memoirs of a widower, the chosen title says enough autobiographical intention.
verlaine did not wait for mathilde's remarriage, which took place on october 30, 1886, precisely at the time when the work was appearing, to consider himself, by a pathetic paradox which nevertheless translates a strange fidelity , to oneself, to the other, as a "widower". "it's me who left", already said the letter of october 4, 1872 to victor hugo. gone, indeed, but not detached. detached, it will never be.
and it was enough for him, to feel rejected, abandoned, "widowed", not to be immediately forgiven and taken back, it was enough, even, that his plea was not heard. the widower, too, the inconsolable, that's what he believes in himself, feels or wants to be. one of the beautiful love poems: a widower speaks, is dated 1878. the litany will never end. but, widower, it is not just mathilde that he is: it is everything he has known and loved, and from which no more, until the end, he will not be able to get rid of: he is of lucien viotti, the friend or lover of his youth, he is of himself perhaps and of his own life.
verlaine did not wait for mathilde's remarriage, which took place on october 30, 1886, precisely at the time when the work was appearing, to consider himself, by a pathetic paradox which nevertheless translates a strange fidelity , to oneself, to the other, as a "widower". "it's me who left", already said the letter of october 4, 1872 to victor hugo. gone, indeed, but not detached. detached, it will never be.
and it was enough for him, to feel rejected, abandoned, "widowed", not to be immediately forgiven and taken back, it was enough, even, that his plea was not heard. the widower, too, the inconsolable, that's what he believes in himself, feels or wants to be. one of the beautiful love poems: a widower speaks, is dated 1878. the litany will never end. but, widower, it is not just mathilde that he is: it is everything he has known and loved, and from which no more, until the end, he will not be able to get rid of: he is of lucien viotti, the friend or lover of his youth, he is of himself perhaps and of his own life.
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