Alfred JARRY

Alfred JARRY |Ý 1873ñ1907

Ý
Jarry
by Gene Van Dyke, 1996
Ý

One hundred years ago this past December, the theatre world met Alfred Jarry's ìPËre Ubuî for the first time. For the premier of Ubu Roi at LugnÈ-Poe's ThÈ’tre de l'Oeuvre, a crowd of intellectuals and invited friends had gathered at the ThÈ’tre Nouveau in the Rue Blanche expecting something new and exciting. The theatre had been at the forefront of theatrical experimentation since its first production of Maeterlinck's PellÈas and MÈlisande in 1893. Little did anyone realize the extent to which LugnÈ's motto ìthe word creates the dÈcorî would be exploited. What followed was an artistic melee that the Parisian stage (and the world stage) never fully recovered from. Shortly after, LugnÈ-Poe all but abandoned his spirit of experimentation. Ubu Roi itself was not produced again until 1908, the year after Jarry's death.

However important the premier of Ubu Roi was, the play's beginnings might seem a little less than ìliteraryî. The character of Ubu has its origin in a simple schoolboy satire. In October 1888, a 15-year-old Alfred Jarry enrolled at the LycÈe de Rennes. While there, he was befriended by Henri Morin, a fellow classmate. Their favorite pastime was inventing stories about a professor named FÈlix HÈbert.

ìHÈbert had the misfortune to teach physics at the lycÈeî (Lennon, 25). He was ìan enormously fat, ridiculous and ineffectual figureî (Beaumont, 14). Even before Jarry entered the lycÈe, HÈbert ìwas already the hero-villain of a vast and diffuse body of schoolboy legend, epic and farceî (Beaumont, 14). Morin and his brother Charles had written a play about PËre Heb ìabout a year before Jarry had come to Rennesî (Lennon, 25). That play was The Poles (Les Polonais).

Other similar works by the Morins ìwere widely read and performedî (Schumacher, 20). Still, it was The Poles that Jarry seized upon and made his own. (The question of Jarry's authorship would later be attacked in Charles Chasse's Sous le masque d'Alfred Jarry: les sources d'Ubu-Roi.) The Poles contains the same basic plot as Ubu Roi. In it, ìPËre Heb, King of Polandî is goaded into taking over the world by his wife. It was ìyour basic schoolboy satireî hardly an original piece of writingî (Lennon, 26).

In Jarry's hands, ìthe play became decidedly more bizarreî (lennon, 26). He expanded the work and more clearly defined the nature of Heb's character, adding such things as the concentric circles on his belly that represented ìsimultaneous states of emptiness and greedî (Lennon, 26). What was evolving was a character that embodied everything that Jarry was growing to hateóthe world's first truly unredeemable character. Jarry would continue to modify the play, eventually renaming the character Ubu. Still, the extent to which Jarry ultimately elaborated on the original ìwill doubtless never be knownî (Beaumont, 17). Regardless, ìthe world premier of The Poles took place in December 1888, in the Morins' attic, ìusing a set of marionettes that Jarry had gotten for Christmasî (Lennon, 26). During the period between the Morinsí attic and the Parisian stage, Ubu continued to fester within Jarryís mind. Ubu began to appear in printed variations. The first of these was Guignol (1893), and the second was Caesar Antichrist (1894). The actual text of Ubu Roi was printed twice in 1896 before the December premier (Schumacher, 24).

But Jarry would not rest until the play had been realized on the stage.

Alfred Jarry was becoming an established figure in Parisian literary circles. His reputation let him to a meeting with LugnÈ-Poe. Jarry had been admiring his work with the symbolists for about five years (Schumacher, 24). When he was asked to become LugnÈís secretary in the summer of 1895, Jarry leapt at the chance. LugnÈ-Poe was going to be Ubuís ticket to the stage. At first, Jarry considered pushing Les PolyËdres (the original title for Ubu Cocu), but changed his mind after Ubu Roi had won favorable reviews in the press (Taylor, 12). On the 8th of January, Jarry wrote to LugnÈ-Poe, outlining the reasons that Ubu Roi should be produced (Schumacher, 24). In it, he mentioned how cheap a production would be and pointed out that the play was ìfull of commercial potentialî (Lennon, 47).

Jarryís only close female friend, Rachilde Vallette, was also a friend of LugnÈ-Poeís and she asked him not only to stage the play, but to give Jarry ìa free handî in its production (Lennon, 47). The ever-skeptical LugnÈ was finally won over by the pricetag. He would later find himself with only 1,300 francs drawn in at the box-officeóhardly enough to cover the expense (Beaumont, 95). The stage was set. Jarry consumed himself with preparations for the show. ìThe final production of Ubu Roi, was thus far more the work of Jarry himself than anyone elseî (Beaumont, 97).

Jarry made himself a general annoyance to LugnÈ-Poe. He would note in his memoirs that Jarry was ìas stubborn as a Breton muleî (Beaumont, 94). Jarry insisted on certain conventions of speech, action, and setting. The staccato manner of speaking, the misplaced accents, the puppet-like movement, the use of masks, the use of placards, the hodge-podge style of scenic paintingóall of these were Jarryís ideas (Beaumont, 97-99). In fact, a lot of the construction was done by Jarry himself. It seemed as if Jarry could not separate himself from Ubu. And the show went on, despite its author.

The story of Ubu Roi's premier has been told again and again, but a lot of the facts have been convoluted by time, sloppy academics, and the fallacy of the human memory. We are left with two questions. What exactly did happen in December of 1896? When did it actually happen? The second of these questions may seem easily solved by opening any book on the subject. In fact, I did not even expect the matter to be worthy of discussing beyond quoting a date. What I found, however, was enough variation to merit a closer look.

All of the sources I looked at included two things. First, there are the accounts of a strange curtain speech by Jarry. Second, there are the accounts of the ìriotî that occurred during the actual performance. It is a fact of history that both of these events did occur. What has been confused is the actual order in which these events took place. Before I reconstruct what happened, I must first establish an accurate chronology.

Most sources give December 10, 1896 as the date of Ubu Roi's premier. This is in fact an accurate date, but as Kieth Beaumont points up in his very thorough work Alfred Jarry: ìa distinction . . . needs to be made between the dress rehearsal of 9 December and the premiËre of 10 Decemberóa distinction frequently blurred in the memories of those participants who later recalled the scene (including LugnÈ-Poe), and perpetuated by many writers on the subject sinceî(100-101). More often than not, the entire series of occurrences is squeezed into one evening and dated the 10th. There were actually two ìriotsî. The smaller one happened at the GÈnÈral on the 9th and was preceded by Jarryís infamous curtain speech. The larger one happened the following evening, but was not preceded by a speech from Jarry. These were the only two performances.

Among the sources I have examined, Beaumont appears to be the only one who has accurately sorted through this mess. In Linda Klieger Stillmanís Alfred Jarry, she fuses both evenings and dates them the 10th (56-57). In Alfred Jarry and Guillaume Appollinaire, Claude Schumacher gets both dates correct, yet claims that the 10th was ìcalmerî (25). In a work that both excels and suffers from hero worship, Nigey Lennon again fuses the events, but goes one step further by giving the opening date as the 11th (48). This is easily refuted by the fact that the first printed responses are dated the 11th (Beaumont, 101-103). Also, many translations of Ubu Roi also contain these errors in there introduction. One 1953 edition, translated as King Turd by Beverly Kieth and G. Legman, reprints Jarry's entire curtain speech under the date ì10 December 1896î (11).

All of the preceding may seem to be a small matter to some. After all, we are only talking about the difference of a day and perhaps whether or not the audience heard Jarry speak or not. The problem is that historical misinformation breeds (as it obviously has in this case). (I remember being taught in undergraduate that everything had happened on the 10th.) Perhaps Alfred Jarry himself would be more easily satisfied, citing that in a pataphysical sense, all of the sources are accurate.

On the evening of the 9th, friends, intellectuals, and fellow supporters gathered to see what sort of monstrosity Jarry had created. Many of them had already read the play, so the myth of the first riot seems impossible (Beaumont, 100). What was a little unnerving though was Jarry's curtain speech. Rachilde had tried to talk him out of this, but he insisted following the fashion of the day (Beaumont, 99). In front of the curtain a table was placed. Jarry appeared and walked over to it like an android. He was dressed in a ìbaggy black suitî and his hair was ìplastered down like Bonaparteî (Lennon, 48). Beaumont describes him as looking like a ìcircus clown in a white shirt with a huge starched front and an enormous bow-tieî and his face white from fear. The speech was ìdelivered in the clipped tones of Ubuî (99). Jarry thanked many of the critics in the audience and followed with what I believe to be quintessential pataphysics:

ìThe Sedenborgian philosopher, MÈsËs, has excellently compared rudimentary creations with the most perfect, and embryonic beings with the most complete, in that the former lack all irregularities, protuberances, and qualities, which leaves them in more or less spherical form, like the ovum and M. Ubu, while the latter have added so many personal details that they remain equally spherical, following the axiom that the most polished object is that which presents the greatest number of sharp corners. That is why you are free to see in M. Ubu however many allusions you care to, or else a simple puppetóa schoolboy's caricature of one of his professors who personified for him all the ugliness in the worldî (Jarry, 11).

He then made a number of apologies as to the final state of the production. He claimed there was not enough time for rehearsal, and that this had resulted in certain cuts to the scriptóincluding ìseveral passages indispensable to the meaning and equilibrium of the playî (Jarry, 12). He also admitted that ìhe and his celebrated scene painters (which included Toulouse-Lautrec, SÈrusier, and Bonnard) had been ëup all nightí painting last minute propsî and that the grand orchestra had to be reduced to a piano and a drum (Lennon, 48-49). He ended by saying, ìas to the action that is about to begin, it takes place in Polandóthat is to say, nowhereî (Jarry, 13). He bowed awkwardly and left.

In front of a restless audience, Ma and Pa Ubu took to the stage. Playing the title role was the ìmagnificent actor Fermin GÈmier, on loan from the ComÈdie Francaiseî (Lennon, 49). Most accounts claim a riot began as soon as GÈmier spoke the first word of the play. This is not true of the gÈnÈral. The performance actually went along without any real interruption until Act III, Scene 5. The scene involved the newly crowned King Ubu visiting his former friend Bordure at the Thorn prison.

ìHere in place of the door of the prison cell, an actor stood with one arm outstretched; GÈrmier ëinsertedí a key into his hand, made a clicking noise, and turned the arm as if opening a doorî (Beaumont, 100). ìAt that moment, the audience, doubtless finding that the joke had gone on long enough, began to shout and stormî (Schumacher, 73). Everything halted, until a furious GÈrmier hit upon the idea of dancing a jig. ìThe audience broke into laughter, and the performance was able to continue, although further periodic interruptions occurred until the endî (Beaumont, 100).

LugnÈ-Poe considered the performance a scandal, while Laurent Tailhad considered it ìa milestone in the history of Symbolismî (Beaumont, 99). Beaumont recounts W.B. Yeats' sad reflection:

ìAfter StÈphane MallarmÈ, after Paul Verlaine, after Gustave Moreau, after Puvis de Chavannes, after our own verse, after all our subtle colour and nervous rhythm, after the faint mixed tints of Conder, what more is possible? After us the Savage God.î (99).

The premiere, the following evening, was a different matter indeed. In attendance were ìall the leading in the worlds of politics, journalism and lettersî. GrÈmier once again spoke the opening ëMerdre!í (ëShite!í). The audience immediately burst out with a roar. GrÈmier was ìunable to get a word in edgewise for the next fifteen minutesî (Lennon, 49). It was the first time that someone had spoken such a word on the modern stage.

GÈmier tried to silence the audience by blowing a tramway horn (Beaumont, 100). Many people left the theatre. A fight broke out in the orchestra pit, while Jarry's supporters yelled, ìYou wouldn't have understood Shakespeare or Wagner either!î (Lennon, 48). Others shouted, ìCan't you see that the author is taking us for a bunch of damned fools?î (Beaumont, 100). When GrÈmier had finally gotten slight control of the audience, he spoke the second wordóanother ëMerdre!í. Needless to say, the audience started to howl once more. They shouted at the stage and at each other. When things quieted down again, the play proceeded as planned. Smaller outbursts continued throughout the performance. In the days that followed, the violent battle for and against Ubu Roi would move on into the Parisian press.

When one considers he climate of the Parisian stage during this period, the tumult becomes more understandable. Beaumont points out two things about the French Theatre. First it was a theatre of entertainment that catered to a bourgeois public. For most audience members, it was anything but a place for experimentation. It was ìessentially Parisianî:

ìIn 1900, here were more theatres in Paris aloneósome 50 in allóthan in the whole rest of France.î

The dominant model at that time was EugËne Scribe's well-made play. This left a tradition of technique over content. Certainly a few playwrights attempted their own revolutionsóDumas fils, Augier, Labiche and Feydeau, and one would be ignorant to ignore the work of Antoine's ThÈ’tre Libre. Still, the common taste still prevailed. Beaumont goes as far as to consider this period ìthe lowest ebb in its historyî when ìconsidered from an artistic point of view.î

Secondly, there was also a growing trend toward realism in the theatre, the paradoxes of which were only beginning to be questioned. Plays were supposed to make the audience ëbelieveí in ways that they had never been asked to before. Obviously, Jarry's creation stood in direct opposition to all of the above. (86-88) Because of Ubu Roi, Alfred Jarry has become the adopted father of a number of departures from the theatrical right. The symbolists claimed him, as would the surrealists. The family tree has been drawnótime and time againódown to the futurist and Dada movements. Antonin Artaudóone of the single greatest influences on the second-wave avant-gardeówas a disciple of Jarry's (naming a theatre in his honor). Martin Esslin linked him to the absurdists. From Breton to Tzara to Beckettóthe roads, more often than not, seem to lead back to the head of that madman from Laval.

The staging conventions that were broken with Ubu Roi have helped feed the imaginations of designers and directors alike. Any one element is worthy its own analysisóor even better, its own enjoyment. And if you stripped all of these things away you would be left with the one thing that I believe to be Jarryís most revolutionary contributionóUbu himself. In 1896, the stage met with its fist true anti-protagonist. He is everything that is foul in the world, in a pure senseódevoid of any redeeming characteristic or capacity. He is not diluted with Iago's cunning or Macbeth's guilt. And somehow he is not unlike us.

WORKS CITED

Beaumont, Kieth. Alfred Jarry. Bath, Great Britain: Leicester

University Press, 1984.

Jarry, Alfred. King Turd. tr. by Beverly Kieth and George Legman.

New York: Boar's Head Books, 1953.

Lennon, Nigey. Alfred Jarry: the Man With the Axe. Los Angeles:

Panjandrum Books, 1984.

Schumacher. Alfred Jarry and Guillaume Apollinaire. London:

Macmillan, 1984.

Stillman, Linda Klieger. Alfred Jarry. Boston: Twayne, 1983.

Taylor, Simon Watson. Introduction to The Ubu Plays by Alfred Jarry.

Great Britain: Eyre Mthuen, 1968.