in _Ardiane et Barbe-Bleue_ ("Ardiane and Blue-Beard"), (1899),
notwithstanding the fact that the author disclaims any philosophic
purpose and presents his work as a mere libretto. We cannot regard it as
purely accidental that of Blue-Beard's terror-stricken wives,
four,--Selysette, Mélisande, Ygraine, Alladine,--bear the names of
earlier heroines, and, besides, that each of these retains with the name
also the character of her namesake. The symbolism is too transparent.
The child-wives of the cruel knight, forever in a state of trembling
fear, are too passive to extricate themselves from their fate, whereas
Ardiane succeeds instantly in breaking her captivity, because she has
the spirit and strength to shatter the window and let in the light and
air. The contrast between her resolute personality and those five inert
bundles of misery undoubtedly connotes the difference between the
author's paralyzing fatalism in the past and his present dynamic
optimism.
A like contrast between dejection and resilience would be brought to
light by a comparison of the twelve lyric poems, _Douze Chansons_,
(1897), with the _Serres Chaudes_. The mood is still greatly subdued;
the new poetry is by no means free from sadness and a strain of
resignation. But the half-stifled despair that cries out from the older
book returns no dissonant echo in the new.
Even his dramatic technique comes under the sway of Maeterlinck's
altered view of the world. The far freer use of exciting and eventful
action testifies to increased elasticity and force. This is a marked
feature of _Soeur Beatrice_ ("Sister Beatrice"), (1900), a miracle play
founded on the old story about the recreant nun who, broken from sin and
misery, returns to the cloister and finds that during the many years of
her absence her part and person have been carried out by the Holy Virgin
herself.
Equally, the three other dramas of this epoch--_Aglavaine et Selysette_,
_Monna Vanna_, and _Joyzelle_--are highly available for scenic
enactment. Of the three, _Monna Vanna_, (1902), in particular is
conspicuous for a wholly unexpected aptitude of characterization, and
for the unsurpassed intensity of its situations, which in this isolated
case are not cast in a single mood as in the other plays, but are
individually distinct and full of dramatic progress, whereas everywhere
else the action moves rather sluggishly.
"Monna Vanna" is one of the most brilliantly actable plays of modern
times, despite its improbability. A certain incongruity between the
realistic and the romantic aspects in the behavior of the principals is
saved from offensiveness by a disposition on the part of the spectator
to refer it, unhistorically, to the provenience of the story. But as a
matter of fact the actors are not fifteenth century Renaissance men and
women at all, but mystics, modern mystics at that, both in their
reasoning and their morality. It is under a cryptical soul-compulsion
that Giovanna goes forth to the unknown condottiere prepared to lay down
her honor for the salvation of her people, and that her husband at last
conquers his repugnance to her going. Prinzivalle, Guido, Marco, are
mystics even to a higher degree than Vanna.
The poignant actualism of "Monna Vanna" lies, however, in the author's
frank sympathy with a distinctively modern zest for freedom. The
situation between husband and wife is reminiscent of "A Doll's House" in
the greedily possessive quality of Guido's affection, with which quality
his tyrannous unbelief in Prinzivalle's magnanimity fully accords. But
Maeterlinck here goes a step beyond Ibsen. In her married life with
Guido, Vanna was meekly contented, "at least as happy as one can be when
one has renounced the vague and extravagant dreams which seem beyond
human life." When the crisis arrives she realizes that "it is never too
late for one who has found a love that can fill a life." Her final
rebellion is sanctioned by the author, who unmistakably endorses the
venerable Marco's profession of faith that life is always in the right.
"Joyzelle," (1903), inferior to "Monna Vanna" dramaturgically, and in
form the most distinctly fantastic of all Maeterlinck's productions, is
still farther removed from the fatalistic atmosphere. This play sounds,
as the author himself has stated, "the triumph of will and love over
destiny or fatality," as against the converse lesson of _Monna Vanna_.
The idea is symbolically expressed in the temptations of Lanceor and in
the liberation of Joyzelle and her lover from the power of Merlin and
his familiar, Arielle, who impersonates the secret forces of the heart.
_Aglavaine et Selysette_, _Monna Vanna_, and _Joyzelle_ mark by still
another sign the advent of a new phase in Maeterlinck's evolution;
namely, by the characterization of the heroines. Previously, the women
in his plays were hardly individualized and none of them can be said to
possess a physiognomy strictly her own. Maeterlinck had returned with
great partiality again and again to the same type of woman: languid and
listless, without stamina and strength, yet at the same time full of
deep feeling, and capable of unending devotion--pathetic incorporeal
figures feeling their way along without the light of self-consciousness,
like some pre-raphaelite species of somnambulists. In the new plays, on
the contrary, women of a courageous and venturesome spirit and with a
self-possessive assurance are portrayed by preference and with
unmistakable approval.
As the technique in the more recent creations of Maeterlinck, so the
diction, too, accommodates itself to altered tendencies. Whereas
formerly the colloquy was abrupt and fragmentary, it is now couched in
cadenced, flowing language, which, nevertheless, preserves the old-time
simplicity. The poet himself has criticized his former dialogue. He said
it made those figures seem like deaf people walking in their sleep, whom
somebody is endeavoring to arouse from a heavy dream.
* * * * *
For the limited purpose of this sketch it is not needful to enter into a
detailed discussion of Maeterlinck's latest productions, since such
lines as they add to his philosophical and artistic physiognomy have
been traced beforehand. His literary output for the last dozen years or
so is embodied in six or seven volumes: about two years to a book seems
to be his normal ratio of achievement, the same as was so regularly
observed by Henrik Ibsen, and one that seems rather suitable for an
author whose reserve, dictated by a profound artistic and moral
conscience, like his actual performance, calls for admiration and
gratitude. During the war he has written, or at least published, very
little. It is fairly safe to assume that the emotional experience of
this harrowing period will control his future philosophy as its most
potent factor; equally safe is it to predict, on the strength of his
published utterances, that his comprehensive humanity, that has been put
to such a severe test, will pass unscathed through the ordeal.
Of the last group of Maeterlinck's works only two are dramas, namely,
"The Blue Bird," (1909), and "Mary Magdalene," (1910). The baffling
symbolism of "The Blue Bird" has not stood in the way of a tremendous
international stage success; the fact is due much less to the simple
line of thought that runs through the puzzle than to the exuberant fancy
that gave rise to it and its splendid scenical elaboration. Probably Mr.
Henry Rose is right, in his helpful analysis of "The Blue Bird," in
venturing the assertion that "by those who are familiar with
Swedenborg's teaching 'The Blue Bird' must be recognized as to a very
large extent written on lines which are in accordance with what is known
as the Science of Correspondences--a very important part of Swedenborg's
teachings." But the understanding of this symbolism in its fullness
offers very great difficulties. That a definite and consistent meaning
underlies all its features will be rather felt than comprehended by the
great majority who surely cannot be expected to go to the trouble first
of familiarizing themselves with Maeterlinck's alleged code of symbols
and then of applying it meticulously to the interpretation of his plays.
"Mary Magdalene," judged from the dramatic point of view, is a quite
impressive tragedy, yet a full and sufficient treatment of the very
suggestive scriptural legend it is not. The converted courtezan is
characterized too abstractly. Instead of presenting herself as a woman
consumed with blazing sensuality but in whom the erotic fire is
transmuted into religious passion, she affects us like an enacted
commentary upon such a most extraordinary experience.
Finally, there are several volumes of essays, to some of which reference
has already been made.(9) _Le Temple Enseveli_ ("The Buried Temple"),
(1902), consists of six disquisitions, all dealing with metaphysical
subjects: Justice, The Evolution of Mystery, The Reign of Matter, The
Past, Chance, The Future. _Le Double Jardin_ ("The Double Garden"),
(1904), is much more miscellaneous in its makeup. These are its
heterogeneous subjects: The Death of a Little Dog, Monte Carlo, A Ride
in a Motor Car, Dueling, The Angry Temper of the Bees, Universal
Suffrage, The Modern Drama, The Sources of Spring, Death and the Crown
(a discussion upon the fatal illness of Edward VII), a View of Rome,
Field Flowers, Chrysanthemums, Old-fashioned Flowers, Sincerity, The
Portrait of Woman, and Olive Branches (a survey of certain now, alas,
obsolete ethical movements of that day). _L'Intelligence des Fleurs_ (in
the translation it is named "Life and Flowers," in an enlarged issue
"The Measure of the Hours," both 1907), takes up, besides the theme of
the general caption, the manufacture of perfumes, the various
instruments for measuring time, the psychology of accident, social duty,
war, prize-fighting, and "King Lear." In 1912, three essays on Emerson,
Novalis, and Ruysbroeck appeared collectively, in English, under the
title "On Emerson and Other Essays." These originally prefaced certain
works of those writers translated by Maeterlinck in his earlier years.
(9) Considerable liberty has been taken by Maeterlinck in the grouping
and naming of his essay upon their republication in the several
collections. The confusion caused thereby is greatly increased by the
deviation of some of the translated editions from the original volumes
as to the sequence of articles, the individual and collective titles,
and even the contents themselves.
Maeterlinck's most recent publications are _La Mort_ (published in
English in a considerably extended collection under the title "Our
Eternity"), (1913), "The Unknown Guest," (1914), and _Les Débris de la
Guerre_ ("The Wrack of the Storm"), (1916).(10) The two first named,
having for their central subject Death and the great concomitant problem
of the life beyond, show that the author has become greatly interested
in psychical research; he even goes so far as to affirm his belief in
precognition. In these essays, Theosophy and Spiritism and kindred
occult theories are carefully analyzed, yet ingenious as are the
author's speculations, they leave anything like a solution of the
perplexing riddles far afield. On the whole he inclines to a telepathic
explanation of the psychical phenomena, yet thinks they may be due to
the strivings of the cosmic intelligence after fresh outlets, and
believes that a careful and persistent investigation of these phenomena
may open up hitherto undreamt of realms of reality. In general, we find
him on many points less assertive than he was in the beginning and
inclined to a general retrenchment of the dogmatic element in his
philosophic attitude. A significant passage in "The Buried Treasure"
teaches us not to deplore the loss of fixed beliefs. "One should never
look back with regret to those hours when a great belief abandons us. A
faith that becomes extinct, a means that fails, a dominant idea that no
longer dominates us because we think it is our turn to dominate
it--these things prove that we are living, that we are progressing, that
we are using up a great many things because we are not standing still."
Of the gloomy fatalism of his literary beginnings hardly a trace is to
be found in the Maeterlinck of to-day. His war-book, "The Wrack of the
Storm," breathes a calm optimism in the face of untold disaster. The
will of man is put above the power of fate. "Is it possible that
fatality--by which I mean what perhaps for a moment was the
unacknowledged desire of the planet--shall not regain the upper hand? At
the stage which man has reached, I hope and believe so.... Everything
seems to tell us that man is approaching the day whereon, seizing the
most glorious opportunity that has ever presented itself since he
acquired a consciousness, he will at last learn that he is able, when he
pleases, to control his whole fate in this world."(11) His faith in
humanity is built on the heroic virtues displayed in this war. "To-day,
not only do we know that these virtues exist: we have taught the world
that they are always triumphant, that nothing is lost while faith is
left, while honor is intact, while love continues, while the soul does
not surrender." ... Death itself is now threatened with extinction by
our heroic race: "The more it exercises its ravages, the more it
increases the intensity of that which it cannot touch; the more it
pursues its phantom victories, the better does it prove to us that man
will end by conquering death."
(10) "The Light Beyond" (1917) is not a new work at all, but merely a
combination of parts from "Our Eternity" and "The Wrack of the Storm."
(11) "The Wrack of the Storm," p. 144 f.
In the concluding chapter of "Our Eternity," the romantic modification
of Maeterlinck's mysticism is made patent in his confession regarding
the problem of Knowledge: "I have added nothing to what was already
known. I have simply tried to separate what may be true from that which
is assuredly not true.... Perhaps through our quest for that
undiscoverable Truth we shall have accustomed our eyes to pierce the
terror of the last hour by looking it full in the face.... We need have
no hope that any one will utter on this earth the word that shall put an
end to our uncertainties. It is very probable, on the contrary, that no
one in this world, nor perhaps in the next, will discover the great
secret of the universe. And ... it is most fortunate that it should be
so. We have not only to resign ourselves to living in the
incomprehensible, but to rejoice that we cannot get out of it. If there
were no more insoluble questions ... infinity would not be infinite; and
then we should have forever to curse the fate that placed us in a
universe proportionate to our intelligence. The unknown and the
unknowable are necessary and will perhaps always be necessary to our
happiness. In any case, I would not wish my worst enemy, were his
understanding a thousandfold loftier and a thousandfold mightier than
mine, to be condemned eternally to inhabit a world of which he had
surprised an essential secret...."(12)
(12) Quoted from the excellent translation by A. T. de Mattos.
So the final word of Maeterlinck's philosophy, after a lifetime of
ardent search, clears up none of the tantalizing secrets of our
existence. And yet somehow it bears a message that is full of
consolation. The value of human life lies in the perpetual movement
towards a receding goal. Whoever can identify himself with such a
philosophy and accept its great practical lesson, that we shall never
reach Knowledge but acquire wisdom in the pursuit, should be able to
envisage the veiled countenance of Truth without despair, and even to
face with some courage the eternal problem of our being, its reason and
its destination.
II
THE ECCENTRICITY OF AUGUST STRINDBERG
One cannot speak of August Strindberg with much _gusto_. The most
broadminded critic will find himself under necessity to disapprove of
him as a man and to condemn so many features of his production that
almost one might question his fitness as a subject of literary
discussion. Nevertheless, his importance is beyond dispute and quite
above the consideration of personal like or dislike, whether we view him
in his creative capacity,--as an intellectual and ethical spokesman of
his time,--or in his human character,--as a typical case of certain
mental and moral maladies which somehow during his time were more or
less epidemic throughout the lettered world. We have it on excellent
authority that at his début in the literary theatre he made the stage
quake with the elemental power of his personality. Gigantic rebels like
Ibsen, Bjoernson, Nietzsche, and Tolstoy, we are told, dwindled to
normal proportions beside his titanic stature. He aimed to conquer and
convert the whole world by his fanatical protest against the rotten
civilization of his time. The attempt proved an utter failure. He never
could grow into a world-figure, because he lacked the courage as well as
the cosmopolitan adaptability needed for intellectual expatriation.
Hence, in great contrast to Ibsen, he remained to Europe at large the
uncouth Scandinavian, while in the eyes of Scandinavia he was
specifically the Swede; and his country-men, even though they
acknowledged him their premier poet, treated him, because of his
eccentricity, as a national gazing-stock rather than as a genuine
national asset. Yet for all that, he ranks as the foremost writer of his
country and one of the representative men of the age. His poetic genius
is admitted by practically all the critics, while the greatest among
them, George Brandes, pronounces him in addition an unsurpassed master
in the command of his mother tongue. But his position as a writer is by
no means limited to his own little country. For his works have been
translated into all civilized languages, and if the circulation of
literary products is a safe indication of their influence, then several
of Strindberg's books at least must be credited with having done
something toward shaping the thought of our time upon some of its
leading issues. In any case, the large and durable interest shown his
productions marks Strindberg as a literary phenomenon of sufficient
consequence to deserve some study.
Readers of Strindberg who seek to discover the reason why criticism
should have devoted so much attention to an author regarded almost
universally with strong disapproval and aversion, will find that reason
most probably in the extreme subjectiveness that dominates everything he
has written; personal confession, novels, stories, and plays alike share
this equality, and even in his historical dramas the figures, despite
the minute accuracy of their delineation, are moved by the author's
passion, not their own. Rarely, if ever, has a writer of eminence
demonstrated a similar incapacity to reproduce the thoughts and feelings
of other people. It has been rightly declared that all his leading
characters are merely the outward projections of his own sentiments and
ideas,--that at bottom he, August Strindberg, is the sole protagonist in
all his dramaturgy and fiction.
Strindberg was a man with an omnivorous intellectual curiosity, and he
commanded a vast store of knowledge in the fields of history, science,
and languages. His "History of the Swedish People" is recognized by
competent judges as a very brilliant and scholarly performance. Before
he was launched in his literary career, and while still obscurely
employed as minor assistant at a library, he earned distinction as a
student of the Chinese language, and one product of his research work in
that field was even deemed worthy of being read before the _Académie des
Inscriptions et Belles Lettres_. In Geology, Chemistry, Botany, he was
equally productive. But the taint of eccentricity in his mental fibre
prevented his imposing scientific accomplishments from maintaining him
in a state of intellectual equilibrium. He laid as much store by things
of which he had a mere smattering as by those on which he was an
authority, and his resultant unsteadiness caused him to oscillate
between opposite scientific enthusiasms even as his self-contradictory
personal character involved him in abrupt changes of position, and made
him jump from one extreme of behavior to the other.
* * * * *
Strindberg first attracted public notice by the appearance in 1879 of a
novel named "The Red Room." Its effect upon a country characterized by
so keen an observer as George Brandes as perhaps the most conservative
in Europe resembled the excitement caused by Schiller's "The Robbers"
almost precisely one hundred years before. It stirred up enough dust to
change, though not to cleanse, the musty atmosphere of Philistia. For
here was instantly recognized the challenge of a radical spirit uprisen
in full and ruthless rebellion against each and every time-hallowed
usage and tradition. The recollection of that hot-spur agitator bent
with every particle of his strength to rouse the world up from its
lethargy by his stentorian "J'accuse" and to pass sentence upon it by
sheer tremendous vociferation, is almost entirely obliterated to-day by
the remembrance of quite another Strindberg:--the erstwhile stormy
idealist changed into a leering cynic; a repulsive embodiment of
negation, a grimacing Mephistopheles who denies life and light or
anything that he cannot comprehend, and to whom the face of the earth
appears forever covered with darkness and filth and death and
corruption. Indeed this final depictment of August Strindberg, whether
or no it be accurately true to life, is a terrible example of what life
can make of a man, or a man of his life, if he is neither light enough
to be borne by the current of his time, nor strong enough to set his
face against the tide and breast it.