"Without the spice of horror, there is neither love nor light."--Ernest Hello, circa 1861
Though Maurice Maeterlinck was not a horror writer, he seems to have had a profound understanding of the genre, and he has been cited as taking the above quote of French philosopher Ernest Hello to heart. And perhaps nowhere is this view more apparent than in Maeterlinck's tragic play, "Pelléas et Mélisande."
Though he was awarded one of the early Nobel Prizes for his entire body of literature, the Belgian playwright has largely been forgotten in America. This drama alone is perhaps the only example of Maeterlinck's work that may be familiar, since it was popularized by Debussy as an opera. But even among those who have read and studied the work, some critics have dismissed it as being a Symbolist reworking of Shakespeare's classic "Othello."
Well, clearly you'll see that the plot is in fact based on "Othello." A middle-aged prince, Golaud, finds the mysterious maiden Mélisande near a well deep in a secluded wood. She claims she has escaped a great wrong done to her, but won't say what happened or where she came from. Golaud takes her in to his gloomy castle where light can barely penetrate, and soon marries her. However, Mélisande develops a close friendship with Golaud's brother, Pelléas. Though there is no evidence that the two are having a sexual relationship, they are clearly having an emotional affair. There's is a spiritual attraction, as represented via the symbol of light. The palace is constantly shaded by thick impenetrable forest and has little light inside, but the couple are spied by Golaud together in Mélisande's bedroom enraptured by a lamp. It is this seemingly innocent interaction that drives Golaud over the edge, insane with jealousy, not because his wife is unfaithful, but shares a connection with his brother that he cannot even hope to understand.
The result is a heart-rending account of severe domestic abuse that serves not to copy "Othello," but to critique it.
Consider this a trigger warning for the potential reader that has experienced partner violence first-hand, as it can be quite brutal in the last two acts, made all the more horrific because Golaud initially comes across as a rather laid-back, kind, and gentle giant. There is a monster inside all of us that we can hide from family, our associates, and even ourselves until it becomes unleashed through drugs, alcohol, or simply because we are unmindful of our own foibles.
But without horror, without threat of our own destruction, how can we have any understanding or appreciation of our lives? We need darkness to be able to see light.
The writing style may put some people off. It is tempting to say that the English translation is not adequate, failing to flow poetically or even narratively like most dramas that have had more staying power. But even the original French, though it rolls off the tongue much more beautifully than the English editions, is written with very stilted dialogue. This makes it easy to read, but fails as a "closet drama." What I mean by a closet drama is a perfomance piece or script that is not chained to the stage, that can be appreciated in the mind's eye of the solitary reader. The sparseness of the scenes, lacking flow and descriptive power, and sometimes even defying the laws of physics or believability, does not evoke adequate visualization and immersion that should characterize a great "closet drama."
But this is rather typical of Symbolist writing, as the idea was to capture the essence of abstract ideas and universal truths that cannot be adequately described through language. Thus, Symbolist poems, plays, short stories, and novels tend to compress a lot of material into just a few words or sentences, the exact opposite of sprawling modernist writings like "In Search of Lost Time" and "Ulysses." Perhaps lack of early systemized education regarding classical mythology, symbols, allegory, and archetypes, combined with an overall reduction of individual imagination in the digital era of visual media, is partly responsible for the inability of Symbolism to maintain any substantial hold on the public consciousness as an art form. And if that is so, this play seems to suffer greatly for it, because I can easily foresee a lot of modern readers finding it to be a largely forgettable domestic drama where every character is an underdeveloped stereotype doing things that make not a lick of sense, and thus finding the whole thing over-the-top and over-rated.
For example, Mélisande superficially comes across as an airheaded, histrionic whipping post, doing and saying idiotic things when she is allowed to do or say anything at all, and failing to exhibit an ounce of courage, strength, or common sense. She can be seen as a stereotypical pre-modernist damsel in distress, fretting and swooning and crying while simultaneously putting herself in compromising positions like hanging out of castle towers and playing a ridiculous game of toss with her wedding ring over a bottomless pool. This will no doubt anger and frustrate modern readers. I've listened to a few performances of the play, and it seems the typical portrayal of Mélisande doesn't do the character any favors, who is often played with breathless, quivering fragility without any indication that this is an actual person. "Oh, I am so dreadfully unhappy! Oh, my Lord, do take me away from this place! Oh, I shall faint! Oh, I shall fall down! Oh, I may stub my royal toe! Oh, I may break a nail! Ooohhhwww!"
And that's a real shame, as I do not think that was the character Maeterlinck intended. It is strongly implied that Mélisande had escaped some awful betrayal before she was discovered by Golaud and was in traumatic shock, even throwing away her crown into the well. But this also implies that she is someone who knows how to take care of herself, willing to dispose of riches and status if she is to not to be treated as a human being. We do not know exactly how much time passed between when she was found by Golaud and the rest of the play, what she went through to eventually trust him, and why she eventually married him in the first place, because what matters is that she unwittingly jumped from the frying pan into the fire, doomed to repeat the cycle of abuse in a world where women are property. She is still young, naturally a child despite being forced to grow up fast, and so she does make some dopey mistakes, and it is her inherent innocence that draws her to the equally childlike Pelléas. Her ability to thrive, mature, and blossom in the light is stunted as her flower is brutally cut by blind jealousy and ignorance. Therefore, she is not a dainty spoiled princess from a 1940s Hollywood period melodrama, and should not be played as one. Nor does her character allow for a woke reimagining for "modern audiences"--a kick-ass girl-boss who doesn't need no man and who wins the day by smashing the testacles of the patriarchy. Her situation is very much rooted in unflattering, brutally honest reality, not fantasy, and is truly horrific and tragic. But whether you are an audio voice performer, an actor on stage or film, or a listener reading from the comfort of your living room, understanding Mélisande requires a modicum of empathy and imagination, because, as I said, the text is minimal, and Maeterlinck does NOT hold your hand.
So I would like to see more awareness of this overall poignant and important work, but I can understand why it may have fallen from the high status it used to enjoy in literary and artistic circles in the early 20th Century. Still, I think that you will get the most out of it if you cast aside modern expectations and approach it thoughtfully from a more universal, timeless, humanisitic perspective. It is quite short and easy to read, so give it a try and see what you think.
SCORE: 4/5