Idée d'Impuissance,
Societé Nouvelle, August, 1908.
Betz, Maurice, Mallarmé et la Poésie allemande, Les Nouvelles
Littéraires, October 13, 1923.
Betz, P. Louis, Studien zur vergleichen den Literaturgeschichte
der neueren Zeit, Frankfurt a. Maine, 1902.
Bidou, Henri, L'Avènement du Symbolisme, Journal des Débats
Politiques et Littéraires, September 19, 1906.
Bonneau, Alcide, Le Symbolisme, Revue universelle, March 1,
1904.
Bonnefon, Paul, Catulle Mendès et le Parnasse contemporain,
L'Amateur d'Autograph, February, 1910.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Åvant-dire de Dr. E. Bonniot, Auto-
biographie, édition originale, les Manuscrits des Maîtres,
Lettre à Verlaine, A. Messein, 1924.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Avant-dire de Dr. Bonniot, Contes In-
diens, édition originale, Paris, L. Cartaret, 1927.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Diptyque de Stéphane Mallarmé, Avant-
dire de Dr. Edmond Bonniot, La Nouvelle Revue Française,
January, 1929.


Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, La Genèse poétique de Mallarmé d'après
des corrections, La Revue de France, April 15, 1929.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Lettre de Dr. Edmond Bonniot (sur l'Edi-
tion des Poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé, Paris, October,
1913). La Nouvelle Revue Française, October, 1913.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Mallarmé et la Vie (avec deux poèmes
inédits, ou plutôt deux versions inédites d'un poème
connu), La Revue de France, January 1, 1930. (Année 10,
tome 1, pp. 59-71).
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Notes-La Nouvelle Revue Française,
July, August, 1929.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, Préface à Igitur, Librairie Gallimard, La
Nouvelle Revue Française, 1925.
Bonniot, Dr. Edmond, & Geneviève Bonniot Mallarmé, Lettre
à propos de notre Edition des Poésies de Stéphane Mallarmé,
La Nouvelle Revue Française, June, 1913.
270-
Bonniot Mallarmé, Geneviève, Mallarmé par sa Fille, La Nouvelle
Revuê Française, November, 1926.
Boschot, A., Le Magnétisme de Mallarmé (avec des Souvenirs
de Stéphane Mallarmé assistant aux Concerts Lamoureux)
Echo de Paris, October 4, 1923.
Boulenger, Jacques, Le Père du Symbolisme (Stéphane Mallarmé)
L'Opinion, November 15-22, 1919.
Boyer, Amédée, La Littérature et les Arts contemporains, Paris,
Méricant, 1911.
Brandes, Georg, Samlede Skrifter, Kobenhagen (VII, Fransk
Lyrik) 1901, (pp. 147-173, 264-269).
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Régnier, Henri de, Hamlet et Mallarmé, Mercure de France,
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289}
VERSIONS OF TEXTS THAT UNDERWENT CHANGES:
Versions Anterior to Les Poésies, 1887.
Le Guignon
Le Guignon
Le Guignon
Le Sonneur
Le Sonneur
Le Sonneur
Les Fenêtres
Les Fleurs
Renouveau (Vere Novo)
Angoisse (A Celle qui est
Tranquille)
Las de l'Amer Repos
(Epilogue)
L'Azur
Brise Marine
Soupir
Aumône (A un Pauvre)
Aumône (Haine du Pauvre)
Aumône (A un Mendiant)
Hérodiade
(Fragment d'un Etude
Scénique Ancienne d'un
Poème d'Hérodiade)
L'Artiste, March 15, 1862
Poètes Maudits, 1884
Le Décadent, November 20,
1886
L'Artiste, March 15, 1862
L'Artiste, April 15, 1863
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
Le Parnasse Contemporain,
1866
La Revue de France, 1930
La Revue de France, 1930
Le Parnasse Contemporaine,
1869, 2e série, March
20, 1869
-293
Toast Funèbre
L'Après-Midi d'un Faune
Hommage V
(Le Tombeau d'Edgar Poe)
Hommage V
(Le Tombeau d'Edgar Poe)
Hommage V
Une Négresse par Le Démon
Secouée (Les Lèvres Roses)
Le Pitre Chatié
Eventail
Eventail
Apparition
Apparition
La Vierge, Le Vivace
et le bel Aujourd'hui
Quelle soie ..
Sainte
Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
Don du Poème
Placet Futile (Placet de 1762) Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
Quand l'Ombre menaça
Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
(Cette Nuit)
Le Scapin, October 16, 1886
Quand l'Ombre menaça
(Cette Nuit)
Quand l'Ombre menaça
(Cette Nuit)
Ecrits pour l'Art, March 7,
1887
Prose (Pour les Esseintes)
La Revue Indépendante, Jan-
uary, 1885
d:
La Revue Indépendante,
March, 1885
La Revue Indépendante,
March, 1885
Les Hommes d'aujourd'hui
(Mallarmé par Paul Ver-
laine) 1866
La Revue Wagnérienne, Jan-
uary 8, 1886
Victorieusement
Fui le Suicide Beau
(Sonnet)
Hommage VI
(Hommage à Whistler)
Le Tombeau de Théophile
Gautier, 1877
Paru séparément chez De-
renne, 1876
Le Poe Memorial, 1877
Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
Le Décadent, August 28,
1886
Le Parnasse Satirique, 1878
(Tome II, Nouveau Par-
nasse)
Revue de France, 1929
La Revue critique, 1884
Le Décadent, October 9, 1886
Les Poètes Maudits, 1884
Le Scapin, November 1,
1886
- 294
M'introduire dans ton histoire
(Sonnet)
Tout Orgueil (Sonnet)
Surgi de la Croupe (Sonnet)
Une Dentelle s'abolit (Sonnet)
Mes Bouquins refermés
(Autre Sonnets)
A Un Pauvre (Aumône)
Placet (Placet Futile)
Plainte d'Automne
(L'Orgue de Barbarie)
Plainte d'Automne
Monda & Montel, 1927
Bibliographie de S. Mallarmé
Monda & Montel, 1927
Versions anterior to Album de Vers et de Prose, 1887-8
Frisson d'Hiver (Causerie
d'Hiver)
Frisson d'Hiver (Causerie
d'Hiver)
La Revue des Lettres et des
Arts, October 20, 1867
La République des Lettres,
December 20, 1875
La Vogue, April 11, 1886
Frisson d'Hiver (Causerie
d'Hiver)
(L'Orgue de Barbarie)
Plainte d'Automne
(L'Orgue de Barbarie)
Le Nénuphar Blanc
La Gloire
La Vogue, June 13-20, 1886
La Revue Indépendante, 1887
La Revue Indépendante, 1887
La Revue Indépendante, Jan-
La Gloire
uary, 1887
La Revue Indépendante, Jan-
uary, 1887
Bibliographie de S. Mallarmé
La Revue des Lettres et des
Arts, October 27, 1867
La République des Lettres,
December 20, 1875
La Vogue, April 11, 1886
L'Art et la Mode, August 22,
1885
Les Hommes d'aujourd'hui
(Stéphane Mallarmé par
Verlaine)
Les Ecrits pour l'Art, April
4, 1887.
The "Ten O'Clock de M. Whistler" was published in La Revue
Indépendante, 1888
Villiers de l'Isle Adams appeared in La Revue d'aujourd'hui,
May 15, 1890.
-295-
Versions anterior to Les Poésies, 1899
Billet à Whistler
Billet à Whistler (Whirlwind)
Feuillet d'Album (Sonnet)
Chansons-Bas I
Chansons-Bas II
(La petite marchande de
Lavande)
Salut (Toast)
Rémémoration d'Amis Belges
(A Ceux de l'Excelsior)
Rémémoration d'Amis Belges
(A Ceux de l'Excelsior)
Petits Avis I
Le Tombeau de Charles
Baudelaire
Toute Aurore Même Gourde
(Hommage à Puvis de Cha-
vannes)
Toute Aurore Même Gourde
(Hommage à Puvis de Cha-
vannes)
Tombeau Anniversaire,
Janvier, 1897.
Pauvre Enfant Pâle
(Fusain)
Pauvre Enfant Pâle
La Pipe
(Fusain)
Pauvre Enfant Pâle
(Fusain)
The Whirlwind, November,
1890
La Wallonie, November,
1890
La Wallonie, May-June, 1892
Les Types de Paris, published
by Le Figaro
Les Types de Paris, published
by Le Figaro
La Plume, February 15, 1893
L'Art Littéraire, November,
1893
L'Art Littéraire, July-August,
1894.
L'Epreuve, November, 1894
La Plume, January 15, 1895
La Plume, January 15-31,
1895.
Aspects, par Adolphe Retté,
1897
Versions anterior to Pages, 1891
La Revue Blanche, January,
1897
La Saison de Vichy, 1865
La Revue des Lettres et des
Arts, October 20, 1867
Le Décadent, August 7, 1886
La Saison de Vichy, 1865
296-
La Pipe
La Pipe
Reminiscence (L'Orphelin)
Le Démon de l'Analogie
Le Phénomène Futur
Le Phénomène Futur
(Pages Oubliées)
Le Spectacle Interrompu
Le Spectacle Interrompu
Richard Wagner
Déclaration Foraine
(Adagios)
Déclaration Foraine
(Adagios)
Ecclésiastique
Hamlet (Mimique in Divaga-
tions)
(Notes sur le Théâtre)
Billets I
(Notes sur le Théâtre)
Le Genre ou des Modernes
(Notes sur le Théâtre)
Divagation
(Avant-dire au Traité du
Verbe de René Ghil)
Lassitude
(Notes sur le Théâtre)
La Revue des Lettres et des
Arts, January 12, 1868
La Décadence, October 1,
1886
La Revue des Lettres et des
Arts, Nov. .24, 1867
La Revue du Monde
Nouveau,
March 1, 1874
La République des Lettres,
December 20, 1875
La Vogue, April 11, 1886
La République des Lettres,
December 20, 1875
Le Scapin, September 1,
1886.
La Revue Wagnérienne, Au-
gust 8, 1885
L'Art et la Mode, August 7,
1886
La Jeune Belgique, February
1890
Gazetta Litteraria, 1886
La Revue Indépendante, No-
vember, 1886
La Revue Indépendante, De-
cember, 1886
La Revue Indépendante, Jan-
uary, February, March,
and May, 1887; Decem-
ber, 1886
Les Ecrits pour l'Art, February
7, 1887
La Revue Indépendante, April
and July, 1887
-297-
0.
Un Principe des Vers
(Notes sur le Théâtre)
Ballets II
La Musique et les Lettres, 1895
La Musique et les Lettres
(Lecture d'Oxford et de
Cambridge)
Déplacement Avantageux
(Le Fonds littéraire)
Déplacement Avantageux
Tennyson vu d'Ici
Théodore de Banville
Edgar Poe
Laurent Tailhade
Versions anterior to Divagations, 1897
Conflit
Verlaine
Rimbaud
Hamlet et Fortinbras
La Revue Indépendante, June
1887
La Wallonie, February, March
1890.
Les Fonds dans le Ballet
(Etudes de Danse. Les
Fonds dans le Ballet)
La Revue Blanche, April,
1894
Le Figaro, August 17, 1894
La Revue Blanche, October,
1894.
La Revue Blanche, December,
1892
Mercure de France, Febru-
ary, 1893. The National
Observer.
Portraits du prochain siècle,
1894
Iconographies de certains
poètes présents. Album
No. 1, par F. A. Cazals,
1894
La Revue Blanche, August 1,
1895
La Plume, February 1, 1896
The Chape Book, 1896
La Revue Blanche, July 15,
1896
La Revue Franco-Américaine,
August-June, 1895.
-298.
Mimique
Planches et Feuillets
Crise de Vers
L'Action Restreinte
(Variations sur un Sujet:
L'action)
Crise de Vers
Etalage
Le Livre Instrument Spirituel
(Variations sur un Sujet:
Le Livre)
Le Mystère dans les Lettres
(Variations sur un Sujet)
Offices
Bucolique
(Variations sur un Sujet)
Confrontation
(Variations sur un Sujet:
Čas de Conscience)
La Cour
(Variations sur un Sujet)
Sauvegarde
(Variations sur un Sujet)
Or (Grisaille)
La Revue Franco-Américaine,
August-June, 1895.
The National Observer
La Revue Blanche, Septem-
ber 1, 1895
La Revue Blanche, February
1, 1895
Chansons Bas III
Chansons Bas IV
Chansons Bas V
Vers et Prose, Première Diva-
gation
The National Observer
La Revue Blanche, July 1,
1895
La Revue Blanche, September
1, 1896
The National Observer
La Revue Blanche, April 1,
1895
La Revue Blanche, October 1,
1895
La Revue Blanche, March 1,
1895
La Revue Blanche, May 1,
1895
Au Quartier-latin, numéro ex-
ceptionel mi-carême,
1895
The majority of the above prose-pieces also appeared in the
National Observer
Verses anterior to Poésies, 1913
S
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
-299-
Chansons Bas VI
Chansons Bas VII
Chansons Bas VIII
Petit Air Guerrier
O si chère de loin
Dame sans trop d'Ardeur
Rondel II
Toute l'âme résumée
Sonnet (Tristesse d'Eté)
Sonnet (Tristesse d'Eté)
Sonnet (Tristesse d'Eté)
Un Coup de dés jamais n'abolira le Hasard appeared in La Revue
Cosmopolis, May, 1897. Issued separately in 1914.
Adresses (Les Loisirs de la
Poste)
Eventails
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
Les Types de Paris, Le Figaro
La Revue Blanche, February
1, 1895
Versions anterior to Madrigaux, 1920
La Phalange, 1895
La Gazette anecdotique, Feb-
ruary 29, 1896
La Plume, March 15, 1896
Le Figaro
Parnasse Contemporain,
livraison, May 11, 1866
La Jeune Belgique, January
15, 1890
La Revue Blanche, May, 1892
Autre (Cremaillière)
Les Loisirs de la Poste
Eventails
The Chap Book, 1894
Versions anterior to Vers de Circonstance, 1920
La Revue Indépendante,
April, 1888
Au Quartier-latin, numéro
spécial, mi-carême, 1896
Chap Book, 1894
Au Quartier-latin,
numéro
spécial, mi-carême, 1896
300.
BOOKS ON WAGNER CONSULTED:
Richard Wagner's Prose Works, translated by William Ashton
Ellis, London, Paul, 1893-1899.
Newman, Ernest, A Study of Wagner, New York, Putnam's Sons,
1899.
Symons, Arthur, Studies in Seven Arts, (The Ideas of Richard
Wagner), New York, 1906.
Wooley, Grange, Richard Wagner et le Symbolisme française, Les
Rapports principaux entre le Wagnérisme et l'Evolution de
l'idée symboliste, Paris, Les Presses Universitaires, 1931.
-301-
Nam
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