He seems to have been of an umbrageous character. His life was sad and
simple. He was born August 20, 1860, at Montevideo--"Ville en
amphitheatre, toits en terrasses, rues en daumiers, rade enorme"--of
Breton parentage. He died at Paris, 1887. Gustave Kahn, the symbolist
poet, describes Laforgue in his Symbolistes and Decadents as a serious
young man, with sober English manners and an extreme rectitude in the
matter of clothes. Not the metaphysical Narcissus that was once
Maurice Barres--whose early books show the influence of Laforgue. He
adored the philosophy of the Unconscious as set forth by Von Hartmann,
was erudite, collected delicate art, thought much, read widely, and
was an ardent advocate of the Impressionistic painters. I have a
pamphlet by Mederic Dufour, entitled Etude sur l'AEthetique de Jules
Laforgue: une Philosophie de l'Impressionisme, which is interesting,
though far from conclusive, being an attack on the determinism of
Taine, and a defence of Monet, Pissarro, and Sisley. But then we only
formulate our preferences into laws. The best thing in it is the
phrase: "There are no types, there is only humanity," to the wisdom of
which we must heartily subscribe. From 1880 to 1886 Laforgue was
reader to the Empress Augusta at Berlin and was admired by the
cultivated court circle, as his letters to his sister and M.
Ephrussi, his friend, testify. He was much at home in Germany and
there is no denying the influence of Teutonic thought and spirit on
his susceptible nature. Naturally prone to pessimism (he has called
himself a "mystic pessimist") as was Amiel, the study of Hegel,
Schopenhauer, and Hartmann solidified the sentiment. He met an English
girl, Leah Lee, by name, and after giving her lessons in French, fell
in love, and in 1887 married her. It is interesting to observe the
sinister dandy in private life, as a tender lover, a loving brother.
This spiritual dichotomy is not absent in his poetry. He holds back
nothing in his self-revelations, except the sad side, though there is
always an exquisite tremulous sensibility in his baffling art. A few
months after his marriage he was attacked by the fatal malady, as was
his unfortunate wife, and he was buried on his twenty-seventh
birthday. Gustave Kahn notes that few followed him to the grave. He
was unknown except to some choice spirits, the dozen superior persons
of Huysmans, scattered throughout the universe. His wife survived him
only a short time. Little has been written of him, the most complete
estimate being that of Camille Mauclair, with an introduction by
Maeterlinck--who calls his Hamlet more Hamlet than Shakespeare's. In
addition to these, and Dufour, Kahn, De Gourmont and Felix Feneon, we
have in English essays by George Moore, Arthur Symons, Philip Hale,
the critic of music, and Aline Gorren. Mr. Moore introduced Laforgue
in company with Rimbaud to the English reading world and Mr. Symons
devoted to him one of his sensitive studies in The Symbolist Movement
in Literature. Mr. Hale did the same years ago for American readers in
a sympathetic article, The Fantastical Jules Laforgue. He also
translated with astonishing fidelity to the letter and spirit of the
author, his incomparable Lohengrin, Fils de Parsifal. I regret having
it no longer in my possession so that I might quote from its delicious
prose. As to the verse, I know of few attempts to translate the
untranslatable. Perhaps Mr. Symons has tried his accomplished hand at
the task. How render the sumptuous assonance and solemn rhythms of
Marche Funebre: O convoi solennel des soleils magnifiques?