THREE PLAYS OF MAETERLINCK.*

MAURICE MaRrEalaNcK, the young author whom a too enthusiastic admirer somewhat unkindly designated the " Belgian Shakespeare," and one of whose plays, L'Intruse, was acted in London under the direction of Mr. Beerbohm Tree, is "a symbolist " and a poet. The two words should almost of necessity be inseparable; and in studying Maeterlinck's works it is easy to recognise that he possesses in a very high degree that poetical insight, that power of moulding language to fit ideas, and of making ideas harmonise with language, necessary to form a masterpiece,—a masterpiece which, once perfected, it is almost hopeless and unnecessary to dissect. A comparison of Maeterlinck with Shakespeare, however, is neither worth considering nor refuting ; but the comparison was made by a foreigner, and foreigners, however good their will may be, seldom possess the requisite knowledge of English to understand the full beauty and meaning of our many-sided poet.

Putting aside the psychological question as to what in.

fluences have formed Maeterlinck's mind, also putting aside all criticism of the English translations of L'Intruse and La Princesse Maleine, we will confine our remarks to the three plays as they were written in French; and, indeed, the author's language is so simple, his characters so little complex, and, in Les Aveugles, his whole raise-en-scene so natural, that even an average French scholar can read and understand him; whilst his special charm and his strange merit must lose half their power by being converted into a language other than that which fashioned the poet's thoughts, and was his natural medium of expression.

Of the three plays, La Princesse Maleine, L'Intruse, and

Les Aveugles, we do not hesitate to give the palm to Les Aveugles, which in its own line—and this play is certainly original—is a perfect composition. It realises what its author wishes it to realise, and there is about it a unity of conception and of workmanship very rare in a young man's writings. Moreover, it possesses a right proportion of the mysterious and the matter of fact, of nature and art, so that the whole creates satisfaction in the reader's mind. His sense of fitness and proportion are satisfied, even though the dramatis personae are all blind, save one, an infant in arms unable to speak. But the sense of the ludicrous never strikes one, thus confirming the truth that art's greatest achievement is to make the im- possible or the improbable appear natural. That this achieve- ment was difficult even for Maeterlinck is easily seen, because in one only of his three plays does he attain this result, the other two certainly failing in one or other of the above merits ; so that one is led to believe Les Aveugles is a work born perfect., but which will leave no descendants.

There is no doubt that this play is highly symbolical, though

we do not pretend to have fathomed all its meaning ; indeed, as Maeterlinck tells us, he allows his characters to act for themselves as they would in life. (Life acts very strangely, however, in La Princesse Maleine.) Most likely he would himself be at a loss to explain all the symbolical meanings he has so richly worked into his composition, and it is an added charm to his play that every reader can adopt his own mean- ing without too great dread of contradiction. As to the bare facts of the story, they are simple enough. At the beginning of the play, the actors are thus enumerated :—The priest ; three men born blind ; the oldest blind man ; the fifth and the sixth blind man. Then follows :—Three blind women praying, the oldest blind woman; a young blind girl; and a mad blind woman. Her baby is left out of the list, but it plays an im- portant part, and is often to be heard crying. Though all these people are blind, they have distinctive characters which • 11.) La Princes•e Maleine. By Maurice Maeterlinck. Bruxelles.—(2) Lea Areugles and L'Intruse. By Maurice Maeter.inck. Bruxelles.—(3.) Prin- cess(' Mal.ine and The Intruder. Translated by Gerard Harry. London: Heinemann. should be studied. The opening description of the Inise.en- scene is very beautiful : All around, the gloomy ancient forest ; above, the starry vault of heaven trying to pierce through the dense foliage ; leaning against the trunk of a tree the corpse of the wearied-out, white-haired priest, is to be seen, his hands clasped in front of him, his dumb, tear-stricken eyes no longer gazing at the visible side of eternity. On the right, the blind men are seated on stones and dead leaves ; on the left, divided from them by rocks and fallen timber, are the six blind women. Three are praying ; one is weighed down with years ; the mad one moans as she lulls her sleeping in- fant; and the last is very young, having masses of beautiful long hair falling around her. Most of them lean their head upon their hands, and all have lost the useless motions of the seeing, for they no longer turn their heads to listen to the various forest sounds about them. Tall, melancholy trees, such as the willow, the yew, and the cypress, over- shadow the whole party, and near to the priest grows a tuft of sickly asphodel. It is very dark, in spite of the moon- beams which here and there try to dispel the darkness.

The play simply consists of conversation between these blind people ; they belong to the Hospice for the Blind, where all the attendants are old. The priest led them out in the morning to this wood; then, bidding them wait for him, he moved off, but, after walking a few steps, utterly wearied, he sank down and died. The blind people are waiting in vain for his return. Half through the play the house-dog rushes upon the scene, fawns on them, and drags one of them to where the priest sits dead and immovable. Horror-struck, they reproach each other for past ingratitude to him, and they wonder who now will lead them back ; will any one see them ? The people in the tall lighthouse never come down from their high position, and never gaze but one way—sew. ward. The Sisters of the Hospice never walk out at night ; so there seems no hope for them, and they now begin to hear the mysterious whispers around them,—the moaning of the sea, the howling of the north wind, the rustle of the dead leaves, and, lastly, the echo of footsteps in the far, far dis- tance. They huddle together as the steps come nearer and nearer, and as they hear the trailing of garments brushing against the fallen leaves. " Lift up the child," says the oldest woman, "so that he at least may see ;" and the girl holds up the infant, but adds : " The footsteps have paused amongst us." " They are here, in the midst of us," says the old woman; and the young girl calls out : " Who are you ? " Then silence ensues till the old woman cries : " Have pity on us." Another silence—the child cries—and the play ends, for Death has come.

We have only touched a few points in this remarkable play. It is many-sided. There is the human interest which centres forcibly round the forsaken and helpless blind people; then there is the delicate character-drawing, and a very true study of the strange intermingling of the senses felt by the blind, and experienced differently by the born blind and those who have become blind ; and lastly, there is the rich symbolic side of the work. Here let us quote Maeterlinck's own idea about symbolism :-

" Je ne crois pas que l'oeuvre puisse naitre viablement du symbole, mais le symbole nait toujours de l'ceuvre si celle-ci est

viable le symbole qui emane de la vie de tout etre est bien plus haut et plus impenetrable que le plus merveilleux symbole preconcu, et la simple vie des Urea contient des verites mille fois plus profondes que tontes celle que peuvent concevoir nos plus hautes penseea."

As for the meaning of Les Aveugles, might we explain the blind to be those who have long leant upon Religion, and followed it from mere force of habit, bat who, at last, when deprived of its support, acknowledge that they have never valued it at its true worth ? When Religion is dead, they turn to the philosophers who live so high above the ordinary mortals, but who see but one side of all questions,—these "philosophers who darken and put out eternal truth by ever- lasting doubt." Bat no real help must be expected from them ; they cannot stop the advance or the fear of Death, whose footsteps are so plainly heard. To the young, Death does not cause so much fear as to the aged. The girl has often plucked the pale asphodel's which cover the meads of the lower world, where the spirit of the swift-footed Achilles moves in mighty strides, and the hunter Orion again pursues his prey; but the aged can smell no sweetness in the withered flowers. The Sisters in the Hospice have narrowed their ideas, and cannot come forth from their conventional religious retreat to lead back those who have strayed and are blind ; and even the watch-dog, Custom, believing Religion to be dead, fails in its ordinary duty.

Naturally, these symbols might be explained in the opposite way,—as expressing the powerlessness of Religion to accomplish its mission, failing even in its last act to bring comfort to the mental distress of the helpless, and at the end leaving those who looked for its help to die of despair. But the author tells us that his wish is to give us a picture which obeys universal laws ; and he says of his mental vision : Si je l'ecoute c'est l'univers et l'ordre des chores qui pensent a ma place, et j'irai sans fatigue an dela de moi meme ; si je lai resiste on pent dire que je me debat contre Dieu." Such words do not point to an anti-religious meaning in the author's work. In any case, the mystery of Nature is made use of to create the weird effect of the picture ; and besides all this, the sound of words has been deeply studied, so that this play should be read aloud fully to realise its success. Indeed, the author might with more truth be likened to Wagner than to Shakespeare.

In Les Aveugles, then, we have unity ; bat in L'Intruse, though the same method is employed, the same result is not attained. The intruder is Death, and the family to whom it comes consists of a blind grandfather, a father, three daughters, and an uncle. They are sitting in a room waiting for the doctor, and the sister of the wife, who has been very ill after the birth of her child, but who is reported to be out of danger. The old grandfather's anxiety for his child will not be quieted ; his ears can discern the weird sounds of the coming of Death, which those about him explain away. The sweep of the scythe is the gardener mowing the grass ; the faint footsteps on the gravel are those of the aunt ; the pushing open of the door is the servant entering ; and the going out of the light is caused by the draught. But all through this clever play the human interest is not strong enough, and the reader does not care much whether the sick woman dies or recovers ; indeed, at last we are inclined to smile when, as the Sister of Charity opens the door and makes the Sign of the Cross in token of the presence of Death, the family hasten in, but the uncle " s'efface poliment " to let the ladies go first. This false note spoils the effect of the grandfather's cry : " Where are you going, where are you going ; you have left me all alone."

The same mistake—that is—the want of sufficient human interest—is repeated in La Princesse Maleine. Moreover, the English reader will be irritated by hearing an echo of Hamlet. There is the wicked Queen Ann, her second husband the King, his son, the Prince Hjalma, who was going to marry Maleine, but, having seen her but once, and believing her dead, engaged himself happily to Queen Ann's daughter, Uglyane; but Maleine reappears, the Prince's affection goes back to her; but the reader finds it difficult to believe in his great love. The wicked stepmother, of course, tries first to poison Maleine, and then finally murders her ; but all these horrors leave us calm, even at the end, when the Prince, finding Maleine dead, kills the Queen and then himself. We are not affected by these misfortunes, whilst all through the play there is a constant firework-display of the elements which makes us more inclined to laugh than to shudder. "Another such night, and we shall all be white," says Hjalma's friend Angus, after the general slaughter ; and we must endorse the sentiment, for the curtain falls on a hopelessly mad King, and the gloom is not dispelled by the concluding note, which informs us that a nightingale is singing and a cock crowing.

Here, then, is the stumbling-block in Maeterlinck's man- nerism. Unless most carefully handled, it is very likely to verge on the ludicrous ; even the weird repetition of sound losing its effect by too frequent use, and it soon becomes powerless unless allied to a strong human interest. Children scream but once at artificial thunder, and for us, " un frisson nouveau " is created only when Nature is handled naturally. To bring about great results by small means belongs to a high order of art, and it yet remains to be seen whether the Belgian author will keep to this level or sink down to the charlatanism of literature long since discarded.

We cannot resist quoting one paragraph from Lea Aveugles to show how Maeterlinck forges his short sentences till we seem to hear them ring on the mental anvil. One of the born blind is speaking of the priest before the corpse is discovered:- "ILdevient trop views. Il parait qua lui meme n'y voit plus depths quelque temps. Il ne vent pas l'avouer de pear qu'un

autre ne vionne prendre sa place parmi nous, mais je soupconne qu'il ne voit presque plus. IL nous faudrait un autre guide, it ne nous &mute plus et nous devenons trop nombreux. Il n'y a que lea trois religieuses et lui qui voient dans la maison ; et ils sont tons plus vieux que nous—Je suis stir qu'il nous a egares et qu'il cherche le chemin. Od eat-il elle ? Il n'a pas le droit de nous

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We must refer our readers to the play itself to enter into its full beauty, for Maurice Maeterlinck is capable, as we see here, of giving us good work. He can look deep down into many things, he is a poet, and he has a healthy outlook upon life ; and if he is somewhat deficient in humour, he is sincere, and he is not yet thirty years old.