To the Illustrious Cabaner

“May he be cursed, this Wagner

Who stole your glory from you!

Glory to your name, Cabaner!

Nerve—

Where all harmony vibrates!”

Anonymous, 1881

 

“Symbolism dead! But it is, precisely, that which does not die, for it’s the quivering idea, living in all forms. In art as in nature, everything can be a symbol, since everything has a hidden meaning.”

Willy, 1901

 

“‘Everything is possible to science,’ said Archibold, authoritatively. 

“‘Easy, even,’  Hatchitt approved. “‘The world will be ended by science, as Edenic humankind perished. All religions have predicted it.’ 

“‘Science must have limits?’  I objected, in order to reassure myself. 

“‘Science has no limits,’  Archibold replied. “‘Science is progress—a forward march, with no pause, and no terminus. Its law, the law of mind, is to accelerate, just as the law of bodies is to accelerate as they fall, increasing their speed in proportion to the square of the distance. It’s only two hundred years since man began the conquest of science; he’s still stammering its elements, trying his first steps—but he will take his course, and his speed will be multiplied by the square of centuries. We would go mad if it were given to us to see where man has arrived a thousand years hence, progressing at such a pace, and yet it is we ourselves who will have made that road. For humankind, Pascal says, is but one man ‘who always subsists and who learns incessantly;’ one man who will know, one day, the ultimate limits of things; for whom his world will have no more secrets, and who, disdaining even the puerile work of destroying it, will kick it away like a cadaver worn out by the scalpel, and will pursue his studies on a better planet, on golden Vulcan, or even in a sun.’”

Comte Didier de Chousy, 1884

 

“The unaccustomed flamboyance of Mars—uniquely due, perhaps, to the general adoption of the Auer mantle by the inhabitants of that planet—has brought the ever-interesting topic of interastral communication back to the table of discussion. 

“How can we signal to them, and inform them that the Earth, our beloved little Earth, is populated by intelligent beings (I mean my readers) perfectly capable of entering into communication with them? 

“Charles Cros was very interested in this question and published a curious little essay in which he proposed a system of luminous signals, beginning with a very simple rhythm and progressing to more complicated rhythms, susceptible to being perceived and understood by individuals of a cerebral organization analogous to ours.

“If the Martians have their backs turned to us at present, it’s necessary to shout very loudly to make them turn round. You’re beginning see the plan: to mobilize, for an hour, the entire human species, all the animals, all the bells, all the pistols, rifles, cannon, all the parliamentary assemblies, all the orchestras, from Lamoureux’s to the municipal band of Honfleur and the Queen of Madagascar’s fanfare, etc., etc., pianos, mothers-in-law—in brief, all creatures or objects capable of making a noise.

“Mars being separated from the Earth by so many leagues, and sound travelling at so many leagues per second, the Martian will hear our concert after so many hours, minutes and seconds. After a lapse of twice that time, plus the time needed to organize a response, if we don’t hear any astral clamor, it’s either because the Martians are as deaf as posts or that they’re giving us the cold shoulder, like their premier lager, Mars beer.”

Alphonse Allais, 1902

“[At New Caledonia,] I had my own ideas for an orchestra: I wanted to shake palm branches, strike bamboo, create a horn from shells, and use the tones produced by a leaf pressed against the lips. In short, I wanted a Kanaka orchestra, complete with quarter tones. Thanks to knowledge I had gotten from Daoumi and the Kanakas who brought supplies, I believed I knew enough to try. But my plan was blocked by the Committee for Light Classical Theater. Indeed, they accused me of being a savage.”

Louise Michel, 1888

ABOUT THE LOWER RESONANCE 

Of the sympathetic vibration of a low string to the call of a high string, and of the possible consequences deriving therefrom. 

“Until now, scholars have not admitted that any sound was capable of sympathetically causing another sound, lower than itself, to vibrate sympathetically, whatever their concomitance (see d'Alembert, Helmholtz, Tyndall, Koenig, etc.). Now, it is the practical realization of such an experience that I come to discuss.

“The wise reservations of Helmholtz having made me skeptical with regard to the scientific value of the results obtained on the harmonium, I preferred the piano, which eliminates, as much as possible, harmonics, hums, etc. 

“Having practiced first octave, quintoyer in the treble, Yut z of the piano, then the neighboring notes, I soon became quite skilful in this preparatory exercise, so much so that I no longer needed to release from its damper the high string which was to vibrate sympathetically at the call of the fundamental sound of the series to which it belonged. 

“With this result acquired, I tried to obtain, from a sound lower than the note emitted, what the higher sounds had given me, fairly quickly. I had to achieve a hammering whose rhythm matched synchronically with the number of vibrations of the target string in order to succeed. 

“Finally, I had the satisfaction of hearing, very faintly, the low sound. 

“To be certain I wasn't objectifying a chimerical sound, I had competent witnesses--one of them a sensitive composer, the others poets--pass in front of my piano, in such numbers that it was no longer possible for me to doubt.”

Edmond Bailly, 1893

 

“I have undertaken a task that is beyond me; there being no precedent to go on, I find myself obliged to invent new forms.” 

Claude Debussy, 1885

“At this distance, there’s joy in hearing the silence of the heavenly bodies. At closer range, the harmony of the spheres gets on my nerves. It’s more pleasing to listen to the lyre of infinity when its three strings are broken. Thought rises to the secret of the skies. Everything is counted by weight and measure. Everywhere, however, emptiness is superabundant. Zero is the sacred number. Everything rests on that. Its form is mysterious. It has neither beginning nor end. It grips without grasping. Without being, it appears; and the sphere of the worlds is a great zero that traces its emptiness in empty space.”

Edgar Quinet, 1834

 

“Be patient, Brahymus, proud foster-brother of the divine Brahyma; the cataclysm that ought to deliver you and put an end to the punishment that you are suffering is nigh. The Earth is stirring, its cocoon is growing, without humans perceiving it, for the continent of tomorrow has risen by several kilometers without the equilibrium of the tides being troubled thereby. Soon, it will be possible to calculate the enormous quantity of plasma absorbed by the Saturnian larva. Without that absorption of millions and millions of tons of liquid, America and Europe would already be submerged. Patience! Only two and a half centuries separate you from your liberation. Do not harbor any more hatred for me, whose carnal envelope the snows will preserve intact, when my spirit will be far away in the astral. I salute you, O imprisoned force; be kind to those I love and those who demand of your gaze the mystery of your torment. Adieu!”

Odette Dulac, 1926

Memories Without Regrets

Regarding Ernest Cabaner

“Whenever his fortune allowed him to cook for himself and eat at home, here was the recipe for his "frichti" (stew). Actually, it was quite good, and thrifty housewives could make an excellent sweet dessert out of it:

“On a bed of well-cooked rice, in a large earthenware dish, a few oranges—which his sense of aesthetics arranged harmoniously—some figs, and raisins; a few prunes, some water: that’s all. He would place this strange food over a low flame and let it simmer for long hours.

“So much for food.

“As for love, Cabaner held the most curious ideas about women. In his mind, they were inferior and demonic beings, with rare exceptions he would cite without blinking: 'Superior women, like Nini-Voyou, Madame de Staël, and Thérésa...'

“This state of mind led him to conceive of a paradise reserved specifically for intellectuals. The planet of his dreams was a planet made of flesh, inhabited solely by men—superior men, of course. It was at once the mother, the nurse, the communal wife, and the sanctuary of its inhabitants.

“Perhaps I should explain my friend’s fantastical vision a little. As a sanctuary, the planet offered the folds of its skin, and in winter, its forests of hair. As a nurse: rivers, lakes, and seas of milk escaped from its specialized glands. As for wife and mother, I believe I need not elaborate... let us move on.

“Cabaner, hating official music, had imagined a secondary system of his own. Everything: music theory, harmony, melodic construction, counterpoint, etc. In truth, when heard, it was actually quite good.”

Charles de Sivry, 1898

“In France, I found some friends on arriving in Paris who took an interest in Indian music, among them the venerable Monsieur Edmond Bailly, who was a lover of India and its music.  With the kind help and co-operation of Lady Churchill, he arranged our first concert in Paris. I gave a few lectures on music, with demonstrations.  I met many musicians, among them Monsieur Debussy, the great composer of France, who became very much interested in our rāgas. The evening when the rāgas were played to him, he always remembered and called it 'the evening of emotions.'”

Inayat Khan, 1924

“Near the confines of the polar circle, in Canada, in Labrador, in Greenland, there exists a species of remarkable animals whose paws are made of crystal, in the form of Champagne flutes, ornamented by a round foot, similar almost to the rackets that indigenous hunters used to walk on fresh snow. Those animals are made of snow doubtless, and ice; their eyes resemble multicolor pearls. Moreover, as they dance in the moonlight, their crystal paws, striking each other, give to the rare voyageurs there the sensation of a concert where one might hear harmonicas only.”

Émile Goudeau, 1888

“Books dealing with the music of ancient Greece usually state, without comment, that the tetrachords apparently constituting the original organization of Greek music had a descending slope; their tones were listed from higher to lower pitch. In several histories of music I read in the summer of 1917, I found brief statements, at times merely footnotes, that the standard musical progressions (or scales) of all ancient cultures descended from high to low notes. The implications of this are vast and profound, indicating that a total reversal of human consciousness of sound has occurred since ancient Greece. 

“Would anyone singing or playing scales today start with high-pitched sounds and gradually descend to lower pitches? Is not the feeling and thought of rising scales absolutely ingrained in present-day musical consciousness? 

“What could have occurred to produce such a reversal in musical consciousness?”

Dane Rudhyar, 1919

 

“'The Great Leader has given his approval to the clearance of America!' trumpeted the loudspeakers from the heights and base of the Monument. 'Go and see the flying machines that will hunt the Terrans—the prodigious volvites! Seven hundred kilometers per hour…departure of the first official squadron in five minutes!'

“'Hurrah for the Great Leader! Hurrah for the Boss!' howled the raucous throats of the Terromartians.”

Theo Varlet 1921

 

The Pebble Dead of Love
A story fallen from the Moon

On the 24th tchoum-tchoum (Wéga reckoning, 7th series), a frightful moonquake devastated the Sea of Tranquillity. Horrible—or charming—fissures appeared in this virgin yet fertile soil. A flint (nothing yet of the age of split stone, and all the more so of polished stone) ventured to roll down from a lost peak and, proud of its roundness, went to lodge itself a few phthwfg from fissure A.B.33, vulgarly called Monkey-Mold. The rosy aspect of this landscape, quite new to it, a flint barely disembarked from its peak, the black manganese moss that overhung the fresh abyss, drove the rash pebble wild; it stopped hard, upright, stupid.

The fissure burst into the delicious but silent laughter peculiar to the Beings of the Atmosphere-less Planet. Its physiognomy, in this laughter, far from losing any of its grace, gained a je-ne-sais-quoi of exquisite modernity. Enlarged, yet more coquettish, it seemed to say to the pebble: “Come on in, then, if you dare!”

The latter (whose true name was SKKJRO) judged it wise to precede his amorous assault with a serenade sung in the perfumed void of magnetic oxide. He employed the imaginary coefficients of an equitation of the fourth degree. It is known that in ethereal space one obtains, by this method, fugues without equal. (Plato, bk. XV, §13.)

The fissure (its selenian name means “Augustine”) at first appeared sensitive to this homage. It was even weakening, welcoming. The pebble, emboldened, was about to abuse the situation, to roll further, to penetrate perhaps…

Here the drama begins—brief, brutal, true. A second moonquake, jealous of this idyll, shook the dry ground. The fissure (Augustine), terrified, closed forever, and the pebble (Alfred) burst with rage. From that moment dates the Age of Split Stone.

Charles Cros, 1886

“At the head of a mauve bed on which the king is sleeping, a colossal serancolin Cherub spreads his hieratic wings. The sibylline monster, whose human head, taurean wings, leonine feet and aquiline wings allegorize the quaternary of eternal knowledge, must be the tutelary guardian of Assur.”

Victor-Émile Michelet, 1900

“Put your eye to this powerful telescope, and follow my explanations. The island, as you doubtless know, has the form of a human body. Direct the telescope toward its contours and you’ll be able, in places, to convince yourself of it. The Superman resolved to distribute his palaces in accordance with that disposition of nature. He occupies the location of the Brain. It’s from there that he directs the thought and action of his realm. Turn the visual axis of the instrument toward that region, and you’ll perceive, confusedly, the mass of brilliant domes beneath which he presides over our destiny. It’s fantastic! You’ll see that in due course. Come and look backwards now. 

“The Heart is that immense red dome, the swelling of which you can perceive. It is, along with the Brain, the most important system in the realm. Immense factories manufacture omnial, sympathetic, telepathic and other fluids there, the services of which we appreciate every day. Telephony, lighting and the various physical energies have their origin there. Also accumulated there is atmospheric electricity, heat from the central fire, the cold of glaciers and the tidal force of the sea, previously unutilized, which our engineers have been able to store.

“To conclude, separating in the sea, there are the inferior Limbs, populated like the Arms, and the region of the Ankles, where the slaves live.”

André Couvreur, 1904

 

Across the foliated space of the twenty-seven equivalents, Faustroll conjured up into the third dimension:

From Baudelaire, E. A. Poe's Silence, taking care to retranslate Baudelaire's translation into Greek.

From Bergerac, the precious tree into which the nightingale-king and his subjects were metamorphosed, in the land of the sun.

From Bloy, the black pigs of Death, retinue of the Betrothed.

From Coleridge, the ancient mariner's crossbow and the ship's floating skeleton, which, when placed in the skiff, was sieve upon sieve.

From Kahn, one of the golden peals from the celestial goldsmiths' shops.

From Lautréamont, the scarab, beautiful as the trembling of hands in alcoholism, which vanished over the horizon.

From Maeterlinck, the lights heard by the first blind sister.

From Mallarmé, the virgin, the bright, and the beautiful today.

From Mendes, the north wind which blew upon the green sea and blended with its salt the sweat of the galley slave who rowed until he was a hundred and twenty years old.

From Péladan, the reflection, in the mirror of the shield silvered with ancestral ashes, of the sacrilegious massacre of the seven planets.

From Régnier, the sorrel plain where the modern centaur snorted.

From Rimbaud, the icicles hurled by the wind of God into the waters.

From Schwob, the scaly animals imitated by the whiteness of the leper's hands.

From Ubu Roi, the fifth letter of the first word of the first act. 

From Verlaine, voices asymptotic toward death.

From Verne, the two and a half leagues of the earth's crust.

Alfred Jarry, 1911

“I thought: Before I write about my favorite artist, what have others written before me? I thought: Perhaps—Many have written about Edgar Poe. Only I’ve been disappointed, so very disappointed. There was just one able to grasp the spirit of him. There was only Baudelaire. Baudelaire whose art came from hashish. How could he not grasp him, he who formed valuable art out of alcohol and laudanum?”

Hanns Heinz Ewers, 1905

 

“Whereas natural or temporal music will all cease in the course of time, the principal music, whose unity can only be depicted by temporal music in successive form, and which is, in fine, the natural and divine music, will never cease.”

Louis Claude de Saint-Martin, 1790