The theatrical praxis and its visual roots: Sarah Kane, Maurice Maeterlinck and the Post-Dramatic
Eduardo Tudella
Florianópolis, v.4, n.49, p.1-26, dez. 2023
Nobel Prize for Literature in 1911.
“[…] in appreciation of his many-sided literary activities, and especially of
his dramatic works, which are distinguished by a wealth of imagination
and by a poetic fancy, which reveals, sometimes in the guise of a fairy
tale, a deep inspiration, while in a mysterious way they appeal to the
readers’ own feelings and stimulate their imaginations” (The Nobel, 2012).
Maeterlinck’s treatment of the scene impressed Peter Szondi (1983), who
considered him responsible for a new direction in drama. Szondi mentions the
opening notes of
The Blind
[
Les Aveugles
, (1890)] in which the playwright “paints”
what can be considered the ‘zero’ verbal image of the play, a kind of imagery
suspension where the visual logos inscribed in a play is introduced. The expanse
of the image created by Maeterlinck, whose fragments are mentioned by Szondi,
is full of provocations that refer to light:
A northern forest, very ancient, eternal in appearance, under a brilliantly
starry sky. In the center, and facing the depths of the night, sits a very old
priest, wrapped in a large black cloak. Your back and head, slightly facing
upwards and mortally immobile, they rest on the trunk of an enormous
and cavernous oak. The face has an immutable waxy lividity, where purple
lips are parted. Mute, staring eyes no longer look at the visible side of
eternity and seem bloodied under a great volume of ancient pains and
tears. The hair, of a serious whiteness, falls in hard and rare locks on the
face more illuminated and more tired than anything around him, in the
attentive silence of the same forest. Thin hands are rigidly attached to
the thighs. On the right, six blind old men are sitting on rocks, dead
stumps, and leaves. To the left and separated from them by an uprooted
tree and pieces of rock, six women, also blind, are sitting in front of the
old men. Three of them pray and lament in a deaf and broken voice.
Another is very old. The fifth, in an attitude of mute dementia, has a
sleeping child on her knees. The sixth is a luminous young woman, whose
hair floods her entire being. They, like the old men, wear loose, dark,
uniform garments. Most wait, elbows on knees, face in hands; and they
all seem to have lost the habit of the useless gesture and no longer turn
their heads towards the muffled murmurs of the island. Great sepulchral
trees, yews, willows, cypresses, cover them with their faithful shadows. A
tuft of long, diseased asphodel blooms near the priest in the night. There
is a profound darkness, despite the brightness of the moon, which here
and there, tries to remove, for a moment, the darkness from the foliage
(Maeterlinck, 1890, p. 75-76).
Ewald Hackler, in his unpublished article dealing with tangencies that connect
Maeterlinck and Samuel Beckett (1906-1989), emphasizes the dramaturgical