Émile Verhaeren



French Poetry of To-Day




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Texte zur Baudelaire-Rezeption
Texte zur Verlaine-Rezeption
Texte zur Mallarmé-Rezeption
Texte zur Theorie und Rezeption des Symbolismus


All these reforms, from Hugo to Verlaine, bore after all upon side issues only. They led to modifications rather than transformations; but they cleared the way, by their slow but ceaseless advance, for a deeper and more thorough reform. This was accomplished by the later modern schools, writers of blank verse, symbolists and decadents. Never were so many different names given to artistic groups. But what matter the labels, they will all be carried away when the work of these innovaters has melted into the general growth of literature. Their action was a collective one, as if poetry already shared in the new mode of human activity, which depends not upon the single effort of one man, leading others, but upon the co-operation of many such agents all working towards a common end.

I will quote a few names: Rimbaud, Laforgue, Kahn, Moréas, Maeterlinck, <Régnier>, <Vielé-Griffin>, Stuart Merrill, André Gide, Retté, Francis Jammes, Henry Bataille, Charles Van Lerberghe, Max Elskamp, André Fontainas, Albert Mockel, Henri Ghéon. Each [731] different from the rest – some with an individuality the more clearly defined according as their talent expands and asserts itself, they all concur in guiding in the direction of a wider freedom of form and a more truthful synthesis of matter, that crystallisation begun at the dawn of the ninteenth century, and of which their own work is the ultimate consequence.

The present school critics explain and justify in the name of logic, the convulsion that has shaken prosody to its very depths. Granted that they have reason on their side, they yet have not sufficient reason.

They ask: Why prohibit a hiatus at the meeting of two words and allow it in the body of a word? Why prescribe il y a (a verb) and tolerate Illion (a substantive)? Why insist upon the rhyme being full, solemn and "rich," in elevated subjects, when such rhyme almost invariably leads to a punning jingle? Why talk of cæsura when our language contains words of seven or eight syllables? Why permit the enjambement and reject with scorn lines of thirteen and fourteen feet? And any but a purblind critic arrives at the conclusion that the poets of to-day are doing rational work.

Granted, but in matters of art, strict logic is not a decisive argument; poetry wells up like a boiling spring from the depths of human nature, and like love and fancy it refuses to obey the mandates of pure reason. Whether or not the labour of poets is logical is quite a secondary matter. The truth is this: from its earliest beginnings, French verse has been based upon measure; to-day it is sought to found it upon rhythm. It is not the want of logic of the older prosody that is impugned; it is the principle on which it rested.

Rhythm, measure! Assuredly every measure is possessed with rhythm, every rhythm with measure. The distinction between these two almost identical terms is nevertheless a notable one. The form of the older French Poetry, based upon measure, appears like a mould, preordained and sharply defined, into which a whole train of thought is compressed, without ever widening, restricting or doing away with a single division. The form is pre-existent; it therefore determines the length, progress and subdivision of the lyrical movements. Rhythm may also be termed a form, but a flexible form of infinite variety, literally embodying the thought, for what is it but that thought which, in finding expression, fashions out its own mould? There is not pre-existence but co-existence between the thought and its materialisation. The modern poets reject measure, the superimposed form, and adopt rhythm, the direct form. The sentiments evolved in a poem thus appear in all their original spontaneity.

But, it may be asked, not without a pardonable diffidence, is it then possible to seize in so subtle and direct a manner every thought that [732] springs into existence? For the real poet this presents no difficulty. Alone he possesses the secret gift, at the very instant a thought takes birth in his brain, of at once conceiving it as a living entity with its inherent static or dynamic action. Now this action is rhythm itself. The true poet cannot, therefore, but be a perfect master of rhythm. All great masters were so. In spite of the guiding-strings and shackles of conventional, sterile and useless metre, Racine, Lafontaine, Lamartine, Hugo, Baudelaire, Verlaine cannot but obey the movement of the idea. Remember the lamentations of Phèdre and her lassitude; the conclusion of the fable Le Chêne et le Roseau; Isolement in the Méditations; the Djinns in the Orientales; Lesbos in the Fleurs du Mal; Langueur in Jadis et Naguère.

A poem therefore appears as the notation of movements of the mind, and no longer as a development conforming to such and such a rule of prosody. A canvas to work upon is no longer needed; the knots of the work are themselves its chain and woof. Canalisation is superseded, the river is left to hollow out its own bed. Such a theory may conceivably frighten second-rate poets. Granted. In art all is either easy or impossible.

The earliest poets were free singers; they evolved from themselves the form of their emotions. They preceded all manner of criticism or laying down of laws. It is to them, to their source of youth and light, that we should return. If we examine how it came about that in those far-off times rhythm was made subservient to measure, the domination of the latter can only appear as that of an usurper.

It was the pedagogues who brought it about. When certain ancient rhapsodists, either by habit or sterility, congealed their songs into set forms, the scribes stepped in and decreed that poets yet unborn should be subjected to this restriction, thus withering up the future in the name of the past. The art of the poet is spontaneous and intensive, that of the critic rational and restrictive; there can be no agreement between them, there must be war to the knife. The critic has domesticated the lofty plant of pristine and savage beauty; he has trimmed, pruned, stunted and dwarfed it. He has grown it in conservatories, cultivated it in nurseries. He has exhibited it neat, symmetrical and glossy. Now it was meant to live in the open, affronting wind and rain, storms, mists, and sunshine; it would have thriven in the rich virgin soil, it would have shot up and spread, dropping its seed into the vast lap of Nature, to be blown away further and further to the far end of the horizon.

The story of the primitive poets is a salutary lesson to us. From the moment the critics appear, a new literary cast is formed, grounded upon irony and contradiction. If only they were content to exercise a certain supervision, if their labour were restricted to making observations and experiments. A Taine instructs but does not [733] dogmatise. The rest appraise, pronounce, condemn. They do not understand that a poet is nothing if not a creator, that is a giver of life. And it is with dead matter, with former life now stark and cold, that they bind and confine it in the narrow coffin of their judgments.

In the seventeenth century every bold emancipation was impossible; in the nineteenth, thanks to the liberating efforts of Lamartine, Hugo, Baudelaire, Verlaine, rebellion rears its head and deliverance is at hand. Modern prosody has thus achieved liberty; modern inspiration, untrammelled truth. At the time it set out for this conquest, realism reigned supreme. From the Parnassian group a few poets had become severed, chief of whom was François Coppée. He had wandered off to meet the novelists in the by-ways of minute and direct observation. "Le Petit Epicier de Montrouge" was the model of that fireside poetry which he made so popular.

The Parnassians were archæologists, historians and scientists. Exotic subjects attracted them, they revelled in the Past. They also sought after truth, but after truth as it is to be found in books. They revived old civilisations and old legends, as taught by exegesis and science. They thus reflected one of the great conquests of their age, the science of ruins. They unconsciously displayed certain affinities with the Naturalists whom they combated. Both belonged to the documentary school, the one exploring ages that are dead, the other the living age, and Gustave Flaubert might be said to belong to either, according as he wrote Hérodias or l'Education Sentimentale.

It was to this love of precise, clear, and wholly experimental truth, to this truth to material fact, that the building up of synthetic truth was opposed by the new school. They admit the dogma triumphantly proclaimed in philosophy by Kant and Schopenhauer: Truth cannot be found in material objects, it exists only in the idea. Though reflected to infinity in the sensible universe, the categories of our understanding – subjective forms – may perceive, but cannot penetrate it. The world is but a conjunction of appearances or symbols.

The initiator of this literary creed, of this new mode of composition, was Stéphane Mallarmé. His verses are like the luminous semi-transparent veils of some great Isis – the underlying thought of each poem. These veils, upon which every part of the goddess's body imprints its warmth and motion, are but the exteriorisation of her beauty, and it is through them that it must be sought. The Parnassians showed, described and related. They amplified to a moderate extent. They were Romanticists grown cold and formal.

Stéphane Mallarmé does not design, he evokes. Picking out from among the theories of Baudelaire those relating to analogy and [734] relation, he assembles and displays them in successive gradations; he evolves from them sufficient light to at last reveal the object. Further, as this process creates round each single thought a succession of different aspects, and as each of these may have its own peculiar, if superficial, significance, it results that the meaning of the poem is doubled or trebled. There is the shell and the kernel: the husk and the fruit. The tower no longer stands out rude and sharply defined in the blinding light of noon; it looms forth slowly from out the misty atmosphere, dimly felt before it is seen. And when at last it stands revealed, it rises with the more solemn majesty.

To realise the beauty of a poem by Mallarmé is a conquest of the mind. You are rebutted, you persevere, you go astray. When you reach the goal, you can never forget. All who have listened to his wondrous teaching, have imbibed something of his doctrine. All, in varying degrees, have felt the seduction of his discourse. The influence of his new method of lyrical composition is felt in the Chansons d'Amants, by Gustave Kahn; in the Aréthuse by <Henri> de Régnier; in the Cantilènes, by Moréas; in the Chevauchée, by <Vielé>-Griffin. No doubt symbolism always existed in literature, and it was not left to any of us moderns to discover it. But Stéphane Mallarmé marked it with a new and distinctive seal. Others used symbols unconsciously; he did so methodically, with the full knowledge of what he was doing. The most laboured and perfect models are enchased in his poems.

"Quelle soie aux baumes de temps
Où la chimère s'exténue
Vaut la <torse> et native nue
Que, hors de ton miroir, tu tends!

Les trous des drapeaux méditants
S'exaltent dans notre avenue;
Moi, j'ai ta chevelure nue
Pour <enfouir> mes yeux contents.

Non! La bouche ne sera sûre
De rien goûter à sa morsure
S'il ne fait, ton princier amant

Dans la considérable touffe
Expirer, comme un diamant
Le cri des gloires qu'il étouffe."

At the first glance these fourteen lines seem to contain nothing explicit. There is no preparation, nothing to guide or enlighten you; all is vague and abrupt. Gradually we are made aware that it is the voice of a hero addressing a woman whose body sheds a radiance surpassing that of old and richly gleaming silks. Her beauty is soft as a summer cloud, the surroundings primæval and, as it were, immemorial.

[735] A conflict arises betweeen glory and desire.

"Les trous de drapeaux méditants
S'exaltent dans notre avenue;
Moi, j'ai ta chevelure nue
Pour <enfouir> mes yeux contents."

A subtle analogy is suggested between the standards "flowing locks of Bellona" and the "fleecy tegument" of woman, banner of love. This blots out those, and "the mouth" which is desire, can only be "certain" of tasting the full joy of its burning kisses if it stifles the cries of glory in the intoxication of sensual passion. It is the old tale – of Hercules, of Theseus, of Tannhäuser, of eternal man laying down his strength at the feet of woman. It is truth through all ages, not merely described, but called up a very living presence.

The peculiar merit of this art, which few critics understand, is to aim at the very essence – whether thoughts or feelings – to raise them to their highest and most universal power, to banish from them all that might determine them in point of space or time. It impacts to them something of the anonymous character of solemn lapidary inscriptions. You can imagine the sonnets of Mallarmé engraved upon stelas, standing by the roadside along the great thoroughfares of human thought. They provoke the lingering wayfarer to long and searching meditation; they are built up of learned syntheses and pure conceptions; and the images they suggest are infinite. If true poetry is the language of figures, of striking and well-applied analogies, his, before all others, may serve as an example.

And yet there is none but will perceive with what pitfalls this art, in spite of its undeniable advantages, is surrounded. All depends upon the skill, I had almost said the witchcraft, of the enchanter. If the veils in which he shrouds his visions are not of perfect texture, if they are too flimsy or too apaque, if, for fear of being obvious, he remains obscure and impenetrable, the charm does not operate, and those who expected a miracle cry shame upon the false prophet.

Such, then, was the upheaval of form and matter brought about by the recent schools of French poetry. It had been, as I have said, prepared at great length. It had become inevitable. The alexandrine, broken, shattered, and crumbled by Hugo, would no longer have been recognised as a measure by its creators of the sixteenth and seventeenth century. It was now but a vain and illusive shadow. I would adduce two examples illustrating the deep changes undergone by the form (rhythm and rhyme) as well as the matter of poetical composition, in which the sense is projected beyond the literal signification of the words.

       [736] "LE VENT.

Sur la bruyère longue infiniment
Voici le vent cornant Novembre;
Sur la bruyère infiniment,
Voici le vent
Qui se déchire et se démembre
En souffles lourds, battant les bourgs.
Voici le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.

Aux puits des fermes,
Les seaux de fer et les poulies
Aux citernes des fermes.
Les seaux et les poulies
Grincent et crient
Toute la mort, dans leurs mélancolies.

Le vent rafle, le long de l'eau,
Les feuilles mortes des bouleaux,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre;
Le vent mord dans les branches,
Des nids d'oiseaux;
Le vent râpe du fer
Et peigne, au loin, les avalanches,
Rageusement, du vieil hiver,
Rageusement, le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.

Dans les étables lamentables
Les lucarnes rapiécées
Ballottent leurs loques falotes
De vitres et de papier.
Le vent sauvage de Novembre! –
Sur sa butte de gazon bistre,
De bas en haut, à travers airs,
De haut en bas, à coups d'éclairs,
Le moulin noir fauche, sinistre,
Le moulin noir fauche le vent,
Le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.

Les vieux chaumes, à cropetons,
Autour de leurs clochers d'église.
Sont ébranlés sur leurs bâtons;
Les vieux chaumes et leurs auvents
Claquent au vent,
Au vent sauvage de Novembre.
Les croix du cimetière étroit,
Les bras des morts que sont ces croix,
Tombent comme un grand vol
Rabattu noir, contre le sol.

Le vent sauvage de Novembre,
Le vent,
L'avez-vous rencontré, le vent,
Au carrefour des trois cents routes,
Criant de froid, soufflant d'ahan,
L'avez-vous rencontré, le vent,
Celui des peurs et des déroutes;
L'avez-vous vu cette nuit-là,
Quand il jeta la lune à bas,
Et que, n'en pouvant plus,
Tous les villages vermoulus
Criaient comme des bêtes,
Sous la tempête?

Sur la bruyère infiniment
Voici le vent hurlant,
Voici le vent cornant Novembre."


        "LE PASSEUR D'EAU.

Le passeur d'eau, les mains aux rames,
A contre flot, depuis longtemps,
Luttait, un roseau vert entre les dents.

Mais celle hélas! Qui le hélait
Au delà des vagues, là-bas,
Toujours plus loin, par au delà des vagues,
Parmi les brumes reculait.

Les fenêtres, avec leurs yeux,
Et le cadran des tours, sur le rivage,
Le regardaient peiner et s'acharner,
En un ploiement de torse en deux
Et de muscles sauvages.
Une rame soudain cassa
Que le courant chassa,
A vagues lourdes vers la mer.

Celle là-bas qui le hélait,
Dans les brumes et dans le vent, semblait
Tordre plus follement les bras,
Vers celui qui n'approchait pas.

Le passeur d'eau, avec la rame survivante,
Se prit à travailler si fort
Que tout son corps craqua d'efforts,
Et que son cœur trembla de fièvre et d'épouvante.
[737] D'un coup brusque, le gouvernail cassa
Et le courant chassa
Ce haillon morne, vers la mer.

Les fenêtres sur le rivage,
Comme des yeux grands et fiévreux,
Et le cadran des tours, ces veuves
Droites, de mille en mille, au bord des fleuves,
Fixaient, obstinément,
Cet homme fou, en son entêtement
A prolonger son fol voyage.

Celle là-bas qui le hélait
Dans les brumes, hurlait, hurlait,
La tête effrayamment tendue
Vers l'inconnu de l'étendue.

Le passeur d'eau, comme quelqu'un d'airain
Planté dans la tempête blême,
Avec l'unique rame entre ses mains,
Battait les flots, mordait les flots quand même.
Ses vieux regards hallucinés
Voyaient les loins illuminés
D'où lui venait toujours la voix
Lamentable, sous les cieux froids.

La rame dernière cassa,
Que le courant chassa
Comme une paille, vers la mer.

Le passeur d'eau, les bras tombants,
S'affaissa morne, sur son banc,
Les reins rompus de vains efforts,
Un choc heurta sa barque, à la dérive,
Il regarda, derrière lui, la rive:
Il n'avait pas quitté le bord.

Les fenêtres et les cadrans,
Avec des yeux béats et grands
Constatèrent sa ruine d'ardeur,
Mais le tenace et vieux passeur
Garda tout de même, pour Dieu sait quand,
Le roseau vert, entre ses dents."

Romanticism was saturated with spiritualism: it made excessive use of the name of God. To some, the term embodied the belief and guiding light. For others it was merely a handy rhyme. The Realists, Naturalists, and Parnassians were positivists. Auguste Comte, Littré, Spencer, extended their influence over the novels of Flaubert and Zola, the poems of Sully Prudhomme and Leconte de Lisle, the latter of whom colours his serene unbelief with a tinge of pessimism. This penetration of art by philosophy is to be found throughout the history of mankind. When philosophy alters, art follows its lead. Now for the last twenty years French thought has again become idealistic. It has turned its back upon disappointing Positivism. The whole younger generation protest, not against the supremacy of science, but against the narrow materialistic bias that has been forced upon it. Thus the ideal craving that has become manifest in speculation lends its valuable help to literature, and gives it a sure foundation.

And now that you are acquainted with the origin, the history, and life of the latest school of French literature, now that I have endeavoured to acquaint you with its tendencies and legitimate victories, can it be that I have somewhat exaggerated its daring, its revolutionary attitude? I am inclined to think so, when, after expounding its theories, I stop to consider the results. After all, the new poets have not broken with tradition as completely as it has been asserted. Can it be that it is not given, even to the most determined of men, I will not say to destroy, but to modify at all deeply the work of old [738] time? Or was it that, bold as they were, they were still lacking in lyrical fervour?

Poets, therefore, have not abolished tradition. They have done it no violence. They have merely expanded it, by the introduction of new principles of composition and versification.

In the first place, they allow all the old styles and all the laws of metre to subsist by the side of the new forms. In their books the symbol wields no despotic sway. They have studied folklore and conveyed into their songs some of the transparent simplicity of its artless laments. Old legends still have power to attract them. They proscribe nothing: they merely select.

The adepts of free verse seldom allow their rhythmic flights to exceed measures of thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen syllables, such as are found (exceptionally, it is true) in all classical anthologies. Again, when they introduce lines of unequal length, they do but follow the good example of Jean de Lafontaine. Their new rhythmical principles transgress no fundamental law. Their rhyme, now "rich," now "poor," sometimes depending on alliteration alone, traces back its descent through the long train of literary ages, to the Chansons de Gestes. Their stanzas are related to the laisses of the old poems, where uninterrupted successions of masculine or feminine rhymes crowd together in sets. All the new fermentation is born and takes place within the walls of tradition; it is contained within the amphora, which it neither bursts nor even rifts. But it violently revives the fragrance of the vapid liquor.

Nor will this transformation of French poetry be the last; it must of necessity be followed by further transformations. Already are born the "Romane" and the "Naturiste" schools. The former, alas, has strayed into the blind alley of imitation; but the second innovates in its turn, and claims to be inspired by liberty and truth, just as much as its forerunners. It proclaims the names of St. Georges de Bouhélier, Maurice Leblond, Albert Fleury, Eugène Monfort. It aims at taking part in social action. It becomes militant.

Its growth should be viewed with hope. It has the priceless advantage of being the newest manifestation of live. That it should make an onslaught against its immediate predecessors is perfectly natural. Art can only profit by such conflicts, which oblige it to change, that is to live. Time reduces everything to its proper proportions. And the poets of free verse and of the symbol have nothing to fear from time. They have laboured hard and earnestly, some, indeed, with brilliancy and genius, for the glory of immortal letters.





Erstdruck und Druckvorlage

The Fortnightly Review.
Bd. 69, New Series, 1901, 1. April, S. 723-738. [PDF]

Unser Auszug: S. 730-738.

Translated by C. Heywood.

Die Textwiedergabe erfolgt nach dem ersten Druck (Editionsrichtlinien).









Fontaine, André: Verhaeren et son oeuvre.
D'après des documents inédits, suivi de la bibliographie des éditions originales
et de la liste des publications signées ou anonymes, parues dans les revues belges.
Paris: Mercure de France 1929.

Culot, Jean-Marie: Bibliographie de Emile Verhaeren.
Bruxelles: Palais des Académies 1954.

Marx, Jacques: Verhaeren. Biographie d'une oeuvre.
Bruxelles: Académie royale de langue et de littérature françaises 1996.
S. 547-561: Bibliographie I: Textes de Verhaeren.

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Charles Baudelaire.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 2, 1882, Nr. 33, 13. August, S. 260-261.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: L'Adoration littéraire.
In: La Jeune Belgique.
Jg. 5, 1885, Nr. 6, 5. Juni, S. 313-315.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c12716

[Verhaeren, Émile]: [Rezension zu:]
Jean Moréas: Les Cantilènes. Paris 1886.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 6, 1886, Nr. 26, 27. Juni, S. 204-205.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: Quelques notes sur l'Œuvre de Fernand Khnopff, 1881-1887.
Bruxelles: Monnom 1887.
URL: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k321583s
Extrait de "L'Art moderne"; 5 et 12 septembre et 10 octobre 1886, et 24 avril 1887.

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Un peintre symboliste.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 7, 1887, Nr. 17, 24. April, S. 129-131.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373
Ungezeichnet; aufgenommen in
Émile Verhaeren: Quelques notes sur l'Œuvre de Fernand Khnopff, 1881-1887. Bruxelles: Monnom 1887; hier S. 20-28.
URL: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k321583s

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Quelques mots sur Mallarmé.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 7, 1887, Nr. 44, 30. Oktober, S. 346-347.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

[Verhaeren, Émile]: [Rezension zu:]
Maurice Maeterlinck: Serres chaudes. Paris 1889.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 9, 1889, Nr. 29, 21. Juli, S. 225-227.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Emile: Melancholy in Literature.
In: The Universal Review.
Bd. 5, 1889, Nr. 17, September, S. 104-120.

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Confession de poète.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 10, 1890, Nr. 10, 9. März, S. 76-77.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: La Poésie.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 11, 1891, Nr. 1, 4. Januar, S. 4-6.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

[Verhaeren, Émile]: "Pages" par Stéphane Mallarmé.   Bruxelles, Edmond Deman.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 11, 1891, Nr. 20, 17. Mai, S. 158-159.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: L'Art pour l'Art [1893].
In: Émile Verhaeren: Impressions.
Deuxième série.
4. Aufl. Paris: Mercure de France 1927, S. 187-189. [PDF]

[Verhaeren, Émile]: [Rezension zu:]
Paul Gérardy: Pages de joie. Liège: Floréal o.J. [1893].
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 13, 1893, Nr. 36, 3. September, S. 284-285.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Leconte de Lisle.
Le Vers prosodique et le Vers libre.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 14, 1894, Nr. 32, 12. August, S. 251-253.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: La Marche des Idées.
In: Le Réveil.
Jg. 4, 1894, Nr. 10, Oktober, S. 385-388.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c13446

Verhaeren, Émile: Les Villes Tentaculaires.
Bruxelles: Deman 1895.
URL: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8618418c

[Verhaeren, Émile]: Paul Verlaine.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique des arts et de la littérature.
Jg. 16, 1896, Nr. 2, 12. Januar, S. 9-10.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: Henry de Régnier – Francis Viélé-Griffin.
In: le Coq rouge. Revue littéraire.
Bd. 2, 1896, Nr. 1, Mai, S. 35-37.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c12719

Verhaeren, Émile: La renaissance actuelle des lettres en Belgique.
In: La Revue des Revues.
Bd. 17, 1896, 15. Juni, S. 477-488. [PDF]

Verhaeren, Émile: [Beitrag zu "Une Protestation"].
In: Mercure de France.
Bd. 21, 1897, Februar, S. 428-429; hier: S. 430.
URL: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cb34427363f/date1897

Verhaeren, Émile: Paul Verlaine.
In: La revue blanche.
Bd. 12, 1897, Nr. 93, 15. April, S. 409-412.
URL: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cb344304470/date1897

Verhaeren, Émile: Paul Verlaine.
In: Wiener Rundschau.
Jg. 1, 1896/97, Nr. 12, 1. Mai 1897, S. 456-459.
URL: https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_vX1HAAAAYAAJ

Verhaeren, Émile: Georges Rodenbach.
In: Revue Encyclopédique.
1899, Nr. 282, 28. Januar, S. 61-64.
URL: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cb34425104w/date

Verhaeren, Émile: La Libre Esthétique.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique hebdomadaire.
Jg. 21, 1901, Nr. 11, 17. März, S. 81-83.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Verhaeren, Émile: French Poetry of To-Day.
In: The Fortnightly Review.
Bd. 69, New Series, 1901, 1. April, S. 723-738. [PDF]

Verhaeren, Émile: Rythme – Mesure.
In: L'Art Moderne. Revue critique hebdomadaire.
Jg. 21, 1901, Nr. 50, 15. Dezember, S. 411-412.
URL: http://digitheque.ulb.ac.be/fr/digitheque-revues-litteraires-belges/periodiques-numerises/index.html#c11373

Hauser, Otto: Die belgische Lyrik von 1880 – 1900. Eine Studie und Übersetzungen.
Großenhain: Baumert & Ronge 1902.
URL: https://archive.org/details/diebelgischelyri00hausuoft

Verhaeren, Émile: [Réponse à une enquête].
In: Georges Le Cardonnel & Charles Vellay: La Littérature contemporaine (1905).
Opinions des écrivains de ce temps.
Paris: Mercure de France 1905, S. 256-258.
URL: https://archive.org/details/lalittratureco00lecauoft

Verhaeren, Émile: [Antwort auf eine Rundfrage zum vers libre].
In: Poesia. Rassegna internazionale.
1906, Heft 12, Januar, [S. 17-18].
URL: http://bluemountain.princeton.edu/title.html?titleURN=bmtnaai
Enquête internationale sur le Vers libre et Manifeste du futurisme par F. T. Marinetti.
Milano: Éditions de "Poesia" 1909, S. 35-36.
URL: https://www.omeka.unito.it/omeka/items/show/525

Verhaeren, Émile: Ausgewählte Gedichte.
Nachdichtung von Stefan Zweig.
Leipzig: Insel-Verlag 1910.

Verhaeren, Émile: Paul Verlaine.
In: Die Aktion. Zeitschrift für freiheitliche Politik und Literatur.
Jg. 1, 1911, Nr. 25, 7. August, Sp. 783-784. [PDF]

Verhaeren, Émile: Lettre-préface.
In: Henri Guilbeaux (Hrsg.): Anthologie des lyriques allemands contemporains depuis Nietzsche.
Choix de poèmes traduits, précédés de notices bio et bibliographiques et d'un essai sur le lyrisme allemand d'aujourd'hui.
Préface par Émile Verhaeren.
Paris: Figuière 1913 (= Les grandes anthologies), S. 11-14. [PDF]

Verhaeren, Émile: Impressions.
1re série.
5. Aufl. Paris: Mercure de France 1926.
URL. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k1269773d
URL: https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/101931946

Verhaeren, Émile: Impressions.
2e série.
4. Aufl. Paris: Mercure de France 1927.
URL. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k1269887s
URL: https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/101931946

Verhaeren, Émile: Impressions.
3e série.
3. Aufl. Paris: Mercure de France 1928.
URL. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k1269774t
URL: https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/101931946

Hinderberger, Hannelise (Hrsg. / Übers.): Französische Symbolisten.
Ausgewählt, übersetzt und mit dem französischen Text herausgegeben.
Heidelberg: Schneider 1960.

Verhaeren, Émile: Poésie complète.
Édition critique établie et présentée par Michel Otten.
11 Bde. Bruxelles: Labor 1994/2016.

Verhaeren, Émile: Correspondance générale.
Bd. 1: Emile et Marthe Verhaeren, Stefan Zweig (1900-1926).
Édition établie, présentée et annotée par Fabrice van de Kerckhove.
Bruxelles: Labor 1996.

Verhaeren, Émile: Correspondance générale.
Bd. 2: Emile et Marthe Verhaeren, Richard et Ida Dehmel, Rainer Maria Rilke (1905-1925).
Édition établie, présentée et annotée par Fabrice van de Kerckhove.
Bruxelles: Archives et musée de la littérature 2012.

Verhaeren, Émile: Écrits sur l'art (1881 – 1892).
Hrsg. von Paul Aron.
Bruxelles: Labor 1997.

Verhaeren, Émile: Écrits sur l'art (1893 – 1916).
Hrsg. von Paul Aron.
Bruxelles: Labor 1997.

Verhaeren, Émile: Hugo et le romantisme.
Hrsg. von Paul Gorceix.
Bruxelles: Complexe 2002 (= Le regard littéraire, 64)

Verhaeren, Émile: Racine et le classicisme.
Hrsg. von Paul Gorceix.
Bruxelles: Complexe 2002 (= Le regard littéraire, 65)

Lambert, Stéphane (Hrsg.): Rainer Maria Rilke: "Donnez-nous des maîtres qui célèbrent l'Ici-Bas".
Lettres à Émile Verhaeren suivies de la Lettre d'un jeune travailleur.
Paris: Arfuyen 2006 (= Neige, 16).

Verhaeren, Émile: De Baudelaire à Mallarmé suivi de Parnassiens et symbolistes.
Hrsg. von Jean-Baptiste Baronian.
Lausanne: L'Age d'Homme 2008 (= Collection "La petite Belgique").





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